fanfics

30|she/her|lesbian

[barca-1111]

one simple rule | alexia putellas

Part 3

Summary: The daughter of a legendary football manager has one simple dating rule: no footballers - a rule that becomes increasingly difficult to follow after meeting Alexia Putellas

Word Count: 13.4k

You’re just friends.

You repeat that sentence so often over the following weeks that it begins to sound rehearsed, like if you say it enough times it might eventually become true. You say it with complete conviction. You say it the way you say things in court when you need the room to believe you before they've had the chance to think too hard about it.

The problem is that you've been a lawyer long enough to recognize when someone is arguing a losing case.

You tell your parents anyway. You tell your brothers. You tell your friends. Curiously, not a single one of them appears remotely convinced.

Your mother responds with the kind of smile that mothers seem genetically programmed to produce whenever they know something their children haven’t admitted to themselves yet. Your father just raises an eyebrow before pointedly returning to whatever he had been doing, managing to communicate more skepticism through a single arched brow and studied silence than most people could achieve with an entire prepared argument. Your brothers don't even attempt the courtesy of restraint. They exchange one look - the particular look they have been perfecting since childhood, the one that means they are about to enjoy this at your expense - grin at one another, and immediately begin referring to Alexia as your girlfriend purely because they know with absolute certainty that it annoys you.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Mhmm.”

“We’re friends!”

“Of course…”

“Stop looking at me like that!!”

None of them stop.

The thing is you genuinely believe it. Or at least some carefully maintained part of you is still committed to believing it, because the alternative requires a conversation you aren't ready to have and a vulnerability you have spent most of your adult life successfully avoiding.

Because friends talk, right? Friends spend time together. Friends call each other.

It is perfectly normal, you reason, to feel your entire mood improve the moment your phone lights up with Alexia’s name after she’s finally escaped training, only to spend the next forty-five minutes listening to her recount some ridiculous story from the gym while she drives home through Barcelona traffic. It is perfectly normal to make dinner plans three or four nights a week because neither of you particularly enjoys eating alone. Perfectly normal to wander through bookstores on Sunday afternoons, to argue over which café makes the best cortado, to send each other pictures of dogs you pass on the street because you know they’ll make the other smile.

That is friendship. Isn’t it?

And if those dinners occasionally stretch until well after midnight because neither of you notices the restaurant has emptied around you… Well friends lose track of time.

If you end up napping together on her couch because you stayed up way too late talking the night before… Her couch is just really comfy.

If she starts casually reaching for your hand whenever the streets become crowded, or if you instinctively gravitate toward one another in every room without consciously deciding to… Surely that’s just habit.

You are aware, somewhere beneath all of this careful reasoning, that you are doing what you always do when the truth is inconvenient: constructing a very competent argument for the version of events you'd prefer to be living in. You are, after all, professionally trained to make flimsy positions sound airtight. You can make a jury believe almost anything if you choose your words carefully enough.

The jury, in this case, consists of your mother's knowing smile, your father's single raised eyebrow, your brothers' matching grins, and the persistent, quiet voice somewhere in the back of your own mind that has been trying to get your attention for weeks.

None of them are buying it either.

Which is fine. They don't have to buy it. You are perfectly capable of maintaining a position under pressure - it is, in fact, one of the things you are paid to do - and if everyone in your life has decided to find your friendship with Alexia quietly hilarious, that is their prerogative. You are unbothered. You are composed. You are a woman who knows her own mind.

You are also, three weeks after the gala, standing in the bathroom of your apartment spending an unreasonable amount of time on your hair before going out to meet her friends, which is a thing that friends do all the time and means absolutely nothing.

She had suggested it over dinner the week before, insisting that you'd already heard so many stories about one another that proper introductions were long overdue. You had agreed right away, which you told yourself was because you were a socially confident person who enjoyed meeting new people, and not at all because Alexia had asked you with that particular smile and you had never once successfully said no to it.

The music in the club is thick enough to feel in your chest, colored lights sweep lazily across a packed dance floor while people squeeze together around crowded tables balancing cocktails they definitely paid too much for. Conversation requires raised voices and exaggerated gestures, and every few minutes a burst of laughter somewhere across the room rises high enough to clear the music before being swallowed back into it.

The moment you arrive, Alexia’s hand settles comfortably on your lower back, her palm warm and certain through the fabric of your dress as she guides you through the crowd.  

The group is already gathered near the back of the club - a cluster of warmth and noise and overlapping conversations that parts easily to absorb you both. You recognize almost every name from the countless stories Alexia has already told you over late-night dinners and phone calls, and the recognition appears to be mutual. There are smiles, hugs, introductions, and more than one expression that feels suspiciously knowing.

You choose to ignore that part.

Instead, your attention immediately lands on Alba.

Within minutes the two of you are teasing Alexia with the effortless coordination of people who have only just met but somehow already understand the assignment. Growing up with brothers had taught you one universal truth: if you wanted to win over someone’s sibling, the quickest route was always joining forces against them.

“What the hell?” Alexia groans dramatically after the two of you gang up on her for what must be the fifth time in ten minutes, dropping her head against your shoulder with exaggerated despair. “I should have known better than to introduce you two.”

Alba laughs so hard at your teasing, she nearly spills her drink. You reach over and pat Alexia’s head with theatrical sympathy.

“Oh, please. You’re fine.”

“I’ve been betrayed.”

Despite the complaint, you can feel Alexia laughing against your shoulder, the sound vibrating warmly through you.

Alexia lets out one final dramatic sigh before lifting her head from your shoulder, though not before pressing a soft kiss against the fabric covering it. The gesture so casual and absentminded that she barely seems aware she’s done it.

You are aware. You are extremely aware. You simply decide, in the spirit of your ongoing commitment to the friends narrative, not to examine that too closely.

The kisses are friendly too. Obviously.

Ever since that first night they had quietly become part of whatever this strange, undefined thing between the two of you was. Sometimes they were nothing more than a quick greeting when one of you arrived late to dinner or a soft goodbye after you’d walked her to her door. Other times they happened reflexively, a kiss against your temple while you’re laughing, your cheek when she’d won an argument, your shoulder when she was already leaning against you anyway.

And occasionally they lingered. One kiss would become two, then three, until you found yourselves standing outside your apartment making out beneath a streetlamp while one of you laughed into the other’s mouth about how late it had gotten.

In your defense, Alexia was exceptionally, unfairly attractive.

“I’m gonna grab a drink from the bar,” she says, after another few minutes of thoroughly deserved teasing from you and Alba. “Come with me?”

The invitation feels almost unnecessary. Your hand is already reaching for hers before she’s finished speaking.

Her fingers lace through yours as though they've done it a hundred times - which, you realize with a start, they very nearly have at this point - and together the two of you weave toward the bar. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that very few people who describe themselves as just friends spend quite this much time with their fingers comfortably intertwined.

The bar is crowded enough that Alexia naturally steps closer, her shoulder pressing against yours as people move behind you. Her body angles toward you in that instinctive way it always does now, like she simply defaults to closing whatever distance remains between you. You lean into her just as naturally. 

The closeness no longer feels new. It just feels right.

“So,” she says once you’ve both ordered your drinks, turning toward you with the kind of undivided attention that still catches you off guard no matter how often she gives it. “How did your meeting go this afternoon?”

Your entire expression brightens.

You launch into the story, explaining how opposing counsel had attempted to quietly slip an additional liability clause into the final contract draft, clearly hoping it would slide through unexamined before signing. You describe the increasingly transparent excuses they'd produced once you pointed it out, the uncomfortable silence that followed when you refused to let the conversation move on, and your eventual decision to suspend the entire agreement until every questionable provision had been properly addressed.

You know you’re rambling.

Alexia never makes you feel that way.

She listens with the same complete concentration she always does, never once allowing her attention to drift despite the music thundering around you. Every question she asks builds easily from the last answer you gave, revealing not only that she’s been listening, but that she remembers details you mentioned weeks ago about the case, the clients involved, and even the senior partner who had initially assigned it to you.

“You said their general counsel was difficult from the beginning,” she says thoughtfully. “So this probably wasn’t the first time they tried something like that?”

You shake your head, unable to hide your smile.

“No. Just the first time they tried it with me.”

“You are such a badass,” she says, beaming and squeezing your still interlaced fingers with genuine admiration. “I’m really proud of you.”

The compliment shouldn’t affect you as much as it does.

You have graduated near the top of your class. You have been praised by senior partners whose approval is notoriously difficult to earn. You have clients who request you specifically for negotiations that other associates won't touch. None of that has ever produced quite the sensation that those five words from Alexia manage in approximately three seconds.

Heat rushes to your face before you have any hope of stopping it.

Alexia watches the blush spread across your cheeks with an expression that can only be described as fond - the particular softness that appears in her eyes sometimes when you're not expecting it. It’s like she's caught a glimpse of something she wasn't supposed to see and has quietly decided to treasure it anyway. She doesn't tease you. She never teases you about this. She just lets herself look at you, warmly and without apology, until the embarrassment somehow deepens for entirely different reasons.

Thankfully, the bartender chooses that exact moment to slide your drinks across the counter.

You reach for yours quickly, grateful for the distraction, taking an unnecessarily long sip. The cold liquid gives you something else to focus on besides the fact that one simple compliment from Alexia has managed to unravel you so completely. When you lower your glass, she’s still smiling.

"Dance with me?" you ask, because it seems like the most efficient way to stop her looking at you like that.

She sets her drink down before you've finished the sentence. She doesn't answer. She just takes your hand.

For a while, everything is wonderfully ridiculous. The two of you laugh far more than you actually dance, deliberately exaggerating the worst moves you can think of until you’re both doubled over with laughter. Alexia attempts something she insists is a trend right now before immediately admitting it looks stupid. You retaliate with an enthusiastic and completely faithful recreation of something your brothers had sworn was cool when you were teenagers, which earns you a look of such pure delight from her that you keep going long after you probably should have stopped.

The people around you either stare in amusement or wisely pretend not to know you, and neither of you could possibly care less.

You haven't laughed this freely in years. The thought arrives quietly between one song and the next and stays there.

As the music and energy around you gradually changes, so does the space between you.

Without really thinking about it, you reach forward and hook a finger through her belt loop, drawing her the final few inches closer until the distance between your bodies disappears.

Alexia glances down at your hand before meeting your eyes, and then, without a word, her hands find your waist and turn you smoothly until your back rests against her front, the movement so fluid that you've barely registered what's happened before you're already settling into her.

Instinctively, you relax into her.

Her arms stay loosely around you, the two of you moving together with an ease that feels less like something you're doing and more like something you've simply fallen into, the way you fall into conversations and silences and all the other rhythms the two of you have accumulated without noticing. Every now and then she leans closer to say something in your ear, her voice low beneath the music, and you feel her laughter against the side of your neck before it reaches you as sound.

It is impossibly easy to forget where you are.

Your entire world narrows to the warmth of her behind you, the weight of her arms, and the quiet certainty that every time you shift, every time you tilt your head back slightly, her eyes are already there waiting for yours. She looks at you with an intensity that makes the rest of the room feel very far away - like the crowd and the music and the sweeping lights have faded away, and the only thing that is actually real and close and present is her.

It takes the tightening of her arm around your waist to pull you back.

You glance over your shoulder. Her easy smile has disappeared. Her eyes are fixed somewhere beyond you, their warmth replaced by a focused intensity that catches your attention.

“Is something wrong?” you ask quietly, resting your hand over hers where it lies against your waist.

Alexia barely blinks before letting out a huff.

“No…” she says, her eyes never leaving the spot she’d been watching. “I just don’t like the way she’s looking at you.”

Curiosity gets the better of you.

Following her line of sight, you glance toward the bar where a woman is leaning casually against the polished countertop with a drink in her hand. There is nothing especially subtle about the way she’s watching you. The moment your eyes meet hers, she offers an undeniably interested smile that lingers just a fraction of a second too long before her bold gaze begins to travel slowly and appreciatively across the length of your figure.

You feel Alexia shift imperceptibly behind you.

Her hand settles a little more securely against your hipbone, in a subconscious gesture of claiming that reveals far more than she likely ever intended. For someone who always seemed so composed, so measured in everything she did, the flicker of jealousy catches you a little off guard.

And, to your own surprise, you like it. A little too much.

The wave of possessiveness makes her fingers twitch against your skin as she grasps you lower on your hips, pulling your back flush against her. You can feel the erratic rhythm of Alexia’s hot breath fanning across the sensitive skin of your neck as she struggles to hold herself back from doing anything more.

But you do want more. You don’t want her to hold back. 

You reach back and thread your fingers through the silken strands of her hair, pulling her face into the curve of your neck. You tilt your head slightly to offer silent permission that she immediately acts upon. 

She presses her lips to your exposed throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. A helpless shudder runs though your frame at the contact and your blood begins to run hot with desire. 

Alexia can undoubtedly feel the frantic race of your pulse beating directly against her mouth, because you can actually feel the satisfied curve of her smile pressing into your skin as she continues to lavish your neck with desperate, breathless attention. 

Unable to endure the distance between you any longer, Alexia’s hands tighten gently around your waist before she turns you to face her in one smooth movement. There isn’t a hint of hesitation left in either of you now. The second your eyes meet, she closes the space between you again, kissing you with the confidence of someone who has been thinking about doing exactly that for far longer than she’d ever admit.

Your hands find her shoulders, her waist, anywhere you can reach, and around you the music pounds on and the lights sweep past and none of it registers even slightly.

Eventually you pull back just far enough to steal a breath. Barely an inch separates you.

Alexia is already looking at you, a soft, disbelieving smile spreading across her face as if she can’t quite believe you’re standing there either. The sight of it makes something inside your chest tighten so suddenly that you’re forced to simply stare at her for a moment, quietly struck all over again by how unfairly beautiful she is.

When she catches you admiring, that smile only grows. Her eyes are warm with unmistakable amusement as she watches you completely lose your train of thought. You open your mouth like you’re about to say something clever, something capable of recovering at least a shred of your dignity.

Nothing comes out.

She laughs quietly at your expense before closing the distance once more, clearly deciding that whatever you had been about to say couldn’t possibly be as important as kissing you again.

Fuck, you think to yourself as you smile helplessly into the kiss.

This whole being friends thing would be so much easier if she wasn’t such a ridiculously good kisser.

------

The problem with insisting you’re just friends is that, somewhere along the way, the two of you have become very bad at behaving like it.

There is nothing particularly unusual about spending an entire Saturday together, at least not by the increasingly questionable standards you and Alexia have established over the past few months. You spend most of your free time together anyway, so when a rare weekend arrives with neither of you pulled away by work, football, or family obligations, there is never really any question of who you’ll spend it with.

The water was too cold for swimming, just like you'd warned her it would be, but neither of you had really come to swim.

You'd driven north out of the city before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. Alexia's hand rests easily on the gearshift between you, occasionally drifting over to rest on your knee whenever the road straightens out long enough for her to risk it. By the time you reach the beach, the morning haze was already burning away, leaving behind one of those impossibly blue Catalan skies that make tourists believe the weather is always like this.

You ate lunch on paper plates balanced on your knees, sitting on a worn blanket Alexia produced from the trunk of her car with the casual efficiency of someone who has done this before, with other people, in other lives. You don't ask about that. You've stopped letting yourself wonder about the women who came before you, mostly because the answer to that question has started to feel uncomfortably close to a question about yourself that you aren't ready to answer either.

Afterward you walk. For hours, it turns out, though neither of you notices until the sun has shifted considerably and your feet ache pleasantly from the sand. She tells you about her childhood summers here, when her family was still too poor to go anywhere else. She tells you about a ridiculous argument her father had with a fishmonger when she was nine and the particular shade of blue the water turns right before sunset, which she insists exists nowhere else in the world.

Her hand finds yours somewhere around the second hour and doesn't let go again.

By the time you arrive back at her house, the golden hour has settled over the city, slanting low through the kitchen windows and catching on dust in the air like something out of a film neither of you would ever admit to liking unironically. The house smells like rosemary and the lemon tree growing wild just outside her back door, and when she pulls you toward the kitchen counter, flour already dusting one forearm from some earlier attempt at organization, you don't resist.

"You're terrible at this," you tease, watching her stretch a piece of dough so thin it tears straight down the middle.

"I'm a footballer, not a chef."

"Clearly."

She flicks a small handful of flour at you in retaliation. It lands across the front of your shirt, and your indignant gasp only makes her laugh harder, hip-checking you out of the way so she can reach the rolling pin.

You've noticed, over the course of the afternoon, the particular way her hands keep finding you. 

Her fingers brushing the small of your back as she reaches past you for the olive oil, her palm settling briefly at your waist when you lean over to check the oven, the warm slide of skin against skin whenever your shirt rides up just slightly and her hand happens to be there, thumb tracing absent, unhurried circles against your hip like she's barely aware she's doing it.

In the car earlier, her hand had drifted from the gearshift to your knee and stayed there for the better part of twenty minutes, her thumb stroking slow lines along your inner thigh while she drove one-handed and talked about absolutely nothing, as though she had no idea what that was doing to you.

She knew exactly what it was doing to you.

By the time the pizzas are assembled - yours lopsided and overloaded with toppings, hers absurdly minimalist in a childish way that of course you tease - the sun has dropped low enough that the yard is bathed in that deep amber light that makes everything, even Alexia covered in flour with sauce on her cheek, look like it was lit on purpose.

You carry the trays out to the little wood-fired oven tucked into the corner of her patio, and while the pizzas cook, you stand together. Her arm settles affectionately around your waist, her chin finding the curve of your shoulder as the two of you watch the flames through the small glass door.

"This was a good day," she says quietly, her voice low against your skin.

"Mhm." You lean back into her without thinking about it. "Best one in a while."

She presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear, and you feel it more than you hear the soft sound she makes against your skin.

Dinner happens somewhere in there too - eaten at the small table on the patio, candles flickering despite there being no real need for them this early, the pizzas devoured with the kind of enthusiasm that makes conversation sparse and laughter frequent. 

But even as you eat and talk, something else has been quietly building beneath the surface of the evening, present in every glance that lasts a fraction too long, every touch that lingers slightly past necessity.

You feel it most clearly while washing dishes.

Alexia stands beside you at the sink, drying what you hand her with the same unhurried patience she brings to everything, occasionally bumping her hip against yours just to watch you nearly drop a plate. The kitchen has gone quiet around you, the easy chatter of the day finally settling into something heavier, something charged.

When you finally set the last dish in the rack and reach for the towel hanging over her shoulder, she doesn't move out of the way.

You look up. She's already looking at you.

There's a stillness in her expression that wasn't there a moment ago, the playfulness from earlier replaced by something darker and far more deliberate. Her hazel eyes track slowly down from your face to your collarbone and linger there, unhurried, unapologetic.

"You're staring," you say, though your voice comes out quieter than you intend.

"I know."

She doesn't look away. If anything, her gaze drops further, tracing the line of your throat, the curve where your shirt has slipped slightly off one shoulder, and when her eyes finally lift back to yours there's nothing remotely subtle left in them.

"Alexia."

"What?" The corner of her mouth tips up, slow and shameless. "Can't a woman appreciate the view in her own kitchen?"

Your pulse picks up traitorously.

She steps closer, crowding you gently back against the edge of the counter, one hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that contradicts entirely the heat simmering just beneath it. Her fingers trail from your ear down the length of your neck, slow enough that you feel every inch of the movement, before settling at your jaw.

"You've been doing that thing all day," she murmurs.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you think I don't notice you looking at me." Her thumb brushes along your bottom lip, deliberate and unhurried. "I notice everything you do, cariño."

The endearment, soft and unfamiliar on her tongue, does something to your chest that you don't have time to examine before she's closing the last bit of distance between you. She kisses you the way she hasn't kissed you before - slow at first, almost teasing, like she's testing how long she can draw this out before either of you breaks.

You break first.

Your hands fist in the front of her shirt, dragging her closer, and the kiss deepens immediately. Her hands find your waist and gripping with a firmness that has nothing teasing left in it. She presses you fully back against the counter, the edge biting pleasantly into your hip, and you feel the low sound that escapes her when your fingers slide up into her hair.

"Ale-" Her name comes out half a warning, half a plea, and you're not entirely sure which one you meant it to be.

She pulls back only far enough to look at you, her breathing already uneven, her eyes dark in the dim kitchen light. There's a question in her expression, clear as anything she's ever said aloud - patient, certain, leaving the choice entirely in your hands the way she always does.

You answer her by pulling her back in.

This kiss is different from every one that came before it. There's no restraint left in it, no careful pretense that this is anything other than exactly what it is. Her hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, palms warm against the bare skin of your waist. You arch into the touch, a quiet gasp escaping against her mouth that makes her smile even as she kisses you harder.

"Tell me to stop," she breathes against your jaw, her lips trailing slowly down the line of your throat, "and I will."

You don't.

Instead your hands find the hem of her own shirt, tugging gently, and the sound she makes when you finally slide your fingertips across her abs is enough to undo whatever was left of your hesitation. 

She lifts you onto the counter with an ease that probably shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. 

The cool marble meets the back of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off her. She settles between your knees, like she's been waiting all day for exactly this - for the kitchen to go quiet, for the light to dim just enough, for you to finally stop pretending you weren't both circling toward this since the night you met.

You've never felt anything like this. Like you've been lit a flame somewhere deep in your chest, and every place she touches you only feeds it. You've also never felt this wanted - not admired, not desired in the abstract way strangers look at you across crowded rooms, but wanted, specifically, entirely, by the only person whose attention has ever made your pulse stutter like this.

"Upstairs," you murmur against her mouth, because the counter is wonderful but you want her somewhere you can actually touch all of her.

She doesn't argue, letting you pull her by the hand through the dark house. You lead her the framed photos and the shoes kicked off by the door, up the stairs two at a time until you're both stumbling slightly into her bedroom, lit only by the pale wash of moonlight through the open window and the distant glow of the city beyond it.

You turn to face her, and the look in her eyes nearly stops your heart.

Her gaze is dark, fixed entirely on you. It burns with an intensity that makes you feel like the only thing that exists in the room, in the city, in the world. You reach for her shoulders and push gently, until she sits on the edge of the bed. The soft exhale that leaves her when you settle your weight against her, knees bracketing her hips, sounds like relief.

"You're sure?" she asks quietly, her hands resting at your waist. Her thumbs trace slow lines against your skin like she needs the reassurance of touching you even while she waits for your answer.

"Alexia." You take her face in both hands, tilting it up so she has to look at you. "I have never been more sure of anything."

Something shifts in her then, the last thread of hesitation finally gives way. You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, baring yourself to her for the first time. The sound that escapes her when she looks at you is barely human. Reverent, almost helpless, like she'd been holding herself together by a single thread and you'd just cut it.

She gathers you against her slowly, her hands sweeping up your back with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. When she finally lays you back against the sheets and follows you down, the weight of her settling over you feels less like desire and more like coming home.

She kisses you sweetly at first, slow and careful. Before her mouth begins to wander, tracing down the column of your throat, across your collarbone, lower still, and every place her lips touch leaves a trail of fire behind it. Your hands find her hair, her shoulders, the strong line of her back, anchoring yourself to her as the slow burn building all day finally catches.

She murmurs against your skin as she moves, words half-formed and barely audible, more felt than heard. How beautiful you are. How she's been wanting this for longer than she probably should admit. How she just wants to make you feel good.

You're too far gone to manage anything coherent in return, the words dissolve somewhere before they reach your mouth, but the soft, broken way her name falls from your lips seems to be answer enough. It's all the encouragement she needs to keep going. 

She pulls your nipple into her mouth, rolling the bud gently against her tongue. Your head rolls back uncontrollably as a soft moan leaves your lips. You should be embarrassed to already be reacting in this way when she hasn’t even fully touched you. You can’t bring yourself to care.

She hums softly in response, the sound vibrating through your skin like a secret meant only for you. Her mouth is warm, unhurried, lavishing attention on one breast and then the other with the kind of patience that speaks of weeks of stolen kisses, lingering-touches, and carefully guarded longing finally set free. 

Her hands map your body with slow reverence, palms gliding over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as if committing every inch to memory.

You thread your fingers through her hair, holding her close as she kisses a lazy path down the center of your chest. Every press of her lips feels like worship. She lingers at your navel, tongue dipping in just enough to make your stomach flutter, then lower still, until her breath fans hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. She parts them gently, settling between them with no rush, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crease where thigh meets hip. The ache between your legs has grown deep, but she doesn’t dive in. Instead, she savors you - nuzzling, licking, sucking lightly at the soft skin until you’re trembling beneath her.

When her fingers finally trace through your folds, it’s feather-light at first, spreading the slickness she’s drawn from you with patient strokes. She explores every inch like she has all night, circling your entrance, teasing your clit with the barest pressure until your hips lift in quiet pleading. Only then does she ease one finger inside you, slow and deep, curling gently as if testing the way your body welcomes her.

There is nothing friendly about the pet names that you cry out when you feel her inside you. 

“Bebé yes! Right there.” You moan as she finds a spot that makes you see stars. That seems to be the sign she needs to stop being gentle with you and press deeper in the way you need.

Her eyes darken with hunger at the sound of your voice, but even now she doesn’t rush. She adds a second finger with the same deliberate care, stretching you open inch by inch, her thumb stroking your clit in slow, perfect circles that match the rhythm of her hand. Her mouth returns to your breast, sucking harder now, teeth grazing just enough to sharpen the pleasure. Every thrust of her fingers is measured, dragging against that sensitive spot inside you until the coil of heat low in your belly winds tighter and tighter.

“Fuck mi amor, don’t stop,” you gasp, nails digging into her shoulders.

You’re lost in it - the wet sounds of her fingers moving in you, the weight of her body pressed between your thighs, the way she whispers your name against your skin like a prayer.

She lifts her head to watch you, dark eyes locked on your face as she drives you closer to the edge. “That’s it, mi amor,” she murmurs, voice rough with want. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

The build is exquisite, nearly overwhelming in its sweetness, and when the peak finally breaks over you, it shudders through your entire body in long, rolling waves that leave you gasping her name. She stays with you through every pulse, murmuring soft praises, her fingers gentling but not leaving until the last tremor fades and you’re boneless beneath her.

Hours later, after you've both had your fill, you lie tangled together in the dark, the sheets twisted somewhere around your ankles. The window is still open, and the night air carries in a faint breeze that mixes with the warmth still radiating between your bodies.

Your head rests against her chest, rising and falling with her breathing as it slowly steadies beneath you, the frantic rhythm from earlier settling into something slow and even. Her fingers trace absent, lazy patterns along your bare shoulder, unhurried, as though she has no intention of moving from this exact position for the rest of the night.

You listen to her heartbeat gradually return to normal, counting it without meaning to, matching your own breathing to its tempo until you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.

You know this will probably change everything. Being this vulnerable with someone always does. There’s no version of tonight that doesn't follow you both into tomorrow, into next week, into whatever comes after. Some part of you, the careful, guarded part that has spent twenty-eight years building walls around exactly this kind of moment, already senses the shift happening quietly in the dark.

But you can't bring yourself to name it. Not yet. Not with her skin still warm beneath your cheek and her fingers still moving idly against your shoulder, like she has all the time in the world.

So you stay quiet, matching the slow rise and fall of her chest, listening to the distant sound of the cars drifting through the open window, and let yourself simply exist in the stillness for as long as it lasts.

You don't dare speak. You're too afraid that any word, however small, might shatter it.

------

You'd think that after sleeping together, introducing Alexia to your family would stop feeling like such a monumental step.

Unfortunately, the two of you are still pretending that whatever this is doesn't require a label. That night or the many, many nights that followed, none of them have apparently been enough to prompt either of you to say the thing that would make all of this significantly simpler. You exist instead in the same comfortable, wordless arrangement as before, only now it comes with the memory of her hands on your skin and the particular way she looks at you afterward, like she is quietly terrified of how much she means it.

So a label-free dinner with your entire family it is.

The whole thing is your mother's idea, which surprises nobody.

A week earlier, after receiving the phone call confirming your promotion, Alexia had stolen you away for a celebratory dinner, insisting that such an achievement deserved far more than a takeaway pizza and a bottle of supermarket wine on your couch. The evening had been perfect, just the two of you tucked into your favorite little restaurant. Alexia spending most of dinner looking impossibly proud every time you spoke about your new role, her chin resting in her hand like she was genuinely content to just sit there and watch you be happy.

Unfortunately for you, your family had no intention of letting that be the only celebration.

"We're having dinner," your mother announced over the phone in the tone that has never once in your life indicated any possibility of negotiation.

"Mama…"

"No arguments."

"I already celebrated."

"You celebrated with Alexia."

"…Yes."

"Now you're celebrating with us."

You had assumed that settled the matter. It hadn't.

"And Alexia is coming too."

You blinked. "What?"

"She's important to you, isn't she?"

"Well… yes, but-"

"Then she should be there."

You had tried explaining that introducing someone you'd known for barely two months to your entire family over a sit-down dinner might be considered, by most reasonable people, a little intense. Your mother had remained entirely unbothered. She has always possessed a particular gift for treating your objections as though they are simply a slightly inconvenient part of the conversation that she's already decided to move past.

Which is how, exactly one week later, you find yourself standing in your apartment putting the finishing touches on the table while checking the clock for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

Alexia arrives over half an hour early.

When you pull open the door, you find her standing there balancing an enormous bouquet of flowers in one arm, a bottle of wine tucked neatly beneath the other, and a paper bag whose contents remain a complete mystery. She is wearing the dark green shirt you've told her twice looks particularly good on her, which means she chose it deliberately and will never admit it.

The sight makes you smile. But it's the expression on her face that makes you laugh. For perhaps the first time since you’ve known her, Alexia looks genuinely nervous.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers,” you tease the moment you see the bouquet.

She rolls her eyes so dramatically that you immediately feel better.

“The flowers are for your mother.”

She brushes past you before you have a chance to answer, already making herself at home in the familiar way she always does. Your apartment stopped being a place she merely visited somewhere around the fifth or sixth week. You close the door behind her and watch with quiet amusement as she walks straight into your kitchen, opens the correct cabinet on the first try, and pulls down a vase before filling it with water from the sink.

You don't even blink.

She already knows where you keep the coffee mugs, the good olive oil, the spare phone charger, and apparently the flower vases too. 

Perhaps that should concern you. Perhaps it should prompt some honest internal reflection about exactly how many evenings the two of you have spent together over the past two months, and what that quantity might suggest about the nature of whatever you're both still refusing to call what it obviously is.

Instead, you decide not to examine that thought too closely.

"Besides," she continues while carefully arranging the bouquet with slightly more concentration than flower arrangement probably requires, "I know better than to get you roses. Miss 'Roses are so cliché.'"

A laugh escapes you. “Oh really?”

She glances over her shoulder. “Really.”

You fold your arms across your chest. "Alright then, smarty pants. What flowers would you get me?"

She doesn't even pause to think.

“Sunflowers during the fall and winter because they remind you that warm weather always comes back eventually, and wildflowers in the spring and summer because you always stop to look at them even when you’re in a hurry.”

She says it so matter-of-factly, like it's simply a thing she knows, that for a moment you can only stare at her.

You hadn't realized she'd noticed that. Then again, Alexia notices everything. She always has.

The warmth that blooms across your face is impossible to hide. Without really thinking about it, you step closer, take her face gently between your hands, and press a quick kiss to her mouth that leaves her smiling before you've even fully pulled away.

"I got that one right then?" she asks, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"You got that one very right."

The satisfaction on her face lasts less than three seconds before the nerves return all at once.

"Oh." She blinks, suddenly remembering. "And I got your father a Spanish red because I looked up an old interview where he mentioned it was his favorite." She lifts the bottle with visible uncertainty. "I don't actually know if it's any good. I just bought the most expensive one the supermarket had."

"Alexia." You lightly smack her shoulder.

“What?”

“How much did you spend?”

“It was only like seventy euros…”

“Seventy??”

"I would've spent more," she adds quickly, clearly sensing she has somehow managed to argue herself into a worse position. "That was just the nicest one they had."

You stare at her in complete disbelief, opening your mouth to continue the lecture about spending too much money, but before you can, she quickly reaches for the mysterious paper bag she's been carefully protecting since she arrived.

"And this is actually for you," she says, holding it out with a grin so transparently hopeful that your mock outrage immediately begins losing ground. "Well technically it's for your brothers too." A brief pause. "But mostly you."

Curiosity gets the better of you. You peek inside.

Your entire face lights up. “No way…”

It’s from your favorite bakery. More specifically, your favorite bakery since you were six years old.

The tiny family-owned place tucked onto the corner of the street you used to walk home from school every afternoon, where the smell of fresh pastries drifted out onto the pavement long before you passed the front door.

You had taken Alexia there barely a week after meeting her, insisting she couldn't genuinely claim to be from Barcelona until she'd been inside. The visit had quickly become one of your favorite memories of the two of you. The women behind the counter had greeted you by name before you'd even spoken, then immediately abandoned all professional restraint to tell Alexia things you would have very much preferred remained private.

"She used to stand right there," one of them had laughed, pointing toward the front window. "Every afternoon, she'd press her little nose against the glass."

"You got in trouble for that?" Alexia had asked.

"Oh, constantly," the woman replied. "She left fingerprints everywhere."

"I did not."

"She totally did. But she was far too cute for us to stay angry."

You had hidden your face in your hands while the entire bakery laughed. Alexia, meanwhile, had looked positively delighted - storing every detail away with the cheerful thoroughness of someone collecting ammunition.

Rather than buying one or two things like any reasonable person, she'd insisted on ordering one of everything in the display case.

"Alexia," you'd laughed. "There are fifteen different kinds."

"I know."

"We're not going to finish all of those."

She'd simply accepted the enormous paper bag from the bewildered cashier and smiled at you. "You've had decades to figure out your favorite. Now it's my turn."

The two of you had carried the impossibly heavy bag across the street to a little park overlooking the neighborhood where you'd grown up, spending the next several hours on an old wooden bench splitting every pastry in half, ranking them with ridiculous seriousness, arguing over which deserved first place, and somehow talking until the sun had slipped entirely behind the rooftops.

Standing in your kitchen now, looking into the bag, you feel something press softly against the inside of your chest.

She remembered. Of course she remembered.

"Thank you, Ale," you say, and your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "Will you help me set these out for dessert?"

"Of course."

The two of you fall into the rhythm that has become so natural over the past two months that neither of you has to think about it anymore. You clear space on the kitchen island while Alexia opens boxes and transfers pastries onto serving plates. Somehow she always seems to know exactly what you need before you've asked for it - moving out of your way a half-second before you reach past her, handing you a dish cloth the moment you realize you need one, filling the silence between tasks with easy conversation about your plans together later in the week and a particularly baffling training exercise her coach had apparently inflicted on the squad that morning.

By the time the doorbell rings half an hour later, the nervous energy that had greeted you at the door has nearly entirely dissolved. When Alexia looks up from the counter at the sound, she actually jumps slightly, having momentarily forgotten there were even guests coming.

You disappear into the entryway and return a moment later with your parents and brothers, all of them carrying enough takeaway bags from your favorite sushi restaurant to comfortably feed twice the number of people currently standing in your kitchen. The noise level doubles within approximately four seconds of them crossing the threshold.

Alexia is already moving before anyone has fully stepped inside.

She reaches for several of the heavier bags your mother is carrying, relieving her of them with the quiet, instinctive kindness she extends to everyone, always. Your mother thanks her, but instead of simply accepting the help, she reaches up and cups Alexia’s cheek with unmistakable affection before pulling her into one of those warm, all-encompassing hugs that You watch Alexia freeze for half a second. Then you watch her melt.

When your mother finally releases her, there is a faint pinkness coloring Alexia's face that definitely wasn't there a moment ago, and she blinks once or twice as though recalibrating. Your mother simply pats her cheek with quiet satisfaction and moves past her toward the kitchen, already asking about the pastries she can see laid out on the island.

Your brothers are next.

Rather than offering anything as restrained as a handshake, Alexia greets each of them with the easy, confident clasp that turns naturally into one of those casual half-hugs athletes always seem to give each other. The whole interaction looks so unexpectedly effortless that you let out an undignified snort of laughter, earning yourself two offended looks from your brothers - though the grins beneath them suggest they're quietly impressed despite themselves.

Which leaves only one person.

You watch Alexia take the smallest, almost imperceptible breath before turning toward your father.

He's already looking at her with the warm, entirely genuine smile that has always made him seem younger than he is.

"Alexia," he says, as though the name itself is a welcome. "It's so good to finally meet you."

The emphasis on finally is accompanied by the briefest glance in your direction. You look at the ceiling.

Alexia steps forward and takes the hand he offers, her grip firm despite the nerves you know are still quietly present somewhere beneath the surface. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor."

"The honor's mine." He shakes her hand warmly, and then, because he cannot help himself, because retirement has given him nothing but time and your mother has given up trying to stop him: "I've been watching your season, you know. That Champions League match against Bayern a few weeks ago-" He shakes his head with the slow, genuine admiration of someone who has spent his entire life studying the game and still finds moments in it that surprise him. "Holy smokes."

Alexia blinks. Her brain visibly short-circuits.

Your father, blissfully unaware that he’s currently making one of the best players in the world look completely starstruck, continues without missing a beat.

“The movement before your opening goal was exceptional. Everyone will talk about the finish because that's what ends up in highlight reels. But your positioning thirty seconds earlier-" He gestures animatedly, clearly replaying it in precise detail somewhere behind his eyes. "You'd already won that battle before the ball ever reached your feet. That's the kind of thing most people watching will never notice."

He stops. Looks at Alexia. Then at the rest of the family, who are all watching him with varying degrees of patient amusement.

The sheepish smile arrives right on schedule. "I've started talking football, haven't I."

“A little,” your mother says dryly from somewhere behind a glass of water.

He laughs. “We'll save the rest for after dinner before everyone revolts.”

Alexia finally finds her voice again. “I’d… I’d really like that.”

There is something in the quiet sincerity of it that makes your father smile all over again, differently this time, like he's just confirmed something he already suspected. He doesn't look at you when he smiles. He doesn't need to.

Dinner begins the way every family dinner always has, with complete and utter chaos.

The moment everyone sits down, every plan dissolves into six people reaching across one another for chopsticks, containers opened simultaneously from four different directions, platters nudged around the table while someone loudly insists you simply have to try the one they've just put directly in front of themselves. Soy sauce travels in three directions at once. Someone steals food from someone else's plate before they've finished what's in front of them. Your brothers begin arguing over the last piece of tempura before either of them has actually finished what is already sitting in front of them. Your mother keeps quietly rolling her eyes as though this exact scene has been repeating itself for decades.

It is loud and completely unorganized and it feels, as it always has, like home.

Alexia slots into the middle of it as though she has been having dinner with your family for years rather than minutes.

She never dominates the conversation, but she never disappears into the background of it either. She laughs when one of your brothers says something ridiculous, which is often enough to keep her consistently entertained. She tells stories when the table turns naturally toward her, and she listens with such unhurried, genuine interest when someone else is speaking that it becomes impossible to imagine her sitting anywhere else. 

Papa loves her immediately, you can see it happening in real time, which does absolutely nothing to help the sensation quietly expanding in the center of your chest.

Watching her fit this effortlessly into your world does something strange to you.

It feels right. Entirely, uncomplicatedly right, in a way that you have no framework for because nothing in your life has ever made you feel quite like this.

Which is precisely when your brothers decide to intervene.

“So,” the eldest begins, wearing the particular expression that has always signaled trouble for you.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Alexia looks between the two of you with amused interest. “What?”

“You know how she likes pretending she’s always been sophisticated?”

“I do not pretend!”

“Umm yes you do.”

Before you have any opportunity to mount a defense, the two of them launch into an enthusiastic joint retrospective of every humiliating story they can think of from the last twenty-eight years. The tree you had insisted you could climb despite all available evidence. The school play where you had confidently improvised an entirely new ending after forgetting your lines and then refused, for years afterward, to acknowledge this had happened. The spectacularly misguided attempt to impress a boy by riding your bicycle with no hands, which had ended with you sailing directly into a rose bush while the boy watched from a safe distance.

You groan louder with every story. Alexia is laughing so hard that tears begin gathering in the corners of her eyes, the kind of real, helpless laughter that she can't manage to keep quiet no matter how many apologetic looks she attempts to send in your direction between each new revelation. 

Eventually the conversation drifts, as good conversations always do, finding its own natural current. Your mother turns toward Alexia with the same thoughtful, unhurried curiosity she has carried all evening.

"Tell me about your foundation," she says simply.

The transformation is immediate. Alexia's entire face changes.

You have seen that expression countless times before, usually sitting across from her at your kitchen table long after midnight while she excitedly sketched ideas across legal pads.

She speaks about the programs already running in Spain, then about the expansion into Mexico and Colombia and the different challenges each location had presented. She talks about what they're building toward next - the Dominican Republic, the partnerships she hopes to establish there, the specific communities she wants to reach and why. Her voice becomes more animated as she goes, her hands moving with the slightly unselfconscious expressiveness that only appears when she's talking about something she genuinely loves.

Your mother asks thoughtful questions, having her own experience with your father’s charity work. Alexia answers every one of them with unmistakable passion.

You find yourself smiling before you even realize you’re doing it.

This has always been your favorite part of her world.

Football itself has never really captured your attention, and Alexia knows that better than most. While she occasionally tells you about training sessions or particularly funny moments in the dressing room, the conversations the two of you return to most often are the ones that exist beyond the pitch. She tells you about the leadership challenges that come with captaining a team full of different personalities, about mentoring younger players who are experiencing the same pressures she once faced herself, and, more than anything else, about her foundation.

That is where her heart lives.

Over the past two months, the two of you have spent countless evenings sitting across from one another while she talked through ideas that she admitted she hadn’t shared with anyone else yet. She trusted you with the dreams she was almost afraid to say out loud, the frustrations that came with trying to grow something meaningful, and the quiet fears that accompanied every ambitious decision she made. 

She brought you spreadsheets and funding proposals and expansion plans and asked you to find every flaw in them, which you did, ruthlessly and with genuine excitement, because making her ideas structurally stronger felt like the most useful thing you could possibly offer her. More than once you had disappeared so completelyinto an explanation of international liability frameworks or nonprofit governance structures that you'd only surfaced again when Alexia reached across the table and took your hand, watching you with a quiet smile that meant she'd been listening to every word.

You always make it better, she'd said once while lifting your hand briefly to her lips.

Now, watching her speak so passionately across your kitchen table, you can’t help feeling proud. You know how much of herself she has poured into every word she’s saying.

Without realizing it, your smile has softened into something your family has almost certainly never seen before.

Across the table, your father notices.

When your eyes meet his, he doesn't say anything. He simply raises one eyebrow and allows the smallest, most insufferably knowing smile to appear at the corner of his mouth before returning his attention to Alexia.

You look away immediately.

Unfortunately, you're fairly certain he already has everything he needs.

------

A few weeks later, you’re somehow still trapped in the strange limbo the two of you have created together.

You’re definitely not friends.

Friends don’t spend four or five nights a week together until one of you inevitably falls asleep in the other’s bed. Friends don’t become the first person the other calls after a good day, a terrible day, or anything remotely interesting in between. Friends don’t know the code to one another’s homes, keep spare toothbrushes in each other’s bathrooms, or casually wander into the kitchen to make breakfast while the other is still asleep.

Friends definitely don’t end most evenings the way you two do.

But girlfriends…

Girlfriends talk about what they are. Girlfriends ask difficult questions. Girlfriends define things, give them names, build something deliberate and acknowledged.

The two of you have somehow managed to skip that part entirely.

Neither of you seems willing to be the first to disturb whatever fragile balance you’ve accidentally built together. You spend so much time convincing yourself that asking the question might ruin everything that you never actually ask it. Some part of you is genuinely terrified that naming it will make it real enough to lose, that the conversation will introduce a pressure neither of you knows how to hold, and that one honest sentence spoken at the wrong moment might undo months of something you have no adequate word for.

Alexia carries a different fear. As far as she knows, your one unwavering rule still exists. She has heard you say it more than once, watched you wrestle with it the night you met, listened to you repeat it with complete sincerity even as everything between you quietly became something your rule was never designed to accommodate. And even now, even after everything, she assumes that some part of you still believes this can't possibly be permanent. That the woman who spent her entire adult life swearing off footballers couldn't really have meant to end up here, in this life, tangled up in hers.

So she doesn't ask either.

The result is an oddly peaceful sort of misery.

When you’re together, it never matters. The uncertainty seems to evaporate the moment one of you walks through the other’s front door, replaced by laughter, easy conversation, shared meals, and the quiet domestic routines you’ve established in only a few months.

It's when you're apart that the uncertainty begins creeping back in - arriving in the small hesitations, the half-second pauses before sending a message, the questions you begin composing in your head and then talk yourself out of before you've finished forming them.

You'll finish work and instinctively reach for your phone before wondering whether texting her too fast makes you seem too attached. She'll finish training and spend twenty minutes debating whether calling you would be interrupting your evening. Neither of you ever actually stops. But the hesitation is there, and it's growing.

Tonight feels different from the moment Alexia arrives.

At first you assume she's just tired after training - the season is deep into its most demanding stretch and you've learned to read the particular kind of exhaustion that lives in her body after hard weeks on the pitch. But as the evening stretches on, the feeling becomes impossible to explain away. She keeps drifting away halfway through her own sentences before catching herself several seconds later, her eyes going somewhere else for a moment, then returning to the room with a blink and a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. More than once you notice her staring blankly at the television without appearing to register what's happening on the screen. Every few minutes she wipes her palms against her sweatpants before folding her hands together again, only to pull them apart seconds later.

Something is bothering her. You just can't figure out what.

The two of you are sprawled across opposite ends of your couch, halfway through another episode of the crime drama you’ve become hopelessly addicted to together. Your legs are comfortably intertwined across the cushions, while Alexia absentmindedly massages the sole of one of your feet with slow, practiced movements.

She started doing it a few weeks ago after noticing you wince while taking off a pair of heels following a long networking event. Apparently she’d decided your sore feet were now her responsibility.

Usually, she’d be talking over half the episode. She has an endless supply of commentary about every character, confidently predicting plot twists that somehow always turn out to be correct while teasing you for inevitably believing the wrong suspects every single week.

Tonight there is nothing. The television plays on. Alexia just stares at the screen.

Eventually, you can’t ignore it any longer.

You reach for the remote and pause the episode mid-scene. The sudden silence seems to pull Alexia back into the room, though only physically. Her eyes remain fixed on the frozen television screen for another second before finally drifting toward you.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly, your voice carrying more concern than you’d intended. “What’s going on?”

She blinks, almost as though she’d forgotten you were watching her too.

“It’s nothing…” she says with a small, unconvincing smile. “I’m okay. You can press play.”

You don’t move, you just continue looking at her.

The stubborn silence stretches between you, until she finally lets out a quiet breath through her nose and drops her gaze into her lap.

“I just…” she begins, only for the words to dissolve before they ever really arrive.

The silence that follows is unlike the comfortable ones the two of you usually share. It feels heavier, full of thoughts she’s clearly been carrying around for hours, maybe even days, without quite finding the courage to say them aloud.

You don’t rush her. You just wait, watching as she wipes her damp palms against her sweatpants again before intertwining her fingers together, only to pull them apart again a few seconds later. The nervous habit is so unlike her that it sends a quiet knot twisting through your stomach.

“I just wanted to ask you something.”

The uncertainty in her voice is enough to make your chest tighten. “What is it?”

She lets out a slow breath through her nose, her eyes fixed on the coffee table rather than on you. It’s obvious she’s rehearsed this conversation over and over again in her head, searching for the right words, only to discover there probably aren’t any.

“Well…” she says eventually, still avoiding your gaze. “You know we’ve got a really big match on Saturday.” You nod. “Against Madrid. At Camp Nou.”

“Yes, I know.”

For a brief moment you think she’s about to ask you something football-related, maybe whether you’d seen the funny tweet she’d sent you or whether you’d seen one of the interviews promoting the match.

Instead, she quietly asks, “I was wondering if… maybe you’d want to come.”

The words hang between you.

Before you have the chance to respond, she keeps going, speaking a little faster now, as though she’s afraid that if she stops she’ll lose the nerve to finish.

“It’s just…” She shrugs helplessly. “It’s a really important match for me, and… I don’t know…” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I just thought it’d be nice if you were there.”

Only then does she finally lift her eyes to yours.

“You could sit with Alba and the rest of my family.”

The smile she offers you is careful. Small and hopeful in a way that is too painful to look at.

“Ale…” The single word is enough. You watch her shoulders sink before you’ve even managed to finish the sentence.

“I’m just…” you hate yourself for hesitating. “I’m not sure.”

The disappointment crosses her face before she has a chance to hide it. She quickly smooths it away, but you’ve learned her expressions far too well over the last few months to miss it. 

She turns back toward the paused television, blinking once before giving a tiny nod.

“No,” she says quietly. “It’s okay. I get it.” 

The words are calm. Almost too calm. You can hear the effort it takes for her to make them sound that way.

You reach across the couch for her hand. Your fingers close gently around hers, your thumb slowly brushing across her knuckles until, after a moment’s hesitation, she allows your fingers to lace together.

“Alexia…” She doesn’t look at you. “Please… you have to understand where I’m coming from.”

“I know.”

“No.” Your voice is softer than before. “I don't think you do.”

That finally makes her turn her head.

The hurt in her eyes is so open, so completely unguarded, that it nearly steals the rest of your sentence before you’ve had the chance to say it.

You look down at your joined hands instead.

“Football…” you begin quietly, struggling to explain something you've spent your entire life trying to make sense of yourself, and trying not to make it sound like an accusation against the thing she has devoted her entire life to. “Football has taken so much from me that I honestly don’t know how to separate it anymore.”

Your thumb continues tracing subconscious circles across the back of her hand.

“I spent my childhood measuring my life around fixtures and transfer windows and press conferences. Birthdays got moved because of matches. Vacations got interrupted because somebody wanted to negotiate a contract. Every time I heard the front door open, some part of me wondered if Papa was actually home for the evening or if he’d just forgotten something before leaving again.”

You swallow.

“And every time I hear sixty thousand people cheering inside a stadium…” Your voice becomes almost painfully quiet. “…some part of me is still that little girl sitting in the stands wondering why football always seemed to need him more than I did.”

The words settle heavily between you.

“I know that isn’t fair to you.”

“It isn’t,” she whispers. 

You squeeze her hand a little tighter. “I wish it weren’t true.”

She finally meets your eyes again.

“But sitting through ninety minutes…” You shake your head helplessly. “I think I’d be miserable, Ale. Not because it’s you.” Your voice grows more certain. “Never because it’s you.”

She says nothing.

“I’ll celebrate with you afterward.”  She doesn’t answer. “I’ll make your favorite dinner. Win or lose.”

Her expression doesn’t change.

“You can come here after the match, tell me absolutely everything that happened, complain about the referee if you need to.” You smile weakly. “Which you definitely won’t because you’re gonna win.”

A tiny flicker appears at the corner of her mouth. Encouraged, you continue.

“And when you do, you can make me sit through every single replay of your goals while explaining exactly why everyone else’s positioning was wrong.”

For the briefest moment, something almost surfaces. Then it retreats.

“How about that?”

Alexia lowers her eyes once more. “Yeah…” The word is barely louder than a breath. “I guess so.”

She isn't agreeing because you've made her feel better. She's agreeing because she cares about you enough not to keep asking for something she already understands you can't give her. Somehow that quiet act of acceptance hurts infinitely more than an argument would have.

The atmosphere in the apartment shifts so subtly that, at first, you convince yourself you’ve imagined it.

Nothing has physically changed. The television remains paused on the same frozen frame, your legs are still tangled together on the couch, and your hands remain loosely intertwined where they have been for the last several minutes. Yet the warmth that had filled your apartment only moments ago has quietly drained away, replaced by a silence that neither of you seems to know how to navigate.

You try. God, you really try.

You tell her about the ridiculous argument currently unfolding between your brothers over where to go on vacation this year. You tell her about your mother’s latest attempt to convince your father to finally throw away sweaters he’s owned since the nineties. You even dramatically reenact a particularly insufferable interaction with one of the partners at work that would normally have Alexia laughing before you’d reached the punchline.

Tonight she smiles when she’s supposed to smile. She nods at exactly the right moments. She even lets out one or two polite little laughs that sound more like habit than genuine reactions. But her heart never quite finds its way back into the room.

You can feel it. She is sitting beside you and still is not entirely there.

Nearly ten minutes pass like that before she suddenly stretches, the movement slightly too deliberate.

"Well…" She rises slowly from the couch. "It's getting kind of late." Your stomach drops before she's even finished the sentence. "I should probably head home."

“Ale…” She keeps her eyes fixed on the arm of the couch as she reaches for her jacket. “Please.”

Your own voice has grown quieter without meaning to. “Can we just talk about this?”

I'm not upset."

"You are."

"I'm really not."

A short, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. "Okay." You rub a hand across your face. "Then you're disappointed." She doesn't answer. "And honestly that's worse."

For the first time since standing up, Alexia goes completely still. Her back remains partly turned toward you.

“I can’t help how I feel.” The sentence is spoken so simply that it strips away every carefully constructed argument you’d been preparing in your head.

“I know,” you answer quickly, taking a few steps toward her. “I know that.”

Your own emotions are beginning to rise now despite every effort you’ve made to stay calm.

“But I can’t help how I feel either.”

She closes her eyes for the briefest moment, drawing in one slow, measured breath as though she’s trying to gather enough composure to get through the next few minutes without falling apart. When she opens them again, there is a quiet resignation behind them that hadn’t been there before, and without another word she finishes pulling on her jacket, smoothing the sleeves with hands that still haven’t completely stopped trembling.

“Alexia…”

Your voice catches just enough that both of you hear it.

She freezes. Her hand rests on the zipper of her jacket, her back still partly turned, but she doesn't take another step toward the door.

For several long seconds, neither of you speaks.

The silence fills the apartment with everything the two of you have been carefully avoiding for weeks. Every unasked question, every conversation that got close and then swerved, every moment you both chose the comfort of not knowing over the risk of finding out.

Then, without turning around, she asks so quietly that you almost don’t hear it.

“What the hell are we even doing?”

The words hit you with enough force that your stomach drops straight through the floor. “What…?”

She turns to face you.

There are tears shimmering in her eyes now, making the hazel seem impossibly bright beneath the warm light of your apartment. She blinks rapidly, refusing to let them fall, and in that effort you see the full cost of how carefully she has been holding herself together all evening.

You have seen Alexia exhausted. You have seen her frustrated after difficult days. You have never seen her look this uncertain.

“I’m just…” A small, broken laugh escapes her. She shakes her head at herself, exasperated. Then the laugh fades. “I’m confused all the time.”

The words come more freely now, as though the first crack was the only thing that needed to give way.

Your chest tightens so sharply it hurts. “Alexia…”

“You say we’re not together.”

“I never said-”

“You won’t come to my biggest match.”

“It’s not about-”

"But then…" She gestures helplessly between the two of you, her eyes searching your face as though she's hoping you'll offer her something she can hold onto. "Then you look at me the way you do. You kiss me. You hold my hand. You introduced me to your family." Her voice drops, just slightly. “And every single time I think… okay maybe I finally understand what this is,” She stops, swallowing hard. “…something happens that makes me realize maybe I don’t.”

The room feels impossibly small. You step toward her instinctively. “Of course I care about you.”

She doesn’t answer.

“Alexia…” You shake your head, your own frustration beginning to mix with panic. “Me not going to one football match doesn’t suddenly mean I don’t care about you. That’s not fair.”

“It isn’t even about the stupid match,” she mutters with exasperation.

She shakes her head, stopping herself from saying more. She takes another slow breath before forcing herself to look back at you. “I should go.”

“Ale, please!” 

You reach for her hand automatically. She lets you take it, doesn’t pull away. But for the first time since you’ve known her she doesn’t squeeze back. The absence of that tiny, familiar gesture somehow hurts more than if she had walked away entirely.

“We should talk about this!”

Alexia’s expression softens in a way that only makes everything hurt even more.

“I know.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, stripped of all the certainty that usually defines her.

“It’s just…” She glances toward the clock hanging above your kitchen, as if time itself has suddenly become the villain in this conversation. “It’s late.”

Neither of you acknowledges how pathetic that excuse sounds. You both know that if this were really just about the time, neither of you would sleep anyway.

“And I’ve got a huge match this weekend.”

The sentence lands between you with devastating finality.

Football. Always football.

It has been woven through every important moment of your life for as long as you can remember, demanding sacrifices before you were old enough to understand why they were necessary. 

You had spent years convincing yourself that you had finally escaped it. Then you met Alexia.

She takes a slow, careful breath, forcing herself to keep moving before she changes her mind. “Maybe…” she says quietly. The word catches somewhere in her throat. “Maybe we can hang out on Sunday.”

She tries to smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“We’ll talk then. Okay?”

Something inside your chest quietly gives way. It’s a slow, painful collapse, like the final support beam giving out beneath a building that had already been cracking for far too long.

Because all you hear isn’t Sunday. All you hear is after football.

Again football comes first. Football decides when difficult conversations happen. Football decides when she has to leave. Football standing between you and the woman in front of you, who looks as heartbroken as you feel, because football has decided that tonight isn't the night either of you gets to fix this.

Rationally, you know that isn't what's happening. Alexia isn't choosing football over you. She has a squad depending on her, a stadium that will be full on Saturday, responsibilities that existed long before you did and will exist long after this conversation. You know all of that.

But grief isn't rational. And the frightened little girl who still lives somewhere in your chest - the one who learned too young not to ask if Papa was coming home because the answer always depended on a fixture - doesn't understand Champions League schedules. She only knows that once again, football is asking someone she loves to walk away from her.

And once again, it wins.

Your throat tightens until speaking feels impossible. You force yourself to smile anyway.

“Yeah…” The word comes out small, almost childlike. “Okay.”

Alexia studies your face for a long moment, like she’s trying to memorize it. Then she steps forward one last time.

She cups your cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes you on the spot before leaning in to press the gentlest kiss against your skin. It lingers for only a heartbeat, carrying everything neither of you has managed to say tonight, before she slowly lets her hand fall away.

“I’ll call you,” she whispers.

You nod, because you no longer trust your voice to carry anything worth saying.

She offers you one final smile before she turns.

You watch her cross your apartment. Watch her reach for the handle. Watch her hesitate for the smallest fraction of a second, it's like some part of her is silently begging you to stop her, to change your mind, to stop being stubborn. 

You don’t.

The door closes behind her with a quiet click that seems far too small a sound for the size of what it leaves behind. Silence rushes in immediately, filling every corner of the apartment, and you stand perfectly still in the middle of it, staring at the closed door, willing it to open.

It doesn’t.

The apartment feels enormous without her in it. Too quiet. The couch still holds the impression of where she was sitting. Her half-empty glass of water remains on the coffee table beside yours.

Your chest begins to ache with an almost physical weight as every memory crashes into you at once. Sitting alone in school auditoriums while someone else's father occupied the seat beside your mother. Standing at the front window because Papa had promised he'd be home for dinner. Learning, somewhere between Munich and Manchester, to stop hoping out loud because hope was just disappointment with better timing.

You had promised yourself, in the quiet determined way of someone who has been hurt enough to mean it, that football would never again have the power to take someone you loved away from you. You had built your life around that promise. You made it your only rule. You held it for years without wavering.

You were so careful. So unbelievably careful. And somehow football had found you anyway.

Your knees finally give out beneath you.

You slide helplessly down the wall until you're sitting on the kitchen floor, back pressed against the cabinet doors, hands trembling in your lap while you stare at the front door through blurred vision and try to convince yourself you're overreacting.

Then the first sob tears itself out of your chest. It is harsh and completely uncontrollable.

Another follows before you’ve recovered from the first, then another after that, until your entire body folds in on itself and you wrap your arms tightly around your knees, crying with the kind of grief that has been building for years rather than hours.

You should have stuck with your fucking rule.

------

Author's Note: Heyyyy so I'm sorry about the angst there at the end... but so many happy moments before that right 😅 And more happy moments to come, I promise :) I love you guys so much and am so grateful for all the love this story has received!

[marchaprilmaybe]

put you on the altar | lucy bronze x ona batlle | i.

Lucy wants to give up control, and Ona is more than happy to oblige her.

Content warnings - discussion of dom/sub dynamics, discussion of explicit sexual activity

18+, 5k words

Read on ao3 here

When Lucy finally calls Ona, she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa, her back against the lower cushions. Her hair is still damp from the shower, pushed behind her ears in uneven sections that are annoying her, and she’s wearing a t-shirt that’s stretched at the neck where she’s pulled it over her head one too many times. If it were anyone else, she’d be embarrassed, but she knows Ona doesn’t care.

Her flat smells of the remnants of a risotto Lucy heated up three hours ago and forgot to finish, and she’s not best pleased about it. She’s lit a candle in the hopes that the smell will dissipate, but has had no luck yet. The kitchen light is switched off and the living room is lit only by the blue-white wash of her laptop screen balanced on a stack of books on the coffee table.

Ona's face fills the vast majority of the screen, the bedroom of her flat in Barcelona visible behind her. The white shutters are closed and there’s a half-empty glass of water on the bedside table, the edge of a book face-down on the duvet. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, baggy enough to show the ridge of her collarbone and the strap of a vest underneath. She holds the phone close, her elbow propped on a pillow, the angle slightly upward so Lucy can see the underside of her jaw and the way her mouth moves when she speaks.

"—and then Nat just stands there," Lucy says, her hands cutting the air in front of her chest, "looking at me like I've apparently got the answer written on my forehead. Like I'm supposed to know what’s going on in her head and come up with a solution in the middle of the match. And it wasn’t even a difficult match, we were playing West Ham, fucking West Ham, Ona."

"Mm." Ona's eyes track Lucy's hands as she shifts on the bed, the pillow compressing under her elbow.

"After the match, I told her she needs to be more proactive. I said, 'ask Sonia', that's what she’s there for. But she just— she kind of waited, like she wanted me to say something first so she could just do that instead."

"And did you say something?"

Lucy's jaw tightens and she pulls at a loose thread on the seam of her joggers. “Well, yeah."

Ona makes a sound in her throat, not quite a laugh. The corner of her mouth lifts. "So you told her to ask the manager, and then you told the manager's answer for her."

"I didn't—" Lucy stops. Her thumb presses into the thread until it snaps and then she drops her hand to her knee. "It's not like that, it's not that I want to. It's that nobody else will, and someone has to so it ends up being me."

The screen catches the tension in Lucy's shoulders, the way they've crept up toward her ears. Ona watches this, her own face still and non-judgemental.

"But it’s literally every day, love, every training session," Lucy continues, quieter now, “every time something needs deciding. They all just turn and look at me like it’s an instinct. Even Erin, and Erin’s been at Chelsea so much longer than I have. She'll say, 'What do you think, Luce?' and I’m like, I don't know, Ez, what do you think? But I can't say that because then nobody thinks anything and we just stand around."

"You could try saying it."

"I have tried. It doesn't— it’s like they don't hear it as a real answer. They hear it as me testing them, like I'm checking if they've got it, and if they don't say the right thing I'll override them anyway."

Ona tilts her head. The pillow shifts under her elbow. "Would you? Override them?"

Lucy's mouth opens for a second and then closes almost immediately again. She looks at the screen, at Ona's face, at the slightly upward angle that makes Ona's eyes seem larger than they are, darker. Ona knows what the silence means.

"Maybe sometimes," Lucy says.

Ona nods once, but she doesn't push. Her thumb traces the edge of her phone case, a slow back-and-forth and the silence stretches, but it’s comfortable. She watches Lucy push back the strands of hair around her face as she pulls together the words she seems so desperate to get out.

"It's not even just the football," Lucy says, and Ona starts to think that there might be something more than just annoyance at her teammates behind this rant,"it's everything. They’ll be like 'where are you eating, Luce? Is it good? Should I have that?' And then in the physio room they’ll be like, 'should I ice it or heat it, Luce?' And I genuinely don’t know or care about the answer half the time, but they want me to pick, and if I pick, they're happy, and if I don't, they're lost, and either way I'm the one stuck with it."

"You’ve always been like that, cariño,” Ona says, remembering how the same thing used to happen when Lucy was with her at Barcelona. She just seemed to have a pull about her that made people gravitate towards unconsciously and trust her without thinking.

"Yeah." Lucy leans her head back against the sofa cushion. The tendons in her neck stand out as she stares at the ceiling, then back at the screen. "That's the problem, isn't it."

Ona's face shifts on the screen as she moves the phone, settling deeper into the pillow, and the angle changes so Lucy can see more of the room behind her. She can just about see the corner of a framed photograph that she can't make out from this distance but knows is one of them, taken in Cuba when they went the other summer, Lucy's arm around Ona's shoulder, Ona's hand flat on Lucy's stomach.

"You know what you need?" Ona says, and her voice has that particular cadence that’s light, almost throwaway, “you need someone to take all those thoughts out of your head."

Lucy's eyes find the screen. Her mouth curves into not quite a smile. "Is that right?"

"Mm. Just… pull them out. One by one and leave nothing in there."

"And how would that work, darlin’?"

Ona shrugs, a single-shoulder lift that makes her collarbone disappear and reappear inside the stretched collar of the sweatshirt. "You'd stop deciding things for a bit. Someone else decides."

Lucy is quiet. Her hand rests on her knee, fingers still. The damp ends of her hair drip once against her shoulder, a dark spot spreading on the grey fabric.

"It's not that simple though is it," Lucy says, but the words come out slower, lower, as if she's testing each one before releasing it.

"It could be."

Lucy's breathing is audible through the laptop mic, a shallow rhythm, and Ona thinks that she must know where this is going, must be able to sense it.

"I'd like—" Lucy starts, then stops. She picks at the snapped thread on her joggers again as she tries to put her thoughts into words. "Sometimes I'd like to just... not. Not be the one. Not have to think about what everyone needs, you know…"

She trails off. On the screen, Ona's expression doesn't change, but her eyes narrow a little, as though she’s trying to gauge a response.

"You want to give it up," Ona says, and it’s not phrased as a question but more as an answer.

Lucy's chest rises once, holds, and falls. She looks at Ona through the screen, at the dark eyes, the upward angle of the phone, the way the sweatshirt has slipped further off one shoulder, exposing the ridge of muscle along it. Lucy's tongue touches her lower lip briefly before she responds again.

"Yeah," she says. Barely a sound. "That."

Ona shifts on the bed, sinking further into the pillows. Her face comes closer to the camera, filling more of the frame, and Lucy can see the texture of her skin, the faint line where she'd furrowed her brow earlier, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"You know," Ona says, and her voice is definitely different now, Lucy recognises it from specific moments; hotel rooms after away matches when she played for Barça, the back of Ona's car in a quiet car park once, a Sunday morning in Lucy's bed when neither of them had to get up early and the sheets were still warm. "Next time I see you…"

Lucy waits. Her fingers have gone still on her knee.

"I could take it all off you," Ona continues. She speaks slowly, as though she doesn’t want to scare Lucy off. "All the deciding and the thinking. You wouldn't have to do anything except what I tell you."

The laptop fan hums. Lucy swallows. On the screen, Ona watches and realises that Lucy wants this too, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

"But we don't usually—" Lucy starts.

"I know."

"It's usually—"

"I know how it's usually been, but it doesn’t have to be like that all the time. Sometimes I think it would be good for you to give up control a little.”

This brings another weighted silence and Lucy's hand moves from her knee to the hem of her training top, fingers curling into the fabric. She flattens it down over her stomach, a gesture that looks unconscious but really isn’t. It’s what she does on the pitch when she’s nervous.

“What do you mean by that?” Lucy asks, becoming surer of the answer second by second, but wanting Ona to be clear nevertheless.

“Well, you have to be in control on the pitch, it’s part of what makes you such a good player, but sometimes I think you translate that to all aspects of your life and it stresses you out.”

“Like which aspects of my life?” Her eyebrows raise as though she’s making a joke, but her cheeks are flushed and the back of her neck feels hot suddenly.

“I’m talking about us, mi vida, and don’t get me wrong I love it when you take control. But sometimes I think it would be good for me to give and for you to take.”

"You want to—" Lucy's voice catches. She clears her throat. "Am I hallucinating, or are you angling to strap me?"

Ona doesn't answer immediately. She lets the words sit in the air between them, and her thumb still traces the edge of her phone case, back and forth, back and forth.

“You aren’t hallucinating, and I think," Ona says, "you'd like that."

Lucy's breath comes short. She can feel her own pulse in her throat, the heavy thud of it, and she's aware of the absurdity of this, sitting on her living room floor in joggers, hair dripping, a half-eaten risotto in the kitchen, and her body responding as if Ona's hand is already on her. She shifts where she sits, the fabric of her joggers pulling against her, and the movement is small but Ona sees it anyway.

"It's been a while," Lucy says. Her voice is rough.

"Since I have. Yeah." Ona's fingers stop their tracing. She holds the phone with both hands now, the frame steady, her face centered. "You liked it, though. Last time."

It isn't a question, Lucy knows it isn't a question. She remembers the last time, it had happened in some hotel while they were on holiday. She remembers the way Ona had stood behind her in the bathroom with the harness adjusted low on her hips, one hand between Lucy's shoulder blades pressing her forward over the sink, the other guiding herself in.

Lucy had come with her forehead against the mirror, her breath fogging the glass, Ona's teeth on the back of her neck, and the sound she'd made was not a sound she'd made before or since, something guttural and uncontrolled that came from a place she can’t reach on her own.

"Yeah," Lucy says. "I liked it."

"You came so hard you nearly cried."

Lucy closes her eyes. The laptop screen paints her face in blue-white. "Ona."

"What? You did."

"I know I did. You don't have to—"

"I'm telling you what I saw, what I felt." Ona's voice drops. "You couldn't even hold yourself up, I had to hold you up and fuck you through it."

The word lands like a hand on the back of Lucy's neck. Her eyes open. On the screen, Ona's face is close, her lips slightly parted, her eyes fixed on whatever Lucy's face is doing through the grain of the video feed. The flat is silent except for the laptop fan and Lucy's breathing, which has quickened somewhat.

"I think about it," Ona says, her mind already drifting back to the look on Lucy’s face that night. "More than you probably think I do."

"You do?"

"Sí, I think about having you like that again. On your knees, maybe. Or on your back, legs open for me."

Lucy's hand tightens on the hem of her top. She pulls the fabric down further, then lets it go. Her skin is warm and she can feel the heat across her collarbones, up the back of her neck, along the insides of her thighs where the joggers press.

"We've got the break coming up," Lucy says, and her voice sounds like someone else's, feels heavy in her mouth.

"I know." Ona shifts on the bed again. The sweatshirt rides up, and Lucy catches a glimpse of bare stomach, the line of her hip, the black edge of her underwear. Ona doesn't adjust it, she leaves it where it is. "Am I coming there or are you coming here?"

"You choose."

"I’ll come to you."

Lucy nods. On the screen, Ona watches her patiently, her face showing no sign that this is affecting her at all.

"I want—" Lucy starts. She stops and then starts again, searching for the words. "When you do it. When you're— I don't want to have to ask. For anything. I don't want to have to decide. I just want you to—"

“Make all the choices for you," Ona finishes.

"Yeah."

Ona nods. She lifts one hand from the phone and pushes her hair back from her face, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. The motion is ordinary, domestic, the kind of thing she does a hundred times a day, but her eyes stay on the screen, on Lucy, and something about her confidence when talking like this makes Lucy’s stomach clench.

"I can do that," Ona says. "We’ll go really slowly, and you won't have to think about a single thing."

Lucy's eyes close again, briefly. When they open, Ona is still there, still watching, the bedroom behind her lit in warm yellow from the lamp on the bedside table.

"I think I need it, Ona," Lucy says, and the admission comes out raw, unpolished, not the kind of thing she'd say in the light of day or in a room where someone might hear. “I think I need to not think for a while, just feel.”

Ona's jaw tightens. For the first time in the conversation, her composure fractures just slightly, a micro-movement at the corner of her mouth, a narrowing of her eyes. She breathes out through her nose, controlled, deliberate.

"You will mi vida," she says.

Lucy pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her top stretches across her back as she rests her chin on her knees and looks at the screen, and from this angle, Ona can see the vulnerability in her face. In this moment, she’s not the Lucy Bronze of the pitch, she’s just Lucy, tired and needy, and asking for something she can't give herself.

"Come to me," Lucy says. "Soon."

"I’ll come when we next have a break, cariño."

"But that’s in ten days."

"That's not so long."

"It feels too long now," Lucy pouts and Ona smiles. It's a small thing, just the corners of her mouth lifting, but it changes her whole face. She could continue teasing Lucy for a while, but she thinks that might be a bit too mean for tonight.

"Go to bed, Lucía," Ona says, her voice taking on a brusque quality, “you've got training in the morning."

"Yeah I know, I know."

"And for the next week and a bit I want you to stop deciding things that aren’t on the pitch. Even the small ones. Let someone else do it all."

Lucy's mouth curves. "You're giving me homework?"

"I'm telling you what to do." Ona's voice drops back into that register. "Starting now. Go and get into bed."

"Bossy."

"You like it."

Lucy doesn’t deny it. She says goodbye to Ona, tells her she loves her, and then closes the laptop slowly after the call disconnects. The flat goes dark, and she sits on the floor with her arms around her knees and her back against the sofa, and she can feel the echo of the conversation in her body, the warmth and heaviness, the ache of wanting something that’s so far away.

In Barcelona, Ona opens the drawer of her bedside table. Inside, beneath a couple of books and a tangle of charging cables, the harness sits folded in dark fabric. She doesn't take it out, she just looks at it and considers what she’s got herself into for a moment. A flutter of excitement shoots through her, and she presses her legs together beneath the duvet.

She closes the drawer and picks up the book from beside her bed. She reads the same paragraph three times without retaining a word before setting it back down again.

Ten days, she thinks. It’s got to be torturing Lucy, knowing what Ona has planned but not the specifics. And that’s exactly how she wants it.

⸻

And just like that two weeks of texting, and voice notes that ended with Lucy pressing her face into her pillow, come to a head when they’re finally together again. They’re in Lucy’s flat, with Ona sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a mug of tea warming both palms.

Lucy drops onto the cushion beside her, close enough that their knees touch. She's changed into a faded hoodie and black cycling shorts, her hair twisted into a messy bun that lists to one side. Rain taps the window behind the curtains and fills the silence where neither of them really knows what to say. Or, rather, neither is brave enough to say what they want to.

Ona takes a sip, lets the tea sit on her tongue and sting it slightly before she swallows. She turns the mug in her hands, thumbs tracing the rim, and decides she’ll be the brave one. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah course," Lucy says as she pulls one foot up onto the cushion and wraps her arm around her shin protectively.

Ona doesn't look at her right away. Instead, she watches the steam curl from the mug, her lips pressing together as she chooses her words carefully. "Have you thought about it? What we talked about on the phone the other week?"

She can tell Lucy’s a bit taken aback that she’s asked it so bluntly, but if she hadn’t have then they’d have been tiptoeing around it all night. Lucy's thumb rubs a slow circle against her kneecap as she formulates a response.

"Yeah," Lucy says. "I have."

Ona nods, still looking at her tea. "And?"

"Well, I’ve done some research," Lucy says, and her voice is steady, but her foot shifts against the cushion edge and betrays her. "Read some stuff. Watched some… I don't know, educational things. Not porn. Well." A breath huffs out of her nose. "I’ll be honest, some of it borderline was porn. But I tried to find proper information."

Ona can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth as she finally looks up at Lucy. "And? What did you find?"

Lucy pulls her other foot up, mirroring Ona's crossed legs. "That it's— there's a lot. There's so much, actually. Like all these different things you can do and I didn't know any of it. I felt a bit like an idiot, to be honest."

"You're not an idiot, it’s new to both of us Lucía."

"I know, I proper felt like one though," Lucy says, and picks at a loose thread on her hoodie hem, giving her hands something to do while her brain tries to figure out what to say next. "But I worked out what I think I'd want if we did it properly."

Ona’s eyebrows raise slightly, and she sets her mug on the coffee table so she can turn her whole body toward Lucy, one knee tucked under the other. She waits patiently for Lucy to keep talking, knowing this must be a difficult thing for her to talk so openly about.

Lucy doesn't start right away. She looks at the thread between her fingers, twists it, lets it go. Her jaw clenches once, the tension in her body evident in her expression.

"Okay, I definitely would want you to be in charge," she says, “I mean actually in charge. Like, you decide when I come. If I come,” she adds a little quieter, and swallows. "Like, you’d put me where you want me. Make me move around so I’m where you want me, and I stay there until you say otherwise."

Ona doesn’t let her expression change at any of Lucy’s words, she keeps it neutral. She knows that Lucy’s good at reading her, and if her face changes to indicate that she finds something strange then Lucy will suddenly want to abandon the entire thing and never speak about it again.

"Okay, sounds good," Ona says, “what else, cariño?”

"I looked a bit into bondage, but I’m not too sure how I feel about it," Lucy says, her voice dropping slightly and taking on a shy quality that Ona rarely hears. “Like, maybe I’d be okay with something simple like tying my wrists together or to the headboard. But I don’t think I’d want anything more than that before trying it. I like the idea of you being able to touch me however you want and me not being able to control it at all, though, that’s hot."

"You’re more into the lack of control than the physical side of it, maybe?"

"Yeah." Lucy's eyes flick to Ona's face, then away, “yeah, it’s the mental thing. You taking control up here." She taps her temple with two fingers. "Like, I stop thinking. I stop deciding. You do all of it, and I just let you."

Ona moves her hand from her thigh to the space between them on the sofa, her fingers resting on the cushion close enough that Lucy's knee brushes them.

"You’d have to really trust me to do that mi vida," Ona says, her voice rising a little so that Lucy has an opportunity to back out if she needs to.

"I know,” Lucy replies, then after a beat she looks Ona in the eye and says, "I trust you."

Ona holds her gaze, and the lamp behind them throws warm light across the side of her face, catching the line of her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows that appears when she's thinking hard.

"What else do you think you’d like Luce?"

Lucy's fingers still on her knee. She looks at Ona's hand on the cushion, at the chipped nude nail polish that sits there, at the way Ona's index finger is maybe an inch from her skin.

"Impact play," she says, much quieter now. "I want to try that."

Ona's head tilts. She knows what Lucy means, obviously, but she wants to know specifics, what’s really going on in her very active imagination right now. "With what?"

"Your hands." Lucy's voice is a little shakier now, as though she’s bracing herself for Ona’s judgement. "I don't want any other stuff, god, I don't know if I'd ever want that. But your hands, yeah, I think I’d like that."

"You want me to spank you."

Lucy's jaw tightens and she grimaces slightly, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. But she nods, once.

"Where?"

"Wherever you think." Lucy meets her eyes, looking sheepish. "I'm not— I'm not going to map it out for you. That's the point, you decide."

Ona leans back into the sofa. Her hand stays where it is, their fingers still not quite touching. She looks at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Lucy.

"Do you think you enjoy pain?” Ona asks, and it’s a genuine question, one that she’s wondered about the answer to for a while now. Lucy’s never told her outright, but she’s often tested out her theory, scraping her nails down Lucy’s back, her teeth on her neck, pulling her hair a little harder than perhaps necessary.

"Yeah, I like pain," Lucy says, and the sentence comes out quickly, plain and unadorned. Ona briefly thinks that she could’ve just been brave and asked this months ago, but alas she didn’t. "I have a high tolerance for it. Always have, since I was young. The physios used to comment on it, the way I'd play through things other players wouldn't. It's not that I don't feel it, I definitely do. I just —"

Lucy pauses, and something shifts in her posture, a slight forward lean, her shoulders dropping from the protective hunch she didn't seem to realise she was holding, "— I just process it differently, I think. It’s like it doesn't register the same way. And when it's— when it's in the right context, it just makes my brain go quiet for a while."

Ona reaches for her tea again and takes a sip, before she sets it back down on the coffee table. She gives herself time to consider this, and has to remind herself to calm her breathing. Something about the idea of Lucy bent over her knee, maybe over the bed, yielding herself to her, makes her heart beat faster.

"I'm good with all of that," Ona says, making sure that Lucy knows that this works both ways, “glad you told me what you think you’ll like, guapa.”

Lucy’s breath catches, only slightly, but Ona hears it anyway. As much as she’d love to run her hand up the inside of Lucy’s thigh and feel what their conversation has done to her, she needs to make sure they’re on the same page about safety first.

"Did you read about safewording?” She says, and Lucy nods thoughtfully. “So you know we need a system," Ona continues, “if I'm going to do those things to you, I need you to know you can stop it. Any time, the second you want to."

"Okay."

"I think we should stick with traffic lights." Ona holds up three fingers, folds one down. "Green means keep going. Everything's fine, I'm where I want to be." She folds another down. "Yellow means slow down. Maybe something's getting close to too much, or I need to check in, or I need to adjust something. Not stop completely, just pause and recalibrate." The last finger folds into her fist. "Red means stop. Everything stops. We're done with whatever we're doing, and we talk and make sure you’re okay."

Lucy nods. “Sounds good to me.”

"And you should say them whenever you need, but I’ll check in too before I do something new, just to see how you feel about it. I want you to tell me your colour honestly, never tell me what you think I want to hear."

"I wouldn't—"

"You might," Ona says, her voice gentle but firm, "in the moment, if you're deep in it and you want to please me. You might push past something because you think you should. So we agree now, before we start any of this, that you'll be honest. Every time I ask."

Lucy swallows visibly as she looks at Ona's closed fist that’s resting on the cushion between them. "Okay, I’ll use them properly, I promise."

"Good." Ona opens her hand, lays it flat on the cushion. Her fingers are close enough now that Lucy can feel the warmth radiating from them. "And if you can't speak, maybe if your mouth’s busy, or you're… whatever the situation is, I want you to squeeze my hand."

Lucy reaches across and she takes Ona's hand, then squeezes twice.

“Yeah, like that.”

Lucy doesn't let go afterwards, her thumb traces the ridge of Ona's knuckle, back and forth, slowly.

"What about you?" Lucy asks, “is there anything you want?”

Ona's thumb stills Lucy’s as she thinks. "I want to watch you stop thinking, bebé, I want to be the one who makes that happen. I want to feel you to let me fuck you, and I want you to take it and let yourself feel it properly.”

Lucy's grip tightens on Ona's hand, and her breathing speeds up a little.

"But we're not doing anything tonight," Ona says, decisively. She reads the flicker in Lucy's expression, the flash of disappointed want, the quick suppression of it. It’s not quick enough. "Not tonight, cariño. We've talked about it, and that's enough for now. I want to plan, need to think about what I'm going to do with you."

Lucy's shoulders drop. Whether it's relief or disappointment or both Ona isn’t sure, but the tension leaves them, and she sinks back into the sofa cushion. Her head tips against the backrest, and she stares at the ceiling.

"You're going to make me wait."

"Sí, but I’m going to make it worth waiting for, prometo." Ona lifts their joined hands and presses her lips to Lucy's knuckles sweetly. Lucy's breath stutters again even so, and her fingers tighten in Ona's grip.

"When?" She asks, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"Soon, bebé." Ona lowers their hands so she can get her tea. ”I won’t keep you waiting for long.”

She picks up her cup and takes sips. Lucy just stares at her, as though she can’t quite believe how comfortable Ona seems adopting this role. It’s difficult for her to piece together the woman sitting next to her and the woman who had been so nervous when they first met three years ago. They’re like different people, but then again she thinks this version of Ona has been here all along, and she’s just been too blind to see it.

"Come here Lucía," Ona says.

Lucy shifts on the sofa, unfolds her legs, moves until she's beside Ona with her head on Ona's shoulder. Ona's arm comes around her, pulling her close, and Lucy tucks her face into the curve of Ona's neck. Her breath is warm against Ona's skin, still unsteady, coming in slow draws that occasionally hitch.

Ona holds her. One hand rests on Lucy's hip, fingers spread across the fabric of her shorts. The other comes up to Lucy's hair, pulling her bobble out, letting the strands fall loose against her shoulders. She combs through them slowly, separating the tangles with her fingertips.

"I think we're going to be good at this," Ona says into the quiet of the room.

Lucy makes a sound against her neck, a hum that vibrates through the skin where her lips rest.

They stay like that for a while, cuddled into each other. Lucy properly calms down, her body going heavy against Ona's side, and Ona keeps stroking her hair, her fingers moving in long, slow movements.

As her hand moves, Ona thinks about the date she has planned in a few days time, at a nice little Italian place they found a couple of months ago. They’ve been meaning to go back for a while now, but haven’t found the time. She thinks about going out a little earlier than usual, how that would fit in with her plans, and smiles to herself.

[holyblonded]

OVERWORKED AND UNDERFUCKED

notes ᝰ first official blurb of the new series i guess 😛😛 (highly requested. like someone spammed my inbox asking) this is ​alexia putellas x doctor!reader btw

read more masterlist

You can feel the tension sitting heavily in your shoulders as you drowsily drive through the streets of Philadelphia. The city lights blur together slightly, your exhausted brain barely processing the familiar roads you’ve driven a thousand times before.

Medical rotations are brutal. You genuinely don’t understand how anyone thought it was acceptable to let a bunch of third-year medical students stay inside a hospital for nearly two days straight and still expect them to function like normal human beings.

But somehow, that was your reality.

You were learning and growing into the physician you want to be and apparently, that meant surviving on caffeine, vending machine snacks, and sheer determination.

You pull into the parking spot outside your apartment building, turning the car off but not immediately moving. You sit there in the heaviness of your exhaustion, hands still resting on the steering wheel as you stare blankly ahead. Your entire body aches, your eyes burn, and your brain feels like it has been turned into static.

For a moment, you debate sleeping in your car. It would probably be easier. Then you remember you have a bed… and ashower… and, hopefully, clean clothes.

“Shower, sleep. Shower, sleep. Shower, sleep,” you mumble to yourself like a mantra of encouragement. It is the only thing keeping you moving.

Eventually, you force yourself out of the car, grab your bags, and make your way upstairs. Every step feels heavier than the last.

By the time you reach your apartment door, you are practically running on autopilot.

You fumble with your keys, barely managing to get them into the lock. Except you don’t need them.

Your hand pauses and you slowly look down as the door handle moves beneath your hand opening the door making you freeze.

A thousand thoughts immediately race through your exhausted mind. You live in a relatively safe neighborhood. Mostly elderly residents who have somehow decided you are their personal physician despite the fact that you are still a medical student.

Mrs. Rodriguez from downstairs once called you because she thought her blood pressure was high and then proceeded to tell you about her grandson’s dating life for twenty minutes in attempt to set you two up. You tell her you like girls, thinking the conversation would end only for her to talk about her granddaughter.

Mr. Thompson always shovels snow from your parking spot before you can do it yourself. None of them would break into your apartment. And if someone did, surely one of them would have heard something.

Maybe you left it open. You had been rushing that morning. You barely remembered grabbing your coffee before leaving. You sigh heavily. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Either I accidentally left my door open, or I got robbed blind. Great.” You slowly push the door open, already preparing yourself for the worst.

Instead, you are immediately met with the smell of pasta and the sound of Rosalía echoing through your apartment. You pause in your door way, not expecting any of this.

Alexia is standing in your kitchen, carefully stirring pasta sauce while quietly singing along to the song playing through the speakers.

She is wearing the ridiculous apron you keep on hand that says, Kiss the Chef, and her damp hair is thrown into a messy bun. She is barefoot, wearing one of your old college shirts, and looks so unbelievably domestic that for a second your exhausted brain cannot process what you are seeing.

You just stand there, watching her and taking in her whole presence. Your eyes drift around your apartment. Alexia had your favorite candles everywhere, soft lighting, and your favorite flowers and chocolate from Barcelona sitting on the table.

Somehow, while you were drowning in hospital hallways and barely remembering what day it was, Alexia had turned your small Philadelphia apartment into something warm.

Alexia spins around at the sound of the door closing, startled. Then her expression immediately changes, a smile taking over her face. “Surprise!”

You don’t move which makes her laughs softly.

“Okay, that reaction was not what I was expecting.”

You blink slowly. “Alexia?”

“Yes, cariño?”

“What are you doing here?”

Her smile grows. “My work in New York ended earlier than expected, so I decided to come down this week instead of next week.” She sets the spoon down, walking closer to you. “I thought we could have more time together. So you have me for the next—”

She doesn’t get to finish as you drop your bags and you launch yourself into her arms.

The force of it almost makes her stumble, but she catches you immediately. “Whoa—”

She cuts herself off when she hears the heartbreaking sound of your sobs. And instantly, every bit of amusement disappears.

“Vida?” Her arms tighten around you. “What happened?”

You don’t answer, but rather cling to her.

The exhaustion, the stress, the fear, the things you had been holding in for weeks finally crashing down all at once. Your body gives out before your mind can catch up, and you slowly go limp in her arms.

Alexia’s heart drops. She immediately shifts her hold on you, guiding you toward the couch while keeping you tucked against her. “Hey, hey, I have you.”

She sits down, pulling you onto her lap. “Vida, look at me.”

Your face stays buried against her shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head.

“Did something happen?”

You answer, still nonverbal.

“Talk to me, amor.”

You only respond with louder sobs, your fingers tightening around her shirt.

Alexia’s expression softens.

She starts to understand the premise of the situation. She doesn’t know exactly what happened, but she understands that you are exhausted and that’s all she needs at the moment.

Her hand moves slowly up and down your back, rubbing soothing circles into you. “I’m here,” she whispers.

Minutes pass before you finally manage to speak. “I just had a really hard day.” Your voice breaks, and immediately you start crying again.

Luckily, it’s all Alexia needs to hear. “Oh, mi vida.” Her voice is gentle as she takes your hands in hers, bringing them to her chest.

“Listen to me, okay?” You nod weakly. “I need you to breathe with me.”

She takes a slow breath. “In.” You follow. “And out.” You release it shakily. “Again.”

She keeps her eyes on you. “Come on, together now.”

Slowly, your breathing begins to steady.

“Bona noia, una vegada més,” Alexia praises softly. [Good girl, one more time.]

Alexia knows under normals circumstances, you absolutely would have made a sexual joke and you would have teased her for that. But right now, you are too tired and she can tell as you lean into her.

Your breathing settles, but Alexia’s hand continues rubbing circles into your back. She thinks it was more for her than you, needing to feel that you are okay.

You hold onto her tighter. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Alexia immediately shakes her head. “No cal fer això, vida meva.” [There’s no need for that, my life.]

She presses a kiss to your forehead. “I will always be here.” Her voice lowers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sigh, pressing yourself closer to her. “OB/GYN rotation is known for being one of the hardest, but I didn’t know it would be hell on earth.”

Alexia listens quietly.

“I had two twenty-four-hour shifts back-to-back.”

Her eyebrows pull together. “Two?”

You nod. “I think I slept maybe three hours total.”

Her expression immediately shifts into concern. “Amor…”

“And the births are just…” Your voice wavers and you swallow harshly.

“They’re beautiful, but they’re also so traumatic sometimes.” Your grip tightens around her. “One patient—”

Your voice breaks and you immediately hide your face in the crook of her neck.

Alexia doesn’t ask you to continue, opting to just hold you.

“Lo siento, mi vida,” she whispers. She presses her cheek against your hair. “Do you want something?”

You shake your head fiercely. “No, just you.”

Alexia’s entire expression softens. She carefully shifts you both, repositioning you so she can lie back while keeping you comfortably on top of her.

She presses a slow kiss to your head. “You always have me.”

Your eyes close and allow yourself to relax for the first time in days. Allowing yourself to melt in your girlfriend’s arms.

[muffinpink02]

Distraction

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 “ 

[sweetandscarlet]

inches in between us

• tension in between us •

warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady!wanda (32), smut, fingering, dirty talk, degradation, mommy kink, fluff, basically porn with little to no plot. minors DNI.

words: 5k

wanda’s foot tapped on the floor of her car as she waited with bated breath and anticipation bubbling at the surface. she had left the house of harkness mere moments before and was sitting patiently waiting for your exit.

you didn’t even need to explain to wanda that customers and dancers fraternising was against the rules, it was something she had mulled over in her head multiple times during the last few days.

so, as you both giggled with hushed tones when leaving the booth; wanda whispered hotly in your ear that she’d park down the street and would wait for you.

you smiled at her with a nod of understanding and waltzed over to the bar, through the staff door and into the office where she knew agatha would be.

even with the cars heating switched on, wanda could see the faint breath of cold air leave her lips as she stared out of her slightly fogged up window, and finally, after a few short minutes, she saw your figure fade closer into view as you walked towards her.

wanda turned and faced the road ahead of her as the familiar feeling of butterflies swarmed in her stomach upon seeing the reflection of your face in her side-view mirror. it was a sensation she couldn’t dwell on though, as the passenger door soon opened and you quickly rushed yourself into the car to sit down.

“i’m sorry if i took so long,” you huffed out as you situated your bag in between your feet on the car floor. “i made some lie up about not feeling well and agatha insisted she should take me to the hospital so i had to talk her down and insist that i just needed to rest”

wanda chuckled at that, the sound making your heart beat spike slightly. “how cunning of you”

“such a bad girl, i know” you laughed with a scoff, turning your head to face the older woman beside you. “although, i blame you. my reputation precedes me and one night with you has that going down the drain”

wanda faux gasps at that as she turns the keys in her ignition, the sound of her car engine coming to life with a raw. “that’s slander to the maximoff name, y/n”

your eyebrows knit together in confusion as wanda’s foot steps down on the gas and the car begins to roll forward. the name conscious in your mind as familiarity teeters on the edge of your tongue.

“maximo- wait as in maximoff industries?”

wanda glances at you with a smile and then back to the road as she drives, humming a yes to you in response.

“please don’t tell me i’m in a car with the ceo of a multi-billion dollar company” you say with a sigh, embarrassment seeping in as you sink in your seat.

“not yet,” wanda replies with a wink. “my brother doesn’t want to take over the company so when my dad eventually steps down, i’ll go from chief operating officer to the big boss. i’m quite excited, if i’m being honest”

wanda glances over to your small demeanour and then back to the road. she can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips. “what’s wrong? is that a problem?”

“no, no it’s- not at all, it’s just.. are you sure you want to be seen with someone like me?”

wanda whips her head to you, her eyebrows knitting together. “what do you mean someone like you?”

“have you forgotten how we met?” you retort before signalling the redhead to focus her attention back on the road. “if anyone finds out-“

“no one will find out, y/n. plus, what does it matter?”

you subconsciously roll your eyes at the question even though you know she’s speaking the truth to some degree. “i guess you’re right, i just.. i don’t know, my job isn’t exactly the most accepted out there”

you watch as wanda moves a hand from the hand break and over to one of your jean clad thighs. you try not to focus too much on this being the first time wanda’s touched you, instead you let yourself relax under her touch.

“those people are just jealous you make more money than them, i wouldn’t let your pretty head worry too much about it”

you snigger at that, a grin creeping on your lips as your gaze stays focused on the redhead. “not as much as you apparently”

wanda turns, shooting you a playful look before squeezing gently on your thigh. “oh shush, i’m quite a humble woman”

your head faces forward as you look out onto the road that eventually fades to stone as the car bumps over every cobble. you glance around and realise you hadn’t really paid attention to the journey as trees and darkness surround the car, the only light source illuminating from the headlights and confusion quickly settles in.

“wanda.. where are we?” you ask, scepticism heavy in your voice as you speak.

wanda chuckles softly from beside you and gently removes her delicate hand from the warmth of your thigh. she settles it onto the steering wheel and continues to drive. “this is not what it looks like, i promise. my house is not far from here.. see there it is”

you squint your eyes as you focus on a building in the distance and when you inevitably drive closer, your eyes widen.

“holy shit, you live here?!”

wanda laughs as she moves closer until eventually she lifts the hand break and the car comes to a hault.

you stare in amazement at the large home in front of you. the building is modern, with large panes of glass that wrap around it and a white staircase to match the house that leads up to the front door.

“humble my ass.. i feel like i live in a shed compared to this”

wanda rolls her eyes, “behave, i’m sure you have a lovely home, y/n. now, let’s go inside, it’s a lot more warmer there”

before you can reply, wanda opens her door and steps out before swiftly rounding the front of the car and swinging open the passenger door. she reaches her hand out and you look at her for a brief moment before resting your palm on top of hers, your mind instantly swirling with the feel of soft skin against yours.

you step out with a thank you, your voice small as you duck your head.

wanda gives your hand a gentle squeeze before stepping to the side slightly. “i’ll get your bag, darling”

ᗢ

stepping inside wanda’s home has you star struck. your eyes glance around the main room that holds several sofas, a large tv and a fish tank that you joke is bigger than your apartment.

the main room connects to the kitchen where wanda is currently stood behind the marble island. you watch as she pulls out two wine glasses from the cupboard before placing them down and walking over to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of white wine.

“do you want to watch a movie?.. or a tv show maybe? i have snacks in the pantry if you’re hungry” wanda’s voice comes out more timid than intended as she pours the wine into both glasses, but when your eyes bore into her, wanda’s mind reals from the intensity and she can’t help the falter in her demeanour.

you step closer to the island until you’re facing opposite the redhead before you situate yourself on one of the bar stools. “a movie sounds good, what do you have in mind?”

wanda picks both of the glasses up and walks around the island. she places your filled glass in front of you and you watch as she takes a sip before doing the same with her own glass. your gaze never falters from wanda though as you watch her lick the aftertaste from her lips.

the older woman hums in thought, stepping slightly more into your personal bubble until her hips come into contact with the inside of your knees. “i’m partial to horror but you’re my guest so the choice is yours”

calming silence fills the room as you hold eye contact with wanda, she waits with baited breath as you contemplate for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh. “i want..”

your eyes flicker down to plump lips before returning upwards to emerald green eyes that soon fade into darkness as her pupils slowly dilate. you raise your hand slightly, your fingertips grazing over the hem of wanda’s suit jacket. “i want this off”

the redhead cocks an eyebrow at that, her eyes piercing into you like a silent challenge. wanda tilts her head slightly and steps an inch closer, letting one hand rest on the side of your waist.

“did you forget your manners when you stepped into my home?”

you roll your eyes at her question and your fingertips move to grip the hem to tug her impossibly closer to you. “no, i just-“

“you just, what?” wanda asks, the corner of her lips upturning into a cruel smirk as she watches you sink just the smallest bit into submission. “if you want something y/n, ask politely for it.. or is that too hard for you to do?”

you sink slightly into your chair as your once confident self gets chipped away little by little the more wanda’s gaze pierces your very soul and her sickly sweet voice invades your ears like a serenade. “no, no i- i’m sorry. can you please take off your jacket?”

wanda steps back slightly as a proud smile itches it’s way onto deliciously plump lips, you watch as she unhooks the two buttons that hold her suit closed and you can’t help the way your thighs clench subconsciously around her waist upon seeing the smooth white t-shirt that lays underneath.

it’s simple and basic, you know that. but, there’s something about the way the shirt is tucked into her pants suit and tightly hugs itself around her chest that makes your mind reel at the small detail.

you watch as wanda lets the jacket fall from her shoulders and down her arms before she slips out of it and places it gently over the island counter. “see? that wasn’t so difficult”

it’s embarrassingly condescending but you can’t help but love the way it makes you feel; the way it makes your insides churn with need and desperation.

you shake your head in response and raise a hand up to rest your palm against the flat of her stomach, wanda’s muscle flex at the sudden touch and you force yourself to bite back a groan.

you feel wanda’s hand trail up from your waist, her fingers grazing slightly over the side of your bra until her movements come to a halt on the cusp of your jawline. she runs her thumb delicately over the soft skin before quickly shifting her hand to grip your chin between her fingertips. “now tell me what else you want”

you gulp dryly, your hand moving to grasp her shirt tightly in your hands. a pathetic attempt to keep yourself grounded as you feel yourself throb harder between your legs at wanda’s dominance. “i want..”

“hmhm, go on..” wanda leans in until you feel her hot breath hitting your mouth and her lips ghost ever so gently against yours. “tell mommy what you want”

the sudden use of wanda’s self-titled name has you surging forward and crashing your lips together in a rough kiss. wanda groans against your mouth as she stumbles backwards slightly from the impact, her free hand falls to your thigh in a harsh grasp while her other remains on your waist.

wanda’s hands remain firm in their placement as she kisses you back, her posture straightening as she regains composure from the immediacy in your exertion. “i just- i..” your words leave your lips in a breathy whisper as you lean further into the kiss. “i want you”

wanda’s tongue licks delicately across your bottom lip and you immediately give her the entrance she so desperately desires insides of your mouth.

the kiss soon turns messy and rushed, only breaking away for a split second for the oxygen you both parlously need before delving back in to once again taste the longing flavour of wine on both of your swollen-kissed lips. hunger radiates from both of you, sweet desperation and a raging fire evident in your chests as you heave with panting breaths.

wanda pulls away first, causing a needy whine to escape you; your body subconsciously follows wanda, your mind begging you to chase after her to satiate the loss you feel when her lips leave you, even if for a moment.

the redheads’ hand moves from your thigh and up to your chest, her palm flat against your sternum that rises and falls as you try to catch your breath. “breathe, baby, breathe”

your eyes flutter open at wanda’s soft purr when she speaks, her words hot against your mouth as they leave her lips in a short beat. you stare in great awe as wanda stands there, equally short-winded and her cheeks flushed bright pink with a hint of your saliva coating her deliciously plump lips.

you utter an apology at your eagerness before breathing in deeply through your nose and exhaling as wanda holds her hand above your beating heart. the hand that was once on your hip now travels upwards to cup one of your cheeks that burns under her touch, “shall we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

wanda’s voice is raspy and low pitched as she speaks; the sound of it drives you wild and instantly makes you bob your head yes at her question.

the redhead chuckles in response before removing her hands from your body and letting one hang delicately in the air for you to take. you quickly do and before you know it wanda’s leading you down a dimly lit hallway, her shoes hitting against the hardwood floor with determination as she turns a corner, until eventually she stops briefly in front of a closed door. she swings it open and motions for you to walk ahead, you quickly obey and step over the threshold and into what you assume to be wanda’s bedroom.

when a light flickers on, your assumption lies true as your eyes land on a neatly made bed that holds two small tables by either side of it before eventually venturing around the rest of the room. you see a walk in closet, a few dressers that hold a couple of frames with people you of course don’t know before finally you eyes fall to a generously sized tv in the corner of the room.

it dawns on you quite quickly that although wanda’s home is beautifully created and constructed, what seems to lack is personality and the general feeling of a home. it makes your heart ache at the realisation, an emotion you’ve quivered to all too well when dealing with the fact of your lonely lifestyle. of course you’ve had a couple of people that cared for you; one in particular mainly being agatha, and although her kindness and compassion towards you will always resonate deeply in your heart, you still were left with a hole in your life. a sensation of nothingness that you couldn’t quite place as you grew more and more into the person you were now.

you continue to dwell on the awareness as your eyes remain on the newly discovered room of wanda’s home. but, all those emotions and thoughts are quickly snatched away when her voice rings next to your ear.

“go sit in the middle of the bed with your back facing me”

the command confuses you and wanda sees it evident in your face as you turn to face her. with a tilt of her head and a muttered, “do it”, you don’t dare to question the intentions of her orders to you; nor do you want to. which is precisely why you keep your lips sealed shut as your legs move on auto-pilot to your destination.

you clamber onto her bed, keeping your head held high and facing towards a bare white wall as you situate yourself in the middle, you shift your body until your legs rest under you in a criss cross position before placing your hands on top of your bent kneecaps.

your ears prick up to the sound of shuffling behind you and it takes everything in you to ignore your natural instinct to turn around and find out what wanda is up to. so as told, you continue to face the wall, your eyes boring into white nihility until it quickly becomes redundant and you turn your attention to your lap to mindlessly count every thread on the hem of your jeans that runs through the inside of your leg.

“you can turn around now,” wanda echoes from behind you, a sultry tone to her voice that has you whipping your head around in such a manner that it caused a giggle to escape the redheads lips. “i thought i’d slip into something more comfortable”

your lips part slightly as you stare hungrily at the older woman just a few feet away from where you sit. she had now ridden her body of the tight suit pants and her white crew top that you absolutely relished and was now adorned in a red satin nightdress and a drop shoulder belted robe to match.

“oh god..” the words left your lips in a breathy mumble as your eyes rake over wanda’s body. taking in the way her breasts sit perfectly behind the nightdress and how soft the skin of her full thighs look. “you look- i mean, it’s just.. there are no words, wanda”

a delighted smirk itches at wanda’s lips as she steps closer towards you, pride beaming from her chest at your star-struck reaction. she saunters over to you, her steps slow as she moves closer and closer until her thighs hit the side of the mattress.

the redhead begins to climb onto the bed, shifting herself until she situates herself in front of you. wanda then raises a hand, letting her thumb gently trail over your bottom lip before speaking. “let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

you nod eagerly, your hands instantly going to the button of your jeans; pulling the hem over and unbuttoning them before turning your attention to the zip. wanda smiles, reluctantly moving her hand away from where it happily resided to help you undress.

the cool air alit goosebumps over your thighs when wanda eventually pulls your pants over your ankles, freeing you from the tight confinement it held you in. the redheads hand smooth up the soft skin of your thighs, relishing in the way your skin feels under her touch for the first time.

she had fantasised of this moment multiple times after your first encounter. how you would react to her touch, how you would feel against her fingertips, how you would sound when her fingers inched their way into you slowly; savouring the way you contracted around her, sucking her into your warm cunt as you whimpered for more.

it made wanda’s head spin and her clit to throb just thinking about it. she cupped your warm cheek and leaned in to give you a chaste kiss before letting her hands reside higher up your body, wanting to remove the last item that stopped her from seeing all of you.

“is this okay?” wanda asked, her voice husky and barley above a whisper as she gently grabs ahold of the hem of your sweater with both hands. “we can stop whenever you want”

your eyes meet hers, a small smile on your face at the softness of her words. “i’m okay, but.. please don’t stop, i need you”

a hand moves to wrap around the wrist of one of wanda’s arms, pulling it away swiftly and moving it downwards to the heat that radiates from your cunt. wanda’s lips part, a low moan rumbling from her throat when the pads of her fingertips come in to contact with the damp spot on your underwear.

“touch me, please”

wanda’s fingers flex subconsciously after you speak and it takes everything in her to not rip away the lacey barrier and bury herself deep inside of you until you cum around her.

“i will, darling. but, first.. this needs to come off” wanda tugs at your sweater and before the redhead could even blink, you let go of her hand and pull the item of clothing over your head in a swift motion, eager to have her touch every part of your skin freely.

wanda tells you to lie down, in which you quickly obey; shuffling yourself backwards until your head hits the soft pillows behind you.

wanda stalks forward like predator following its prey, your heart beats wildly in your chest as you watch her draw closer to you until her body ghosts over yours and your eyes interlock once more. “such a beautiful little girl”

a hint of pink flushes itself onto your cheeks upon hearing the compliment, your brain automatically wanting to cover yourself up under her intense gaze. but, you refrain every instinct and use your left hand to cup the back of wanda’s neck, pulling her in for a hungry kiss that leaves you both breathless.

wanda rolls her hips against yours, her mind screaming at her for some sort of friction to appease her. the action causes you to whimper against wanda’s mouth, the sound quickly dying off as wanda continues to kiss you.

after a few moments, wanda ventures down to the apex of your neck, her tongue swirling against the smooth skin as she presses open mouth kisses there before gently nibbling over the wet patches she leaves.

your back arches itself into her as you weigh your head further into the pillow, giving her more access to freely work on while your hand tangles in thick auburn hair, grasping onto it like a vice.

your voice is shaky as you whimper out how good it feels, causing a smirk to tug at wanda’s lips as she continues her assault against your neck. she eventually ventures down further, her lips working over the skin of your collarbones, the mounds of your breasts before she grows impatient and unhooks your bra before tossing it somewhere where the rest of your clothes reside.

your nipples harden under the cool air, quickly turning to pebbles that wanda instantly wraps her lips around, desperate to have you in her mouth.

a throaty moan escapes you, the grasp in wanda’s hair growing increasingly harder as her tongue flicks over the hardened nub of one of your nipples. the older woman moves her right hand to squeeze the mound of your unattended breast, giving it as much attention as she can before switching to wrap her lips around it.

“momm- wanda.. please, i need you”

wanda pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop, a cocky smile evident on her lips as she laugh breathlessly. “fuck, you were so close to saying it.. you know you want to, y/n. do it and i’ll give you what you want”

your hips buck upwards at the taunt, your mind swirling with slight humiliation at her words. “god, just- please, mommy. i need you inside”

“say it again” wanda utters, shifting to move up the length of your body until her lips ghost over yours again. “i like hearing you beg.. it’s cute”

a groan leaves your lips; frustration and impatience clearly evident in your demeanour.

wanda trails her hand down from your right breast, over the valley of your stomach, and then the mound above your cunt, until eventually her fingers rest over your underwear. she taps her fingers gently against your covered folds, an easy attempt to get what she wants.

wanda lets a short chuckle when your hips buck at the contact, and just like she expected, you begged once more.

“please fuck me, mommy. please, i’m so wet for you”

wanda raises herself slightly on the arm that isn’t teasing you mercifully and rests her weight on it. your eyes flicker upwards to see a proud smirk displaying on plump lips as she hovers over you. “it’s quite amusing to see you beg, y/n.. considering how sure of yourself you were back at that club. look at you now, desperately trying to hump my hand like a little slut”

you trap your bottom lip in between pearly white teeth, not letting out the moan that’s threatening to escape upon hearing the older woman insult you like you were nothing to her. it made your stomach swirl with arousal and anticipation as you lay underneath her, waiting for her to give you what you need.

“oh my, you weren’t kidding, huh?” wanda asks with a low hum as two of her fingers pull your underwear to the side, her digits instantly coming into contact with the slick wetness that had spread across your lips. “such a messy girl”

you whimper out, your hips raising again when her fingertips glide through your sopping folds, running them up and down your slit; careful to ignore the bundle of nerves that throbbed deliciously at the first touch of her hand.

your back arches slightly when wanda halts her torturous touches and finally dips her fingers into your hole. you instantly suck her in, your warmth tightening around her as you welcome in the intrusion.

“you feel so good, darling” wanda whispers, her hot breath hitting your face as she continues to enter you inch by inch until finally, her palm flattens against your clit. “i must admit, i touched myself to the thought of this the first time we met. how you would feel around my fingers, so warm and inviting. i bet you’d take my cock just as easy”

a strangled moan rips from the back of your throat when wanda experimentally pulls out faintly, only for her to roughly thrust herself back inside, the tips of her fingers pressing against the sweet spot that lay deep inside of you. “fuck, do that again”

wanda smiles at that, repeating the action that draws out another moan from you. “hm, i knew you’d like it rough. if you’re good tonight, i might just make you my own personal little fleshlight. would you like that, slut?”

wanda’s pace picks up, her hard thrusts becoming relentless as her palm continues to press against your clit. you pant heavily against her lips, gasping out a “yes” before using the hand that stayed tangled in red hair to pull her down for a kiss, one that quickly turned hungry in nature and one that wanda happily reciprocated.

your stomach twisted and contracted the more wanda continued to fuck her fingers into you and you knew you’d be close to the edge soon; something wanda quickly picked up on when your walls pulsed and tightened around her digits.

ignoring the pride that buzzed in wanda’s chest, she doubled down on her efforts, her pace growing increasingly faster but still thrusting roughly against your g-spot.

“fuck-“ you gasped out, your eyes squeezing shut at wanda’s change in pace. delicious wet slapping sounds invaded your ears, along with your wanton moans that bounced off of every wall in the room before inevitably making its way back to you. “mommy, you’re gonna make me cum”

wanda relished in the sounds you made, the sweet noises only spurring her on even more as they burned themselves deep in the crevices of her brain. “that’s it pretty girl,” she hummed. “make a sticky mess on mommy’s hand”

your walls constricted wanda’s movements as they tightened around her fingers like a death grip. “so close, so close. i’m-“

your words died in your throat as your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave against rocks. you panted and quivered under wanda’s form, your body tensing as you came hard around her fingers.

the older woman watched in dumbfound amazement from above; adoring the way your eyebrows furrowed, the way your mouth hung open and the way her fingers struggled to keep their tempo as you entrapped yourself around them like a vice.

wanda continued her efforts of moving inside of you as she helped you through your orgasm, uttering words of encouragement and praises while your body shook and vibrated under her.

after a few moments passed, your body settled and relaxed into the mattress as you came down from your high. wanda then stilled her movements but made no indication to pull out, her mind savouring the way your walls continued to pulsate and convulse around her in avid aftershocks.

“fuck..” was all you could rasp out as your chest heaved in short and winded breaths.

“are you okay?” wanda asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke against your lips; not wanting to break the barrier of peaceful silence that settled around the both of you as you continued to catch your breath. “was that..”

a soft laugh leaves your lips as you raise a hand to rest against your sweat covered hairline. “wanda i swear to god, are you seriously going to ask if that was good after i almost broke your fingers?”

wanda chortled above you, her laugh echoing in the room at your reply. “no, no. you’re right. now.. i want you to stay there while i get us some water and then when i get back, i want to make you cum with my mouth”

“wait.. but, what about you?”

wanda smiles before pecking you on the cheek, “eager little thing, aren’t you? don’t worry, darling. we have all night”

ᗢ

part three

____

tag list: @smromanoff @karsonromanoff @illfuckingvibes

[ceesimz]

are you my soulmate?

maybe the team’s endless meddling isn’t such a bad thing after all, even if you do wake up in a bed that isn't yours with a slight hangover. (16k of chaos and confessions)

Alexia knew, objectively, that inviting nearly the entire team over to her house had been her own decision.

That did not stop her from regretting it a little now.

(Majorly. Majorly regretting it.)

“Well,” Irene murmured from beside her, sipping calmly from her bottle of beer. “At least they haven’t broken anything yet.” 

“Don’t jinx it, Irene.” 

Alexia kept her eyes on the scene playing out in her backyard, her fingers curled loosely around the neck of her own bottle. The condensation was already slicking her palm, a losing battle against the lingering heat of a Barcelona summer dusk.

Around them, the garden had settled into the easy, sprawling chaos of an end-of-season night. Music drifted from the speakers in her ceiling, a mix of reggaeton and something a little mellower (it was a barbecue after all, not an Ibiza outing). There was a rare and welcome kind of lightness to the team when the pressures of the season finally broke. 

Alexia watched them all, a passive smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was a good view. It was her home, filled with her people, at the end of a year that had taken everything out of them. She should have been relaxed.

She wasn’t.

Her gaze drifted, entirely out of her own control, toward the other end of the patio. 

You were sitting on the low stone wall, one leg tucked beneath you, laughing at something Kika had just said. You were holding a fresh beer – your third, if Alexia’s internal, irritatingly precise counter was accurate – and the fading sunlight was catching the edge of your shoulder, turning the skin there a soft, golden tone.

You looked at ease. A part of the landscape.

And you hadn't looked at Alexia once in twenty minutes.

“You're doing it again,” Irene said, her voice dropping below the volume of the music, though she didn't turn her head. She just took another slow sip of her beer, her eyes fixed forward on the patio.

Alexia’s jaw tightened. She took a deliberate drink of her own beer, the crisp bitterness doing nothing to clear the sudden, tight heat in her throat. “Doing what?”

“Staring at her like you're trying to figure out if she's a tactical problem you can solve by running harder.” Irene shifted her weight, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “It's June, Ale. The season is over. You don't have to mark her out of the game anymore.”

“I am not marking her," Alexia muttered, her voice clipped, though her ears felt suddenly warmer than the night air warranted. “I am hosting. I am ensuring my guests have everything they need.”

“Right. Of course.” Irene tapped her bottle against Alexia's with a dull clink. “That must be why you've spent the last ten minutes looking like you want to, first, physically remove Kika from her personal space, and then personally remove her clothes.”

Alexia choked.

A sudden, dramatic splash of a cough that sent the crisp liquid straight to the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, her knuckles tightening around the neck of her bottle as she tried, with every ounce of discipline possessed, to keep her features entirely flat.

“Irene,” She hissed, her voice dropping to the low and lethal register that usually meant she was scolding a teammate for mouthing off to the referee, seconds away from a yellow.

“What?” 

Irene didn’t even blink. She just took another casual sip, the glass bottle clinking softly against her teeth as she watched Patri teach Clara, who apparently had a bit of a fear of open flames, carefully flip the meat over on the grill. The younger midfielder managed two steaks before she screeched and jumped away as the juices sizzled on the coals.

“Watch your mouth,” Alexia muttered, her cheeks burning with a heat that had absolutely nothing to do with the warm Mediterranean air. She shifted her stance, deliberately turning her back slightly toward the patio to break her own line of sight. “She’s a teammate. It is completely inappropriate to say things like that. If anyone heard you–”

“Nobody is listening, Ale. Everyone is halfway into their fourth drink, except you, who has been nursing that same bottle like a sixteen-year-old at their first house party. And Patri, who I’m convinced is trying to smoke us all out with that grill.” Irene finally turned her head, fixing the captain with a calm, unimpressed look. “And let’s be honest–”

“I don’t want you to be honest.”

“–if I said that in the locker room? Half the squad would agree with me. The tension between you is thicker than Pere’s hair.”

Alexia closed her eyes for a brief second. “There is no tension, Irene.”

“There is enough tension to string a tennis racket!” Irene exclaimed with an outraged lift of her shoulders, though entirely untroubled by the stare she was receiving. “You’ve spent the last six weeks passing to her only when necessary in training because every time you get within a two-metre radius of her, you look like you’ve forgotten how to play football. You have also spent almost the whole season blushing like a love-sick teenager anytime you talk to her.”

“Oh my God, no I h–”

“It’s pathetic, really.” Irene shrugged with a sigh. “You’re the captain. Fix up and fix it.”

“There is nothing to fix!” Alexia insisted, though… her words felt hollow even to her own ears.

She knew Irene was right. At least about the physical reality of it– the blushes. She really was like a teenager with a crush. 

And in training, too. Which was fucking foolish. 

It was a strange and irritating sort of paralysis that’d settled into her bones recently. On the pitch, she could read a game three steps ahead of anyone else; a trait she’d always been proud of. She knew exactly where the space would open and exactly when to release the ball. That didn’t change during actual games, which she was glad for. 

But when you ran up beside her, when your shoulder brushed hers in the midfield or when you gave her that small breathless grin after a solid transition? Her brain simply emptied out. It was a biological design flaw.

Two ballon d’ors, maybe soon to be three, and she still went weak at the knees in training when her crush smiled at her. 

So unprofessional.

“If you say so.” Irene murmured, her tone dripping with an infuriating lack of belief. She tapped her fingers against her beer bottle. “But if you don’t do something about it before pre-season, so two whole months, I’m going to actually bang your heads together. Concussion protocol date. In bed. Low-lighting, no phone distractions…”

“My god, Irene. Two kids has sunk you beyond saving.” Alexia tutted under her breath with an eye roll.

“I haven’t slept in two days, Ale. I think I can see the veins in my eyes.” 

Before Alexia could express any semblance of concern for the Basque woman, a loud burst of laughter erupted from the low stone wall.

Alexia’s eyes snapped back over her shoulder, bypassing her own rules.

Kika had her arm thrown over your shoulders now, her face bright and animated as she leaned in close to your ear, whispering something that had you throwing your head back, your laughter clear over the music. You looked slightly flushed, the tipsy looseness of the evening finally catching up to you as you leaned into Kika’s side.

Right on cue, Marta drifted past the wall, subtly dropping a fresh, cold bottle into your lap while winking at Kika. It was a seamless handoff, so quick that under normal circumstances Alexia wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But tonight, with Irene’s words lingering in the air, Alexia’s eyes narrowed.

There was also a huddle forming. Patri and Clara had abandoned the cooking lesson and were now drifting toward you, effectively cordoning you off into a small circle of the yard. 

“They're up to something.” Alexia grumbled, her host instincts overriding her embarrassment.

Irene followed her gaze, her eyes tracking the movement of the younger players. A tiny, knowing smirk touched the corner of her lips, though she quickly hid it behind another drink.

“They're just enjoying the night, Ale.” Irene said smoothly, though she didn't sound too convincing. “You should do the same. Go talk to someone who isn't me.”

“Ale!” Patri’s voice boomed across the grass, cutting through the heavy reggaeton beat. She was holding up an empty green bottle, shaking it upside down for emphasis. “The cooler out here is empty! We are parched!”

The brunette let out a slow sigh, shooting a sideways glance at Irene. “Parched, she says. They’ve gone through four crates in two hours. Why did I host this, again?”

Before she could even take a step toward the glass double doors of her kitchen, Patri shouted again, her eyes darting over toward the stone wall with a look that was too sharp for someone who’d been allegedly huffing grill smoke and an unknown amount of beers all evening.

“Oye! Don’t go on your own, it’s heavy! You–” Patri pointed a blunt finger directly at you, your alcohol-flushed face blinking in surprise. “Go help her. Show some respect to our host.”

“I c-can manage perfectly fine–” Alexia started, her voice tight, but Kika was already giving you a gentle, completely unnecessary shove from the wall. 

“Go on, help her out.” Kika grinned, her fingers subtly tapping your hip as you stood up.

You didn’t look annoyed at all. In fact, as you steadied your footing against the grass, a warm smile broke across your face. The type of smile that only came after three and a half beers; unfiltered and lacking the careful, self-conscious guard you usually kept up around her. 

You looked straight at Alexia, your eyes slightly glassy but full of a soft, hazy affection. 

“Lead the way, our gracious host.” You said, your voice a little louder, a little looser than normal.

Alexia’s chest did a violent and uncalled-for flip. 

She swallowed hard, offering you an awkward knot of a smile in return, and grabbed the cooler before turning on her heel to hide the immediate pink flush creeping up the back of her neck.

As the glass doors slid shut behind the two of you, cutting off the bass of the music, a sudden silence descended upon the garden.

Irene didn’t move from her spot, but she didn’t have too. Within three seconds, a conspiratorial huddle had formed exactly where she stood. Marta arrived first, holding her beer like a weapon, closely followed by Vicky, Cata, and Pina, while Patri abandoned the grill entirely to jog over. On the other side of the patio, Kika immediately corralled Clara, Esmee, and Sydney to follow her over too.

The rest of the squad, the ones who hadn’t been roped into the weeks of subtle matchmaking (or just didn’t want to involve themselves), simply watched on from the outdoor sofas with varying expressions of amusement and exasperation.

“Alright, we don’t have much time.” Patri said as she wiped her brow with the back of her forearm, smelling faintly of smoke. She leaned into the center of the huddle, her eyes locked onto the kitchen window where two silhouettes were moving behind the glass. “They’re in the pantry. If Alexia takes her time to count the bottles like she usually does, we have a few minutes.”

“She will definitely count them.” Marta scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Anyway, not the problem. The problem is that they’ve been doing this awkward dance all season, these last couple months especially. I am tired of watching them exchange glances across the tables at the canteen like they’re in a culebrón.”

There was a collective noise of agreement, along with a few comments of exasperation and tutting of tongues.

“We all are.” Cata chimed in. “It’s painful. Last week, she asked Alexia to put the GPS thing in her vest, and Alexia’s face was red for the whole hour.”

Irene stood at the edge of the circle, her head tilted slightly as she kept watch. “Alexia won’t budge. She’s too stubborn, and she’s convinced she’s being professional by hiding it. If we leave it to her, next season will come around and we’ll be stuck in the exact same loop.”

Kika nodded her head towards where you stood in the window, watching Alexia.

“She’s loose tonight.” The Portuguese woman whispered with a fierce grin. “I’ve been making sure she’s never got an empty bottle.”

Vicky whistled and slapped Kika on the back in praise.

“She’s at that perfect stage where she’s relaxed enough to ramble about what’s inside her head, but she needs a push. She’s too intimidated by Alexia… when they’re looking right at each other. The second Alexia makes eye contact, her guard goes right back up.”

Irene spots that Kika looks incredibly consumed by her thoughts after that. A plan is building, she can sense it. She loves it.

“So we separate them?” Clara asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to visualise the logistics. “That’s stupid. And Patri just sent them inside together.” 

“No, tonta.” Vicky tuts, swiping her over the back of the head. That sends the two of them off into some kind of cat-fight.

“No, inside is just the warm-up.” Kika smirked. A conniving look entered her eyes as she began to piece the elements together. She glanced towards the shadow of the stone wall, then toward the corner of the house where the terrace curved out of sight toward the side garden. “We need to get her to open up without feeling like she’s on display. If she thinks anyone is watching her, or if she has to look Alexia in the eye, she’ll clam up and call it a night.”

Another cacophony of curious and considering sounds. 

Fingers tapped against chins and foots tapped against the floor in thought.

Until–

A dramatic gasp.

“Oh my god.” Kika breathed out. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as a massive, borderline sinister grin broke across her face. “I know what we can do.”

Meanwhile– inside the pantry, Alexia was crouched over, her spine curved beneath the fabric of her linen shirt as she meticulously lifted bottles of beer by their necks, slotting them into the cooler. 

“One… two… three.” Counting them, of course. “Four–”

“Really, Ale?” You stood with your hands on your hips, feigning an unimpressed look just to tease her. 

She startled as if she’d forgotten you were there. 

You stood exactly two feet away, your back pressed against a shelf stacked with neatly labelled jars of spices and herbs. The three and a half beers had settled into your limbs as a pleasant warmth, stripping away the edge of the self-consciousness that usually kept you up-right and guarded around her. 

You’d just been watching her the whole time. 

And as she reached for the fifth bottle, her hand froze for a fraction of a second when she caught your unblinking gaze out of the corner of her eye. The pink flush that’d started on the patio flared right back up, colouring the tips of her ears. 

She cleared her throat, lifting a cardboard case of bottles and turning to face you. “Shush. Take this one. Do not drop it.”

As she pushed the case into your arms, your fingers brushed. Literally just the briefest sliding contact, and her breath hitched.

You caught the box against your chest, letting out a lazy chuckle that vibrated right against the cardboard. “Please, Capi, I have excellent hand-eye coordination. You know that.” 

You laughed to yourself, missing how the harmless comment sounded strangely… inappropriate to her ears. She had to clear her throat again. 

Then, you tilted your head. A teasing smile crinkled the corners of your eyes. “Unless you think my form has dropped since the season ended?”

Her eyes widened as she had her back to you, accidentally dropping one of the bottles unceremoniously into the cooler. You let out a scandalised gasp, before you tutted at her for it.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” She grumbled under her breath at your comment, making a mental note to watch how much you drank for the rest of the night. You were far too focused on the fact she’d nearly smashed all the bottles to hear it.

The brunette stood, once she was finally happy with the collection of drinks, and she turned to look at you. Only to get entirely trapped by how relaxed you were, how easily you were sliding into her space without a care in the world.

“Your form is fine,” She muttered. She tried for a stern, captain-like expression, but the severe pink tinge stretching across her cheeks completely ruined the effect. “Your discipline, however, leaves much to be desired. You’re supposed to be helping, not mocking me.”

“I am helping,” You drawled happily, shifting the weight of the box against your hip as you took a step toward the door, not without a final glance back at her face. “And I can follow instructions perfectly well when I want to, thank you.”

Alexia let out a quiet huff that was supposed to be a sigh but sounded suspiciously like a defeated, flustered laugh.

“Just walk,” She murmured, nudging the door open with her elbow. “Before they come inside and raid the kitchen.”

When the double doors opened again, the atmosphere in the garden made Alexia’s footsteps slow down.

The team looked normal. Casual.

Far. Too. Casual. 

The transition was so jarring it felt manufactured. Patri was suddenly back at the grill, leaning over the food on it with the hyper-focused expression of a surgeon mid-operation. Marta and Vicky were sitting on the edge of their pool, dangling their feet in the water and conversing with a rigid calmness, their shoulders strangely stiff. 

You, completely oblivious to the weird shift, didn’t notice a thing. The moment you stepped outside, a wide grin broke across your face. 

“Supplies have arrived!”

Cata, Pina, Patri and Kika erupted into a chorus of cheers that felt three notches too enthusiastic for a box of beers. You laughed, buoyed by the alcohol and the affection, and trotted over to dump the case onto the grass beside them, immediately getting pulled into their chaos.

Alexia, however, remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes scanned the yard, her analytical brain instantly picking up the anomalies.

She locked eyes with Irene first. The defender didn’t say a word; she just took a slow sip of her beer and shrugged one shoulder, her expression blank. Then, Alexia’s gaze flicked to Marta, who chose that exact moment to stare intently at the water rippling around her ankles, refusing to meet her eyes.

Finally, Alexia’s eyes landed on Clara. 

The younger midfielder looked like she was carrying a state secret. Her shoulders were hunched, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she gave Alexia a sheepish look that practically screamed ‘I am hiding a secret that I am greatly excited by, please don’t ask me about it otherwise I’ll accidentally give it away.’

The captain’s jaw tightened. 

She grumbled something incoherent and slightly threatening under her breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of the cooler before she finally forced herself to walk across the garden toward the noise of the group.

With an unnecessary dramatic flair, she dumped the cooler onto the grass with a deliberate thud, hoping the sound would startle into someone giving up the game. 

No such luck.

Patri just kept aggressively poking one of the steaks to see how much it’d cooked, and Cata gave her an overly bright smile that looked rehearsed. 

Alexia kept her eyes narrowed, her gaze sweeping over the perimeter like a prison guard. Kika was standing just behind Cata, her arms crossed, watching you with an expression that was far too pleased with itself. When Kika caught Alexia looking, her grin didn’t falter. It just turned incredibly knowing.

“Alright. Everyone stop.” Alexia said firmly, stood with her hands on her hips as everyone turned to her. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” Marta repeated from the edge of the pool, her voice trailing over the grass with an air of complete innocence. “We’re just enjoying this lovely summer night celebrating the team in the beautiful garden of your mansion, Ale.”

“It’s not a mansion–”

“Why do you always assume there is a crisis?” Vicky asked with a grin that just confirmed Alexia’s fear.

“Because of the smile on your face, and because Clara looks like she’s about to hyperventilate.” Alexia countered smoothly, pointing toward the younger midfielder in question.

Clara immediately gasped, her eyes darting frantically toward the others for backup. “I’m just– the smoke! The grill smoke is getting in my eyes! I’m going to go… rinse them. In the bathroom.”

The girl practically bolted out of the garden and into the house.

“She’s fine, Ale. Leave the kid alone.” Kika chuckled, stepping forward and smoothly bypassing Alexia altogether.

The Portuguese woman’s attention pivoted to you, where you were happily letting Pina explain a complicated card game she wanted to play later whilst not understanding a thing she was saying.

Kika dropped an affectionate arm around your neck, leaning her weight into you. 

“Hey. You’re looking a little flushed, how many of those have you had?” She tapped the side of your beer bottle that you’d picked up after coming back out.

“Three and a half.” You replied proudly, before you tilted your head back at Alexia. “But Alexia likes to keep count apparently, so maybe she’s got a better idea.”

Alexia closed her eyes, praying for the ground to swallow her whole. Por favor. Her hair was going to be grey by the end of the night. 

“Right! Food’s ready!” Patri announced loudly. Saved by the bell.

“Perfect timing.” Kika beamed, not looking at Alexia as she began steering you away from the main garden area. “It’s getting a bit chaotic out here. Let’s go sit around the side garden, the view of the sunset is much better from there anyway.”

You blinked, the alcohol slowing your reaction time by half a second. Then you went willingly, thrilled by the promise of good food and a sunset, grabbing a plate from Patri as you walked by her.

Your eyes found Alexia as you walked past, giving her a soft and slightly questioning glance without really thinking about it. The brunette caught it, her heart doing another one of those terribly inconvenient flips. She wanted to tell you to stay. Pull you away from Kika’s obvious, hovering trap.

“Are you coming, Ale?” You called back over your shoulder, giving her the perfect opportunity.

“Maybe in a minute.” 

She remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes tracked you as you walked, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting decisions. 

Part of her – the part that wore the armband and took care of her home – knew she should stay right here, keeping an eye on Patri’s dangerous handling of the barbecue and ensuring the rest of the squad didn’t completely derail the night.

But the other part of her, which had been steadily gaining ground for months, just wanted to give in. For once, she wanted to drop the responsibility, walk around the corner, and enjoy your company without the barrage of overthinking that normally consumed her whenever she let her thoughts drift to you. 

She took a breath, trying to unravel the ball of hesitation in her chest. And she made a move to follow after you.

“Let them go ahead, Ale.” Marta said smoothly, materialising out of nowhere and wrapping her arm around Alexia’s shoulders. Her grip iron-like, she guided Alexia towards the opposite side of the garden. “You need to eat, soak up all that beer before you start doing sentimental speeches again.”

The midfielder rolled her eyes at the mention of the night in Oslo following the Champions League win, where she may have had a few drinks and didn’t really… let the microphone leave her sight for about half an hour.

“You all wanted me to do a speech, and then you complained when I did.” She scoffed.

Her internal alarm bells were ringing loudly as Marta led her away. The division was now fully functional. You’d been isolated by Kika, Clara, Esmee, and a few others, who were currently settling you onto a cluster of floor cushions just around the corner of her house– completely out of Alexia’s line of sight where she ended up sitting with Marta. Still close enough to hear your laughter though, which wasn’t lost on her.

Patri slammed a plate of food in front of her at the glass table, while Irene, Cata, Marta and Pina took up the remaining seats around the table. Effectively forming a human wall.

“What is this?” The captain hissed under her breath, glaring at Irene who was cutting into a piece of steak. “Why is everyone acting so fucking weird?” 

“We’re just eating, Ale.” Irene answered placidly, not even looking up. “Eat up. You’ve been really tense all day.” 

“I wonder why” Alexia muttered, her chest tightening as she heard another distinct burst of laughter from around the corner. It sounded a little higher, a little more uninhibited. Kika was definitely giving you more drinks. “Clara looked like she was going to throw up from anxiety when I walked past her.”

“Clara has a weak stomach,” Marta lied seamlessly, taking a huge bite of bread. “Don’t worry about it.”

Around the corner, hidden in the shadows of the side garden, phase two of Kika’s master plan was already in full swing.

The air was cooler over there, the light of the dusk fading into a deep, bruised violet against the horizon. You were leaning back against the masonry, your legs stretched out on the grass, feeling incredibly warm and thoroughly disconnected from any form of reality. The noise of the main party was just a background noise now.

“Drink up,” Kika whispered, clinking her own bottle against yours with a grin. She leaned in close, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. “So… you were in that pantry for a while. Just counting bottles, or what?”

You let out a hazy, amused sigh, the alcohol making your head spin in a way that was weirdly pleasant. “She really was counting them. Literally one by one. She’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah?” Kika’s eyes gleamed as she exchanged a look with Esmee over your head. “Just ridiculous? Or do you like it when she gets all captain-like and bossy?”

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve laughed the comment off, changed the subject, or lay into Kika for suggesting such a stupid thing. Yet, with four beers humming in your system and the relief of a four-titled season, your guard was completely gone. 

You looked down at your bottle, a helpless smile tugging at your lips as you thought about the way Alexia’s ears had turned that furious shade of pink when your fingers brushed.

“She’s just…” You trailed off, your voice dropping to a quiet mutter that made Kika virtually vibrate with excitement. “She’s always so put-together and… pretty. Even when she’s stressed, she’s really pretty. It’s annoying.”

Clara let out a tiny, stifled squeak, immediately covering her mouth with both hands afterwards.

“Go on,” Kika nudged your shoulder gently as she baited the trap. “Tell us more. We won’t say a word.”

You took another slow sip, the cold liquid taking the edge off the sudden heat in your face. The violet dusk was deepening around the corner of the house, and with every passing minute, the boundaries you usually kept so firmly in place during the season felt farther and farther away.

“It’s just…” You started, waving your bottle in the air as you searched for the words. “She never drops the act. She walks around like she’s completely untouchable, like nothing can faze her. And then she looks at me, and I swear she’s trying to read my mind or pick apart whatever I’m doing. It throws me off completely.”

Kika leaned in further. “Throws you off bad? Or throws you off good?” 

“It’s just infuriating,” You sighed, though the massive, helpless smile on your face completely ruined the defense. You leaned your head back against the cool stone wall, looking up at the first few stars blinking into view through the deep purple sky. “Because she’ll do that quiet, serious routine, and then the second I actually step into her space, or—or brush against her like in the pantry? She just freezes. She blushes. It’s like this tiny crack in her armour where she's a completely different person for two seconds, and it makes me want to…” 

You trailed off, the realization of what you were actually about to say finally catching up to your beer-soaked brain.

Your mouth snapped shut. Your eyes widened slightly as you looked at the three girls sitting around you. Sydney was leaning forward so far she was practically falling off her cushion, while Esmee looked like she was witnessing history being made in real-time. Clara was still holding her breath, her hands glued tightly over her face.

“Want to what?” Kika prompted, evidently hanging onto your every word and desperate for you to continue.

“Nothing!” You said quickly, cheeks burning a flaming red. You took a hasty gulp of your beer to cover the slip. “Nothing. I’m drunk. Forget I said that.”

You were talking to possibly the worst people on the team for gossip. Oh fuck.

“Oh, no, we are not forgeting that.” Kika grinned. She knew she had you right on the edge. If she pushed you too hard now, your defenses would go back up. Luckily for you, she had the perfect next move. “In fact, I think you need a safe space to properly vent about this.”

Meanwhile, back at the table, Alexia was staring blankly at her plate as her fork pushed around a piece of asparagus. 

The human wall around her was proving to be a lost cause; her ears were hyper-tuned to whatever was occurring around the corner. The murmurs had quieted down, and she hadn’t heard your voice in almost three minutes. 

“Ale.” Irene’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Alexia blinked, looking up. Irene hadn’t stopped eating but her eyes were fixed on the captain. 

“If you chew through your lower lip, you won’t be able to talk tomorrow.” Irene told her. “Relax, girl. They aren’t going to kidnap her.”

“They are definitely doing something.” Alexia whispered fiercely so that Patri wouldn’t hear. “I know Kika. She had that look in her eyes. The up-to-no-good look. She’s plotting.”

“Then let her plot.” Caro chimed in smoothly from her left. “Maybe she will do the heavy lifting for you. God knows you’ve had all the time in the world and haven’t made a single move.”

Alexia opened her mouth to deliver a thoroughly scathing response, but before she could speak, a small figure came shuffling around the stone corner.

It was Clara. The younger midfielder walked with her hands jammed deep into her pockets, her head down, completely refusing to make eye contact with anyone at the main table as she headed straight for the kitchen doors.

Alexia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Clara.”

The girl froze, her shoulders snapping up to her ears. She slowly turned her head, giving Alexia a terrified, trembling smile. “Yes, Capi?”

“Where is she?” Alexia asked, her voice dropping into that commanding register which brooked absolutely no arguments.

“She’s… around the corner,” Clara stammered, her voice squeaking slightly on the last word. “With Kika. They’re just talking. And I’m just going to get water.”

She practically threw herself through the sliding glass doors, leaving them to bounce shut behind her.

Alexia stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the stone tiles of the patio.

“Alexia, sit down,” Patri groaned. “The meat is getting cold.”

“I’m the host,” Alexia muttered, her jaw set in a line that Irene knew meant there was no stopping her. She smoothed down the front of her linen shirt, her heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs. “I am going to check on my guests.”

She didn’t even make it past the edge of the table before Patri was up and out of her chair.

“Sit down, Ale.” Patri commanded. “You’ve been hovering over everything like a helicopter parent since we all got here. I’ll go inside and make sure Clara isn’t having an anxiety attack.”

Alexia opened her mouth to argue as her eyes darted toward the stone corner of the house, but a warning look from Irene pinned her to the spot. With a frustrated click of her tongue, the captain begrudgingly sank back into her chair.

Patri darted inside and intercepted a frantic-looking Clara right as she was about to go back outside. 

“How’s it going?” The older midfielder asked in a hushed tone, grabbing Clara by the shoulder.

“She’s basically gone already,” Clara answered, her eyes wide as she gripped a glass of water. “She’s so tipsy she’s practically floating. She just confessed to Kika that she thinks Alexia is beautiful when she’s stressed! Kika is setting her up right now– we need you.”

Patri’s face split into a slow smirk. “Perfect. I’ll go to them, you go to Ale.”

Around the now infamous corner, entirely unaware of the tactics and the planning that was occurring, you were staring at Kika with a look of profound skepticism.

“This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.” You groaned, voice slurring just a fraction. “You are literally insane.”

“It’s not insane! It’s… therapeutic.” Kika argued back smoothly, sitting cross-legged on her cushion and looking extraordinarily proud of herself. “You’re completely bottled up! You’ve been carrying it around almost all season. Whereas tonight, you are actually relaxed enough to talk about it.”

“So your grand solution is a fake confessional?” You deadpanned with a breathless laugh. “You seriously think sitting me and Patri around the corner of a wall from each other as I ramble is going to help me get over my crush on Alexia?”

Kika didn’t even flinch. She shrugged and threw her hands out. “Duh! Yeah! It’s all psychological. You don’t have to look at her, she can just listen and give you typical-Patri advice, and you get it out of your system. Win-win.” 

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to actually think through the fog in your brain. 

The four beers were making the ridiculous proposal sound strangely, terrifyingly logical. If you just confessed to Patri – who was too loud and dense to ever overthink it anyway – maybe the weight of it would finally stop pressing down on your chest every time you saw Alexia walk into the locker room.

You let out a long, defeated sigh, your shoulders slumping into the cushions. “Fine. Fine, whatever. Let's just do it.”

Kika bit her lower lip, desperately trying to suppress the victorious shriek that was threatening to burst out of her throat. She cleared her throat quickly, leaning closer to run you through the logistics.

“Okay, okay. Ground rules,” Kika whispered fiercely, her eyes scanning the shadows. “Patri doesn't know, obviously. Because you haven't told her.”

(Technically true, you hadn’t told her yourself. You had told Caro in a moment of weakness, who told Marta, who both told Irene, who then told Patri. And it had spread like a wildfire from there.)

“Don’t say Alexia’s name. Don’t say anything about training or the team– or just anything to do with football.” Kika continued, tapping your knee for emphasis. “Just refer to her as this girl you like. If you give it away, it'll make things a bit awkward, and the whole thing is ruined. Got it?”

You blinked your heavy eyes, processing the instructions with a slow nod. When put that way…

“Okay.” You said with a shrug. A hazy smile returned to your face as you looked back at Kika. “Okay, yeah. It’s actually a pretty good idea. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent.” Kika drawled, basically bouncing on her heels as she scrambled up from her floor cushion. “Take a pillow, go get comfy by the wall. I’ll go fetch our priest!”

You did as you were told, chuckling under your breath at the thought of anyone calling Patri a priest.

You got comfy, legs outstretched with one foot over the other, hands linked together and resting in your lap. There was some commotion you overheard, but honestly, you felt like you were floating in a very comfortable and slightly dizzying bubble.

End of season celebrations really were fun. 

“Alright, Patri’s ready,” Kika whispered as she crouched in front of you. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Remember the rules.”

Then, her footsteps faded away. You shifted a little, pressing your spine firmly against the rough stone brick wall. Around the corner, you could hear someone shuffling around.

“Patri?” You called out.

“Yeah, tía, I’m here.” Patri’s voice boomed back, muffled a little by the wall, but definitely her. Perhaps if you weren’t so far gone, you would have noticed how uncharacteristically subdued she was. “Go ahead. Kika said you needed to get some things off your chest.”

You let out a long, ragged breath, staring down at the grass between your knees. “It’s just… I’m so tired of feeling like this. I’ve spent months pretending I don’t completely lose my mind every time she walks into a room. And it’s exhausting, Patri. It really is.”

There was a brief pause from the other side of the wall. “Right. And… what exactly does she do that loses you your mind?”

“Everything,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands with an embarrassed laugh. “The way she carries herself. She’s just so incredibly composed, you know? Like nothing in the world could ever rattle her. She has this quiet authority that completely takes over the room, and whenever she actually focuses on me, I feel like I forget how to breathe.”

Around the corner, Patri’s eyes were wide as saucers. She was gripping the edge of the stone masonry, her chest heaving as she swallowed down a massive laugh. This was gold. This was worth every single Euro she’d bet against Marta earlier in the week.

“But the worst part,” you continued, your voice dropping into a quiet, almost melancholic murmur, “is when she drops it. Just for a second. Like earlier tonight, we were… well, we were somewhere quiet, and our fingers accidentally brushed. And she just froze. She turned this beautiful, furious shade of pink right to the tips of her ears. It’s like there’s this whole other side to her, this incredibly soft, flustered side that she tries so hard to hide. And it makes me want to just… pull her out of her own head and kiss her until she completely forgets to be serious.”

Patri went completely rigid. Madre mía. She had expected some light pining, maybe a bit of standard venting, but this? Uff. It made her more giddy than the quadruple they’d won.

“Wow.” Patri cleared her throat. She needed Alexia here. Right now. “That’s heavy, tía. I get why you needed to get this off your chest. Go ahead.”

Alexia, still back at the main table, was oscillating with irritation. 

Marta was in the middle of an elaborate and definitely fabricated story about a dog that’d breached her apartment complex and ran rings around the security for hours, while Irene was nodding along with an expression of feigned interest. 

“And then,” Marta waved her fork in the air, leaning across the table. “The dog stopped outside our door and sat there, looking straight into my soul. I think it was a sign.” 

“Marta, I don’t care about the dog.” Alexia snapped, her patience completely evaporated. “I swear, I will–”

And it was that precise moment where Kika came jogging over, cutting Alexia’s threat off before she could finish it. She did not look casual. She bypassed the rest of the table and grabbed Alexia by the table, hauling her out of her chair.

“Kitchen, now.” Kika demanded.

The captain’s mind went into overdrive. “What happened? Is she– is everyone okay?”

“Just move!” The Portuguese grunted, dragging her through the glass doors.

The second they clicked shut, cutting off the outdoor noise, Kika spun Alexia around and her hands clamped down on her captain’s shoulders with a terrifying level of intensity. 

“Listen to me carefully.” Kika whispered. “You are going to go around the corner right now. You are going to sit in Patri’s place, and you are not going to say a single word. You are just going to listen.” 

Alexia’s brow furrowed, a defensive look entering her eyes. “What are you talking about? What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Kika hissed, shaking her slightly. “In fact I have done you a favour, alright? She is currently pouring her heart out to Patri, Ale. And if you don’t go over there and take her place right now, I will post the videos of you dancing after Oslo and not delete them.”

Alexia froze comically. Wide eyes as her heart skipped a beat, and all. Her jaw slackened slightly as the piece shifted in her mind, the realisation hitting her a few moments later.

“She’s… what?” Alexia breathed out.

“Go,” Kika demanded, giving her a shove towards the side door that led to the patio curve. “And for the love of God, Ale, don’t mess this up. I have a hundred euros riding on you taking the shot tonight.” 

The brunette didn’t even have time to process the threat before Kika was fully pushing her through the side door. The second her feet hit the cooler outdoor pavement, she was completely ambushed. 

A solid, tanned arm clamped around her chest as Marta appeared beside her, while Irene smoothly blocked any path of retreat. And before Alexia could even inhale to demand what they were doing, Vicky’s palm slapped firmly over her mouth, clamping her lips shut. 

Together, they muscled Alexia down the small stretch of pavement like a high-value asset under guard. Alexia wasn’t even fighting them; her legs were moving on instinct, her wide eyes fixed ahead as her brain tried to process everything Kika had just told her.

Around the stone corner, you were still leaning your head back against the brickwork. The dizzying buzz of alcohol had completely isolated you from the quiet rustling of footsteps the the brief scuffle just a few feet away.

Patri, seeing the cavalry arrived, executed a flawless retreat from her floor cushion and away from the wall, giving the rest of the group an enthusiastic thumbs up. Vicky shoved Alexia down onto the vacant cushion, Alexia hardly on the ground before she was ripping the hand away from her face.

She whipped her head around, baring her teeth in a silent, lethal glare at Vicky, and opened her mouth to aggressively whisper a lecture and a demand for them all to leave.

But before the first syllable could leave her tongue, your voice drifted from around the masonry.

“And I know it’s stupid, Patri.” You murmured, a self-deprecating sight hitching in your chest. “Like, I know I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. But then Alexia smiles at me after a tough session, or she does that little thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s listening to me speak, and I just… I completely lose it.”

Alexia went utterly still.

The reprimand died in her throat. Her hand, which had been raised to shove Vicky away, froze in mid-air before slowly dropping back down to her lap. Her chest swelled, her heart hammering so hard against her ribs she was certain you would hear it.

Alexia. You’d said her name.

To the right of her, hidden away from your eye line, various members of the team who were clearly in on this huddled together. The smug, triumphant smirks they’d been wearing all night had softened, replaced by a captive silence as they watched two of their teammates finally, at least approach, a bridge they’d been too scared of. 

“I can’t tell her,” you continued, your tone dropping to one that sounded agonizingly vulnerable in the cool night air. You tilted your head back against the brick, staring up at the dark sky. “How am I supposed to look her in the eye and say any of this? She’s Alexia. She is a woman who needs everything to be in its exact place, who handles the weight of the world by closing herself off and locking things down. And I am just… me. I'm not organised, I'm spontaneous, and I handle pressure by trying to find something to laugh about.”

Alexia’s breath hitched. She sat perfectly rigid on the cushion, her eyes fixed on the rough stone wall separating the two of you, hanging onto every word.

“We just speak completely different languages,” You let out a bitter chuckle, tracing a pattern on the fabric of your shorts. “When she gets stressed or guarded, she builds up these massive walls to protect her peace. And because I’m naturally wide open, I always feel like I’m misreading the room around her. I don't know how to navigate those walls without feeling like I'm breaking something, or just being an annoyance to her carefully balanced life. If I say something, I’m just going to complicate things for her. She already carries so much for the team, Patri. She doesn’t need me messing with her peace.”

Every word felt like a physical weight pressing directly into Alexia’s chest. It wasn't awe or intimidation keeping you back; it was a deeply rooted fear that your core personalities would clash, that your natural brightness would only disrupt the careful structure she worked so hard to maintain.

Alexia could read between the lines. You were terrified that you weren’t good enough for her. Wouldn’t fit into her life. And that she wouldn’t like you back.

Beside Alexia, Kika bit her lip as a wave of sympathy hit her at how small you looked on the cushion, weighed down by an overthinking tipsy brain. She shot a sharp look at the side of Alexia;s head, silently urging her to fix this.

The captain didn’t move, but her fingers slowly curled into the bottom of her shirt, her jaw tightening as she listened to the raw, unfiltered truth. You thought she wanted to be left alone behind those walls. You believed she didn’t want you there.

“She definitely doesn’t need me.” You whispered to yourself, before falling silent.

How wrong you were.

Everything seemed to catch up with you, then.

Having all those buried thoughts dragged out into the open air left a raw, aching pain in your chest. The fuzzy warmth of the beer suddenly turned cold, and the burden of your own overthinking pushed a stinging dampness to your eyes.

Before the silence could stretch too long, you abruptly scrambled up from your cushion. Your knees shook slightly from the combination of the drinks and the rush of adrenaline, and with a tight swallow, you quickly wiped a stray tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. Desperate to just be alone with your thoughts, you stormed off toward the far edge of the garden, heading straight for the large outdoor sofa tucked away from the main lights.

Alexia remained stuck in her seat, in disbelief at what’d occurred, her ears straining as the sound of your hurried footsteps faded into the distance. The sudden emptiness in your voice before you left echoed in her mind, leaving her stunned.

Slowly, the captain tilted her head, her dazed glance rising until she met Irene’s eyes.

The Basque woman was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, looking down at Alexia with a definitive told-you-so expression. There was no smugness in her face, a just the satisfaction of someone who had spent months listening to Alexia stubbornly insist that she was completely misreading your signals. 

Irene had heard all about Alexia’s agonisingly deep feelings for you, and after catching snippets from Patri about how much you were pining from afar, she’d tried – repeatedly – to tell her captain to just open her eyes.

Alexia simply stared up at her, jaw slack, the certainty she usually carried now shattered by the reality of what she’d just heard.

Clara was the only one who broke away from the huddle to follow you. Mostly to get away from Alexia’s surefire scathing lecture, but also because she genuinely cared about you as a teammate and someone who spent a lot of time mentoring her too, like Alexia. 

And as expected, Alexia scrambled up from the floor, her posture rigid and her eyes wide as she turned on Kika, Patri, and the others.

“What the hell is wrong with you all?!” She seethed in a furious whisper that she tried to keep from carrying across the yard. “Are you insane? All of you? To trick her like that, force her into saying things when she’s– when she’s had too much to drink? It is completely out of order!”

“Oh please, Ale.” Kika scoffed, unfazed as she crossed her arms. “We didn’t force her to say anything. We just… gave her a wall.”

“It's a violation of her privacy!” Alexia defended hotly, her chest heaving underneath her linen shirt as she gestured wildly toward the empty corner. “She thought she was speaking to a friend in confidence! If she finds out you all orchestrated this, she will be devastated. You cannot just play with people’s feelings for the sake of your stupid bets!”

“Ale,” Patri cut in with a lazy, amused grin spreading across her face. “It’s very hard to take your captain’s lecture seriously when your ears are currently the colour of a ripe tomato.”

A collective, poorly suppressed titter broke out among the rest of the group. Marta had to shield her face behind Irene’s shoulder to hide her grin, while Vicky openly chuckled. The commanding authority Alexia usually radiated was completely cancelled out by the blush spreading all the way down her neck. She looked less like a quadruple-winning captain and more like an incredibly flustered teenager who had just been caught reading a diary out loud.

“Go take some time to collect your thoughts and calm down, Ale.” Irene placated with a dismissive wave. “You’ve lost the locker room on this one.”

Realising she was fighting a losing battle against a squad that knew her far too well, Alexia let out a sharp breath, before turning and beelining for her house. She deliberately avoided looking at the side garden where the sofa was hidden, and marched straight inside to get away from everyone. 

Once inside, she stopped in the kitchen and took a deep inhale. 

This was not the night she had envisioned. 

So far, it’d left her feeling nothing but stressed, antsy, slightly irate. 

As a result, her hands immediately went to work out of pure habit. She couldn’t just sit still with her brain firing at a million miles an hour. She stood at the kitchen island, her movements precise as she began wiping down surfaces that were already clean, determined to begin winding the party down for the night.

And she stayed there for a while; loading a few stray plates into the dishwasher, organising the remaining catering trays with an aggressive level of focus. Disposing of many, many bottles of beer and numerous paper plates, she couldn’t help but think of you outside. 

But she stayed in the kitchen for a long time regardless of you. She didn’t want to cause you any more torment by heading outside to see you when it was her you were upset about.

Nearly forty minutes passed before she finally dropped the dish towel. Most of the team had headed inside by now, away from the darkness and cooler air of the night. They’d taken over her living, though in a much calmer manner, so she didn’t feel the need to supervise. 

She took a steadying breath, before deciding to do one final sweep of the garden to bring in any bottles or plates or food before locking the door for the night.

Sliding the glass door open quietly, she stepped out outside to her empty garden. 

Almost empty.

Because she then heard your shaky voice drifting through the air again. Her eyes scanned the side garden, and there she found you.

Under the dim glow of a single wall lamp, sat Clara. The younger midfielder looked completely trapped. Her legs were pulled up to her chest on the cushions, eyes wide with a look of sheer deer-in-the-headlights terror as she tried her absolute best to be a good friend.

And right next to her, curled up into an emotional ball, you were still thoroughly caught up in your tearful ramble, oblivious to the fact everyone else had headed inside to wind down for the evening.

The captain didn’t mean to eavesdrop (again), but the vulnerability in your tone anchored her feet to the floor.

“-it’s just the way she looks at me, Clara.” You sighed into your knees. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but sometimes it seems like she’s trying so hard to keep her distance, but then she’ll do something really sweet and I can’t ever get it off my mind. Because I know she has a million things on her mind. She’s running the whole show, looking after everyone, and still finds time to do these little things for me.”

Clara gave a stiff nod, eyes wide as if praying for some kind of saviour.

“Meanwhile I’m just over here trying not to trip over my own two feet when she comes near me.” You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a watery laugh that pierced right through Alexia’s chest. “I’m just a mess compared to her. It’ll never work. She’d just think I’m… some annoying distraction.”

Any lingering doubt, any tiny stubborn part of Alexia that was trying to protect herself from misinterpreting the situation, completely vanished. 

And it was that exact moment that Clara’s panicked gaze flicked toward the house and locked right onto Alexia standing in the doorway. 

Somehow, the girl’s eyes widened impossibly more. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. For a second, it looked like she might actually faint from the overwhelming weight of the drama that’d unfolded.

Sensing her cue, Clara clumsily scrambled to her feet.

“Right!” Clara blurted out, her voice a little too loud and high-pitched in the quiet garden. You blinked up at her, startled by the sudden movement. “You– you know what? You need water. A very large, cold glass of water. I’ll go get some for you. Don’t move!”

Before you could even formulate a question to ask why she was being so weird, Clara practically sprinted away, past Alexia and disappearing into the safety of the house without looking back. She closed the door behind her with a click, leaving the garden silent.

You blinked into the shadows, a bit dazed by the abrupt departure, before your eyes slowly tracked the movement by the doorway.

Alexia was standing there. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her trousers, her shoulders dropped, and she was looking at you with an expression so soft that the breath caught in your throat.

She stepped fully out of the doorway, the soft scuff of her shoes against the tiles breaking the silence. She walked over slowly, deliberately giving you time to adjust to her presence so she wouldn’t startle you again.

You didn't scramble to hide your face or panic. Instead, you just tilted your head back against the sofa cushions, looking up at her through a heavy, calm, and deeply tired haze. A half-hearted smile of acknowledgment tugged at the corners of your mouth. The sharp edge of your earlier distress had melted into a quiet exhaustion; the alcohol was still humming in your system, but it had left you feeling grounded, heavy-limbed, and thoroughly spent.

“Hey,” You murmured, your voice a little raspy from crying.

“Hi,” Alexia replied softly.

She didn't hesitate. She crossed the small gap and sank down onto the outdoor sofa beside you, leaving just enough space between your shoulders so you wouldn't feel crowded, though the warmth of her presence instantly filled the cool night air. She leaned back, mirroring your relaxed posture, and looked at you sideways.

“What's up?” She asked gently, keeping her tone light and casual.

You let out a tiny, breathy sigh, your eyes dropping down to your lap where your fingers were loosely intertwined. 

Despite the beers stripping away your filter, a sudden wave of self-conscious embarrassment kept you guarded. You were mortified by the scene you’d made earlier, thoroughly convinced you'd made a fool of yourself in front of Kika and Patri, even if you still had no idea Alexia had heard a single word of your confession.

“Nothing.” You answered, a little secretive, your shoulders shrugging slightly. “Just... overthinking. The usual.”

“What about?" Alexia pressed in a polite, pressure-free manner.

You just shrugged again, a disheartened frown crossing your features. “Just stupid stuff. Doesn't matter.”

Alexia watched you for a long beat, her chest tightening with an immense, overwhelming fondness. 

“Matters to me.” She stated quietly. 

The comment made your heart ache, but you remained quiet.

The vulnerability you had just displayed to Clara – the worries that you were too different, too loud, or too much of a disruption to her life – swirled in her head. She wanted to tell you right then and there how wrong you were, but she knew your tipsy, fragile pride couldn't handle the shock of finding out she’d been eavesdropping.

And there was always the chance you would forget it in the morning; if she was going to find the confidence to do it, she at least wanted you to remember it.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take a chance, though.

Instead, a knowing smile took over her mouth. She shifted slightly on the cushion, reaching out and gently nudging the side of your knee with the back of her hand. The contact was brief, but it sent a warm jolt throughout your body.

“You know,” Alexia said, her eyes locked onto yours. “Sometimes people build up walls because… not because they want to keep everyone out, or anything. Definitely not because their lives are too perfect.”

You let out a barely there, amused breath, not looking at her.

“Sometimes they do it because they’re just trying to figure things out. And they might just be waiting for someone brave enough to ignore the structure, make a stupid joke, and break through it.”

You blinked, her words slicing through the foggy, disheartened thoughts in your brain. You turned your head and met her gaze.

The sincerity in her dark eyes was staggering. It wasn’t the look of a captain evaluating a teammate; it was personal, warm, intimate.

“Sound familiar?” Alexia wondered with a smile you recognised as too-proud, even if you hadn’t fully caught the meaning of her words. 

A shy, proper smile slowly bloomed across your face. The knot in your chest loosened at the reassurance you didn’t even realise she was giving you, and you gave her a nod.

Her grin widened at the sight and her body flooded with relief as she watched your sadness melt away.

“Anyway,” She hummed, tone shifting back to something a bit more playful as she nudged your knee one more time. “The point is, you shouldn’t overthink things so much. It’s bad for you.”

You let out a tired chuckle, shaking your head against the cushion. “I can’t promise that, Ale. It’s what I’m best at.”

Alexia lifted her hand from her lap, curling her fingers inward until only her smallest finger was extended. She held it up between the two of you, right in your line of sight. 

“Well,” She said, her expression perfectly serious though her eyes were dancing with mischief. “You’re going to have to promise.”

You stared at her hand, then up at her face, and a light burst of laughter escaped your lips. The absurdity of the two time Ballon d’Or winner and stern Barcelona captain demanding a pinky promise was too much for your tipsy brain to handle.

“Are you serious right now?” You teased with a bright smile, brighter than one you’ve had in hours. “A pink promise? What are you, twelve?” 

“It’s a legally binding contract without pen and paper.” Alexia insisted, her grin turning borderline wicked as she shook her extended pinky closer to you. “Come on. Secure the deal.”

You rolled your eyes, but the helpless smile never left your face. You raised your own hand and looped your pinky finger tightly around hers. 

The moment your skin met, the teasing banter ebbed away for the time being. Neither of you pulled away. You held absolute, unbroken eye contact in the dark light of the garden, the tiny physical connection keeping you both still.

Alexia’s smile turned into something tender. You swore you saw her gaze drop to your lips for a split second, before they rose back to your eyes.

The click of the glass doors cut through the silence, making you both break eye contact.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Pina called out, stepping into the garden with her jacket over her shoulder. Behind her, Cata and Vicky were peering over her shoulders, their faces split into identical delighted smirks as their eyes darted down to your linked hands.

“We’re just heading out now, we can see ourselves to the door.” Vicky chimed in with a wicked grin, nudging Pina with her elbow. “We just wanted to say goodbye. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Yeah, you stay there, Ale, don’t stress yourself,” Cata added, holding up a hand before she gave you both an exaggerated wink. “See you guys soon!”

Alexia slowly unlooped her pinky from yours, though her fingers lingered against your skin for a fraction of a second before she settled back against the cushions. “Text me when you get home!”

You quickly offered a sheepish, slightly flushed wave with your free hand as the trio backed through the door, closing it behind them,

The second it shut, the reality of the late hour and the amount of alcohol in your system hit you at once. You let out a long, pathetic groan, and slapped a hand over your eyes.

“Oh god,” You said, your voice muffled against your palm. “I just remembered… I drove here.”

Alexia let out a soft, amused chuckle from beside you. “Did you?”

“Yes!” You whined, peeking out from behind your fingers with a frown. “I didn’t know there would be so much beer and chaos and… whatever the hell Kika was up to. Now I'm stuck. I can’t get home.”

Alexia watched you, her expression melting into something a little shy. She cleared her throat, her fingers tracing the seams of her trousers as she looked at you.

“Actually,” She offered quietly, a tentative smile playing on her lips. “You can stay here tonight if you want. All of the spare rooms are made up.”

A spike of heat hit your cheeks, completely bypassing the beer buzz. Your mouth went a little dry, your brain immediately going into hyper-drive at the thought of sleeping under her roof.

“Oh—no, no, I couldn't” You stammered quickly, waving your hands in a polite, panicked refusal. “I can just call a taxi. It’s fine, really! I don't want to be a bother or invade your space after you’ve been hosting all day. I'll just get an Uber.”

“It's nearly one in the morning, you won't find a taxi easily out here,” Alexia pointed out smoothly, her tone turning a fraction more firm as she leaned in slightly, refusing to let you brush her off. “And you're not a bother. I'm literally offering.”

“But–”

“No buts,” She interrupted gently, her eyes full of a warm, teasing authority that you had no strength to fight. “You made a legally binding promise not to overthink things, remember? The spare room is yours. Unless you'd prefer to sleep out here on the terrace?”

You stared at her for a moment, totally defeated by her logic and the sheer kindness in her eyes. Letting out one final, dramatic sigh, you let your head drop back onto the sofa cushion.

“Fine. I’ll stay.” You murmured, that same helpless and bashful smile returning to your face. You gazed at her, your stomach doing that weird fluttery thing it often did whenever she went out of her way to do something for you. “Thank you, Ale. Really.” 

“Don’t mention it.” She replied, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed back into the cushions. She gave you a gentle, assessing look, her eyes scanning your tired face. “Besides, you look exhausted. It’s been a long day, and you need some rest.”

You let out a quiet hum, closing your eyes for a brief second as the weight of the alcohol and the emotional rollercoaster of the night fully settled into your bones. “Yeah. You’re right. My brain feels like mush.”

“Well, luckily for you, I happen to have an excellent solution for that,” Alexia said, a sudden, playful spark returning to her voice. She leaned in a little closer, gesturing back toward the dark house with a perfectly serious expression. “The mattresses in my house? Unbelievable. They’re the best things I’ve ever bought.”

You opened your eyes and stared at her, a breathless laugh escaping you at the absolute ridiculousness of the pitch. “Are you trying to sell me a bed right now?”

“I’m just trying to make you overthink your decision a little less. You won’t regret it when you lay on one,” She grinned, finally standing up from the sofa and extending a hand down to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you fall asleep out here.”

You took her hand, letting her easily haul you to your feet. Your legs were a bit heavy and unsteady, but Alexia kept a steadying grip on your arm until you found your balance, guiding you gently through the glass doors and into the quiet, pristine interior of her house.

The main rooms were completely dark now, the rest of the team having finally headed out. Alexia led you up the stairs, the soft ambient lighting illuminating the hallway as she guided you toward one of the guest rooms near the end of the hall.

She pushed the door open, revealing a beautifully neat, cozy space that already felt incredibly welcoming.

“Make yourself at home,” Alexia murmured, stepping inside to turn on a bedside lamp before turning to face you. She took a quick look at your clothes and snapped her fingers softly. “Wait, you need something to sleep in. Hold on.”

She disappeared down the hall toward her own bedroom, leaving you standing awkwardly by the edge of the bed, your heart doing a nervous little dance. A minute later, she returned with a neatly folded pile of clothes in her hands.

“Here,” she said, handing them over. It was an oversized, incredibly soft grey cotton t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts. “They might be a little big, but they’re comfortable. Oh, and here.” She reached into her pocket and produced a brand-new, packaged toothbrush. “There’s an en-suite bathroom right through that door. Fresh towels are under the sink in case you want to shower at any point.”

You took the items, your fingers brushing against hers again, sending a familiar warmth rushing up your arms like it had done earlier in the pantry. “Ale, seriously, thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” She replied, her voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register again. She stepped back toward the doorway, her hands finding the pockets of her trousers as she looked at you under the warm glow of the lamp. She looked suddenly a little shy herself, her eyes lingering on your face. “Sleep well, okay?”

“You too,” you smiled, a bashful warmth settling in your chest. “Goodnight, Ale.”

“Goodnight.”

The brunette gave you one last smile before slowly stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. You sat on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, a hopeless smile breaking across your face. Then you pressed your palm into the bed, almost groaning in delight at how it was a perfect mixture of density and softness.

On the other side of the door, Alexia hadn’t moved far. 

She stood perfectly still in the dimly lit hallway, her hand still hovering near the doorframe. Her stomach fluttered as she took a deep, shaky breath.

The echo of your voice from earlier tonight, confessing how much you liked her and how deeply you cared and how terrified you were of messing up her peace, it all made her heart ache with an intoxicating happiness. 

She leaned her head back to the ceiling, a near-silent stunned laugh escaping her lips in the darkness. You were right there, would be sleeping just a few feet away in her house, and it made her feel weightless. 

Eventually, with a lingering glance at your door, she turned and walked down the hall to her own room, a smile fixed on her face the entire way.

—

The morning sun was already streaming through the gap in her blackout curtains when Alexia opened her eyes, feeling mostly rested despite the chaotic emotional rollercoaster of the previous night. 

She lay in bed for a while. Her brain replayed almost the entire night through, from when people arrived to leading you upstairs to the spare room once everybody had left. The corner of her lips quirked upwards at a few things, and she looked down at her hand where it rested atop the sheets, the one that’d linked with yours in a gesture that was much more than just sealing a promise. 

It was past 10AM, and she hadn’t heard any movement from the end of the hall, where you’d stayed. 

So she sat up against the headboard with a yawn and a stretch, before she leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed her phone.

(Alexia) Morning :) are you awake yet?

She dropped her phone onto the bed beside her and rubbed her eyes, waiting as three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared a few minutes later.

(You) Hi. Yeah. Morning. My head hurts just ever so slightly.

Alexia chuckled to herself, already moving to get up out of bed. 

She padded downstairs and went to the kitchen, moving to open the cabinet where she kept all things health related. Before she could grab what she was after, her phone vibrated in her pocket again.

(You)  I’m also incredibly embarrassed by everything that happened yesterday, so please don’t look at me

The midfielder burst into a quiet laugh, her cheeks aching at how endearing you were being. She locked her phone, filled a tall glass with cold water, and grabbed a pack of painkillers. 

Once she’d made it up the stairs, she stopped outside the guest room door and knocked quietly, the rap of her knuckles echoing in the hallway.

Silence.

No movement and no answer.

Amused, Alexia leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on her lips.

“I know you’re awake,” She called out, her voice loud enough to cut through the wood but keeping its gentle, teasing warmth. “We literally texted two minutes ago.”

There was another period of silence from inside the room before a muffled and incredibly meek voice finally drifted through the door. “Come in.”

Alexia turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping into the sunlit room. Her eyes immediately found the bed, and a soft adoring smile took over her face at the sight.

You were curled up tightly on your side, practically swallowed by the sheets. You had apparently raided the clean pile of laundry sitting on the chair in the corner she’d been yet to sort, because you were now drowning in a thick grey hoodie that belonged to her, despite it being Summer. 

You’d pulled the hood over your head, leaving only the tip of your nose and your tightly shut eyes visible to the world. 

“Good morning,” Alexia said softly as she walked into the room. She kept her steps quiet, setting the tall glass of water down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the mattress beside you.

You emerged from the sheets, letting out a tiny embarrassed whine as you slowly sat up. You reluctantly pulled the hood back off your head, allowing Alexia to look at you properly. She had to blink herself out of her trance as she grabbed the sheet of tablets from her pocket.

“Here,” she murmured, popping two of the tablets into your palm and handing you the water. “Take these.”

You swallowed the pills, chasing them with a long sip of the cold water, throat parched from the night before. As you set the glass back down, you finally risked a glance up at her.

Alexia was simply sitting there, watching you with an unhurried and awfully tender gaze. There was no judgement in her eyes, no teasing smirk, just an attentive focus that made your stomach do a stupid flip.

Under the weight of her undivided attention, you felt a burning blush creep rapidly up your neck, painting your cheeks a crimson that gave away how flustered you were.

Alexia definitely noticed, you could tell by the tiny increase in her smile, but she chose not to comment on it.

“How are you feeling? Aside from the headache?”

“I’ve been better and I’ve been worse.” You answered in a mutter, sleep still evident in your voice as you pulled your knees closer to your chest.

Alexia let out a soft, amused huff. “Well, that’s a start. It was a hectic night.”

“You can say that again.” You grumbled, resting your chin on your knees and staring down at the rumpled sheets. “I can’t believe it was that chaotic. I’m never going to hear the end of it all.”

The brunette watched you, her expression shifting, turning just a bit shy as she cleared her throat and her fingers traced light patterns on the duvet.

“So… how much of it do you remember?” She asked, eyes locking onto yours with a poorly disguised intense curiosity. 

A fresh wave of heat hit your cheeks, but you managed a small self-deprecating smile. “God, Ale, I wasn’t that drunk. I remember it. All of it.”

Her smile widened, a spark of satisfaction lighting up her eyes as she slowly nodded, carefully filing that piece of information away for later.

If you remembered everything, you remembered all the things you’d said about her. As well as what she had subtly hinted at on the couch, too.

“Good to know,” She hummed, before pushing herself up from the edge of the bed. She stood at full height, tugging her vest back into its proper place and smoothing down her shorts. “I was going to make some breakfast, are you hungry?” 

“Starving, actually," You admitted sheepishly. “Is it alright if I take a quick shower while you do that?” 

“Of course.” She replied instantly, gesturing toward the bathroom with an easy smile. “Take as long as you want. I’ll get some more clothes for you and get started on the food.” 

With a final, reassuring nod, Alexia slipped out of the room, leaving you to the blissful sanctuary of a hot shower. 

True to her word, by the time you stepped out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam rolling out behind you, a fresh stack of clean clothes was sitting neatly at the foot of the bed. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the endless supply, drowning in both her clothes and the laundry detergent you’d loved the scent of for a little while now.

You quickly changed, taking a deep, steadying breath to steel yourself before finally bracing the hallway and padding down the stairs.

You walked into the kitchen slowly, your shoulders slightly hunched and your hands tucked into your pockets, still carrying that quiet morning-after bashfulness.

Alexia was standing over the hob, the rich, savoury aroma of frying eggs and toasted bread filling the bright room. She didn’t even have to look up to hear your hesitant footsteps, letting out another amused huff as she flicked the spatula expertly.

“You don’t have to be so awkward, you know,” She said, turning her head to flash you a warm, easy smile. She rested one hand on her hip, looking at how carefully you were hovering near the edge of the kitchen island. “You’re more than just a guest, you’re welcome here anytime. You’re… you’re like Bambi right now. Just totally unsure of your feet. Stop being so scared.”

A quiet, involuntary giggle slipped past your lips, the tension in your shoulders dropping a fraction. “I hope the nickname Bambi doesn’t stick.”

Alexia’s smirk returned in full force, her dark eyes dancing with a wicked, playful light as she turned back to the pan. “Well, that entirely depends on how you behave.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your mouth as you moved to pull out a barstool. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” Alexia hummed, her chuckle low and thoroughly satisfied as she plated up the food. “You definitely shouldn’t have.”

The slight hints of tension evaporated into the steam of fresh coffee as you both sat down at the island. The initial awkwardness settled down into a comfortable silence as you both ate. It wasn’t an unpleasant or empty quiet; it was full of the domestic scraping of forks against plates, the hum of the kitchen appliances, the morning chirps of birds in the garden outside, clearly glad the chaos of the previous night was over.

It was a shared lazy morning lull, underscored by the lingering warmth of the sun hitting the kitchen floor.

But as the last few bites were finished and your cutlery finally scraped against the ceramic to a halt, Alexia’s mind began to wonder again. Right back to the shadows of the side garden on the sofa, again.

She stared down at her empty plate, her fingers idly tapping against the handle of her mug. She couldn’t let it go.

Hearing you admit all those things to Clara had been causing an uncomfortable twisting pain within her all morning. 

Alexia was used to having to be the structured one, the fortress, the captain who held it together. She revelled in it. 

Most of the time.

Hearing that her guard, the very wall she built to survive the pressure, had made you feel small and unwelcome in her life? It made her stomach churn.

Those walls were just a facade. And though, she supposed, it was good enough that it could fool almost anyone, she didn’t want it to affect her life in such a way like it had with you.

She wanted to lay it out, but she needed to be careful. You were still fragile, what with the hangover and the embarrassment. 

She took a final slow sip of her coffee, before setting the mug down with a soft clink to break the silence.

“You know last night,” she started, not looking up, keeping her eyes on her mug to give you space. “Before everyone left, when you were on the sofa.” 

You instantly felt a spike of adrenaline shoot straight to your chest, your mind racing through the fuzzy timeline– the weird confessional Kika and Patri had baited you into, and then the pathetic tearful rambles you’d unloaded onto an unprepared Clara.

“Yeah?” You squeaked out, clearing your throat to try and sound normal. You gripped your glass of water a little tighter. “What about it?”

“Just…” Alexia trailed off, shifting her weight on the barstool. She glanced up then, trying to gauge how much you could handle. “You seemed really… overwhelmed when you left the group. And when I came out later, you still looked… weighed down. So I just… I guess I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Because you don’t have to lie or pretend with me, you know.” 

“Oh. Right.” You mumbled, looking everywhere but at her. You traced the edge of your plate with your thumb, trying to skirt around the massive elephant in the room. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just, you know, too many beers. And I get emotional when I’m tired. I probably just said a bunch of nonsense to Clara. You know how it is.” 

Alexia stayed quiet for a minute, mulling it over. 

“Was it? Nonsense?” She asked quietly a little later. Almost afraid of the answer.

“Total nonsense.” You liked quickly, nodding your head with a strained, bashful laugh. “Completely ridiculous stuff. Don’t even worry about it.”

Alexia watched you scramble, and though she perhaps should’ve been disheartened at your answer, a helpless surge of affection overtook her instead. 

She couldn’t keep the secret anymore; it wasn’t fair to let you hide behind a lie when you were both desperate for the truth.

A small, knowing smile broke across her face. She leaned her forearms onto the island, tilting her head slightly.

“I heard some of it, you know.” 

Your hand stopped dead on the table, your eyes widening to the size of saucers as the breath caught squarely in your throat. Your mind blanked out in pure panic as you froze under her gaze.

The brunette let out a low, amused chuckle at the reaction, her eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Again with the Bambi.” She teased, lightly bumping her knee into yours. 

“I– I wasn’t… it really wasn't what it sounded like,” you scrambled to defend yourself, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush as you desperately tried to piece together a coherent excuse. “I was tipsy, and Clara was just there, and I talk so much rubbish when I’ve had a few beers, Alexia, seriously, you can’t take anything I say after midnight–”

“Hey, hey, breathe,” Alexia cut in gently, her soft voice instantly halting your spiral. She didn't let the distance grow between you, instead leaning in a fraction closer. The teasing smirk was entirely gone, replaced by an expression so genuinely reassuring it made your mind spin. “Calm down. I’m not mad. I promise you, I’m not mad at all.”

You blinked, your mouth shutting instantly as you stared at her, your heart still thumping a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Your eyes darted around the kitchen, desperately scanning the marble countertops, the coffee machine, the windows– literally anything to avoid the intense, steady focus of her gaze while your brain frantically searched for a way out.

“Why are you looking at the toaster like it’s going to save you?” Alexia asked, a breathless laugh escaping her lips, though her eyes remained completely soft.

“I’m not,” You mumbled miserably, finally dropping your gaze back to your lap. “I just… I really didn't mean to drag you into my messy thoughts.”

Alexia stayed quiet for a moment, letting the room settle. Then, slowly, she shifted her arm across the cool marble of the island and placed her hand directly over yours. Her palm was incredibly warm, her fingers resting securely over your trembling knuckles, grounding you completely.

“Look at me,” She requested softly.

Reluctantly, you lifted your eyes to meet hers.

“If I heard what I think I heard out there,” Alexia murmured, her thumb making a slow, incredibly tender stroke across the back of your hand, “then… you don’t need to be nervous at all about how I will react. Not even a little bit.” She paused, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made all your hesitations dissolve. “Just… be honest with me. Please.”

The raw sincerity in her voice almost overwhelmed you. A fresh, deep blush crept right back up to your cheeks, but beneath the embarrassment, an all-consuming sense of relief took over. You swallowed the lump in your throat, staring at her hand over yours, and gave a small nod.

Once the floodgates opened, there was no stopping it.

The slight hangover and the months of suppressed longing collided all at once, causing the words to come rushing out your mouth in a desperate, unfiltered torrent.

“It’s just… I’ve felt like this literally for months, Ale.” You started, your hands gesturing wildly as you tried to explain the chaos in your head. “And every time I wanted to say something, I’d look at how completely composed you are, how you handle everything with this intense focus, and I’d just chicken out.” 

Alexia gave a wistful smile, the sight almost derailing you. But you wanted to power through this now, no matter what. No looking back.

“I was so convinced that if I let it slip, I’d just… be an annoying distraction to you. I didn’t want to throw a wrench into your peace or make things awkward at training, and then Patri and Kika kept setting up stupid traps, and I was just so mortified because the last thing I ever wanted to do was burden you with my messy feelings, and I–”

You paused to catch your breath, your eyes finally flicking back to the woman sitting next to you. 

Alexia hadn't moved an inch. 

She was sitting with her elbow propped casually on the marble island, her chin resting comfortably in her hand as she gazed at you. Her eyes were fixed entirely on your face, completely captivated, and a soft, deeply affectionate smile played on her lips as she drank in every single word of your chaotic confession. She looked entirely untroubled, thoroughly content, and devastatingly beautiful in the morning light.

The undivided intensity of her gaze caused the rest of your sentence to completely die in your throat. Your cheeks flared an even deeper shade of crimson, and you shifted uncomfortably on your stool, suddenly feeling very small under her look.

How the tables had turned; now it was you who couldn’t stop blushing.

“...and I don’t know what to do with myself when you look at me like that, especially,” You finished in a tiny, breathless murmur, your voice trailing off as you nervously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Alexia’s grin only widened at that, a quiet rumbling chuckle vibrating in her chest as she watched you squirm.

“I can’t help it,” She murmured smoothly, her eyes dancing with an unapologetic fondness.

You let out a breathy, nervous huff and rolled your eyes, though the defensive gesture did absolutely nothing to cool the burning heat in your cheeks.

Alexia let the comfortable quiet of the kitchen settle around you for a moment. She dropped her hand from her chin and shifted her posture, leaning closer until the space between you was practically non-existent. She gently took your hand back in hers, her thumb resuming that slow stroke against your skin. 

She knew it was her turn now, and she needed to make sure you fully absorbed every single word.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Alexia began, her voice dropping to a low, incredibly gentle whisper. She waited until your eyes flicked up to meet hers, holding your gaze so you couldn't look away.

“You are not too chaotic for me,” She stated firmly, erasing any room for doubt. “You are not an annoying distraction, and you could never, ever disrupt my peace. Nothing of what you’ve built up in your head to be terrified of is true.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you listened to the sheer conviction in her tone.

“I like you exactly because you are the opposite of me,” Alexia continued, her expression softening into something heartwarmingly vulnerable. “My entire life is structured, heavily monitored, and constantly under pressure. But you... you bring out entirely different sides of me. Sides I sometimes forget I even have. You make me laugh when I’m stressed, you make me forget about the weight of the captain's armband, and those walls you think I have up?”

She paused, her thumb pressing a little firmer into the back of your hand.

“Whenever you’re around, they come falling down without you even trying,” She confessed quietly, laying her heart completely bare. “You don't need to worry about breaking through them, Bambi. You’ve been on the other side of them for months.”

The breath rushed out of your lungs in a shaky exhale, your vision blurring slightly at the edges as her words washed over you. All those months of agonising over every little interaction, over every lingering touch, suddenly clicked into place.

Alexia’s brow furrowed slightly, a flash of genuine guilt passing through her dark eyes. “It breaks my heart that I made you feel like you were a burden. I was trying so hard to respect your boundaries and not make things complicated for you at the club, but I am so sorry that my distance made you feel–”

“Don’t,” You cut her off quickly, your fingers instinctively curling around hers to squeeze her hand tight. “You don’t need to apologise, Ale. Seriously. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Alexia paused, her eyes searching yours, wordlessly questioning if you really meant it.

“It’s just my useless habit of overthinking.” You admitted with another self-deprecating chuckle. “You were just being you. I build these massive worst-case scenarios in my head and then convince myself they’re real. It’s stupid.” 

A grin spread slowly across Alexia’s face, her eyes lighting up with that familiar playful mischief. She leaned in just a fraction closer, her knees bracketing yours as you both sat sideways on the barstools. 

“That’s alright, because we found a solution to that last night, didn’t we?”

You blinked, a little confused. “What do you mean?” 

Without breaking eye contact, Alexia slowly shifted her hand. She uncurled her fingers from yours, slid her hand just an inch down the marble counter, and hooked her smallest finger tightly around your pinky. She gave it a firm, teasing wiggle right there on the kitchen island.

A bright, genuine laugh burst from you at the sight, your whole body relaxing as the lingering remnants of your morning panic finally vanished. 

“You and these fucking promises.” You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from how she looked at you. 

You quietened after that, though. Your laughter melted into something smaller, just the corner of your mouth turned upward as your fingers remained hooked together and her gaze never left yours. Each of you slowly began to process the others’ words, internally beaming at the unexpected turn of events. 

“I can’t quite believe we’ve finally… talked about it.” You whispered, staring down at your intertwined fingers before looking back up at her. It felt completely surreal, sitting in her kitchen and holding her hand while she confessed her feelings.

Alexia just smiled, as a soft and context expression took over her features at the same time she gave a casual shrug of her shoulders. “It’s been a long time coming. We were both just being too stubborn.” 

“Definitely too stubborn.” You nodded in bashful agreement, shaking your head. Then you let out a quiet snort as you thought about the madness of the previous night. “Stubborn to the point where our idiotic team had to basically bang our heads together.” 

Alexia threw her head back, a loud laugh echoing through the kitchen. “Don’t give them too much credit.” 

“They’re never going to let us live this down.” You added with a sigh, your thumb tracing the smooth skin of her hand.

Alexia hummed in agreement, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she kept her pinky firmly hooked with yours. The kitchen fell back into a quiet, content silence, but the air felt entirely different now. The suffocating weight that had been hanging over your chest all morning was completely gone, replaced by a warm and bubbling lightness.

You sat there for a few unhurried moments, just taking her in. 

The way the bright morning sun caught the golden undertones in her brown hair, the relaxed slope of her shoulders, and the soft, incredibly peaceful expression on her face. For months, you had viewed her as this untouchable fortress, but right now, sitting sideways on a barstool in a kitchen that smelled of coffee, you were left wondering how on earth you’d let those thoughts slide.

Her gaze dropped to your hands, her thumb mindlessly rubbing the side of your finger. Following her line of sight, your chest swelled with a sudden, overwhelming wave of affection. It was a bizarre, beautiful contrast– the stern captain holding your pinky like a schoolgirl on her kitchen island.

Slowly, your gaze drifted back up, tracing the sharp line of her jaw before finally landing on her mouth. The morning light caught the soft, natural curve of her lips, and the sudden realisation of what you actually wanted hit you all at once. The craving was so sharp it made your breath catch.

You leaned in just a tiny bit, your knees shifting against hers, shrinking the space between you until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from her skin.

“I really want to kiss you,” You whispered, piquing her interest. Only for you to sigh dramatically and lean back again. “But I can’t right now.” 

Alexia’s eyebrows shot up, a startled but highly amused laugh escaping her lips at your sudden turnaround. She didn’t let go of your pinky, instead leaning forward with a bright, curious gleam in her eyes.

“No?” She asked, her voice rich with a teasing undertone. “You can’t? You literally just said you wanted to.”

“I do!” You defended dramatically, throwing your free hand up in the air before dropping it back onto your lap. “But I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, I just feel completely gross. I don't want our first proper kiss to be overshadowed by a hangover and general morning grogginess. I want it to be a good memory, Ale.”

Alexia stared at you for a short beat, her expression softening so fast it was almost dizzying. A noise of pure, melting affection escaped her throat, her eyes crinkling deeply at the corners.

“You’re really something, hm,” She murmured, shaking her head. She slowly unhooked her pinky from yours, but before you could miss the contact, she slid her stool even closer, her knees firmly slotting around yours. “Alright. Fine. If you’re being stubborn about that… let me do this instead.”

She reached up, her warm hands gently coming to cradle your jawline. Her fingers were soft against your skin, her thumbs lightly tracing your cheekbones as she tilted your face up slightly. You held your breath, your pulse instantly starting to quicken.

Slowly, deliberately, Alexia leaned in. She pressed a soft, warm kiss to your left cheek, her lips lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle. Then, she shifted slightly, her breath brushing against your skin as she dropped an identical, tender kiss onto your right cheek.

You thought that was it, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved to the center, her eyelids fluttering shut as she pressed a firm, affectionate, lingering kiss right against the middle of your forehead.

The contact sent your heart into absolute overdrive. It felt like a physical shockwave of warmth rolling straight down your spine, leaving your stomach doing a series of wild, uncontrolled flips. It wasn't just a casual gesture; the sheer care and gravity behind the way she held your face made you feel like you were floating.

(And not because of alcohol this time.)

When she finally pulled back, her hands slid down to rest casually on your shoulders, a soft, triumphant smile playing on her lips as she looked down at your inevitably crimson face.

“Who’s the blusher now?” 

You let out a groan of pure embarrassment, completely defeated, and dropped your forehead forward until it rested heavily against her shoulder. Your face was buried in the soft fabric of her top, your hands instinctively rising to lightly grip the sides of her waist.

Alexia let out a low chuckle that vibrated right through your chest, burying her face into your hair for a brief second.

“That was too soft, Ale,” You grumbled against her shoulder, though a smile was tugging at the corners of your own mouth. “You’re cheating.”

“Too soft?” Alexia retorted, her voice dropping into a thoroughly amused, teasing purr. “Not true for you. I can literally feel your heart hammering from here.”

To make matters worse, she brought her hands down from your shoulders and began to rub them in slow, soothing strokes up and down your back. The gentle friction through the thick grey hoodie only made your stomach do another round of ridiculous flips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, completely content to stay hidden against her forever.

The domestic bubble was abruptly shattered by a sharp ping from the marble counter.

You reluctantly pulled your head back, shooting a glare at your phone as it buzzed again. You slid off the barstool, your legs still a little heavy, and reached for the device. Glancing at the screen, your eyes went wide as the digital clock and a message stared back at you.

“Oh, damn it,” You groaned again, running a hand over your face. “I completely forgot. I have plans with my family this afternoon. I… I have to leave right now or I’m going to be late.”

Alexia’s expression softened with instant understanding, her hands dropping away as she stood up with you. “Don’t stress. Go grab your stuff from upstairs, I’ll wait by the door.”

Ten minutes later, you were walking down her front path toward your car. The midday air was warm and crisp, a stark contrast to the heavy, tearful shadows of the garden the night before. You felt a million times lighter.

“Send me a text when you get home,” Alexia called out from the open doorway. She was leaning her shoulder comfortably against the frame, her hands tucked into the pockets of her shorts as she watched you.

You paused by your driver’s side door, turning back to face her with an easy smile. “I will.”

Alexia lingered for a second, her eyes tracking your face before a small, uncharacteristically bashful look crossed her features. “And… text me after that, too?”

Your heart did a violent, happy flip in your chest. You looked at her, entirely charmed. “As long as you promise to text me back.”

Without a word, Alexia lifted her hand from her pocket and held up her pinky finger, her eyes swirling with that playful affection. You couldn't help the wide, helpless grin that split your face as you lifted your own hand, mimicking the gesture from across the lawn to seal the silent contract.

With a final wave, you unlocked your car and climbed into the driver’s seat. As you pulled the seatbelt across your chest, your hand brushed against the thick, heavy fabric of the grey pullover. You froze, looking down at yourself, and realised with a sudden jolt of amusement that you were still wearing her clothes.

You let out a quiet huff and reached up to adjust the rearview mirror before backing out of the driveway. 

But as your eyes tracked the reflection, your gaze travelled past your own face and straight through the large glass window of her kitchen.

There she was, completely oblivious to the fact you were watching. Alexia was standing by the sink, idly wiping down the marble island after breakfast, and she was smiling uncontrollably to herself– a completely private grin that reached all the way to her eyes.

You shifted the car into gear and drove away, the lingering smell of her fabric softeners surrounding you, your own smile matching hers the entire ride home.

—

once again, no idea how this is so long, but hopefully it was worth it 🫠 do let me know if you enjoyed it :)

[luciasona]

hardest of hearts: chapter 9 | lucy x ona 18+

✧ chapter 9: masterlist, chapter 8, chapter 10 (soon)

✧ chapter wc: 6k

✧ chapter tags: hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, a little angst, alessia russo, tension babyyy

✧ fic blurb: There is no reason why they should work; Ona likes spontaneity, Lucy likes certainty. Ona is fiercely indepedent, Lucy has never been alone.

Oh, and Ona is a dominatrix, who can't part with control. Even when she wants to.

Perhaps they could both teach the other a thing or two about trust, and taming the urge to run from fear.

ao3 link or read below

June, now, and Lucy doesn't hear much from Ona while she's in Spain. She does, but she's growing restless with all of this, and logic doesn't quell her anxiety that Ona is pulling away. They call, they miss each other in the cracks of a carefully controlled exchange, and she has one of those nights where she thinks about her life like it’s already over. 

Lucy is restless. Unbearably so, and she wonders how much more of this she can take. Not just this torturous burn of longing and questioning, but her life in Manchester. She was never the type to stay in one place for too long, and here, ghosts of her past seem to be long-stays in every restaurant, every dimly lit alcove in the street, every friend whose opinions had become stale and all of their observations twinged with the flagrant jealousy of someone who doesn’t wish for more. Someone content with the plain, the routine, the old and new meaning nothing.

Only one thing was making her stay, and it's because Ona carries this uncanny effervescence that funnels colour into Lucy's world. The real kind, the dazzling kind, the kind that burns her eyes after too long but she can’t look away.

Ona herself was the perfect inflictions of fiery and tender, of giving and taking. Every ordinary thing she says or does seems to shift the world to its feet, and Lucy has dreamt every night of the things they could be. The places they could go. Every contrast of their selves against one another felt poetic in the way any right couple should be, and Lucy doesn't want to need someone, but she might drown in this feeling if Ona doesn't take it from her sooner or later.

"Luce?"

"Hm?" Lucy glanced at Ella, somewhere lost in her foggy memories of Ella's teenage self being far less mellow than this. 

"I know that…Ona's a funny one. It's taken her a long time to really...let me in, you know. Same with anyone. But I think she trusts you, and maybe I'm putting my nose in where it's not due but you should trust her too. She's the most honest person I know, and she has a massive heart-"

"I know she does."

Ella pulled her lips tighter, like there’s a paradox to Ona that Lucy hasn’t quite found yet.   "But I also know she's being a bit of a self-sabotager." She smiled meekly.

Lucy raised her brows vaguely in consideration, though a small dagger dropped through her chest. "Hasn't sabotaged yet."

Ella kept her voice quiet, the tap running in the bathroom where Ona was out of ear-reach. "No, but you're something she hasn't had in a long time. And she might put up a fight but give her a chance. I just feel like she needs this, and she needs you."

"You're a medium now?"

"Give over Luce."

"When does mum usually pick you up?"

"Six o'clock." The young girl glances up from texting on her phone. "You can go if you need to." She adds, and Lucy might think she’s merely apathetic if not for her un-maimed leg swinging back and forth with quiet anxiety.

"I'm not leaving you alone. Don't be daft."

Lucy leans back into the chair that feels far too small for her, surrounded by the unsettling ambience of the Medical Assessment Ward. Mia was one of her girls, threw her ankle out at their Sunday training and one glance told Lucy it wasn’t good. But this was fine, her friendly dinner plans hadn’t even mattered.

Usually one of the mouthier ones, especially in the company of her friends, Mia is quiet as a mouse now. "Mum would." She mumbles, opening up a mindless game that Lucy, in need of distraction, follows. 

"Would what?"

"Leave me in A&E. So you can. It's fine."

"Why’d you think I’d leave you? How old are you again?" Lucy questions with incredulity.

"Thirteen. How old are you?"

Lucy scoffs, crossing her arms. "Never ask a woman that. But no. And I doubt mum would."

"Do you genuinely think we'll win? " Mia interrupts, her wiry blonde curls covering her face, still immersed in her phone. Lucy had gathered she wasn't the type to want to chat menially with her coach, so the question brings her some joy to answer.

"I think today proved you guys have upped your game to the level we need for the final. If your mindsets can match it, you can go in with a fight, then we're cooking on gas." "I dunno, I just don't really believe it."

'Well get believing. Because I don't lose. And you girls don’t either.”

Lucy is settled in bed, still preoccupied with thoughts of tactics and formations and what it felt like to lose, be a loser, at the tender age of thirteen. Closer to the world ending than a new beginning, but she knows it's the knocked knees and uselessly-muddied hair that makes you into someone worth trying for.

Thoughts don't count after midnight. That's what she vowed to herself some-decade ago after she'd sent one too many emotionally charged texts, ordered one too many useless gadgets, and thought far too unproductively about her life after that time.

Her phone vibrates on her nightstand, and she has to bring it close to her squinting eyes to be certain she'd read the name right. 

"Ona?"

 "Hola, how are you?" Ona's voice muffles on the other end of the line, blurred by a peripheral of indistinguishable noise.

"Yeah, what's up? Where are you?"

"I'm...at the airport, in Manchester, my flight got- really late, three hours or...something stupid."

Lucy can smell the slur of her words, and a pit drops in her stomach. She speaks with crass disbelief. "Are you drunk?" 

Ona takes a predictable moment to reply. "Like, a little. But I wanted to tell you I'm here, in case I get, I don't know, kidnapped or something." She laughs dryly, and Lucy is unimpressed. Ona hadn't even told her she was flying back today. Just sometime this week.

Lucy goes silent, lost in her thoughts, until Ona prompts her softly. "Lucy?"

"So you need me to come pick you up."

"No, no way, go back to sleep." Ona answers quickly, sounding like she just caught her breath.

Lucy can only laugh at the audacity, though her concern spikes a jitter in her hands. "...So what were you planning to do to get home?"

"Tram?"

"The tram. The tram doesn't even run at this time. Ona what’s wrong? I’m worried now."

"Uber, sorry, I'm gonna get an Uber. I just- need a minute, I don't very feel well, can you get it for me? I'll send you the- euros. On…the bank, send me your bank details. My app, its like, broken, or something."

Lucy puts her phone on speaker and pulls on the sweatpants she'd been wearing earlier in the day. She feels her adrenaline kicking in, the last thing she needs at stupid-o'clock. 

"Lucy? What're your bank details?" 

"I’ll come get you. You can't get an Uber."

"Or a taxi- no please, I'm fine, don't do anything."

Ona's voice breaks into something shameful and trepid when Lucy goes quiet again, focused only on pulling herself together. "I'm sorry."

Lucy grabs her phone, bringing it closer and taking a moment to breathe herself. "It's fine. Just relax. When did you drink? On the plane?"

"I was in the airport for so long, I had nothing else, so I like...fuck, Lucy, what happened. I feel like death. Feel so horrible. I haven't had- alcohol in so long that it's like... " Ona groans, and Lucy debates getting her on FaceTime just to make sure she isn’t in a complete state. Which she likely isn’t, but God, she’s worried and she’s confused and she’s feeling some degree of disdain for whatever stupid decisions led Ona to this.

"You tell me." Lucy sighs, grabs her keys, and she knows she has no obligation to do this, but there's no turning back when her flat door slams shut behind her. "Want to stay on call while I drive?" She asks, mostly out of duty, not a wish to hear Ona's drunk ramblings.

"Really, I'll get an Uber, I don't want to have you drive at...this time."

"You're in bad luck because I'm getting in the lift now." Lucy wasn't angry. She just feels something like it when concern twists to dread, and suddenly she is compelled to do the right thing. So she's not processing much outside of knowing she needs to get to Ona now.

"You're picking me up? For sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay...thank you. So much. I l- I like you, for being like this. I'm sorry you have to. I didn’t call you to ask for this, I promise, I just didn’t know anyone who would…"

"It's fine, I just want you to be safe. What terminal?" Lucy asks as she sets her phone up on the stand and presses the car into ignition.

"I am safe. Two. Terminal two."

"Got it, see you in half an hour, call an ambulance if you feel really bad."

Ona laughs. "I'm not that bad."

It's completely unforeseen for her mind to ever be this quiet and focused. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, or the shell-shock of worrying that Ona has almost drunk herself to death (which she certainly hasn't— likely just downed a unit too much for her small body to handle), but she hardly breathes, hardly blinks, until she's parked and rushing towards arrivals.

Half of her expected Ona to be gone, but to her relief, she couldn't miss her sat in the lounge, slouched over her bag on the seat next to her, half-focused on her phone in her hand. 

She stands silently infront of Ona for a good few seconds, before finally catching her attention. "Hola." 

Ona looks up slowly, with the wide-eyed fear of Lucy being someone she has never seen before. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot, her lips dry, and cheeks pale, despite the tan she'd obviously acquired. But it's of course the unmissable tear-stains that Lucy thinks about first and last. Last, before Ona is unstably throwing herself into Lucy's arms, and Lucy is catching her with a thud of their bodies clashing together, a rush of endorphins that she doesn't wish to think about right now.

She deflates with the pained affection of it all, her strength tightening as Ona becomes a dead-weight in her arms. "Are you okay?" Finally she pulls her face away, one arm supporting Ona's body and the other on her sweet face. Ona looks somewhere caught between mortified, ashamed, and dreadfully sad.

"I am, I'm sorry for you doing this, I fucked up." 

For a moment, she feels nothing but the sympathy you only feel for someone who occupies a hefty part of you. "I know. It's fine. I’m glad you called me."

Ona sighs, her head falling forward into Lucy's chest, and it was nice to think that Ona felt safe enough to let herself be defeated. Lucy's hands run over her hairline repeatedly, a gesture of touch but also to ground herself. She had always been the practical fixer, the pragmatic voice who coordinated and left the personal stuff to others who could be much more level-headed about it. Not a healer, not the person people collapsed around. She didn’t think she could be trusted with that. Quieter, tenderly, she mutters, "It's really fine."

Her voice seems to alleviate some of the tension Ona was carrying. "I will tell you everything." She mumbles, no courage to lift her head just yet.

"You don't have to now." Lucy answers with her chin pressed to her head.

"I have a lot to tell you, and- I think…I was scared to speak to you, because I missed you, but home was so different and it was all I could think about. I just missed you, and I’m so happy you’re here, because if not, like, I could have another shot. ‘Cause fuck…" She looks up and chuckles with a beyond-exhausted fatigue.

Lucy smiles, a small crook of her lips. "You’re talking nonsense. Let's get you to the car first. Least you got your suitcases, hm?"

Ona groans, stumbling back until she’s sat down again, but her hands reach for Lucy’s legs. "I had priorities." She lowers her head again, and Lucy considers if the horrified looks would be worth carrying Ona through the airport.

“Come,” While Lucy takes a suitcase in each hand, she watches Ona try and fail to walk alongside her, not quite collapsing to the floor but enough to have Lucy abandoning the smaller one for Ona to take, and holding her up with her free arm instead. “How’d you feel? Rotten?”

“Dizzy.” Ona says, leaning into Lucy. “Sick. Headache. Just- kill me now.”

“What’d you have?”

“Vodka.”

“Are you serious?”

Ona makes some sort of shoulder movement. “It was cheap. There was a bar at the lounge…and then on the plane they gave more as like, it was compensation for the delay.”

Lucy decides not to comment. 

When they finally get to the car, she helps her into the passenger seat before dealing with the cases.

Ona starts to cry, seemingly out of nowhere, almost as soon as they get on the road. Lucy’s hand reaches out for hers silently, happy when she finds it, clasps it, and brings it close to her chest.

“Why do you do this for me? ” Ona blubbers, her breath trembling on the way in, and Lucy’s heart aches terribly. She knows what it’s like to feel bled raw, forced to unwillingly show someone the ugliest sides of yourself. 

“Because I care about you, of course.” 

“I can’t.” Ona stammers. 

“Can’t what?”

Ona goes quiet. “...I don’t know. I don’t know why I'm crying.”

Lucy squeezes her hand once, trying not to compound the shame that was clearly eating her whole. “It’s okay.”

Some might see this as kindness taken for granted, and even Lucy will admit, Ona was selective in the intimacy she allowed between them, but God—she can’t imagine a worse predicament for her control-freak of a girl. And if she takes the sweeter side of it, Ona called her for a reason. There was a little voice that reminded her to let Lucy in. 

When she glances over towards the end of their journey, Ona is passed out against the headrest, noted; a gorgeous sleeper. And though Lucy is still riding high on conflicting emotional impulses, and an exhaustion that has her mind hardly able to string a sentence— she is smitten. To the point of suffocation.

She helps Ona up to her apartment, watches her doze off between being given water and changed into a clean pair of pyjamas. Ona gets a soft giggle out of it when her clothes are coming off, even blushing, and Lucy closes her eyes, just in case it makes it a little easier to take. 

She is slow, meticulous, so gentle with it that Ona doesn’t have a word to say. Neither of them do, really. 

“Good girl,” she murmurs softly when Ona finally swallows the ibuprofen that had been forced into her mouth. Ona looks shocked, and Lucy stares down with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” She mutters.

Ona laughs heartily, cupping Lucy’s cheeks in her hands and squeezing just a bit too hard, a sporadic burst of energy. “You are so cute.” 

“And you’re still very drunk.”

“Am not.”

“God help you, my little love.”

Lucy pulls back the covers, and Ona sinks into the mattress without even being on the pillow. Lucy kneels by her bedside, resting her head on Ona’s chest and threading her arms around her. 

She breathes, just listening to her heartbeat and smelling the skin she’d missed so dearly.

"Lucy," Ona whimpers suddenly. "Where's Coco?" Her hands fumble against Lucy's face until she's pushing her away. "Tell me," she says panicked, almost tearful.

Lucy stutters her answer out in a desperate attempt to calm her. "He's fine, he's fine, he's with your friend, remember?"

Ona blinks. "You can't get him to me? Now?"

Lucy rests her chin on Ona’s collarbone. "No baby. Don’t you remember the time?” She gives a small smile, and Ona grins back at her own foolishness. 

“Of course. ‘Cause you’re tired.”

“Not as tired as you.”

"Don’t think I slept last night." Ona admits, her fingers fiddling in Lucy’s hair.

“I could have guessed.” Lucy leans forward to press a kiss to her nose, before standing up, wincing a bit when she is sharply reminded of the lack of cartilage in her knees.

Ona whimpers again, grabbing her hand and giving her pleading eyes. "Don’t go.”

Lucy has to swallow hard. "I can't really stay." She murmurs, stroking Ona’s hair, dreading work tomorrow. "...Unless you need me to."

"I think I do. Need you." Her soft confessional voice is like nothing Lucy has heard before, certainly not from her, and she suddenly looks so small. 

Lucy knows in truth Ona will likely be fine—just face the consequences of her wretched decisions tomorrow morning. But her heart doesn’t even let it be a decision.

After sifting through Ona's drawers to find something to wear (settling on a tank top that is far too small for her, and shorts that constrict her in equal measure), she grabs herself some water in the kitchen, and checks the front door.

Ona is sound asleep when she returns, and she feels the devotion that had always burned bright in her heart, warmer than ever. In the quiet moment of slipping into Ona’s bed to keep a protective arm around her, she decides there’s nothing to forgive. For any of this. 

Lucy's knees slot perfectly in the backs of Ona’s, and her arm crosses over her chest. She pecks a soft kiss to the back of Ona’s neck, not minding the hair that tickles her face.

"I love you." Lucy mouths against her, and it feels like freedom. 

Ona is long lost in her dreams, but Lucy swears she moves an inch back. Or maybe Lucy moves forward. Or maybe both is fine, because both mean they’re closer than they were before it.

After what felt like the shortest sleep of her life, but a warm and restful one nonetheless, her alarm blares her back into reality. Ona doesn’t even stir, not until Lucy begins to begrudgingly move her off of her arm.

“I’m sorry.” Lucy drops a tired kiss to her forehead. Then another for good measure. Just one more moment in this bliss, one is more than enough. Ona nods vaguely, the delicate bridge of her nose and soft brows tilted down towards the warmth they’re sharing beneath the covers. 

“Work,” she mumbles.

“Yeah. I’ve gotta go.” Lucy answers regretfully.

“Okay…Thank you.” She says, her scratched voice only half-there as she falls back asleep. Lucy watches her, keeping this from slipping away. Still tired, still in love.

“You said you were coming Thursday.” 

Lucy finds herself at Ona’s door again, carrying the bag she’d left in her car a few days ago, but is greeted by Ona looking far from dishevelled this evening. Actually, she might have never looked better, with her hair done up and a sexy black halter-neck outlining her freckled skin. “No, I said Tuesday.”

Ona pulls out her phone, and Lucy opens her mouth to speak, until Ona is showing her rather indignantly that Lucy had in fact, said Thursday on text. 

“Of course I meant today.” Lucy feels a scream let go inside of her, suddenly feels like shaking Ona into reality. What reality? She doesn’t know. 

But Ona is calm tonight, carrying herself with a docility and attention that Lucy hadn’t anticipated. It tends to take some time for Ona to shake off her armour, even when they’ve done this countless times before.

“Sure. I have someone over. You want to talk, though?”

“Yeah- well, I can go actually, if you’re busy, you can just have this.” Lucy hands her the bag, catching a hit of the perfume she’d sprayed in hopeful anticipation of Ona smelling it too.

Ona laughs softly, taking a mildly-suggestive step closer. She’s shorter than Lucy, and looking up adds a certain edge to her already aphrodisiacal eyes. “No, let's chat, then you can go.”

“But your friend-”

“She’ll be fine.”

Lucy glances into the kitchen. “Chat here?”

“Yeah.”

Lucy bites her cheek, stalling.“ Okay. Well how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Ona sighs, leaning her side into the wall.

Lucy raises a brow. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Ona returns hastily, meeting her eyes. “No, I just- I'm very embarrassed. And I'm sorry you had to do all of that.”

Lucy blinks in the moment of heavy silence. “I don’t care-”

“I know, you don’t care Lucy. But I do. I don’t like to be like that.”

“If you can’t help it, then you can’t help it.”

“But I could help it.” Ona retorts.

“You couldn’t help what was going on in your mind, whatever made you drink.”

Ona wavers, settling on nodding dimly. Like she always operates with a hope that Lucy is one of those people who never really looks at someone, not properly. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

They hadn’t texted about it in excess, but Lucy understood enough that the stress from the trip amounted to her poor decision-making. The stress she couldn’t help, not from anything Lucy could tell.

“Don’t worry about it.” Lucy pulls her in for a hug, and of course Ona accepts after a slight delay of her arms. “I enjoyed helping you, and I enjoyed staying over.” 

It’s then that Lucy smells wine on her breath, and her placid demeanour begins to make far more sense. “How many glasses?” She asks in a teasing murmur as Ona pulls away.

“None of your business.” She grins devilishly, and Lucy smiles down dubiously. “But really. Not much. One. I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not, darling.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

A striking blonde emerges from the door, almost knocking Lucy to her feet, stopping with a smile of modest confidence. Lucy’s heart starts beating with the kind of rhythm that’s more a response to the body than mind. 

Ona, predictably, flusters, but only briefly. “No. We’re fine.”

“Lucy,” Alessia greets her with a grin that's part shy and part curious, certainly knowing.

“Alessia.” Lucy’s mouth does something strange, and she drops the eye contact. “Fancy seeing you.”

“I know, I’ve heard a lot about you lately.” Alessia says, Ona looking between the two of them with far less agitation than when Ella had been here. It also helps that Lucy isn’t half out of her mind with an intense sexual come-down.

“Awful things I’m sure.” Lucy replies.

Ona grins nervously, giving Alessia a light push before she speaks. “No, lovely things. You doing good?”

“Yeah. The usual.”

“Still can’t tell the days of the week?” Alessia teases, and Lucy’s smile drops. 

“-What d’’you mean still?”

“You’ve always been a bit of a scatter-brain.”

Lucy is taken aback by the confidence in her quiet voice, her coy smile, and with most, she’d be able to play back. 

But Alessia has always made her very nervous, and she won’t admit this to even Ona, hardly even herself, but it’s to do with her face. Christ, pathetic, she knows, but Alessia is…was…always…to everyone. Not just Lucy, she’s far from Lucy’s type, but it’s something you can’t quite escape.

“I’m just playing.” Alessia renounces.

“I didn’t disagree.” Lucy answers lightheartedly. 

Ona chimes in before silence can fall. “So are you going or joining us Luce?” 

Lucy falters for a few seconds. “Like- here?”

“If Alessia is okay with it,” Ona says, turning to her friend. “I promise I didn’t mean for her to interrupt our night.”

Alessia pulls her lips inwards, crossing her arms and swaying lightly. If Lucy were to guess, more drunk than Ona. And she doesn’t expect such a poised response, as if Lucy had been their sole topic of conversation and were just waiting for her to show up. “I’d love her to. Weren’t we just saying about how lonely we are?”

Ona giggles, guiding them leisurely towards the living room. “Only lonely in wanting to drink our sadness on a Tuesday night.”

Alessia had never been aloof, but never outwardly deep, either. She carried herself assured, never overconfident, always alluring in a way that made you need to take a second look. She spoke evenly, teased often, but if Lucy listened close enough, there tended to be an edge of doubt that worked to overcompensate. Unassuming is perhaps the word, though it's not as though she has any true evils to hide. Maybe just personal demons, the ones Lucy herself knows too well, the ones that get louder as you get older and nothing in life feels new anymore. The skulls of regret, grief, unmended wounds that sit on your shelf, rattling occasionally, as if to let you know they never quite left you.

But with a glass stem precariously between her fingertips and warmth circulating her chest from the rich Catalan Merlot, she can’t hear a thought that isn’t drowned out by Ona’s rambunctious laughter, or her accent growing ever-more Spanish with every slow sip she takes. 

And when Lucy looks across at both girls, she knows quite acutely why she chose Ona. It’s because…actually it's not acute, rather just something she knows. She knows it. Very quietly, very loudly, very vividly. She knows it.

She also comes to realise something else. Ona is not friendly with Alessia in the same way she is with Ella. There’s a curious trust, a thread pulled taut between them that Lucy is not foolish enough to miss.

What had they spoken about before Lucy got here? Life. Substances. Sexuality. A bit of everything, really.

They sit on the rug around the coffee table, talk shared history, filling each other in on the gaps in their lives, particularly the brief period where Lucy knew Alessia, which Ona seems particularly keen to know about. Lucy isn’t hesitant, there’s just a certain irk to thinking back to that version of herself.

Ona talks about Barcelona, about Vilassar de Mar, about the first time she went to an escort bar in Valencia and ended up just being taught Spanish poker by some of the girls.

Alessia speaks of feeling isolated by her friends here, her trials and tribulations with love, the ways Ona has never let her down. Maybe she is quite deep after all, and maybe they’ve all changed a lot more than they’d ever admit.

“Cards?” Lucy comments after a break in conversation, seeing some strewn across the floor. She picks one up. “Truth or dare?”

“Would you rather, and never have I ever. All 3. I got rid of the stupid ones.” Ona scoops them up, dropping them back into the box.

“Cheeky.” Lucy’s brows raise upon reading the salacious dare, swallowing down something heavy, before handing the card to Ona, and leaning back against the couch leg.

“Why, you wanna play?” Ona asks. Alessia’s lips are parted in Ona’s direction, watching her as if she were still something very new in her world.

Lucy contends it for a moment, but they were having fun, she’s feeling light and uninhibited, and she’d never pass up an opportunity to have Ona admit some secrets.  “Sure.” She leans forward, taking half a stack from Ona to subtly flex her card-shuffling skills. “What’re those for?” She nods towards a pile of small blue tokens.

“These are meant to be a drinking game, but we aren’t stupid to do that so…I thought of maybe we get five of these each. For every thing on a card you’ve done, or dare you do, you put one in the middle. The goal is to have as many left at the end.”

Lucy narrows her eyes with amused scepticism. “Who won the last round?” 

“Me, of course.” Alessia gives a coquettish grin. “As in, Ona had done all of them…”

Ona places the cards carefully in the middle, shifting so they’re equally spaced around the table. 

“I’ll go first. And how about we all do the never have I ever, if one gets pulled.” Ona decides, sliding a card from the pile and flipping it to read. “Alessia, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you ever flirt your way out of situations?” Ona reads from the card, a little grin playing on her cherry-red lips, and Lucy almost regrets agreeing to the game, because the list of things she could do to Ona right now is astronomically high. 

“Only with guys who won’t leave me or a friend alone. Actually no, I don’t even flirt intentionally, I think I just sort of, come off that way.”

Ona hums sharp. “Yep.”

Alessia takes a card, turning to Lucy as she reads it. “Would you rather never see your ex again, or have them crash your wedding.”

“We share a dog. So she’ll have to crash the wedding.”

Ona’s reproach shows on her face, and Lucy grins, taking the next card.

“Ona. Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“Tell the hottest person in the room what their sexiest feature is.”

Flame ignites in Ona’s eyes, not even considering Alessia’s presence, which makes Lucy’s heart thrum with indignant passion. 

“Your eyes are your sexiest feature. I like, can’t breathe sometimes when you look at me.”

“Aww,” Alessia coos, and Lucy smiles at Ona in a way that fully sings of her desire.

“Thank you.”

Ona deadpans. “Joking. It’s your ass.” 

She tosses her token into the middle, before choosing a card and addressing Alessia coyly. “Never have I ever had sex…in public.”

Alessia flushes, visibly. “Nope.” She replies swiftly, before giggling.

Ona glances at Lucy, who regretfully admits, “Not quite public. Does sexting count?”

“No.” Ona scoffs, losing another token.

“What’s your story then?” Lucy asks her while Alessia draws a card, the morbid curiosity far too much to handle.

“In a bar. She was a police officer, I think. Not on duty of course.”

“Lucy, never have I ever… fallen in love with someone I shouldn't have?” Alessia reads, while Lucy is still recovering from the mental image of what Ona just revealed. Her desire burned so heavy, unhelped by the wrongness of feeling this way while another woman very obviously felt a similar pull towards Ona. Even if purely sexual.

Lucy thinks on it. “Nope,”

Ona drops a token in the middle. Alessia hesitates, ultimately keeping it in her hand.

“Never?” Ona says.

“No.” Alessia answers with a twinge of ambiguity. 

“You don’t have feelings for Ella?” Lucy questions on impulse. 

“No…she got it wrong.” 

Lucy draws her card, deciding not to push. 

“I think you do. Just a bit.” Ona smiles to herself, just as Lucy goes to speak.

“I’m not in love with her.” She answers after a pause, as though it was the most straightforward thing. “I just…get this feeling around her. It’s like…envy of some kind, but also I love her to bits. I told you, I can’t explain it. And she doesn’t understand a lot of what I feel. Yet wants me to be involved in everything she does.”

“I think she understands more than you think.” Ona returns.

“But she’s never had to question anything about herself. Her life is so simple. And she’s always thought I’m the same, but I’m…just not.”

“I think she just wants to understand you. She can probably tell you’re being distant ‘cause of it.”

“Has she told you to say this?” Alessia says lightheartedly, but her body language reads tense.

Ona looks toward Lucy now, their eyes quietly meeting. “Of course not, I’m just saying what I think.”

After another bout of silence, Lucy reads her card. “Truth or dare, baby?”

“Truth,” Ona chooses this time, leaning back on her hands.

“Have you ever cheated on someone?” Lucy reads, her voice easing as the question sounds out.

Ona stiffens in a way that has become very familiar to Lucy, before her answer comes with more conviction than she likely hoped for. She sits up straighter. “I have.” 

Ona slips her token to the middle, avoiding them both. “My ex. I had reasons. I still feel bad for it.”

She speaks candidly, but Lucy can sense the absolute terror in her eyes as she shifts her legs to cross them. “Why?” Lucy says, softer, running the edge of the card against her thumb.

“Hm?”

“Why’d you cheat?” She asks, more curious than accusatory. Ona did a grand job at holding herself together, but Lucy can see right through her. She can see how caught off-guard she was by the question, and perhaps, how deep this bruise went. Perhaps…this was the missing piece that Lucy had been trying to prod out of her for their whole entanglement.

Ona purses her mouth. “It’s a long story. I promise I’ll tell you another time.”

“Another time.” Lucy echoes in quiet agreement. “But…call that integrity.”

She gets a tight-lipped smile in response. Ona nods again, small and decisive, before choosing her card and lightening up.

“Would you rather always be blindfolded during sex, or your partner always be blindfolded during sex?”

Alessia presses her cheek to her knee, grinning. “Me.” She answers simply, and Ona narrows her eyes with a smirk when she catches Alessia looking at her.

“Truth or dare, Luce.” Alessia reads from her own pulled card.

“Dare.” 

“Make out with the hottest person in the room.” 

Lucy feels a spike in her chest, and Ona lowers her gaze seductively. 

“Come, baby.” 

Lucy crawls the small distance towards her. She hesitates, like it’s their first kiss, because she feels Alessia so brazenly watching them. It wasn’t like she hated the feeling, in fact it was quite exciting, but acting on it was another push of confidence she’s never been sure she has.

Ona initiates, a single hand cupping her cheek with familiar tension as she presses her wetted lips against Lucy’s. She kisses her once, twice, a tease of her tongue, before Lucy pulls back, her lip trembling and flutters tingling her abdomen.

Lucy glances at Alessia. Her pale face is now deadly scarlet, and her blue eyes, blown with unabashed awe. She’d watched the whole thing, not even blinked.

Lucy takes the next card much slower, and- fucking hell. “Never have I ever, gotten off to someone in this room.”

Ona drops her token into the middle without faltering. Lucy and Alessia quickly follow.

“You and Ona?” Lucy says plainly, and she isn’t sure whether this is excitement or aversion.

Alessia just shoots her a smirk. 

Ona glares at Lucy, taking her card. She very blatantly swaps it for the one beneath, and Lucy silently curses her, or wants to pin her to the ground and wipe the smirk off of her lips. She can’t quite read what she wants from this.

“Lessia, truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“Kiss someone in the room who you’ve never kissed before.”

Alessia fully chokes on her breath, and even Lucy feels her pulse like a snare drum.

“You don’t have to,” Ona says, but Lucy catches the edge of challenge.

Alessia pauses, voice wavering. “You can’t hate me.” 

“I wouldn’t hate you.” Ona soothes quietly.

With some trepidation, Alessia meets Lucy in the middle, and Lucy feels very dizzy very suddenly. 

“Don’t be nervous.” Lucy says quietly, reaching out for Alessia’s bare shoulder that practically trembles. Her skin is colder than Ona’s, tempting in a way she quite despises. 

“I am.” Alessia admits sheepishly. In a very rare instance, Lucy isn’t too bothered about whether Alessia actually finds her attractive or not. Clearly there was something to it, even if it's the most base, surface-level acknowledgement. 

“Why?” Lucy murmurs, letting her hand drift down her arm, a buzz of exhilaration vibrating low in her chest that she really shouldn’t answer.

“I don’t do this often. Ona- was my first. A- long time ago.”

“Your first time with a girl?” Lucy smiles triumphantly. “That’s sweet. Was she good?”

“Yeah…” Alessia breathes. “She’s brilliant.” 

Lucy feels it all in every place, and she should be jealous, and she is, but her cunt aches at the thought of Ona in her element, teaching Alessia what passion means. She aches with the need for Ona’s untamed hunger, to finally break some jealousy into her.

“Tell me more.”

Alessia’s breath gets caught in her throat, and beneath herself, Ona seems to feel rather exposed from it all. “She- is really good. And thoughtful.”

“Isn’t she? And sexy.” Lucy hums.

Alessia nods faintly. “I don’t like her though. Not like that.” She adds timidly, her gaze fixed on Lucy’s in a way that borders on intimacy but is more a plea for approval.

“Would you have sex with her again?”

Alessia doesn’t panic, rather she knows there is a right and wrong answer and she is merely flipping a coin to guess. “Probably not.” She admits finally.

Lucy leans forward to catch the tension while it's heaviest, kissing her soft and careful, a steady hand still bearing into one shoulder. Alessia is sweet and shy with it, hardly even seeking a taste, but not quite pulling away. It’s all quite numb, really. So Lucy presses harder, feeling Alessia lean into her arm, and hard as she tried to repress it, dread splits heavy in her gut.

She feels nothing much until Ona makes her presence known. Firm hands over her abs, pulling her back against her, and Lucy makes a shameful sound, practically buckling under the unexpected grasp.

“Don’t stop, then.” Ona purrs with stone-cold composure, hot breath against her neck, a smirk meeting Alessia, who sees her position and grows even more apprehensive.

Lucy has to pull Alessia closer, and she tries to infuse some passion into it, pressing deeper, but it doesn’t quite work, until Ona’s hand snakes up from behind and splays across her jaw. Guiding Lucy’s mouth with hard control.

Alessia has to chase Lucy, the kiss morphing into something messier than intended because quite frankly, Lucy cannot possibly focus on herself when Ona is against her like this. Alessia knees a tad closer, placing her hand carefully on Lucy’s thigh for support.

Ona yanks her head back, and Lucy gasps brokenly, clambering out of the hold. 

Alessia is frozen. Taken aback. Until she starts fluster, and Lucy actually feels quite bad for her. “Ona I thought you-”

“That was enough.” Ona’s face has ironed out, and there’s nothing Lucy or Alessia have left to say. Lucy is struck by her senses, soberingly aware of what she’d done. 

What possibly got into her.

[westwriteswhatever]

Choosing You

Chapter 7: Fuzzy

WandaNat x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: Panic erupts upon waking up in an unfamiliar room. Your body weighs you down, trying to convince you to stay still. Between bedtime stories and a bath, can you let go for a moment?

Word Count: 16.1 k

Warnings for this Chapter: MDNI, dom/sub dynamics begin, describes a panic attack, obscenely long chapter

Series Masterlist AO3 —

Your eyes drift open. Your brain screams at you to shut them, but the warning is muffled by the fog surrounding it. You track the texture of the ceiling that's lit dimly with a soft yellow-orange glow. No stains. No peeling drywall. No cracks.

This isn't your room.

Your eyes widen.

You try to lift your arms, but the duvet is tucked so tightly against your sides and presses so heavily against your chest, it feels like it weighs fifty pounds. When you manage to drag your hands out, your skin freezes. You raise your hands a few inches, but gravity catches your wrists, dropping them back down onto the fabric with a dull thud. You breathe in through your mouth, hoping the extra oxygen will help you process. Instead, the dry air hits your throat, triggering a fit of coughs that rattle your ribs.

Your jaw clamps shut instantly. You bury your face deep into the crook of your elbow, choking back the sound until your throat burns. You freeze, eyes darting to the corners of the dim room, waiting for the cold disapproving looks of your parents. They hated it when you showed any sign of weakness.

Nothing happens. You're alone. Silence fills the space.

Your palm presses flat against the mattress to push yourself up. The surface gives way too easily, swallowing your hand in the plush material. You force your torso upright. The movement sends a spike of heat through your body, your pulse drums hard against your eardrums. Your fingers claw at your chest, finding the collar of your shirt. The neckline hangs low, just above your breasts. The same top you wore to the party.

The room is massive. The foot of the bed ends feet before a polished wooden dresser that's twice the size of your desk at home. Your hand slides blindly across the mattress, swiping until it knocks into something solid. The texture of the plastic case feels familiar. Your phone.

You flip it over. The screen lights up.

4:17 AM.

A cold sweat breaks out across your hairline and spreads to your limbs. Your finger taps the screen, pulling up the transit application. The nearest bus stop is a ten-minute walk, and the ride itself takes over half an hour.

Your shift starts at five. If you run to the bus stop now, you'll only be a few minutes late. You have to work. You need to.

You slide the phone into the pocket of your skirt, the weight making you uneven.

You swing your legs over the edge. Your bare calves hit the air, instantly erupting in goosebumps. When your feet touch the floor, your knees buckle outward, sending you sideways. Your hipbone clips the corner of a piece of furniture with a sharp crack, but the pain doesn't register over your racing pulse. You press your palm flat against the wall, dragging your body along until your fingers wrap around the door handle.

The cool metal cuts into your palm like ice. You stare at the white wood of the door frame. Your thoughts finally clear for a moment, the danger of the situation setting in.

Where are you?

The fear you expect to course through your system doesn't come.

Your free hand rises, pressing gently against your cheek. The skin there feels like it's burning, but a gentle, comfortable warmth permeates and spreads like a salve. You press harder, squishing your cheek against your palm.

Natasha.

The alarm written across her face. Her hands beneath your thighs. Your cheek pressed against her shoulder. Your arms wrapping around her tighter.

You sway unsteadily on your feet, your knuckles turning white as you grip the door handle to keep from falling.

Why had she been there?

"Natasha. We have a lot to talk about."

How does Yelena know Natasha?

The shake in Yelena's voice. Kate's smile vanishing when you told her you wouldn't be talking to them after this. You swallow harshly, your throat aching at the constriction.

Work. You need to go to work. You left these people behind on your own. You're choosing to leave Natasha and Wanda behind too. This is the last time you'll accept their hands reaching for you. You need to let go.

You apply pressure to the door handle. The latch releases with a click. Your shoulders pull inwards, waiting to hear footsteps, but only your ragged breaths break the silence.

You pull the door toward you, inch by inch, relieving the tension so the hinges don't creak. You release the handle, replacing your grip with the smooth edge of the door frame. You force your foot up before taking a quiet step forward.

The dark space you expected to navigate is flooded with moonlight. The light catches your skin, illuminating the vast floor in front of you. The pale brown wood glints under the glow, each shine directing you on where to go.

Your head shifts to the left. A long hallway with doors lining the walls, stretches into a seemingly endless void, the blue light dissolving into darkness the further you look.

Every bone in your neck grinds and creaks as you turn your head to the right. Diagonal to you, a grand staircase sweeps downward into a lower level. The steps and handrail match the light wood beneath your feet, framed by pristine white balusters that drop away into the shadows below.

Your eyes track across the floor. To the far right, another hallway funnels into the dark like a tunnel at night. You tilt your face upward, eyes climbing the wall above the staircase. Your neck strains against the height of the ceiling. Windows line the entire perimeter of the upper wall, casting massive grids of light across the floor. Through the glass on the right, you can just barely make out the pale outline of the moon.

Shifting your eyes back to your feet, you take a breath, releasing it as you take another step forward. You press your fingers against the doorframe, holding them there for a beat before pushing off the wood. The momentum makes the next few steps easier, but it doesn’t last long. Your steps become slower, shorter. Your breaths come out harshly, as if you’re running a mile instead of walking a few feet.

You’re finally within arm's length of the stairs. Sweat drips down your back. Whether it's from the exertion or the fire burning beneath your skin that extinguishes but never fails to light up again and burn harsher, it's hard to say. The moisture cools against your skin, sending shivers down your spine every time you pause. Every contraction of your muscles feels taxing. And you don’t have anything left to give.

Reaching out, your arm shakes as you lift it higher, finally finding purchase on the railing. You pull yourself forward, assisting your weight by sliding your socks against the floor. You lean your torso heavily against the wood. Your eyes flick around frantically, trying to map out the endless space below the staircase, but your vision refuses to focus. Instead, you look down at the step directly beneath you. It's only a few inches, but the drop looks like a cliffside.

Your phone shifts in your pocket.

Go. You don’t have time to waste.

Your foot slides off the edge and hovers just above the first step. Your fingers grip the handrail with whatever strength you can find. It doesn’t feel like enough. Not with the way your anchoring leg shakes and wobbles, threatening to buckle completely. Your foot finally lands on the step. You slide your hand forward along the rail and hunch forward.

Pain radiates through your legs. Your fingers threaten to release, but you hold on desperately. The staircase below you doesn't seem to end. A drop of sweat slips down your nose and lands on your lips. It tastes salty. Your jaw tightens, your teeth grinding together until the tension in your temples throb. Your vision shakes along with your foot as you force yourself to keep moving.

Your foot is just about to land on the next step when your fingers slip off the rail.

Your sole hits the wood, but your momentum is already throwing you forward. Your eyes snap shut. You brace for the impact of your body making contact with the wooden steps, wishing you had the time to cover your ears—wishing you could block out the sickening sound that's about to come.

But it never does.

Frantic, heavy breaths echo from behind you. You almost mistake them for your own, but the patterns don't overlap. You inhale, but a hot, ragged exhale hits the crown of your head. A crushing grip locks around your biceps, pulling your weight back so violently your face contorts into a wince. Blunt fingertips dig deep into your skin, sending a dull ache through the muscle.

You open your eyes slowly and look down.

A pair of strong arms are wrapped around your chest, anchoring you securely. A warmth that isn't your own presses flush against your back. They lean back, sitting on the step behind you. Your trembling thighs are pinned flat against the solid, unyielding ones directly beneath you. You didn't fall.

"What are you doing?" the voice behind you grits out breathlessly.

Natasha.

Your shoulders slump despite you. It's frustrating.

"I… thank you for catching me," you start, your voice trembling violently from the residual adrenaline. You clear your throat, forcing some semblance of the polite tone you usually display. "But I really need to go. Thank you for letting me stay here tonight."

You try to wiggle your shoulders out of her grasp, but her grip doesn't budge an inch.

"You almost fell," she says, her voice rising. It echoes in the large space. "You would've fallen. Do you understand that?"

You wrap your hand around her fingers on your bicep, trying to pry them open. "I understand that, and I'm sorry for the trouble. I don't know what I need to do to make up for it, but right now I need to go." Your voice begins to rise along with hers, ignoring the strain in your throat.

"To your shift?" She lets out a sharp breath of disbelief. "Is that what's important right now? You have a fever. You can barely stand, let alone walk."

Your blood begins to pump violently through your veins, heat spiking through your forehead. A knot of frustration tightens in your chest, winding so hard you expect it to snap. You channel the anger into your muscles, using the sudden jolt to tear yourself out of her grasp. You reach your arms to the side, gripping the handrail with both hands and forcing yourself up.

You turn around to face Natasha.

Her expression is lethal. Her green eyes flash under the moonlight, her gaze locked into a sharp glare. Her jaw is clamped tight, her lips pulled into a thin line. She doesn't say a word, observing your posture carefully, as if waiting to see how far you'll push.

She's wearing an oversized t-shirt and pink polka-dot pajama pants. The sight would be comical if her stare didn't feel like it was throwing daggers at you.

"It's important to me," you rally back, your voice cracking under the harsh tone. "What does it even have to do with you?"

You stop. Your breath catches in your throat as her words replay in your head.

"And…" you start, your fingers tightening around the handrail until your knuckles ache. "How do you even know about my shift?"

She unclenches her jaw, letting out a short sigh.

"I saw the reminder on your lockscreen," she states calmly. "And I turned off your alarm."

Your eyes narrow at her, your heart pounding uncontrollably. "What made you think that was okay?" you ask in disbelief, your voice breaking.

You look away from her, forcing the surge of emotions down until you feel steady again. "Never mind. I have to go."

You turn to go down the stairs, but Natasha is faster. Her hand wraps around your wrist, holding you in place.

"Just stop for a second and think," she says, her tone level again. "Do you really think you can work in the condition you're in?"

You turn back to face her. You shake your arm, trying to free yourself from her grasp, but the adrenaline is fading. She loosens her grip, but doesn't let go.

"You don't get it," you whisper, looking down at your feet.

You're standing on the step directly below her, your body right between her legs. Looking down at her doesn't make you feel more in control. The anger is fading into something else. Something familiar. Something you had shown in front of Wanda, but refuse to do in front of Natasha.

"I don't get what?" Natasha asks softly.

In your peripheral vision, you can see her tilt her head, trying to meet your eyes. It's maddening. You just want to be left alone.

"You don't get anything," you whisper out harshly.

You bite the inside of your cheek, pressing your teeth down harder until it feels like the skin is going to break. Your breaths come out quicker, too fast. Your chest is tightening, making it harder to get a full breath in. You reach up with your free hand and grip desperately at the collar of your shirt, pulling it away from your neck to try and find some air.

"Baby, let's calm down for a second," Natasha says, her tone soothing.

How can you calm down when it feels like you've reached the top of a roller coaster? The tracks are already tilting forward. It's too late to stop the motion.

You release your grip on your collar, your arm rising shakily until your hand meets your hair. You run your fingers through the strands, scraping your nails hard down your scalp as you comb through. This is your bosses' house. You're acting crazy. She's just trying to help you.

But you need to work. You don't have enough in savings for your next university term yet. Rent has to be paid. If you don't show up to your shift, your coworkers will have the burden of extra work, and it's too early in the morning to ask anyone to cover.

You hadn't looked in a mirror since you were in the breakroom with Nicole last night. Your hair must look ridiculous. Knots strewn about, strands sticking out in every direction. You slept in the same clothes you wore out, messing up their clean sheets. You look down. The white fabric of the skirt makes the heavy wrinkles even more apparent.

Your hand drops from your hair to your skirt. You smooth down the fabric with your palm incessantly until your skin burns, the bandage on your hand threatening to rip off.

Everything is becoming hazy. Whether it's from the frantic breaths you can't seem to get under control, or your heart pounding so hard it feels like it's trying to escape your chest, it's hard to say.

It's getting difficult to hear anything. The sound of your palms rubbing against your skirt becomes muffled. You can feel your lungs expanding and contracting quickly, but the actual sound of your breathing is barely audible through the pounding in your ears. Your fingertips are beginning to turn cold, the chill bordering on painful.

You barely register Natasha's hand gripping your wrist tighter. Her voice sounds distant, like it's echoing from the deep hallway you couldn't see the end of.

"Baby, I'm going to pull you closer, okay?"

She waits for a moment, but you can't seem to form a response. She pulls you in by the wrist. Your shins press against the edge of the step and your knees buckle, but you don't hit the ground. Natasha's other hand slides beneath your arm, lifting your deadweight until you're sitting on one of her thighs. She releases her grip on your wrist, moving her palm to your back to support you as she swings your legs over her lap.

Somehow, you find your voice. "I… I don't," you tremble out.

"Shh," she whispers. Her hand finds the side of your head, pressing lightly until your ear rests against her chest. "Let's just breathe for a moment."

It's different from the way she held you in the car, but the proximity immediately brings back Yelena's voice. Your muscles lock. You tense your entire body, preparing to push away from her. Yelena and Kate are probably here. They probably heard the commotion. You need to leave.

"Yelena and Kate got a ride back to their apartment," Natasha says, cutting through the silence. "They didn't tell me anything. They want to talk to you first."

Your shoulders slump.

Your hearing clears gradually. The steady thumping of Natasha's heartbeat begins to register against your ear. The rhythm is even and slow. Her hand begins to pat against your back in a gentle, steady beat. With the movement against your spine and the echoing sound of her heart, it becomes impossible to think about anything else.

Your thoughts begin to slow. The spiral spins slower and slower, losing its momentum. Your breathing shifts, matching the timing of her pats. Your own pulse begins to regulate, slowing down until it mirrors the steady rhythm beneath your ear.

Guilt claws from within your chest. She's sitting on a hard wooden stair step at four in the morning, holding you together to keep you from completely breaking down.

You were supposed to let go. But the remaining tension in your muscles drains away the longer you listen.

Your eyes close. Your head sinks further into her, your cheek squishing against her t-shirt. Your hand drifts blindly down her side, finding the soft hem of her shirt, your fingers closing around the fabric in a gentle grip.

The exhaustion finally settles. The space goes completely silent. It's hard to track how much time is passing when the steady beats against your ear quiet any lingering sense of urgency.

Natasha clears her throat softly. "I'm sorry I turned off your alarm without telling you. I wanted to wake you up to ask about your shift, but you were sleeping so soundly. Your body needed the rest," she murmurs.

Her hand slides down to the wrist she held earlier, her thumb lightly rubbing the skin where your veins meet your palm. "And I'm sorry for holding on too tightly. I was worried you would fall backward or slip again."

You know.

You know she was just trying to help you the entire time, but it's hard to allow people to aid you when you've been handling things entirely on your own. When you've been told your entire life that reactions like these are a personal fault that should be ignored. You press your face closer against her chest, her warmth permeating through your cheek. You can't find it in yourself to speak right now. You just hope she understands that this is your way of saying it's okay.

The residual trembling in your muscles softens into a light shiver. The cold air begins to bite at your exposed skin.

"Thank you for forgiving me," Natasha says, letting out a breath that hits the crown of your head. "Let's move you back to bed, okay? It's cold out here."

You would much rather stay exactly like this, even with your calves beginning to freeze. But you nod, the fabric of her t-shirt swishing against your cheek. You uncurl your fingers from the hem of her shirt, preparing to stand, but Natasha's hand envelops yours, curling your fingers back over the fabric.

"I've got you. You're a fall risk, after all," she says with a playful huff.

She stops the rhythmic patting on your back, pressing her palm flat against your spine while sliding her other arm beneath the bend in your knees. There's barely a shift in her posture before you feel the solid baseline of her legs leave yours. You open your eyes, blinking against the moonlight. You look up, finding Natasha staring down at you, her lips curved in a soft smile.

"Alright, let's go, princess," she says quietly, a clear teasing lilt in her voice.

She turns around with you in her arms, stepping back up the single stair you had managed to descend. She holds you securely, keeping your head pressed flat against her chest as she navigates back toward the bedroom.

The hallway to your right, previously shrouded in darkness, is slightly lit now. The door to the furthest room stands open, throwing a warm glow across the wooden floorboards. You squint against the light, your gaze meeting a pair of worried green eyes.

Wanda.

She's standing in the doorway, her arms pulled tight around her torso, wrapped in a soft gray robe. There's no telling what she heard or witnessed. Normally, a wave of shame would creep up your throat, but the sight of her only brings a heavy weight of disappointment. A lot of people have wronged you in your life, but Wanda felt different. At least, you had truly wanted her to be different.

You avert your eyes, turning your face away until your nose bumps against Natasha's sternum.

Natasha enters the dim bedroom you had been in, tilting her posture carefully so your head clears the doorframe. She makes her way to the mattress, laying you down gently before sliding her hands out from beneath your weight.

"I'm not saying this to worry you, but you should contact your workplace to let them know you're not coming," Natasha says slowly, keeping her voice steady. "I'll grab some pajamas so you can sleep more comfortably. Your legs felt cold."

She squeezes one of your calves, making you jolt against the sheets. She gives you an amused smile. "Be right back."

She turns away, exiting the room.

You lie in silence for a moment. Your thoughts are moving much slower now. Your hand remains curled in the exact same shape it was when you were holding her shirt.

Natasha told you to let work know you wouldn't be coming. You should listen. You reach to your side, pulling your phone out from your pocket. You tap the screen with your thumb, holding the glass above your face to unlock it.

4:55 AM.

Time had passed in a complete blur. It didn't feel like you had been sitting at the stairs with Natasha for that long. The wave of panic you expect to bloom in your chest doesn't come, as if muted by the heavy, relaxed state of your body.

You open your messages and pull up the chat history of one of the coworkers you're supposed to open with today.

I'm really sorry, but I'm really not feeling well and can't make it in.

The text back is almost immediate.

Girl, you work too hard anyways. Take it easy. We've got it covered. Feel better!

You breathe out a sigh of relief and close your eyes, tossing your phone to the side. Maybe the obligation of work had been weighing on you more than you realized. Your body sinks deeper into the mattress, the heavy covers beneath you finally warming your frozen calves. Your mind begins to drift away, darkness within reach.

A hand squeezes your sock-covered foot gently, forcing your eyes back open.

Natasha stands beside the foot of the bed, a shirt and fuzzy pajama pants hanging over her forearm. Her steps had been so quiet. The same way you hadn't heard her approach at the staircase.

Even in this space, lit only by a nightlight to your left, she shines. The warm hue emitting from the light accentuates the whispers of orange in her hair. It's a welcome sight to your drooping eyes.

Natasha reaches out a hand. "Can you get up for a little to change? It'll feel better to get out of those clothes."

You lift your arm with effort. It shakes from the illness you tried to ignore and the tension your body held and released just earlier. Natasha moves closer, clasping her hand in yours. She pulls you toward her, bringing you up into a sitting position.

She releases your hand to set the clothing down on the mattress, but the moment you lose her support, your torso tilts backward, plopping you right back onto the bed.

You stare up at the ceiling, exactly like you did when you first woke up here while Natasha chuckles quietly beside you. Your eyes drift to hers, finding them looking down at you adoringly.

"Are you too exhausted, detka?"

You nod tiredly, the hair on the back of your head shifting against the sheets. It's an honesty you rarely show, usually hiding how you really feel behind a mask engineered to fit the situation. But you truly are exhausted.

Natasha smiles at you softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling just a little. Her expression changes slowly, her eyebrows knitting together in thought, before she finally meets your hazy gaze again. It looks like she's made up her mind about something.

"Can I help you change?" she asks straightforwardly. "It's okay if you don't want me to. We can get you tucked in with what you're already wearing."

She begins to look away, as though assuming you've already decided on refusal.

Your eyes drift to the fuzzy pants hanging off her forearm. You can just make out half of a blue polka-dot pattern hidden under the navy shirt resting on top. The fabric looks soft. Your thoughts float back to when Natasha held you in her arms on the stairs. Her steady heartbeat, the rhythmic pats against your spine, the exact moment you decided to let go and allow your body to surrender and turn into a blob. It felt good to let go and let her take care of you.

"Can you help me change?" you ask, your voice small and scratchy. "I want to wear the fuzzy pants," you admit honestly.

She turns back to you, her eyes widening slightly before her lips curve into a soft smile. "Of course," she says quietly.

She sets the clothes down at the foot of the bed before her hands find their way under the bend of your knees and your back again. She slides you back a little across the mattress before lifting your torso up. Your shoulder blades tap against the headboard, and you allow yourself to lean back fully against the wood.

She looks down at you with a slightly troubled smile. "Is it okay if I take your shirt off? The neckline is a bit low, and I'm afraid the cold air will make your throat worse."

You nod softly in acceptance, your eyelids barely staying open. You're so sleepy. "Just…" you start, your voice trailing. "Can I keep my bra on?" You're out of it, but the instinct to preserve your dignity remains.

"Of course, sleepyhead," Natasha says, her voice gentle. "Let me know if you get uncomfortable."

Her fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting the fabric slowly. The dread you used to feel when past boyfriends did this would be completely overwhelming, leaving you trapped in your own head for hours. But Natasha’s hands are just warm. Her eyes stay locked onto yours, never drifting a single millimeter below your chin even as your shirt raises higher.

She gently maneuvers your arms through the sleeve holes, taking on most of the weight of your limbs even when you try to help. Your bare back presses against the cool headboard when she lifts the fabric over your head, careful not to let the collar drag across your face.

"Okay," Natasha says, releasing a quiet breath. "Just a little more."

The tone she's using reminds you of the way people's voices brighten and raise a pitch when they talk to children, but somehow it doesn't feel insulting.

Instead, it feels encouraging.

She grabs the navy shirt off the bed, spreading the neckline wide before pulling it over your head. You never feel the brief constriction you normally do when putting on shirts. She slides your arms through the sleeves patiently.

She sticks her tongue out at you when you manage to fight the urge to close your eyes and meet her gaze.

The gesture is such a sharp contrast from when you first spoke to her in her office.

It's silly. So silly that your face breaks out into a small, sleepy grin.

Between goofy expressions and sleepy smiles, the shirt is on before you know it. The fabric rests softly against your torso. You look down to your side where Natasha placed your arm down gently. The sleeve stretches past your hand. You squeeze the cuff between your fingers, feeling the worn, soft cotton.

You look up slowly at Natasha, who is looking back at you with so much affection. The gaze would normally spark a multitude of frantic questions, but right now you just bask in it.

"Cute," she murmurs. She meets your eyes with determination. "Just the hard part left."

Her fingers find the zipper of your skirt. Just like with your shirt, her eyes never leave yours. She waits for a moment, watching you carefully.

"It's okay," you whisper softly, your eyelids fluttering closed to preserve what little energy you have left.

You hear her take a breath before the sound of your zipper tracks down, echoing through the quiet room. Cool air hits your hipbone, but your body doesn't even have the strength to shiver. She slides the fabric down until she's forced to stop.

"Sleepy baby," she calls out gently. "I know you're tired and you want to sleep, but the fuzzy pants are waiting for you. Can you lift yourself just a little?"

You groan tiredly, not wanting to move a single muscle.

But the fuzzy pants.

You press your palms flat into the mattress and force your bottom to lift just a fraction. It's just enough for Natasha to slide the skirt out from under you and pull it over your ankles. Your weight plops back down onto the mattress, and you let your head tilt back to tap against the headboard again.

A calloused hand wraps around your ankle, lifting your legs one by one until the waistband of the fuzzy pants rests at your thighs.

"One more time," Natasha says encouragingly.

You let out a dramatic sigh. Natasha chuckles lightly as you force your bottom to lift off the mattress again. The fuzzy waistband brushes over your hipbones, settling comfortably into place. The thick fabric warms your legs immediately. You open your eyes begrudgingly, wanting to see the polka dots fully. They spread across the entire expanse of the pants, the patterns shifting with the curve of your legs. You grin happily.

"Do you like them that much?" Natasha asks with amusement, already folding the wrinkled clothes she just removed from your body.

You really need to sleep. Your thoughts are moving slowly, but completely uninhibited. You turn your gaze to the side, looking down at Natasha's pants to track the pink polka dots.

"We match," you proclaim, your voice small, scratchy, but happy.

Natasha's movements freeze from where she's placing your folded clothes on top of the dresser. She turns her head slightly, just enough for you to catch the corner of her smile.

"We do," she says softly.

She turns back to finishing her task for a moment before walking back toward the bedside. She's holding a mug and a white medicine tablet. You can tell just by looking at it that it's going to be difficult to swallow.

"Can you open your mouth, baby? It's medicine. It should lessen your symptoms."

You blink at her slowly, her words registering at a snail's pace. You part your lips slightly. Natasha presses the tablet against your lips, pushing it past them gently with her index finger. Her fingertip lingers on your bottom lip for a second before she brings the mug to your mouth. She tilts the mug in small increments, letting the water spread through your mouth.

"Good," Natasha says encouragingly. "Drink slowly," she reminds you.

You swish your tongue around, locating the tablet and swallowing it down with the water. You wince as the hard pill scrapes against the raw, swollen walls of your throat. Natasha sets the mug down on the nightstand beside you. Her thumb finds your lower lip, wiping away a stray droplet of water that was threatening to fall.

She smiles softly down at you. "Good girl," she praises.

Your heartbeat picks up at the praise. It's reminiscent of the time Wanda called you a smart girl, but the feeling hits harder this time. A deep, gentle warmth blossoms in your chest, spreading through the rest of your body like sunrays brushing against your skin.

Even though you're one long blink away from falling asleep, you want more. You look up at Natasha expectantly, waiting for the next thing she asks you to do, or the next thing she does for you.

She taps the pad of her thumb against your lip, her eyes amused. "Let's get you tucked in. You need to sleep to recover."

She lifts your legs carefully, freeing the duvet from beneath you before shifting you back into the center of the mattress. She tucks the thick blanket tightly into your sides, sealing you in so no cold air can get through. With the oversized long-sleeve shirt and the fuzzy pants, the deep chill from earlier feels like a distant memory.

You peer ahead toward the foot of the bed, watching Natasha grab your folded clothes. Is she leaving? The thought sparks a sudden wave of panic.

"Can you…" you start, but the dry air catches in your throat, breaking your voice into a harsh fit of coughs.

Natasha rushes to your right side instantly. "Do you need more water? Does your throat hurt a lot? Are you still cold?" she asks in quick succession, her eyebrows pulled together in worry.

You shake your head once the coughing subsides. You sniffle lightly, forcing your throat to relax so you can speak again. "Can you please stay until I fall asleep?" you mumble.

Your voice sounds small. Vulnerable.

But it feels like when Natasha is with you, nothing bad can happen. When she's with you, even when her words are sharp, you feel protected. With her, it feels like you can finally lean your weight into someone else instead of keeping your spine perfectly straight. And in this moment, after such a long time, it feels good to allow someone to take care of you.

More than good.

"Of course," Natasha whispers.

The mattress dips slightly as she settles down beside you, her back leaning against the wooden headboard. You tilt your head to the side to look at her. She stares straight ahead at the wall above the dresser, a slight frown on her face. Her eyebrows are pulled together in thought. But all you can focus on is the way the nightlight softens her features, casting a warm glow across her skin like the sun setting at the end of the day. Her eyes shine like emeralds even in the dim room. Your gaze travels down the curve and angle of her nose, tracing down to her lips, which are pulled downward.

Suddenly, her lips curve into a teasing smile, but there's a touch of sadness in it. It's the same melancholic smile she gave you back in her office, right before you were about to ask what all of this meant.

"You're supposed to be trying to sleep," she murmurs softly, her eyes finally meeting yours.

The heavy bags beneath her eyes are much more visible to you now with the nightlight shining in her direction. A wave of guilt begins to rise in your chest. You're just about to tell her that it's okay for her to leave when she speaks again.

"Should I tell you a bedtime story?" she asks with that same sad smile.

For some reason, you can tell that this is important. You force yourself to blink a few times, gathering whatever moisture you can in your eyes to stay awake. It feels like you need to hear this.

"Yes, please," you respond, trying to sound alert.

Natasha looks down at her lap, her lips pulling into a thin line. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing lightly for a few moments before releasing a heavy sigh. She smiles to herself, resolutely.

"There once was a girl who was adopted into a family when she was young. So young, her earliest memories were with the family that took her in," she begins slowly. Her gaze shifts back to you, her lips pulling into a small smile. She lifts her left hand, gently placing her palm over your eyes to block out the light. "At least try to pretend that you're trying to sleep," she teases with a low chuckle.

Somehow, it feels more like she's trying to comfort herself with the way the laugh trails off and dies.

"There was a mom, a dad, and a little sister. A happy family." She pauses for a moment. When she starts again, her voice is lighter. "Her parents wanted her to do whatever she wished. The girl had seen other girls perform ballet in shows on TV during the holiday season. The crowd would watch in awe of the performance, just like she did from the living room floor. So she wished to do that. To see her parents and her little sister smile."

Her index finger begins to tap lightly against the side of your head, near your ear. It's a gentle rhythm, matching the soft cadence of her voice.

"And they did. They would come to every recital and every practice if they could find the time. It wasn't long before her little sister decided to start ballet, too, just to spend time with her. They would laugh together all the time at the dance studio."

Even though your eyes are covered, you just know Natasha is smiling as she says this. The light lilt in her voice feels like music. But it doesn't last.

"Years passed with the family only growing closer and closer. Her mom and dad taught her what love felt like. Her little sister taught her that you can be family without sharing the same blood. It was such a happy time," she says, her voice trailing off.

The tapping of her finger stops. You feel the weight of her palm rest against the side of your cheek more heavily, as if she has suddenly lost the strength in her wrist.

"But things change. Things happen. Even if you wish they wouldn't," she whispers.

It almost sounds like she's talking to herself. Disconnected.

"The parents passed away in an accident. It was so sudden, and the events that happened after were as well. She and her little sister were separated without even getting to know where the other was going. The girl was adopted into a new family before she could even register that her parents were gone. She didn't even get to go to their funeral."

Natasha lets out a dry, sarcastic laugh, as though the situation is funny.

But you know it isn't.

"Her new parents began registering her for as many ballet competitions as they could. They wanted the recognition for her achievements. They wanted the other parents in the community to compare their daughters to theirs and feel jealous. And the girl…" Natasha trails off, her voice straining. "And the girl just wanted to be loved again. To be doted on. For her family to smile."

The ache in Natasha's voice is almost palpable. Her fingers press lightly against the side of your face.

Your chest constricts at her words. The reality of wanting to be loved cracks open a part of your heart that you had sealed away years ago to protect yourself.

"So she tried her best. I tried so hard," she breathes out.

You wonder if she even noticed that she just referred to herself, but you keep silent.

"She started eating less because her new mom told her that the other girls were thinner than her," Natasha continues, her voice dropping. "Her legs would shake, but she continued doing pirouettes even when the dizziness would span hours after practice. She started to sleep less, even when she needed it to regain energy for the next day. She was falling apart."

An accent, similar to Yelena's, begins to bleed through her words. You've heard tiny fragments of that accent in Natasha's speech before, but it was always covered up in an instant. You had assumed you misheard. Now, it follows every syllable.

"Her dad told her to be grateful for the money he was spending. That because of that, she must try harder to make the expense worth it."

She lets out a tired sigh.

You reach your right hand out blindly, barely able to lift your arm but finding the fuzziness of her pants. Natasha's free hand envelops yours, lifting it gently and bringing it back to the hem of her shirt. You curl your fingers around the soft fabric, hoping to give her a physical reminder that you're present in the dark with her.

She runs her thumb over the back of your hand in a slow, soothing motion. You wonder if the gesture is for her or for you.

"So the girl won most of her competitions, but her parents always left her with the same line. 'That's to be expected.'" Natasha scoffs at the words. "But when she would get second place, her parents would exit the venue the moment it was announced. Because she wasn't the best, and that wasn't good enough."

The muscle of your inner cheek finds its place between your molars again. You bite down gently, just trying to distract yourself from the hot tears threatening to well up.

The words feel entirely too familiar. It isn't the phrasing itself, but the echo of the memories that follow it. You remember when you were in the second grade, giving your mother a toothy grin that she would match. You remember her kneeling on the floor so her eyes could be level with yours, delivering soft praise over the simplest things.

The warmth of that memory feels a lifetime away.

"But she still chased the idea of being loved by them. Still worked herself endlessly even when her body was begging for her to stop. The art that had made her smile at the TV screen—the art that had made her little sister and her parents who passed away smile—was now something she did robotically. There was no joy left in it."

Natasha keeps her hand on top of yours, but the soothing movement of her thumb stops.

"It wasn't until her second year of university, when she suffered a severe ankle injury, that she finally realized the love she was working so hard to obtain would never come."

She squeezes your hand lightly. You tighten your grip on her shirt in response.

"The injury was an excuse to quit. So, she told her parents that she didn't want to continue doing ballet."

She pauses. Her index finger begins to tap against the side of your face again, but the rhythm is erratic now. It matches the uneven way your own leg shakes when your thoughts are spiraling.

"They told her they didn't have any use for her anymore. That she was ungrateful for being adopted. They asked her what the point was of all the time she had wasted learning ballet. They would have never loved her, no matter how successful she became. So she walked away, and she never saw them again."

It's silent. Her grip on your hand slackens, and the erratic tapping of her finger stops. The rise and fall of both of your breathing is the only sound left in the room.

Is that the end? you can't help but wonder.

Did she ever meet her little sister again? What did she do after walking away from them? Did she ever get to visit her first adopted parents' graves? A multitude of questions swirl through your head, making your temples throb against the fever, but a single question stands out above the rest.

"Does…" you start, your voice small, trembling with emotion. "Does she still love ballet?"

You hear Natasha inhale sharply. When she speaks again, her voice is thick, like the way your voice sounds when you're on the verge of crying.

"Yes," she whispers.

Her thumb rubs against the back of your hand again. "She still loves ballet," she pauses, when her voice begins to crack. "But it also brings sadness."

You nod lightly in understanding, the skin of your forehead shifting against her palm. Because you truly do understand.

"That wasn't much of a bedtime story, was it?" she asks with a watery laugh.

You shake your head, even when your neck begins to ache against the movement. "I liked it," you mumble honestly.

Natasha lifts her hand from over your eyes. You blink a few times, adjusting your vision back to the dimly lit room. Your gaze moves languidly to Natasha. She holds your stare, her eyes shining brightly from the moisture barely being held above her lower lashes. Her gaze is familiar, but there's something beneath it that you haven't seen before. There's a deep affection in her eyes that digs far below the surface.

It makes your heart race as you hold her stare, unable to look away even with sleepiness threatening to take you at any moment.

Her hand, which was once over your eyes, finds its way just below your collarbone. Her palm rests flat right above your breasts, her fingertips resting on the bone. She begins to pat in that steady rhythm that makes your breaths even out. Your eyes begin to droop further.

"Wanda…" she starts slowly, catching your attention briefly. "Wanda told me what she said to you the other day. I'm not going to apologize for her or force you to do anything, but I hope you guys can talk," she ends simply.

Your lips press together lightly, jutting out slightly in a pout.

"Just give it some thought," she says with a light laugh. You're just glad she doesn't sound like she's going to cry anymore.

The warmth of her palm permeates through your chest. Or maybe it's just the warmth of her being beside you.

"When you wake up, we'll find something to eat that's easy on your throat. I'll show you to one of the bathrooms and you can use my products. I'm sure you feel a little uncomfortable not having been able to wash your face," she says, her voice light and analytical, like she's reciting a grocery list from memory.

The break in your routine hadn't gone unnoticed. You can feel the moisturizer you smeared on yesterday morning becoming oily on your face. The sweat that formed and dried while you were sleeping, and the cold sweat that followed, is still sitting on your skin.

"Thank you," you whisper, your eyes closing despite yourself. You try your best to force them open again, but Natasha's hand is too warm and the rhythm of her pats is making your head fuzzy.

"Sleep, detka, it's okay," she murmurs soothingly.

Your thoughts are slowing down so much it feels like your mind is slurring. "What does that mean? Detka?" You've been meaning to ask for a while.

Her patting stops for a brief moment before continuing again in the same steady rhythm. "It means baby in Russian," she says simply.

Baby… you think slowly. The term sends a flutter throughout your stomach.

"Nat," you call out, the last two syllables of her name falling away as your consciousness slips.

"Yes, detka," Natasha whispers, her voice holding a hint of wonder.

"How come…" you trail off, almost falling asleep mid-question. You force your brain to finish the thought. "How come the bad dreams never come when you're with me?" Your voice quiets into a barely audible mumble toward the end.

She doesn't respond for a long time. You're just about to fall asleep, accepting that you won't be getting an answer, when she suddenly speaks in a quiet whisper.

"I don't know, baby girl. I guess you'll have to stay with me to find out."

Your fingers grip her shirt tighter. That doesn't sound like a bad idea, you think to yourself just as your brain shuts down completely.

The last thing you hear is, "Good night, detka. I'll see you when you open your eyes again."

—

You wake to the sound of shuffling footsteps just outside the door. Your eyes open slowly, your brain still syrupy and heavy with sleep. There's a dull tension in your forehead from your sinuses remaining clogged, but the deep body aches that were impossible to ignore at four in the morning have lessened. You swallow, trying to force some moisture back into your throat. It's still swollen. You can feel the slow movement of your saliva tracking down against the tender muscle.

You flex the fingers of your outstretched hand—the one that held onto Natasha's shirt so desperately. Your fingertips only claw at open air. You turn your head abruptly to the right, expecting to find Natasha, but the wall beside the mattress is the only thing greeting you.

You let out a whiny, disappointed groan. She said she would be here.

The bedroom door opens slowly in your peripheral. Your head tilts, your eyes watching the movement as Wanda's face peeks past the doorframe. She forces a small, awkward smile, but there's a desperation in her eyes that you can't ignore.

"Hi, honey," Wanda says softly, her voice pitched low as if she already knows you just woke up. Maybe it's written all over your face. You reach your hand up with heavy effort, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

"Natasha wanted me to let you know she's sorry she couldn't be here when you woke up," Wanda continues, stepping into the space. "She got called into an emergency meeting at the office. She should be back soon."

Realistically, the explanation makes perfect sense. Natasha is a CEO. She's busy. But the part of you that finally cracked open and allowed her to take care of you views the absence as a betrayal. Wanda's reprimand from the office echoes back into your head, turning your awakening into a grumpy one.

You turn your face away from her, your lips jutting out in a cold pout.

You hear Wanda take a few steps closer to the bed.

"Darling, I know you're not too happy with me. You have every right to be," she says with a quiet sigh. "Can you at least let me show you to the bathroom? You'll feel better after washing your face and getting the sweat off your body," she offers reasonably.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall, the pout still heavy on your lips. But the icky sensation of your unwashed face makes itself known, refusing to leave your thoughts. Trying to ignore it only makes the texture feel more prevalent. The dried sweat feels gross against your skin, forcing your pout to morph into a grimace.

You let out a tired sigh, turning your head to look at Wanda with wary eyes. She's standing awkwardly beside the mattress, as if she doesn't quite know what to do with her hands, but there's a slight, amused smile on her lips.

"I suppose," you respond, your voice scratchy and weak.

"Thank you, honey," Wanda says, as if you are the one doing her a favor.

The idea of pushing yourself upright feels insurmountable. But the thought of letting Wanda assist you after she had been so confidently wrong about you forces your palms to flatten against the mattress. You push your torso up, your face twisting from the sheer effort. Wanda shuffles forward, her arms instinctively raising to help you. You deliver a short glare her way when you manage to sit up completely.

You try to pull your shoulders back into your usual rigid posture, but your fever-ridden body refuses to comply. You let out a sigh of defeat as your shoulders droop right back down.

You glance at Wanda. She's giving you a soft, pitying smile.

You don't need her help.

Then why did you let Natasha help you? the logical part of your brain pipes up.

You look down at your hands resting on your lap. It isn't like you surrendered to Natasha's help easily, but when you finally did, the safety felt addictive. And it isn't that you dislike Wanda. Quite the opposite. You miss your normal conversations with her. You miss her praising you when you diagnosed department solutions. You miss her calling you darling among other terms of endearment. You miss that quiet, grounding warmth that always spreads through your chest when you're near her.

You missed her. A traitorous part of your heart had leaped with joy when her head peeked past the doorframe.

But her words had cut deep. The look she gave you in the office had hurt even more. It reminded you of why you chose to protect yourself.

You force your legs to the side so they hang over the edge of the mattress. Wanda takes a step back, observing you carefully. Her scrutiny fills you with a surge of determination as you press your palms back into the mattress, pushing your weight up until you're standing.

Your thighs begin to shake violently. Along with the fever, you haven't eaten a real meal since the scraps of bread at the restaurant. You lean your torso forward, resting your palm flat against the wall to alleviate the crushing strain on your legs. A fresh layer of sweat begins to bead along your hairline.

Wanda is silent for a moment, tracking your posture, before she speaks with a voice full of soft adoration. "You look precious in my shirt and Natasha's pants."

You shift your eyes from your feet to Wanda, meeting her gaze. She's looking at the cuffs of the navy sleeves that stretch far past your hands. Your chest warms at her words, even as your brain tries to fight the reaction.

You look back down at your feet, shifting your weight so your hand drags along the wall like you did at four in the morning, sliding your way toward the door frame. You glance back, waiting for Wanda to lead the way. She gives you a sad little smile before meeting you at the exit, taking a step past your shoulder.

"Follow me, baby," she directs gently, glancing back over her shoulder to look at you.

Your heart leaps at the term.

She begins taking slow steps down the hallway to the left, toward the furthest door where you had seen her earlier. You release your hand from the wall, trying to take a few steps without assistance. You imagine this must be what a newborn deer looks like trying to walk for the first time. You can't seem to walk in a straight line, your balance wavering hard to the side before you catch yourself and reroute.

Your breaths are coming out hard, your throat straining every time you try to swallow. Your foot clips your ankle when you attempt another step forward. You force your arms out in front of you, bracing to catch your weight so your knees don't slam into the hardwood.

Instead, you feel Wanda's hands lock beneath your armpits, hauling you up before you can drop.

You look up. Wanda's eyes are wide and frantic, carrying a heavy layer of guilt that seems to stretch far beyond this specific moment. "I knew I should have just asked," she mumbles to herself harshly, looking down at your wobbly stance.

You try to lean back to stand on your own, but she refuses to budge. "You're going to fall at this rate, darling," she says straightforwardly, her gaze locking onto yours. "Hold onto my hand."

She shifts her grip from beneath your arms, clasping one of your hands firmly in hers. She levels a teasing look at your face when you try to wiggle your fingers out of her grasp. "Or would you prefer I carry you?"

You roll your eyes dramatically—even when the sudden movement shoots a sharp pain right through your forehead—before giving up on escaping her grip. Wanda giggles lightly, then raises a single brow at you. There's a distinct touch of warning in her green eyes.

"Don't be a brat, honey."

You stare at her, your lips slightly parted at the reprimand.

Wanda turns away, a small smile playing on her lips. She positions your clasped hands higher, bracing her arm so you can push down against her palm, taking on a significant portion of your weight to steady you. She perfectly matches your slow pace, only taking one long stride after every two of your smaller, shakier steps.

You pass by a line of closed and open doors, lacking the energy to even look until you eventually cross the threshold into Wanda and Natasha's bedroom.

It's gigantic.

Sunlight shines through sheer white curtains, filtering the glare against the polished floor. A massive bed dominates the center of the space, its frame positioned flush against the far wall. It looks like six people could easily fit across the mattress. Mountains of decorative pillows lean against the headboard, stretching out toward the middle of the duvet. You can just barely make out two pillows tucked beneath the pile, encased in black and scarlet pillowcases.

Wanda is already guiding you into their en-suite bathroom before you can take in the rest of the layout.

With the sheer scale of the bedroom, the massive size of the bathroom comes as no surprise, but the clean beauty of the design catches your attention. White marble tiles with gray streaks line the floor. The walls are a pristine white, making the skylight above rain down sunlight that makes the space even brighter.

To your left, a double vanity features more counter space than you could ever dream of owning. An array of high-end skincare bottles are neatly displayed on opposite sides of the two sinks, their silhouettes reflected back by the massive mirror hanging above. Next to the counter, a dedicated vanity station matches the clean white theme of the room. A plush, comfortable armchair is positioned right in front of the glass.

It's exactly where Wanda directs you. She guides your hand until your fingers grasp the cushioned sides of the armchair, letting you finally sink your weight down into the seat.

You glance over your shoulder when the roar of rushing water begins to echo through the tiles. Wanda is kneeling beside the large, opulent bathtub that sits across from the double vanity. She turns her head to look at you once she adjusts the knobs to find the right temperature.

"It shouldn't take too long to fill," she says, wiping her wet fingers on her thigh. "I figured a bath might be better. You could easily slip in the shower in your condition."

You stare at her, taking in her appearance. You hadn't noticed it out in the hallway, but this is the most casual you've ever seen her. She 's wearing wide-legged denim jeans and a light gray sweatshirt that looks soft even from where you're sitting. The aesthetic reminds you of a typical "mom" outfit.

It suits her perfectly.

Steam begins to swirl around your cheeks as the water level rises in the tub. The heat clears your sinuses momentarily, allowing your nose to catch the citrusy scent of the bubble bath solution you watched Wanda generously pour into the running water. Even with Wanda standing feet away, her own scent of jasmine cuts through the citrus, making your thoughts muddled.

You turn your head back to the front, dropping your gaze to your lap. You stare at the hand that just held hers.

Wanda begins to hum quietly in the background. It's an unfamiliar tune, but the sound sets your mind at ease. Something about being here, sitting in this massive bathroom while Wanda readies a bath for you with her sleeves rolled up, makes the stubbornness in your chest loosen a fraction.

It's illogical. It's entirely unlike you. You were prepared to leave them this morning. Really, you were prepared to leave them yesterday, determined to refuse their help and continue your life the way you have been. You don’t know how long this will last, and the uncertainty is terrifying. But beneath the fear, beneath the lingering stress of missing work and your shrinking paycheck, all you feel is a crushing wave of relief.

Relief that even when you pushed them away, they're still here.

A swell of quiet happiness spreads through your chest, but it stalls before it can reach your fingertips.

Wanda. You hadn't forgotten.

You hear the latch of the cabinet beneath the sink click open. You turn your head to find Wanda opening a package for a fresh toothbrush. She turns on the faucet, wetting the bristles before applying a line of toothpaste. She meets your eyes with a small smile, handing it to you carefully.

"I forgot to give you toiletries. I promise I'm not usually this bad of a host," she says with a quiet laugh.

You reach for the toothbrush, your fingers overlapping hers for a brief second before she lets go. "Thank you," you mumble, your manners automatic.

She smiles down at you at the sound of your voice. You begin to brush your teeth, grateful to maintain some semblance of your normal routine and feel a layer of grime leave your body. You hear Wanda turn on the faucet again to fill a small cup with water.

She begins to speak over the roar of the bath running behind you and the stream of the sink.

"Sweetheart," she starts, looking down into the porcelain basin with a sad smile. "I've been wanting to talk to you since that moment in the office. Not just to talk, but to apologize." She shuts off the faucet and turns fully toward the chair, regret written across every line of her face.

You continue to brush your teeth thoroughly, letting the friction of the bristles ground you. Your forearm is already beginning to ache from the exertion.

"It was wrong of me to assume anything, especially in the way that I did." She sighs, a heavy sound directed at herself. "You were already having a tough day, and I just went and made it so much worse. I hurt you."

Her voice grows thick, her eyes beginning to shine as moisture builds along her lower lashes. Your heart aches at the sight, but an instinct tells you not to interrupt her right now, even though you know you've already forgiven her.

"I can be overbearing, I know," she says with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "I'm a worrier, and I get attached easily. I make rash decisions when I care about someone. But instead of just assuming things, I should have asked you. For that, I am so sorry. You didn't deserve my accusation, beautiful girl."

Since the moment you became an adult, and even before then, you hadn't heard another adult admit their faults like this. So raw. You hadn't had anyone apologize to you so sincerely. The realization hits hard—your parents had the ability to apologize to you this entire time, but they actively chose not to. Or maybe they simply refused to acknowledge their own flaws.

The toothbrush hangs loosely in your mouth, the actual task having been completed halfway through Wanda's apology. Your eyes drop to the floor. It's difficult to find the right words to say right now, and it isn't like you can speak with your mouth full of toothpaste foam anyway.

Wanda hands you the cup of water she filled. You accept it gratefully. She holds her free hand out again, and you stare up at her in silent question.

She smiles at you, blinking a few times to clear the remaining moisture from her eyes. "I can take the toothbrush from you, darling. Your arm is probably tired."

Wanda always seems to know exactly how you feel before you can even articulate the words. You hand it over.

You bring the rim of the cup to your lips, letting the water swirl into your mouth. You swish the liquid from side to side, ensuring no foam is left behind behind your molars. You groan internally, realizing you'll have to force your shaky legs to stand just to spit it out into the sink.

Suddenly, a new cup appears in your vision. Wanda is handing it to you, having stepped over from the sink where she's already rinsing your toothbrush. You take it from her, trading her for the water cup. You spit the foam into the new cup.

You run your tongue against your teeth, relieved by the squeaky-clean texture. Wanda takes the used cup from your hand, too, returning to the sink to wash everything thoroughly.

Your cheeks begin to burn, embarrassment hitting as you realize you're making Wanda do everything for you. But when you turn to look at her, ready to insist that you can clean up after yourself, the protest dies in your throat.

All you can see is the genuine, happy smile on Wanda's face.

Why would she be happy to do this for you? you can't help but wonder.

You watch Wanda's movements while your thoughts keep you far away. She turns off the faucet, setting everything to the side to dry except for your toothbrush. She places it in a cup alongside a red one.

She turns around, your eyes tracking her as she walks over to shut off the heavy torrent of water in the bathtub. The basin is filled so that the water sits just above your breasts. A thick, opaque sheet of bubbles sits on top of the water.

Wanda shifts to look at you, an unsure smile playing on her lips. "The bath is ready," she starts slowly. Her voice morphing into a careful cadence. "Can you undress on your own, or would you like some help?"

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing lightly while your thoughts race. Frankly, you're exhausted. Your limbs feel like lead. But Wanda has already done so much for you, even when you haven't technically vocalized your forgiveness yet.

A thin wall of awkward tension still hangs in the steamy air between you two.

But then you remember the moment in the office when Wanda dropped her coat over your head to preserve your dignity. You remember the way her smile bloomed the moment you giggled and all the times she looked at you after.

That memory is what helps you find your voice.

"Yes, please," you murmur, meeting her green eyes.

Her eyes widen slightly before she brings her expression back under control. You force yourself to stand, bracing your palm flat against the marble edge of the vanity to keep yourself steady. Wanda rushes to your side immediately, locking her fingers with yours to ensure your safety. You can't help the small smile that forms on your face at the sheer velocity of her worry. If you were to lose your balance and fall backward, you would simply land right back in the cushioned armchair.

Her gaze searches yours, as if asking if you're entirely sure. You squeeze her hand, lifting your wrists slightly to signal your compliance.

She nods, keeping her gaze locked on your eyes as her fingers catch the hem of the navy shirt and pull it upward. It's a seamless process. She lifts your arms, slips the cotton sleeves off your wrists, and keeps your weight anchored the entire time. Her eyes never waver from yours. Even with the heavy steam filling the bathroom, your exposed skin erupts in goosebumps. The shirt had been keeping you much warmer than you realized. Your limbs begin to tremble lightly, a deep shiver forming against the air.

Wanda's hands move faster. Her fingers brush against your hipbones to drag the fuzzy pants down, sending a sudden flutter straight through your stomach. Except the sensation travels lower, making your cheeks burn with a sudden spike of heat as the realization hits. You avert your eyes from her face, biting your lower lip to ignore the involuntary reaction while she's just trying to take care of you.

Wanda's arm wraps around your upper body, her fingertips pressing against the metal clasp of your bra. She pauses.

"Darling," she calls out softly, catching your attention. "I'm going to take it off quickly along with your underwear so you can get into the water as soon as possible. You're shaking."

You nod solemnly, refusing to admit that the cold isn't the only reason you're shaking.

The distinct snap of your bra clasp releasing echoes through the tiles. She slides the straps off your shoulders. In your peripheral vision, you watch her look directly past your shoulder, her eyes never drifting toward your chest. Her fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear, pulling them down quickly and tapping your calves to signal you to lift your feet.

When she stands up straight again, she extends her hand with a small smile, keeping her gaze pinned to yours. You place your palm back in hers, grasping her fingers much tighter than before, allowing her to absorb the bulk of your weight as you step toward the porcelain lip of the tub. The feeling of your bandage rubbing against your skin makes you stop just before entering. You remove them carefully, finding the skin beneath healed. Wanda watches you with a slight frown, lifting the wastebasket for you to throw them away. You force your wobbly legs up afterwards, stepping over the edge.

You submerge yourself in the warm water, pressing your bare back against the porcelain, facing completely away from the double vanity.

Wanda shuffles around behind the tub. You peer back over your shoulder. She takes a step toward the door, then steps back, pacing over and over as if she can't make up her mind. She takes a deep breath before catching your gaze.

"Honey, I'll wait outside. I don't want to make you uncomfortable," she says quickly, already pivoting toward the door before you can even respond. "I know your throat hurts, but I'll keep my ears open. Please call me if you need help, okay?"

You don't know what possesses you. Maybe it's because Natasha stayed with you all night, keeping the bad dreams away. Maybe it's because Natasha wasn't there when you opened your eyes like she promised. Or maybe it's simply Wanda's apology, and the fact that you missed her despite everything.

You don't want her to leave you.

You reach out over the porcelain edge, gripping her jeans with wet fingers, curling your hand tightly into the denim.

She freezes instantly, turning back to you with wide eyes. You look up at her, your gaze pleading.

"Stay? Please?" you ask, your voice small.

Wanda's eyes soften the longer she looks down at your face, her lips curving into the gentlest smile. "Of course, honey," she whispers.

You hold each other's gaze for a silent beat before you realize your fingers are still clamped onto her pants. The denim has turned a dark, heavy blue where the bathwater seeped into the fabric. You tear your hand away immediately, submerging your wet skin back under the layer of bubbles.

"Sorry, Wanda," you murmur apologetically.

She steps closer to the tub, brushing her hand over your cheekbone with incredible softness. "Don't be sorry, darling."

Her hand rests against your skin for a moment before she walks over to the vanity armchair. She sits down, positioning the chair so you're both faced away from each other, preserving your privacy.

"I'll be right here," she says into the room. "I have shampoo, conditioner, and body wash lined up along the rim. But I think you should just soak for a bit to let your muscles relax."

The bathroom falls silent. The warm water feels good against your skin, relieving the remaining ache in your joints. You raise your hand, running your fingertips idly through the thick layer of bubbles. The question you never got to ask Natasha surfaces in your head, refusing to be pushed down. You need to know.

"Wanda," you call out softly.

"Yes, darling?"

"Why…" you start, trying to find the right words. "Why do you and Natasha treat me differently? I didn't do anything to deserve it. I just don't get it. Why me?" you ask earnestly.

When it remain silent for a long while, you turn your head to look back over your shoulder.

Wanda has turned around in the armchair to look at you, her green eyes incredibly soft and full of affection.

"Why not you?"

Why not you? you repeat in your head.

A multitude of answers form immediately. You're just a broke university student. Your entire life consists of work and school. You don't have a favorite food, you don't have hobbies, and you don't even have people you're close to anymore. You do and say things strictly to reach an end goal. Your entire personality is something engineered for you by your parents. There's nothing special about you.

For a moment, a sharp ray of sunlight cuts across the room, hitting the bathtub. You swear the reflection against the bubbles flashes a faint scarlet, but the color fades a fraction of a second later.

"You're special," Wanda says simply, breaking the silence. "Not because of Natasha and I watching over you, but because you're you."

You stare at her in disbelief, trying to process her words. Because you're you? You can't fathom why that would make you special in any way. If anything, it makes you the complete opposite. Yet, Wanda's eyes don't show a single sign of deception.

You turn your face away from her, unable to accept it. Your hands begin to fidget beneath the surface of the water, your fingernails automatically searching for the skin of your palm to dig in. Your thoughts begin to race, the routes twisting negative as self-deprecating words spread through your mind.

But Wanda begins to speak.

It isn't about anything monumental. It isn't even about you. She simply begins to talk about work and what she's been doing these past two days.

She tells you that the new manager in accounting is doing well, and that she's already planning to offer them a full contract. She sounds exasperated when she describes a cross-corporate meeting she attended, detailing how the men in the boardroom initially looked down on her, only to frantically pivot the second they realized she's the CFO of RMG. She talks about the grocery shopping she did on Thursday, the bright flowers she spotted along the road, and Natasha taking her out for dinner.

You listen carefully, her voice disrupting your thoughts before they can loop. You find yourself picturing the flowers she described. You imagine the expressions those men must have worn when they realized who she is.

Your fingers relax under the water. You stop pressing your nails into your palms, clasping your hands loosely together instead.

Wanda finishes speaking, letting the silence float lightly in the air.

You didn't realize how much you missed her. The effortless way she maps exactly how you're feeling. The way the sound of her voice sets your mind at ease. You don't want it to be awkward between you anymore.

The genuine happiness you saw on her face while she was rinsing your toothbrush and taking care of you flashes through your head.

Your pulse begins to beat a little faster. You glance back over your shoulder, watching Wanda as she looks away from the tub, idly organizing the cosmetics on the vanity counter.

"Um… Wanda?" you call out shyly, your voice shaking with uncertainty. "Can you please help me wash my hair? My arms are tired."

Wanda's head turns instantly, her green eyes wide and bright. An elated smile breaks across her face as she rushes to stand.

"Of course," she responds happily.

She navigates back to your side, positioning herself so her knees are flat on the tiles right in front of the tub. She detaches the handheld hose from the side wall, turning the dial and testing the water temperature against the porcelain. She turns to you with a bright smile once she finds the right balance.

Your heart warms at the sight of her—sleeves rolled up to her elbows, leaning over the rim of the bathtub. And it's all just for you.

The corners of your lips curl upward into a small, happy smile. You hope Wanda knows this is your way of telling her that you forgive her. The actual words themselves don't feel like enough to bridge the gap.

"Ready, baby? Close your eyes," she says, her voice light.

Based on the sheer warmth of her smile, you think she does know. You close your eyes, completely certain that you're in safe hands.

—

The water in the tub drains away, leaving behind thin remnants of bubbles clinging to the porcelain walls. You pull your legs tightly against your chest as Wanda rinses the soap around you, before finally running a stream of clean water over your skin. Without the sheet of bubbles, you feel exposed. But Wanda's eyes never waver where they shouldn't—where you haven't allowed them to go. Instead, she stays focused on the task at hand, asking you playful questions that make it impossible to think about anything else.

You wrap your arms around your shins, trying to conserve the warmth that's beginning to seep out of your pores. You look up at Wanda, trying to calculate the options: stand up and expose your entire naked body, or stay seated in the tub and try to hide the shivers that are beginning to form.

You don't have to wonder for long.

Wanda snatches a yellow towel robe off one of the hooks on the wall, handing it over with a satisfied smile. You reach for the fabric, feeling its soft, heavy texture.

"Wait a second, honey," she says, suddenly pulling the robe up so it completely blocks her line of sight, shielding her eyes. She reaches out her free hand blindly toward you. "Now you can stand." Her voice dips back into an anxious register. "But please be careful not to slip."

You reach for her hand. Her fingers curl around yours instantly, holding you steady as you begin to push yourself up, careful to make sure your bare feet have traction against the slippery porcelain. You step out over the lip of the tub, your feet landing squarely on the thick towel Wanda placed on the floor.

You lift your arm shakily, slipping your hand into one of the wide sleeves. Wanda releases her grip, catching the wrist that's safely within the fabric to help you maneuver your other arm into the opposite side. She wraps the heavy yellow robe completely around your frame, tying the belt securely around your waist.

Suddenly, everything goes dark.

You look down, only able to see your own feet. You feel the gentle weight of Wanda's hand on the crown of your head. She pulls the extra fabric backward, and your vision clears. She guides you by the waist, turning you around until you're facing the massive double vanity mirror.

She holds your shoulders gently, resting her head right next to yours as she smiles at your reflection in the glass. "Don't you look adorable, sweetheart?" she gushes.

You hadn't noticed the large hood on the robe earlier. It rests securely over your head, soaking up the remaining moisture from your hair so the water doesn't drip down your neck and shoulders.

You look at her reflection through the glass instead. Your eyes trace the curve of her lips, which are upturned into a wide smile. You look down at the wide sleeves of the robe, finding a pattern of little suns wearing sunglasses stamped throughout the yellow fabric. It's warm.

Wanda is still staring at your reflection expectantly. "I… I guess so?" you respond unsurely. You always kept your appearance strictly maintained, but anything beyond that wasn't something you ever thought about.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes closing for a brief second. She opens them, meeting your gaze directly in the mirror. "You do look adorable," she says, as if there's absolutely no doubt about the fact. Her eyes soften, her lips forming into a smile that is full of deep affection. "Our little sunshine," she says contently.

Your chest blooms with sudden warmth. You look away shyly, your ears heating up at the attention you're receiving. You hear Wanda laugh quietly next to your ear. She guides you carefully back to the vanity armchair, squeezing your shoulder lightly as you sit.

"I'm going to grab you a fresh pair of clothes," she says, preparing to step away.

You reach out blindly, grabbing the sleeve of her sweatshirt before she can leave the room. The words rush out of your mouth before you can even think to audit them. "Fuzzy pants?" you request, tilting your head up to look at her.

Her smile widens. She taps the tip of your nose with the pad of her index finger like she did in her office.

"Anything for you," she responds, turning away to head into the bedroom.

You sit patiently, leaning your weight against the backrest. Your legs swing lightly beneath the chair with what little strength you can muster. Then, your legs pause their motion.

You need to call Angie to let her know you won't be able to make it to your restaurant shift tonight. You bite the inside of your cheek. You hate the idea of disappointing her.

Wanda enters the bathroom again. White fuzzy pajama pants patterned with red hearts and a black sweatshirt are folded neatly in her hands. A pair of clean white underwear sits on top of the pile. Your chin dips, heat creeping up your neck. You can't help but wonder whose underwear you're borrowing.

You shake your head lightly, forcing your mind to stay on track. "Wanda? Can I call my manager? I have to let her know I'm sick and can't make it in tonight."

Wanda looks down at you, her head tilted as she sets the folded clothes on top of the vanity counter beside the chair. She gives you a slightly confused smile. "Of course you can, honey," she says slowly.

You look down at your lap, realization dawning on you.

Why did you just ask her for permission? It just felt like you should.

Getting assisted into your clothes is becoming a familiar affair, the process entirely streamlined at this point. With the heavy yellow robe still loosely draped over your frame, your dignity is preserved as she slips the clean underwear past your thighs, letting you pull the elastic up the rest of the way. You choose to forgo a bra, the thick black sweatshirt making it unnecessary.

The moment the waistband of the new fuzzy pants rests against your hipbones and the towel robe is removed, Wanda levels you with a serious stare.

"Darling," she starts, her voice wavering a bit. "Can I ask why you smelled like smoke that day in the office?"

You look down at one of the red hearts on your pants, your eyes tracing the curves. Answering this question would inevitably lead to more. It would mean tearing open a can of worms that you purposely keep sealed. It's not something you want to get into right now.

Right now? the final part of the thought echoes back in your head. Someday, you hope you'll find the courage to share it—in the way Natasha shared her history with you.

"I can't," you respond resolutely, your voice beginning to sound different as your sinuses clog again. "But I didn't smoke."

"I believe you," she says instantly, without a shred of hesitation. She looks up toward the ceiling for a moment in thought before meeting your eyes again. "I hope one day you're able to tell me why."

She gives you an understanding smile that makes a sudden prick of guilt tighten across your skin.

A sharp knock against the wooden doorframe forces both of you to look toward the door.

Natasha is standing there, wearing a sharp black power suit. The tailored fabric screams authority. You imagine it must intimidate hundreds of people in boardrooms, but the expression she's delivering right now is the complete opposite. She smiles at you softly.

"Hi, girls," she greets, her raspy voice filtering into the bathroom. "I see we're all fresh and clean now?"

You sniffle, trying to clear your nose. "Yes," you respond, looking away from her.

"And still not feeling too well," she says. You can see her tracking your posture in your peripheral vision, her expression shifting into something apologetic. "I'm sorry for not being here when you woke up," she adds, her voice dipping lower.

You press your lips together, forming a stubborn, grumpy pout.

Wanda chuckles beside you.

"I brought food back with me. How about we eat together?" Natasha asks, tilting her upper body down slightly to force you to meet her eyes.

You look up at Wanda, nodding your head lightly to give your consent.

Wanda laughs brightly, turning her head to look at Natasha. "Our sweet girl says that'll work."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but amusement lines her features when she looks back at you. "And is our sweet girl still feeling weak?"

You let out a heavy sigh, shifting your gaze back to Wanda, and nod your head solemnly.

Wanda winks down at you, turning back to Natasha. "Our sweet girl says—"

"I saw," Natasha cuts in, staring at Wanda with a deadpan, blank face. She steps past the threshold and walks up to the armchair.

"Can I carry you downstairs, baby? I don't want you to almost fall again." Her tone shifts instantly, her voice turning soft and pleading.

You stare at her blankly as she tilts her head from side to side, trying to curry your favor.

Wanda pipes up. "How about me, honey? Can I carry you?"

You turn your gaze away from Natasha and give Wanda a small grin. "Yes, please."

You lift your arms as high as your depleted strength allows. Wanda leans down, guiding your wrists over her shoulders. She shimmies her hands beneath your thighs and lifts you up with surprising ease. You press your cheek flat against Wanda's gray sweatshirt, looking back over her shoulder at Natasha.

Natasha's gaze isn't on you. It's locked onto Wanda, who's smiling triumphantly. Natasha's lips pull into a frown as Wanda turns and begins to walk out of the bathroom. Natasha follows closely behind the two of you.

"Nat, grab her phone," Wanda commands, not even bothering to look back.

You pick your head up from the soft cotton of the sweatshirt, peering past Wanda's shoulder as Natasha rolls her eyes in annoyance, but listens anyways, entering the room you had slept in.

Wanda walks down the grand staircase slowly, keeping her movements measured so your body doesn't bounce in her arms. The first floor opens into view. It's a massive, wide-open layout with daylight drifting in from towering windows at every angle. The light brown floorboards match the upper level perfectly. You turn your head, catching a glimpse of a huge, plush white couch facing a massive television screen in the living room, but you aren't able to take in the rest of the space before Wanda transitions into a quicker pace toward the dining area.

She sets you down gently onto a polished wooden chair pulled against an elegant white dining table. There are three other empty seats surrounding you. Two large brown takeout bags rest in the center of the table.

You turn your head to track Wanda as she frets about the kitchen, opening drawers to grab utensils. It's by far the largest kitchen you've ever seen. High-end steel appliances and endless storage space are displayed proudly along long marble countertops. A massive white island sits in the middle of the kitchen, the clean metal edges of a stove built into the stone. You find yourself wanting Wanda to finish what she's doing and just come back to sit next to you.

You jump slightly in your seat when a hand places your phone directly into your palm. Natasha. She always has a way of sneaking up on you without making a sound.

"For you, princess," she says teasingly, sliding the device into your fingers before reaching into the takeout bags to unpack the containers.

"Thank you," you mumble honestly.

Natasha nods down at you, opening a takeout box that you instantly recognize. It's from the same wrap place they ordered from before.

You unlock your screen, surprised to find that it's only 1:41 PM. You pull up Angie's contact and press the call button. It only takes two rings for her to pick up.

"This is a surprise," Angie says, her voice echoing over a loud rustling sound. It sounds like she's shuffling inventory around the restaurant.

"I'm really sorry, but I need to call out sick tonight," you say quickly, forcing the words out before you can lose your nerve.

The line goes dead silent for a brief second. Then, Angie's worried voice breaks through the speaker. "Sweetie, you sound absolutely terrible. Thank you for letting me know, and it's totally fine, by the way. Noah needs to work harder anyways." She pauses for a moment, the rustling stopping. "Should I bring you some soup or anything? Have you eaten?"

You look down at the table at the soft sound of a container being placed right in front of your hand. A paper cup of steaming hot soup sits on the table. You glance up at Natasha, who gives you a small, reassuring smile.

"No, I have food here. Thank you though, Angie," you respond into the phone. The image of Nicole crosses your mind. "Also… can you please let Nicole know I'm okay? I had to leave the party early and I never got the chance to tell her."

"Of course, sweetie, I'll let her know," Angie promises. "Just take care of yourself, you hear?"

You smile to yourself, the knot of guilt in your chest unraveling. "I promise I will."

"Good, good," she says. The shuffling sound starts up again. "I've gotta go, sweetie. I'll see you when you're better."

The line clicks dead before you can get another word in.

You release a sigh, placing your phone down on the table. Wanda appears beside your chair, setting a metal spoon next to the container of soup.

"Did it go well?" she asks, sliding into the seat to your right.

You nod at her. "It did."

Natasha takes a seat to your left, her suit jacket brushing against your arm. You reach out, picking up the spoon, the cool metal seeping through your fingers. You dip it into the container, scooping up a generous amount of soup. You bring it toward your mouth, your entire forearm shaking from exertion, but you stubbornly refuse to spill a single drop.

The edge of the spoon touches your lip, sending burning pain through your lower lip. You wince at the heat but force the rest of the soup into your mouth, swallowing it down despite the burn.

Suddenly, the spoon is no longer in your fingers. You glance up to see Wanda holding it instead. She levels a playful glare at you.

"Darling, if it's difficult, then you can just say so."

She dips the spoon back into the paper cup, bringing up a spoonful. She raises it to her own lips, blowing away the rising steam to cool the liquid down. You attempt to reach for the spoon with a trembling hand, but Wanda smoothly moves it out of your reach.

"I can do it," you say stubbornly.

"Oh, you definitely can," Wanda says, her voice light. "But you don't have to."

She brings the spoon back to your lips. It doesn't burn like it did before. The temperature is perfectly warm.

"Open up, sweetheart," Wanda says encouragingly.

You part your lips hesitantly, and the warm soup enters your mouth. You can't taste much with your sinuses completely clogged, but the warm liquid immediately soothes your raw throat as it goes down.

"Good girl," Wanda says, her voice bright praise.

Your stomach flutters, a wave of warm happiness blooming through your chest. You automatically part your lips again, wanting to hear her praise you more. Wanda smiles at you, the bridge of her nose wrinkling playfully as she scoops more of the soup, careful to ensure the temperature is just right before offering it. The liquid flows smoothly down your throat.

"Thank you for eating so well," Wanda coos softly.

You grin to yourself, your brain beginning to slow. Your thoughts begin to stick and drag against each other, as though they're dripping in honey.

Wanda looks past your shoulder for a moment, raising a single eyebrow. "Oh, lighten up," she says with a light laugh. "Eat your food, Natty," Wanda says, her tone bordering on mocking.

You turn your head slowly, catching Natasha with a frown on her face. You silently mouth the nickname to yourself, testing the syllables. Natty.

"Do you like the way that sounds?" Wanda asks from your right, her voice curious.

You nod, your eyes still locked on Natasha, who has now picked up half of her wrap. You do like the way it sounds.

"Can you tell Natty to eat her food?" Wanda asks, her voice dipping lower.

You don't even think twice, ready to listen to whatever Wanda tells you.

"Natty…" you begin, blinking blearily at her. "Can you eat your food?" you ask shyly.

Natasha turns her head to face you instantly. Her eyes are wide, but the affection in them is unmistakable. Her expression softens, a gentle smile forming on her lips.

"Yes," Natasha responds, her voice dropping into a light, unusually soft register. "Natty will eat her food." She brings the wrap to her mouth and takes a bite.

You turn your head back to Wanda immediately, your eyes wide and expectant.

Wanda reaches out, caressing your flushed cheek with her hand. "Thank you, baby," she coos at you.

You grin toothily back at her, basking in the praise. Wanda looks up toward the ceiling, in thought but there's a playfulness in her eyes. "Hmm…" she drawls. "I feel a little bit left out without a nickname from you."

She meets your eyes again, her expression light, but there's an unreadable weight underneath the playfulness that you can't quite decipher. "Maybe something that also ends with a y?"

Natasha bursts into a sudden fit of coughs from beside you.

A nickname that ends with y? you think to yourself. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration, trying to force your brain to function. Only one idea surfaces through the thick, heavy syrup behind your eyes. Wandy? No, that sounds terrible. Your forehead begins to throb the harder you try to think of options.

"Wanda is just being silly. You don't need to strain yourself over it," Natasha says, clearing her throat.

"Am I?" Wanda asks innocently. "Maybe we'll change yours, too, Nat. Make it a matching pair with mine."

Natasha stares back at her blankly, but a rosy tinge forms across her cheeks.

Does that make her happy? you wonder slowly. Maybe if you can think of the perfect nickname, Wanda will look at you and praise you again.

"Wanda," Natasha says, an edge cutting into her tone.

You look back and forth between the two of them. Natasha is sending a warning glare across the table. Wanda is smiling innocently, turning her gaze away toward the window.

You can't help but feel like there's more to this conversation that you're missing.

The sharp sound of the doorbell echoes throughout the floor. —

A/N: Sorry for the really long chapter! I'm going to have to take a week, maybe two, off from this story due to work so I wanted to leave you guys with something substantial. Lots happened xD Hopefully some of your questions were answered, though you'll definitely have to read between the lines. I wanted to get into Wanda's backstory too, but it felt weird doing it back to back. It would be too forced.

And yes, the Mommy kink tag has officially been added. Let's be real, it was always leaning this way even if I tried to ignore it. I'll be active on Tumblr even during the break so if you have any ideas of how it should be introduced in the story, let me know!

I really appreciate your guys' thorough comments! ♡ It always brings a smile to my face and pushes me through when I'm struggling writing. Hopefully this somewhat self indulgent chapter turned out okay! — Taglist♡: @kawaiipeacemusic @toe19 @tomy5girls @nrlvr @imaginemeandwho @sweetmissnothing @scarlettbitchx @three3ofswords @truthindreams @beggingonmykneesforher @justheretoreadgl

^ If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!

[xiii-ap]

Beyond the Badge | Alexia Putellas x reader - Part 8

Part 8

Summary : You're Real Madrid Femenino personified, the captain, the one who joined the day the club was born. A 15-2 agreggate against Barça makes you wonder if loyalty is enough, and the Spanish camp that follows only make it worse. You've known Alexia Putellas for years but have never been close. This camp has other ideas for you both.

Pairing : Alexia Putellas x Real Madrid! Reader

Word count : 9.8k

A/n : These two hold my heart

Masterlist

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Madrid feels different, somehow. The streets are just as busy as ever and the sun is blazing, a sign that summer is getting closer. From your balcony, you trace the treeline of the Retiro below. Automatically, your brain flips back to a few weeks ago, picturing Alexia sitting right across from you.

It’s been ten days since the match against Bayern Munich. You are far too competitive to outright enjoy having your team eliminated from all competitions, but you are far from sulking about it either.

You spend your sudden free time hanging out with your friends and family way more than you usually can during the highs of the season. Media and sponsors are taking up much more of your time than you would like, but you bear it because of the money that comes with it. Madrid is hot, but it isn’t completely unlivable yet. You find yourself spending time tanning in the park while reading books.

Football continues, too. Your teammates have been even more annoying than usual lately, but you let them get away with it and willingly play into their games because you know it helps lift the spirits of the squad.

The realization that it’s the last month of this group together has been weighing down everyone. You’re used to it as a football player, but it still feels weird. The tension spikes when the press breaks the news that Misa and Teresa are leaving this summer. You knew that for a while, the rest of the team didn’t.

Losing your top domestic internationals is always a massive red flag for a project. You silently hope Athenea isn’t planning on making an exit anytime soon, the media is already cracking jokes about the two of you being the last ones standing in Madrid.

You have a press interview scheduled for tomorrow, where you’re expected to publicly pledge your absolute fidelity to the badge. You will do it without blinking an eye. You’re entirely used to the corporate side of the sport, and you know exactly how to say the right things, no matter how chaotic reality is.

Your teammates are noisy, but you don’t give them anything. Your fatal error is leaving your phone sitting on the bench when you head out to debrief with Pau about the upcoming match tactics.

The noise level when you re-enter the room worries you immediately. You’re even more worried when you see the whole team crowded around your locker. As you approach, Irune turns around and aggressively shoves your phone screen directly into your face. You don't even flinch.

“I don’t have face recognition on,” you deadpan, snatching the device straight out of her hand. Stupid kids.

“Oh, come on ! We can all see she sent you a message, but you didn’t even put her actual name in your contacts,” Irene complains loudly.

You had indeed named Alexia “British girl” in your phone, specifically to protect yourself in case this exact situation ever happened. It had made Alexia laugh when you told her about it.

“Because you’re all incredibly nosy,” you fire back, shoving the phone into your pocket.

“We haven’t even seen a picture yet,” Misa chimes in, crossing her arms. “And you’ve been smiling at your phone like an idiot for a solid month.”

Linda’s eyes go wide as a sudden theory struck her. “Oh my god... are you keeping it a secret because you’re actually seeing a man ?”

Your head snaps toward her, your expression morphing into pure disgust. You might let some stupid rumors fly, but that is your absolute hard limit. “Fuck no. Never imply that again,” you answer instantly, leaving zero room for debate.

 “Honestly, I think Vicky was right from the start. It’s definitely an England national team player,” Athenea states.

Just like last time, the whole situation devolves into a massive, loud debate over who it could actually be. The main problem is that the Real Madrid players know even less about the English squad than the Spanish national team does, so their guesses are completely ridiculous.

However, it does lead to a much funnier argument regarding who the hottest player in England is. Leah Williamson wins the locker room vote by a landslide, an opinion you silently validate.

Even after the debate settles, your teammates still won’t stop teasing you, making you wonder if being the captain would allow you to transfer them all out. At least they’re not getting any closer to the truth.

You see someone with a Barça jersey in the street below, snapping a quick picture to Alexia with “your kind is invading us” attached. She’s in training, so you know she won’t answer immediately.

Alexia managed to become a permanent fixture in your daily life through a steady stream of voice notes, FaceTime calls, inside jokes, and stupid memes. She’s focused on the finals coming up, which means she’s ironically more available for you as she goes out less and can justify not traveling for media things.

You've come to realize that she’s actually a massive homebody at heart. It explains her absolute obsession with football, when she's not on the pitch, she has all the time in the world to just sit on the couch and watch it on TV.

Her behavior has shifted a bit lately, likely because of the intense pressure from everywhere. The usual voice notes breaking down match analysis and the screenshots of her tactical sketches have dried up. You assume it’s because football is all she hears about 24/7 right now, and she desperately wants her chats with you to be a sanctuary away from it all.

Even so, you weirdly miss the football nerd side of her. You tell yourself the afternoon heat is just messing with your brain. Reaching up, you idly adjust the sunglasses resting on your nose, a pair you had shamelessly stolen from Alexia’s house before leaving. You had sent her a selfie wearing them a few days ago, and she had immediately texted back, claiming they looked much better on you anyway.

Everyone around you has noticed the shift. You’re glued to your screen, constantly snapping pictures of random things just because they remind you of her. Aitana jokes that you’ve never answered so quickly to her texts.

You told your closest friends, at the dinner you rescheduled because of Alexia. They roasted you for finally breaking your rule about dating another footballer, especially since said footballer happens to be the captain of Barcelona.

The banter inevitably shifted into a lecture. Your friends pointed out that you tend to dive into relationships far too easily, never overthinking things, just letting them happen until they eventually burn you. Occasionally it lasts, very occasionally. You hadn't expected Alexia to have that same impulsive streak, you'd figured she’d be a chronic overthinker who let fun things slip through her fingers.

She’s beautiful, effortless to talk to, and the chemistry in bed is unmatched. In a normal world, you’d have slapped a label on it by now. In a vacuum, dating is simple : you try it out, and if it fails in eight weeks, you become friends or choose mutual radio silence.

But you don't live in a vacuum. You share a national team jersey with the woman. You can't just ask for a transfer out of your own country. Add to that the absolute nightmare of playing a billion Clásicos against each other every season, and simple flies right out the window.

Then there are the social circles that never quite intersect. Misa is more of a close coworker than an actual friend, and while Aitana logically should be your ultimate common ground, she and Alexia have never really clicked on a personal level.

Every single sign points toward making a rational decision to back away, but you choose to let your attachment for Alexia overpower the logic.

Your friends wrapped up the intervention with a laugh, admitting they can’t fathom how you are such a brilliant, levelheaded decision-maker in your professional life, yet such an absolute wildcard in your personal one.

The view of Madrid from your apartment offers you the answer. Football comes with a completely fucked-up schedule, but it still grants you a ton of free time, even if a massive chunk of it has to be spent recovering on the couch. You’re exactly the player your club and country need you to be, and in return, the sport offers you a life far better than anything you would have gotten otherwise.

You are naturally a calm person, even outside of sport. You’re not the type to scream, nor are you the type who craves the center of attention, that’s why the sport doesn’t eat you alive.

Instead, you gravitate toward chaotic personal choices because they’re fun. Messing around with girls because there are zero long-term consequences is freeing, it’s a necessary release valve for the high-stakes environment you live in. The second a girl starts adding to the stress instead of relieving it, you just break it off. Simple as that.

That’s why you know you’re making a mistake with Alexia. Then you think of the two of you on her couch, eating way too much take out because she won that game against Bayern, and you think bad decisions can taste sweet. That’s why they’re dangerous, you suppose.

Since that dinner, your friends have been leaving you alone about the whole situation, aside from the occasional jabs in the group chat. But eventually, they can’t take it anymore. It happens when you’re all in Prague for the weekend.

Alexia has the Copa de la Reina final, she tried to convince you to come, but you had no desire to see either Atlético or Barça win a title. Plus, that weekend had been scheduled for a while anyway.

It’s Saturday night, and you’re sitting at the restaurant table, eating and chatting, when your phone suddenly buzzes. “British girl” lights up your screen. You excuse yourself immediately and step outside into the night.

You answer the FaceTime call the second the cool air hits your face, and Alexia’s face fills the screen. Her hair is a bit messy, clearly not yet showered, and she’s wearing a fresh Champions t-shirt with a gold medal draped around her neck. You already knew they won, you’ve been checking the live score under the table all evening.

“Congrats, champ,” you smile, leaning back against the restaurant wall, trying to get the roof to protect you from the rain. “How was the game ?”

“Easy,” Alexia jokes, a smug grin on her face. “Their game plan was shit.”

You laugh softly. “Well, nobody’s gonna complain about a free win.”

She nods, fidgeting with the blue ribbon of her medal. The lighting in her background is dim and a little weird, she’s clearly found a hidden corridor or an empty room to escape her teammates for a few minutes. Your heart does a sudden leap. Out of everyone she could be celebrating with right now, she'd slipped away just to call you.

“Especially a win in Gran Canaria,” Alexia answers, breaking your train of thought. “We should be able to hit the beach tomorrow morning before our flight back. I’ll send you pictures.”

“You live in Barcelona anyway, amor,” you remind her with a chuckle. “You can go to the beach whenever you want.”

She shrugs. “You can never have too much beach.” The camera angle shifts as she slides down against the wall and sits on the concrete floor, clearly trying to get comfortable. “How is Prague ?”

“The weather is miserable,” you complain. It had been raining non-stop since your flight landed. “But the city itself is beautiful, and I’m with my friends, so it’s still a great weekend.”

“If there is no sun, it cannot be a perfect weekend,” Alexia declares. A fond smile spreads across your face at her absolute seriousness. That girl was truly made to be Spanish, you don’t think she would have survived a single winter living in Munich. Knowing Alexia the way you do now, there is absolutely no way she would ever sign for a London club, the British weather alone would kill her.

You end up freezing outside for a while longer, chatting. You fill her in on the sights you've managed to see in Prague, while Alexia gives you the breakdown of the match and her teammates' ridiculous post-game celebrations. Everyone is trying to be moderately careful (even if you doubt someone like Vicky knows the full meaning of that word) considering Oslo is in one week.

Alexia ends the call abruptly when Kika Nazareth finally tracks down her hiding spot, Alexia hanging up mid-sentence to avoid getting caught, leaving you staring at a black screen before you can even say goodbye. She texts you a few minutes later to apologize for that.

The second you walk back into the warmth of the restaurant, your smile betrays you. Sitting back down at the table, you're met with four very expectant faces.

“So, it seems things have been going pretty great with your footballer,” Alejandro says.

It’s a flat statement, and looking at their faces, you realize there’s absolutely no point in trying to deny it. “Yeah. It has.”

“Remind me,” Alicia chimes in, tilting her head. “How long have you two been seeing each other exactly ?”

“A bit more than a month now.” Saying it out loud feels strange, it feels both shorter and longer than that. You haven't spent that much time together in person, yet you've talked almost every day. Ironically, the distance has forced you to really get to know each other, rather than just sleeping together.

“Look at you, you're literally blushing,” Alejandro teases.

You roll your eyes, but you don't even get a chance to fire back before Alicia seals the trap. “One month in, and you’re absolutely whipped.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, taking a sudden interest in your drink.

“And where exactly is it going ?” Ana asks.

That’s the million-dollar question you haven’t been able to answer for yourself yet. Alexia hasn’t broached the subject either. You’re kind of dating each other, you suppose. You’re exclusive, or at least you're operating under the strong assumption and hope that she isn't sleeping with anyone else. But how are you supposed to lock things down ? Asking her to be your girlfriend over a video call feels cheap.

“I’m just letting it happen,” you say aloud, shrugging.

You can see on your friends’ faces that they don’t like that answer, but they know you well enough to have expected it.

“You can mess around with random girls all you want,” Alejandro says, his voice losing its teasing edge. “But doing that with a coworker is a terrible idea.”

“Thanks Captain Obvious, that’s why I usually don’t mess with footballers.” You roll your eyes, a bit defensive. It’s irritating hearing them lecture you on a risk analysis you've already run a hundred times.

Alicia swats at your shoulder, and you rub it while throwing her a mean look. “Remind me, what is Alexia’s profession?”

You don’t dignify her with an answer.

“Cut the crap,” Ana interjects. Unlike the rest of the group, who prefer to guide you gently toward a realization, Ana likes to drop the hammer. “It’s obvious you like her, and I don’t know why you’re playing coy. But considering both your positions, you have to sit down with each other and figure out how you’re gonna do it at one point. Life won’t figure it out for you.”

Except you really, truly hope life will just figure it out for you. In your previous relationships, it always did. Either with things naturally burning out or with the other girl taking charge and making the necessary steps.

“Look, she has the biggest game of her season next week. It’s a terrible time to drop a relationship talk on her,” you deflect. “Summer break is coming up anyway. We’ll figure it out then.”

It’s a total deflection. Everyone around the table knows it, including you. Sadly, your friends have no intention of letting you off the hook that easily.

“Right. Just like you were going to ‘talk about it’ with Paula. And with Julia,” Ana says, raising her hands to mimic air quotes with her fingers. “And at the very least, you were actually, officially dating them.”

“Not my fault if it didn’t work out before we could chat about where things were going,” you counter. It was, in fact, entirely your fault, but you don’t need to admit that to them. If you act frustratingly stubborn enough, they will finally give up and drop it.

Ana groans in pure frustration. Cesar, who had stayed silent until now, decides to try a completely new strategy. “I still can’t figure out how Elena stayed with your uncommunicative sorry ass for more than three years.”

Weaponizing Elena is a dirty tactic, but your defensive line doesn't break. You smirk, looking around the table. “Fascinating insights. Do I need to remind the panel that every single person here is currently single ? You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not taking relationship notes from the lonely-hearts club.”

That absolutely does the trick. It’s a temporary ceasefire and you know it, but a win is a win, and you savor every second of it.

You were expecting radio silence the week coming up to the Champions League, but Alexia sends you even more texts than usual. Surprisingly, they’re not that much about football. You suppose that’s what her whole life is about right now, so she needs to speak about other things.

She tells you about her teammates’ shenanigans, about her mom and sister forcing her to have dinner with them to take her mind off things for a bit, and about the stupid things happening in the telenovela she’s watching when hours of football become too much.

You FaceTime whenever you’re both available, even once she arrives in Oslo, where Alexia takes full advantage of her single room. Yet, she still respects her sleep schedule like clockwork, saying goodnight the exact second it hits bedtime, no matter how interesting the conversation is.

By Saturday, your own squad is in Barcelona to play against Badalona. The final is on in one of your teammates’ hotel rooms, and almost the entire team has crowded inside to watch it. Naturally, everyone is fiercely supporting Lyon, Naomie and Sara are even proudly wearing their old Lyon jerseys.

You feign indifference, spending a massive chunk of the match staring down at your phone to mask your nerves. You won’t admit it out loud, but you’re not against Barcelona winning it, both for Alexia and Aitana. Alexia tried to make you admit it yesterday, but couldn’t.

Barça dominates the opening forty-five. They’re leading 2–0 at the break with goals from Alexia and Pajor. Lyon is playing badly, their midfield getting destroyed. But it’s like two different teams come out of the locker room.

Yohannes plays like she’s ten years older than she is, Bacha reminds everyone why she’s the best left-back in the world, Chawinga and Brand are running everywhere, and the game is suddenly 2–2 at the 80th minute. You can see the tension on the Barcelona side, while Lyon is playing more freely.

Then what was expected happens. In the 87th minute, Brand does a stepover to pass Mapi, and her shot curls perfectly toward the top corner. It’s beautiful football, you have to admit, and the room goes ballistic.

Barça tries in the few minutes left, a Pajor header not on goal, Vicky’s shot hitting the crossbar, and then the final whistle can be heard. While your Real Madrid teammates celebrate wildly around you, you try not to wince when the broadcast cuts to a devastating close-up of Alexia crying on the pitch, your heart breaking at the sight.

You end your live texting of the game to her with “I’m here to talk if you need it, amor. You don’t need to answer if you don’t feel like it.”

Predictably, it sits on delivered. You spend the rest of the night checking your notifications until you finally give up. The only call you get is a midnight dial from Aitana, who spends half an hour aggressively breaking down their tactical errors. You just listen. It's her classic post-loss routine : explode, analyze, and then go completely ghost for two days.

It’s genuinely funny to you how Barça’s loss manages to make everyone on your team just a little bit happier. Who says being a hater only creates negative energy ? The squad is in an extra cheerful mood all through lunch, and you're laughing along with the rest of them until your pocket buzzes with a notification you absolutely weren’t expecting.

Unsaved number : Hey, it’s Alba, Alexia’s sister. I know it’s a bit out of nowhere but I saw you’re playing against Badalona today. Could you come to Ale’s house after the game? She’s inconsolable.

You’re deeply confused as to how Alexia’s sister even managed to get your number, but you decide that’s a question for another time. You weigh the risks for a brief second before texting back your agreement. If you have the power to make Alexia feel even a fraction better right now, you’re going to do it.

Back at lunch, you casually say you're skipping the team flight back to go check on Aitana. Nobody knows her well enough to find it weird, so the lie goes easily.

The game against Badalona is an easy one, and the team officially clinches second place in the league with it. You order an Uber as soon as the game ends and leave for Alexia’s house right after your shower. You’re mildly aware that you’re about to meet at least Alexia’s sister, and it stresses you out a bit to say the least.

Worse, you are currently wearing your official Real Madrid sweatpants and hoodie. You're fully aware Alexia will absolutely hate seeing the crest in her house, but you hadn't packed a change of clothes as this detour wasn't in your plans at all.

The drive is long, and your driver is apparently not a fan of your wardrobe choice either. He takes great pleasure in gloating about how the Barça men's team won the La Liga title over Madrid, completely oblivious to who you are. You're deeply tempted to point out that their women's team just bottled a Champions League final, but you think better of it.

You’re relieved to finally pull up to Alexia’s house. Alba comes out to meet you right at the gate, and she looks enough like her sister that you have absolutely no problem recognizing her.

Her gaze drops to the massive Real Madrid crest on your hoodie, a corner of her mouth twitching. “Better than an OL one, I suppose,” she notes dryly.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to shuffle it. It is incredibly awkward to meet the sister of your... what ? Situationship ? Under these conditions.

Alba seems to pick up on your nerves. “Seriously, thank you for coming,” she says softly, reaching over to take your bag before you can even protest. “Our mom and her friend Miriam are also inside.”

Your stomach does a violent flip. Okay, now you’re officially panicking.

“We’re currently on our fourth replay of the match today,” Alba sighs, leading the way. “I feel like I’m going completely crazy.”

The first thing that hits you as you step inside is the rich, comforting smell of homemade food. You leave your shoes at the entrance and venture deeper into the house.

The game is indeed on replay, it’s currently in the second half, just a few minutes before Lyon’s equalizing goal. Her best friend, Miriam, is sitting in a nearby chair. You recognize her instantly from the photos Alexia has sent you over the past month. Right now, she looks like a mix between thoroughly bored and deeply worried. She’s the first one to notice you, her face lighting up with a soft, relieved smile the moment your eyes meet.

You give a polite nod, but your focus is entirely elsewhere. Your eyes sweep the room, bracing for the one reaction you've been dreading and hoping for all afternoon.

She’s curled up on the couch in a oversized hoodie and sweatpants, her hood pulled completely up. She looks entirely exhausted, her eyes bloodshot and underlined by heavy bags. There’s a Cat Culer plushie locked in her arms that she’s hugging tightly to her chest, and you mentally reprimand yourself because finding a grieving Alexia this adorable should be illegal.

Her gaze remains locked onto the match film until Alba cuts through the commentary with a quiet, “Ale.”

That finally distracts her. A whirlwind of raw emotions flashes across Alexia's face the second she catches sight of you, but to your immense relief, they seem overwhelmingly positive. Wordlessly, she opens her arms.

You don't hesitate. Ignoring the fact that her sister and best friend are right there acting as an audience, you slide on top of her. She locks her arms around you instantly, squeezing with a desperation that catches you off guard, her chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m going to go help Eli in the kitchen,” Miriam says, getting up from her seat.

The mention of Eli makes Alexia stiffen beneath you. The reality that you’re about to meet her mother is finally clicking, but she doesn't let go. If anything, her grip tightens, anchoring you to her chest. Accepting your fate, you adjust your posture, settling deeper into her hold.

In your peripheral vision, Alba claims Miriam's empty chair, watching the display with an unreadable expression. According to Alexia, Alba is a chronic teaser, but the younger sister clearly possesses great situational awareness. She stays completely silent, even if her eyes are practically screaming with questions.

“Can I turn off the TV?” you ask softly. It’s a tactical test to gauge her current headspace. She lets out a heavy sigh, you suppose she’s been asked that a dozen times already today. To soften the prompt, you press your face into the warm junction of her neck, your fingers tracing upward beneath her hoodie to rest against her ribs. You keep the touch light, mindful of Alba’s presence in the room.

“If you want,” she murmurs. It’s barely a whisper, and it’s the first time you've heard her voice all day, but it feels like a massive win.

Alba immediately shoots up and switches the television off, she’s clearly been dying to do that since morning. Aitana had mentioned last night that their flight left incredibly early, landing in Barcelona around 10:00 AM, meaning the family has been managing Alexia’s spiraling state for hours now.

The room settles into a slightly awkward silence. Alba fidgets, clearly trying to be mindful of Alexia’s mood, but when she can’t handle the quiet anymore, she slides out of her chair and disappears into the kitchen, leaving the two of you completely alone.

You press a kiss on her jaw, which you wouldn’t have done in front of her sister. “You’re dressed like shit,” Alexia jokes. Her voice is rough, drained of its usual energy, but the teasing spark is a massive relief.

You let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t exactly planning a trip here today.”

You shift slightly in her embrace to press a real kiss to her lips. She moves one of her hands up, her fingers cradling your jawline to deepen the contact. You hadn't expected Alexia to be this intensely affectionate after a defeat, but apparently, physical proximity is exactly how she processes loss. You certainly aren't going to complain.

You drop your head back against her shoulder the exact second you hear faint footsteps echoing down the hallway. Your body instantly tenses as you realize it’s Alexia’s mother. You know exactly how much her mami means to her, Alexia talks about her with absolute devotion all the time.

“Mami, this is Y/N, my girlfriend,” Alexia announces softly. “Y/N, this is my mami.”

You do your absolute best to mask your shock at the word girlfriend. That is a discussion for later, way later. You always expected that word would terrify you when the time came, but instead, a genuinely warm, pleasant feeling settles deep into your chest.

You instinctively try to disentangle yourself to stand up and greet her mother like a civilized human being, but your apparent girlfriend ensures you stay exactly where you are, locking her arms around your back.

“Hi,” you manage, fully aware that your face is burning bright red.

“Hola, cariño.” Eli looks at the two of you tangled together on the cushions. While it's certainly not the worst way to be seen on top of Alexia, it still makes your skin prickle with self-consciousness. “Are you staying for dinner ?”

You can feel Alexia’s expectant gaze burning into the side of your face at the question. “Yeah, I’m staying tonight,” you answer, before looking down at the girl pinning you down. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah. Stay,” Alexia murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. You were not expecting her to be the PDA type, it’s disarming. Then, she looks past your shoulder, her tone flattening as she addresses her mother. “I’m not eating tonight.”

Her mother immediately crosses her arms, throwing her the kind of lethal, no-bullshit look that only parents can truly master. “I let you skip breakfast, and I let you skip lunch. You are eating dinner.”

“No, I’m not,” Alexia fires back. She sounds like a petulant child, you’re sure that was exactly what she sounded like when she was eleven years old and her parents asked her to come home instead of playing football.

Her mother looks directly at you, clearly expecting you to step in and convince her stubborn daughter. But you know exactly what a hard loss feels like, the urge to just have everyone leave you alone. You refuse to annoy Alexia right now. Instead, you simply snuggle deeper against her shoulder. You're almost certain you hear a soft, quiet sigh of relief escape her lips.

You’re not entirely sure this tactical retreat is going to win you any points with her mother, but Alexia’s comfort is the only thing that matters right now. You hear her mami let out a heavy, defeated sigh as she turns and retreats back into the kitchen.

“Alright, the free pass is over,” Alexia whispers, giving you a playful shove. “You’re warm and I needed the affection, but you need to take that off. Go change.”

Laughing, you disentangle yourself from her. Alexia looks a bit better than earlier, even if it still looks like she needs fifteen hours of sleep. As you pass the kitchen doorway, Alba spots you. “Where are you off to?”

“I’m getting changed. Alexia surprisingly doesn’t like how I’m dressed.” You show the Real Madrid logo on the hoodie.

Alba snorts loudly. “Ah, stupid football rivalries. Do you need me to show you where Ale’s room is ?”

You instantly turn bright red. You absolutely, vividly remember exactly where Alexia’s room is, and precisely what happened the last time you were inside it. You look up, catching both Miriam and Eli watching your total composure dissolve in real-time.

Alba’s grin widens into pure mischief. “Ah, stupid me. You already know exactly where it is, don’t you ?”

You don’t dignify her with an answer and head to the bedroom, because you would have ended up digging a hole in the floor if that conversation carried on. Alexia’s bedroom hasn’t changed much, the Ballon d’Or still shining in a corner. A third one was promised to her if she won; it’s not a sure thing now.

The only noticeable difference is the suitcase thrown open carelessly on the floor, you can see the silver medal in the middle of it.

You go in the walk-in closet, stealing a neutral hoodie and sweatpants. You’re close enough in size that her clothes always fit you perfectly, you just triple-check the labels just to make sure you don't accidentally pick up some Barça merch.

When you return to the living room, dinner has been served. Predictably, Alexia and her mother are right back at it, locked in an intense argument about her needing to eat, while Miriam and Alba diplomatically focus on their plates to stay entirely out of the crossfire.

You hover for a bit, not really knowing your place, until Miriam sees you wandering and waves you to come over. You thank them profusely for the food and take a plate, quite hungry after the game earlier.

You get between Alexia’s legs, your back against her chest, and she wraps her arms around you without question, while still arguing with her mother. You happily remain a silent shield, refusing to get involved in this match either.

The footballer secures the win. Eli ultimately accepts that she can't physically shovel food down a thirty-two-year-old's throat, though she makes sure her displeasure is known. The meal is an exercise in pure discomfort. Alexia is brooding, Eli is brooding, and Alba and Miriam are clearly wondering when it will be considered acceptable to leave. You just sit there, trying to blend in.

Once the plates are cleared, they collectively decides they can finally escape the house with you there. Eli walks you through the kitchen, pointing out the Tupperware and explaining the microwave settings on the off-chance her daughter remembers human beings need sustenance. Alba whispers another genuine thank you, and Miriam leaves you with a parting gift: a promise that the protective best friend interrogation is absolutely coming the next time your paths cross.

Once the front door clicks shut, you retreat to her room. The transition to bed is entirely wordless. Alexia is acting like a shadow, clinging to your side but locked away in her own head, shutting down any attempts at small talk.

The second you both lie down on the bed, she settles heavily into your arms, hiding her face deep in the crook of your neck. You slip one hand under the hem of her t-shirt, softly caressing her bare back, while your other hand gently plays with her hair.

You don't shift your position when she murmurs, “We had it”, before her body begins to tremble, sobbing silently against your skin. You just press a tender kiss to the top of her head and let her cry it out. You don't try to force reassuring words, you've already figured out that your physical presence is the only thing that truly matters to her right now.

You stay like that for a long time, until her breathing begins to calm down. You press a soft kiss to her temple. “Goodnight, amor. Wake me up if you need anything.”

“Goodnight, cari,” comes the raspy, broken whisper against your skin. You pull her in even tighter against you. The gratitude is unspoken, understood without the need for a formal thank-you. A few minutes later, exhaustion takes over, and you both drift off into a deep, uninterrupted sleep, enjoying each other’s warmth.

You wake up long before Alexia the next morning. Her dead weight pins you securely to the mattress, making it impossible to get up without risking waking her. Carefully reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you inform the staff you won’t catch the plane back to Madrid in the morning. You also cancel the dinner you were supposed to have at your place with your family tonight.

Alexia looks peaceful, way more relaxed now that she’s sleeping. You suppress the instinct to touch her jawline or play with her hair, letting her body get the recovery it desperately needs. The media and fans are already tearing the team apart, making you deeply grateful she's currently insulated from the internet in this room. You feel bad for any player that might be checking it.

You know she’s starting to wake up because she begins to shift and press closer against you. She lets out a soft groan before finally blinking her eyes open, looking up to meet your gaze. Almost immediately, she hides her face right back into the crook of your neck. Your arms circle her shoulders, and you press a warm kiss to the top of her head.

“Hola, amor,” you whisper against her hair.

She doesn’t give you a verbal answer, choosing instead to snuggle even closer into your chest. Slipping your hand back under the hem of her t-shirt, you begin to trace slow, soothing patterns over her spine.

After a few minutes of quiet comfort, you gently start to slide out from underneath her, earning an immediate whine of protest. “Where do you think you’re going ?”

“To the kitchen. I'm making breakfast, so stay put.” You seal the command with a kiss to her forehead.

“Not hungry,” she mumbles into the pillow.

You’re about to argue when her stomach violently betrays her with a loud rumble. You arch an eyebrow, pinning her with a smug, victorious look. Pushing her shoulder back down into the mattress, you smirk “Don’t you dare leave this bed. I’m taking care of it.” She just huffs and pulls the duvet over her nose, but she doesn't try to get up. First win of the day goes to you.

You decide on pancakes, remembering Alexia mentioning once that they’re her ultimate comfort food. You add a bit too much chocolate for an athlete currently in the middle of a season, but luckily, both your club nutritionists aren’t in the room to stop you. To balance it out, you toss on some of the fresh fruit her family brought over yesterday.

The moment you walk back into the bedroom balancing the plates, you catch the immediate look of pure envy in her eyes. Not hungry, my ass.

After a quick second trip to fetch the coffees, you climb back under the covers and propped yourself up beside her.

“Thanks, cariño,” Alexia says softly, leaning over to press a lingering kiss against your shoulder.

You smile, leaning your head against hers. You know that simple thank you goes far beyond just the breakfast, but sometimes loud words aren’t needed.

The first part of breakfast passes in a comfortable silence, until Alexia softly breaks it. “How did you deal with the loss against England last summer ?”

You think back to that tournament, letting out a self-deprecating laugh at the memory. “Oh, I was awful. Everyone was banned from talking to me about anything remotely related to football for two whole weeks. Just one mention and I would completely shut down. For a month after that, it was still such a touchy subject that people avoided it like the plague. I drove my friends and family absolutely crazy.”

Alexia hums in quiet acknowledgment. “I think my worst one was the Olympics. I literally spent nights on the training pitch taking penalty after penalty instead of sleeping. Alba thought I needed an intervention.”

You finish your plate and place it on the nightstand, doing the same with hers. You motion for her to slide back between your legs, resting her back firmly against your chest with one of your arms looped securely around her waist. You both continue to sip your coffees in the quiet room.

“My absolute worst memory was in France too,” you murmur, staring at the wall. “The U20 World Cup in 2018. I was the captain, and I took that role way too seriously, especially considering I was already a regular member of the senior team by then. Back then, football was my entire identity. We lost the final to Japan after beating them in the group stage. It broke me for a long time.”

You sigh, the bitter taste of the coffee matching the old memories. “During my season with Munich just before that, we lost the league by three points to Wolfsburg,” you continue, staring out at the room. “I scored a stupid own goal that completely fucked up our rhythm in the match against them, and then we went and lost the DFB-Pokal final to them, too.”

You close your eyes, leaning your head back. “That season, coupled with the U20 World Cup, destroyed me. I fell completely out of love with football for a while. I almost signed with Barcelona during that next winter window, just because I desperately wanted to go home to Spain.”

Alexia shifts against your chest, looking up at you with completely unmasked shock. “You almost came to Barça ? Why didn’t you ?”

You shrug, keeping a perfectly straight face. “Self-respect.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, hitting your thigh. “We were having a serious conversation.”

“Alright, alright, sorry,” you murmur, kissing her temple to soothe the faux outrage. Usually, you’d use a joke like that to completely derail a deep topic, but you’re forcing yourself to stay present with her. “Honestly ? Munich felt like unfinished business. I couldn't leave on a failure. And right around then, the whispers were starting that Madrid was finally going to launch a women’s side.”

“When did you fell in love with football again ?”

“I just built a completely new relationship with it,” you admit. “I drew a hard line. I refused to let every bad result dictate my mood for a week. I still outworked everyone on the pitch and studied every clip the coaches sent, but I stopped watching football outside of that. I started to hang out and meet random people, got my first girlfriend, and reconnected with old friends from Madrid I’d barely talked to at the time. I would have burned out at some point anyway, I think it happened at the right time. I learned how to have a healthier relationship with football, I was finally happy.”

Alexia senses the conclusion of your story. Having both finished your coffees, you set your mugs aside on the nightstand. You loop both arms securely around her waist, and she begins lazily tracing the lines of your fingers, settling herself more comfortably against your chest. She reaches down and hitches the thick comforter all the way up over your shoulders. Always freezing, this girl.

“You won’t be too surprised to learn I was the biggest football nerd growing up,” she starts.

You bite back a sarcastic no kidding ? because it’s clear Alexia genuinely wants to keep this serious conversation going.

“The death of my father made me dive into football even more,” she admits quietly. You automatically tighten your embrace around her waist. She has barely ever spoken about her father with you, and you know how sacred that boundary is.

“I was physically back in Barcelona, but emotionally, I was completely absent for my mom and Alba. It was always another training session, another film study, another match. That first year back with the club was just... dark.”

You aren't entirely sure what words could possibly help heal that old wound, so you don't say anything. Instead, you slowly run your thumbs in soothing, rhythmic circles across her stomach, letting the steady pressure show her that you are completely anchored here, listening to every word.

“Then Jenni signed during my second season,” Alexia says, a distinct warmth filtering into her tone. “It’s crazy how one person can completely redefine your life.”

“We would go out all the time, either with the rest of the squad or just the two of us. She was the one who constantly encouraged me to go home and spend more time with my family. She dragged me out of my shell entirely. Jenni made me realize that there was a whole, beautiful world existing outside the lines of a football pitch.” Alexia pauses, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Honestly, I thought I was completely straight until I met her.”

Alexia laughs at her younger self, and you can’t help but chuckle softly along with her. “So, she was the first girl you were ever with ?”

“First person, actually,” Alexia corrects softly. “Before that, between football and my dad, my mind just never went there. Jenni was the first one that felt right.”

You let out a neutral sound, forcing your muscles not to stiffen. A sharp, ugly prickle of jealousy hits you, but you swallow it down. You can’t stand Jenni on a good day, and hearing her framed as Alexia’s grand awakening makes your stomach turn.

Alexia seems to suddenly realize who she’s talking to, shifting slightly against you. “Jenni was right for a younger version of me, and I’m incredibly grateful for what she gave me. But we never would have worked long-term.”

Still stayed together for what ? Eight years ? Something like that.

“She can be too much of a teaser, and I’m too serious for someone like her,” Alexia explains, her tone shifting to something more analytical. “Jenni likes to be the life of everything and needs someone who will be right there in the spotlight with her. I want someone I can just chill with on the sidelines. We made it work for a while, until it broke. She helped me grow up immensely, and that’s all it was.” She tips her chin up, leaving a lingering kiss on your jawline.

There is a dangerous question burning on the very tip of your tongue. What Vicky had told you a month ago begins looping relentlessly through your mind : Alexia and Jenni slept together last summer. You know you need to talk about it. You know you have to ask. But a terrified part of you isn't sure you actually want to hear the answer, and the weight of yesterday's loss is still visibly hurting her.

This is absolutely not the right moment, you tell yourself. The voices of your friends are practically screaming in your head, calling you a total coward, but you firmly shut them out, tightening your grip around her waist.

“What was your most serious relationship ?” Alexia asks with curiosity. You’re thankful for the change of subject.

Thinking back, it’s strange that the two of you haven’t talked about this before, despite discussing almost everything else under the sun. If an ex was ever relevant to a specific story one of you was telling, you wouldn’t actively avoid mentioning her, but that was pretty much the extent of it. You suppose that openly talking about past relationships meant acknowledging what was slowly happening between the two of you, and you had both been collectively postponing that conversation.

“I met her right after I signed with Real,” you say, resting your chin on her shoulder. “Friend of a friend. It was my first real taste of a mature relationship. Back in Germany, when I finally accepted I liked women, I always knew I was just killing time until the Madrid project launched. There was a expiration date on everything. And before that... well, there were a few boyfriends, but that’s a dark part of my past we won’t dwell on.”

Alexia chuckles, the vibration warm against your front. You lean down and press a tender kiss to her temple, purely because you love the sound of her laughter and because, right now, you can.

You carry on. “Her name was Elena. She was a high-placed manager in one of these boring companies, got the position straight out of college. Way too smart for me, had her life plan planned out at twenty-five. She liked having someone in her life who didn’t give a fuck about corporates, and I liked having someone who couldn’t care less about football.”

“She’d take me to high-brow art galleries and lectures on seventeenth-century history, and I’d drag her into the mountains for hikes. I taught her how to touch grass, basically. Showed her that you can experience Madrid without a tour guide, and that doing absolutely nothing under the sun at El Retiro is a luxury. At home we would chill on the couch, her watching a documentary or working while I was reviewing tapes on my tablet.”

“What caused the split ?” The sudden tension in Alexia’s posture is palpable. Her tone has a quiet, territorial bite to it, a reminder you aren’t the only one in this bed capable of experiencing jealousy.

“Inexperience and self-sabotage,” you answer honestly. “She was transparent, and I was a coward. We were constantly making adjustments to make the relationship better for her, but never for me. To be fair to her, Elena always checked in on my needs, but I’d smile and lie through my teeth, convinced that compromising myself was the only way to preserve what we had. I was so paralyzed by the fear of losing her that I made the relationship implode.”

You swallow hard, the bitter truth catching in your throat. It never feels good to vocalize your past mistakes, especially to the person you're currently falling for.

“She finally realized what I was doing right after the World Cup,” you continue, your voice dropping. “We had been together for two and a half years at that point. So much was happening outside the apartment, I couldn't pretend everything was fine anymore.”

“Is that why you didn’t say anything during Las 15 ?” Alexia asks. It’s a clear olive branch, a way to blame the friction with Elena for your political silence. For once in your life, you decide to be the bigger person.

“No,” you say honestly. “I was just a coward. Elena kept her distance from the sport, she barely ever went to any of my matches. She didn't even take paid leave for the World Cup, because she preferred to save her vacation days during the off-season when I was available to hang out with her.”

You swallow back a wave of regret. You had desperately wanted her in the stands for the final, but you’d completely botched the conversation, never telling her how much it mattered.

“But she was absolutely mad at me for shutting my mouth,” you continue, a bitter smile crossing your lips. “Trust me, she was furious. It wasn't even about the principle of the protest itself, she works in the corporate world, so she understands the necessity of turning a blind eye to bad management. She was mad because it was actively hurting me and I wasn’t fighting.”

“How was it hurting you ?” It’s a mix of curiosity and bitterness. You know how hard it must have been for her at the time. She can’t fathom why it would have been hard for you.

“Real Madrid management told me point-blank that my renewal figures depended entirely on my silence,” you recount. “The federation made it clear the armband was off the table if I stepped out of line, and my status as the face of Spain’s future was conditional. I almost lost Aitana over it, too. Trust me, it took a lot of talking and screaming for her forgive me.”

“And then the national team camps were absolute hell,” you admit, closing your eyes, it was the part that hurt the most. “Everyone was putting pressure on me, expecting me to do something. I’m not deaf, I wasn't oblivious to the whispers in the dining hall, or the way the Barça players looked at me. I knew the labels being slapped on my back, and I know how much that resentment still lingers today. The staff wanted me to go out there and say how much I supported them, while our teammates wanted me to stand up and crucify the RFEF.”

Alexia gently interrupts you, her voice quiet but firm. “What made us go crazy is that we had a feeling you were actually on our side, contrary to some of your Real Madrid teammates. Especially considering how close you are with Aitana. But you just… refused to give an opinion. Back then, not talking against the federation was viewed as backing them, and we just couldn’t understand why you were doing that.” There's no venom in her delivery, she’s simply stating it as a cold, historical fact.

You don’t answer her directly.

“It took months for Elena and me to actually break up,” you murmur instead. You can feel Alexia’s posture instantly tense in your arms, likely frustrated that you’re seemingly deflecting her question again, but she remains quiet and lets you continue.

“Elena is a fixer to a fault. She genuinely believes any problem can be managed, optimized, and saved if we just put enough hours into it. My sister once told me that I’m the exact brand of idiot who is so utterly terrified of hurting people I care about that I will literally run myself straight through a brick wall instead of just turning around to face a situation. I knew the relationship was completely dead the second I came back from Australia, but we stayed together for another entire year. She finally broke it off right before the Olympics. The end was incredibly ugly.”

There were no screaming matches or theatrical slammed doors. The ugliness was simply the agonizing reality of watching someone you once loved hurt so deeply, knowing it was entirely your fault, and realizing you were too paralyzed to do anything about it. There had been no begging when she told you it was over. You had simply stood there and quietly helped her pack her boxes.

The last words she ever said to you were, Grow a spine if you want to be happy one day.

You aren't even sure what possessed you to lay your entire history bare like that. It’s basically handing it to her on a silver platter that you’re a giant red flag in a relationship. Maybe it’s a desperate attempt at redemption, a way of trying to convince yourself that you can actually be honest, that you've genuinely learned from your previous mistakes.

Alexia remains quiet for a long moment, likely pondering the weight of your words. You lie there, practically waiting for the hammer to fall. “Have you been in a serious relationship since her ?”

You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat. “No, not really. I mean, things would last two months at the absolute maximum before I’d grow completely paranoid about fucking it up, which inevitably caused me to fuck it up. Beyond that, nobody gave me a reason to want to settle down. And the wound of the breakup with Elena stayed open for a while.”

You leave out how much the combination of losing Elena and the Paris Olympic tournament had completely broken your spirit. Alexia had already claimed the Olympics as her personal rock bottom, you don’t want to make her feel worse about that missed penalty.

Your post-breakup coping mechanisms hadn't been pretty. At first, you just drifted through casual hooks-ups, operating under the bulletproof logic that you couldn’t be a bad girlfriend if you weren’t anyone's girlfriend at all. When that got lonely, you had flipped to the opposite extreme : slapping the “girlfriend” label on every girl you went out with for more than a few dates. It was a hollow title. They were technically your girlfriend, but you never actually acted like one, always keeping one foot out the door.

Alexia turns completely around in your arms, shifting back just enough so she can look you dead in the eyes. Her hair is still messy from sleep, and she’s wearing an old, oversized shirt with colors that have faded from too many trips through the wash. She looks utterly beautiful.

“So,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes slightly, “not a single woman in two years has been worth the risk of committing to ?” She aims for a casual, testing tone, but the pitch is slightly off. The vulnerability is bleeding through the armor.

You don’t break eye contact with her for a single second. “There’s this one girl. But the jury is still out on whether we're together, considering she just casually dropped the 'girlfriend' label on me to her mom without giving me a heads-up first.”

A faint blush colors her cheeks. “I would say the message from her is pretty clear.”

You certainly don’t need a clearer invitation than that. Closing the small distance between you, you press your lips to hers. She responds immediately, her hand flying down to grip your hip while your hands find her cheek and shoulder. She tastes faintly of mint, she must have slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth while you were busy flipping pancakes in the kitchen. You mentally thank your past self for having the foresight to do the exact same thing.

Your hand glides slowly down her shoulder, slipping beneath the hem of her oversized shirt to touch bare skin, but Alexia gently catches your wrist.

“I’m not quite there today. Sorry, cari,” she whispers against your lips, her eyes holding a quiet apology. “Oslo is still weighing a bit too heavy.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. Completely get it,” you assure her instantly, moving your hand back to the outside of her shirt and shifting to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “But seriously, though, did you really just sit through my entire relationship horror story and think, Yep, that’s the giant walking red flag I want to officially call my girlfriend ?”

You lean in and playfully nip at her earlobe, making her let out a breathy laugh.

“You own up to your faults. I would say that’s a definitive sign of improvement.” She moves back just a fraction so she can look you straight in the eyes. “I haven’t told you much about my relationship with Olga, but trust me, I can completely relate to keeping something going even when it’s clearly not working anymore. But I think we’ve already had more than enough serious chats for one morning.”

She pulls you down for a lingering, deep kiss. It’s quiet, peaceful, and entirely focused on the rhythm of the two of you.

You gently break apart from the kiss, giving her waist a playful squeeze. “Let’s go get ready, yeah ? Do you have anything scheduled today ?”

Alexia buries her face back into your chest, groaning into your shirt. “Ugh. We have a light recovery session. It’s to keep the squad from drowning in self-pity, I assume. Since we play again in forty-eight hours, they need us moving. It won’t take up the whole afternoon, at least.” Then a pause. “Thanks for getting my mind off things this morning.”

“Just doing my civic duty as your girlfriend,” you joke.

You can hear her small, breathy laugh vibrate right against your skin. Smiling, you press a warm kiss to the top of her head. “Come on, Ale. Let’s get out of bed and get presentable.”

-----------

A/n : Between the game against England, Alexia staying at Barça, and Lyon winning the UWCL, never ask me to make any football prediction. Also yes the line about Alexia in London was written before she announced her departure from Barça...

And girlfriends !!! 🥳

[shadowywosofic]

Lost for words| Chapter 8: Learning to listen | Alexia Putellas x reader

Summary: You're learning to listen, to her, to yourself and to the possibility that things might actually be okay.

Words: 3.2K

Previous chapters

Chapter 1: the day you stopped believing in heroes

Chapter 2: First day

Chapter 3: The one who won't bend

Chapter 4: Cracks in the ice

Chapter 5: The breaking point

Chapter 6: Aftermath

Chapter 7: The confession

The first coffee was awkward, and it was not because either of you said the wrong thing, cause you barely said anything at all. You sat across from each other in the small café near the training ground, steam rising from your cups, the morning light filtering through the windows and around you, the usual crowd of early risers murmured in Catalan and Spanish, their words a soft hum of noise that filled the silence between you.

Alexia stirred her coffee and you watched the spoon move in slow circles.

"How do you take it?" Alexia asked after some minutes of quiet.

"What?"

"Coffee, how do you take it? I realized I don't know."

You blinked cause it was such a simple question, such a normal question but no one had asked you that in years, and it was not because they didn't care, but because you'd never let anyone close enough to ask.

"Black," you said, " with no sugar."

Alexia nodded, as if filing the information away inside her brain, "I used to take it with sugar, two spoons, when I was younger." She took a sip of her coffee and continued,  "now just a pinch of milk cause too much sugar makes me feel slow."

You didn't know what to say to that, so you just nodded and drank your coffee and tried to ignore the way your heart was beating a little too fast.

—-----------

The second coffee was easier, cause you'd stopped asking yourself why you kept showing up, you just did. After training, you'd find Alexia by the lockers, or she'd find you, and without a word, you'd walk to the café together, always the same table, always the same order, black for you and with milk for her.

"I watched your game against Wolfsburg," Alexia said one morning, "the one last season, the quarterfinal."

You looked up from your cup, a bit surprised at hearing that, "you did?"

"You were everywhere, tackles, interceptions, that clearance off the line in the 80th minute," Alexia shook her head, "and I remember thinking, I'm glad her team is not in our group."

A warmth spread through your chest and not the burning heat of anger, but something softer, something you didn't have a name for.

"I watched your first Champions League final," you said. "The one against Lyon, I was sixteen, I stayed up until 2 AM to watch it."

Alexia's expression softened. "We lost."

"You played like you didn't know how to lose and that's why I..." you stopped and swallowed before talking again, "that's why I wanted to be like you."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy, it was something else, fragile, maybe but not uncomfortable.

"I'm glad you're here," Alexia said quietly, "for real this time."

You didn't answer but this time you didn't look away either.

---

A week later, you found a note in your locker. it was folded small, tucked between your boots and your water bottle and there was no envelope, just a piece of paper with handwriting you recognized.

"I'm glad you're here. For real this time."

You read it twice and then a third time, then you folded it carefully and slipped it into the pocket of your jacket, where it would stay for the whole day.

You didn't tell anyone but Mapi saw you reading it, but she decided not to say anything, she just raised an eyebrow and smirked and you did everything possible to try to ignore her.

Training felt different now, it was not easier, the drills were still brutal, Pere still shouted, your legs still burned, but it was lighter cause the weight you'd been carrying for five years wasn't gone, but it had shifted, it had settled somewhere less crushing.

You found yourself watching Alexia during drills and not with suspicion or resentment, but with something closer to curiosity, like the way she laughed at Mapi's jokes or the way she corrected a younger player's positioning without making her feel stupid ot the way she never, ever gave up on a play.

She's not a villain, you reminded yourself, she never was.

And somehow, that thought didn't hurt anymore.

---

"You're staring."

You blinked and saw Mapi was standing next to you, arms crossed, a knowing look on her face.

"I'm not staring."

"You're staring a lot at Alexia, again," Mapi tilted her head, "it's okay, you know and you're allowed to look at her without it meaning anything."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Sure," Mapi's smirk widened, "that's why you've been having coffee with her every day for two weeks."

You opened your mouth to deny it, but nothing came out because she was right and you had been having coffee with Alexia every day, and you'd stopped making excuses for it.

"We're just... figuring things out," you said finally.

Mapi nodded slowly, "figuring things out….. right." Mapi patted your shoulder, "well, keep figuring things out then, It's good to see you smile."

You hadn't realized you were smiling until she said it.

That night, you lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, the apartment was quiet, but your mind wasn't cause it was full of small moments like Alexia's laugh, the note in your locker, the way she said I'm glad you're here like she meant it, like she really meant it.

You thought about the girl you used to be, that nineteen year old girl who was hungry and very trembling as she walked onto the pitch for her first senior cap, that girl had worshipped Alexia and had wanted nothing more than to be noticed by her. And now? Now you'd been noticed and not in the way you'd imagined, not with applause or a handshake but with coffee and with patience, a lot of patience, with a woman who refused to give up on you even when you'd given her every reason to walk away.

You reached for your phone, scrolling and getting into Alexia's contact, the same one you'd stared at weeks ago, too afraid to type anything as your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Thank you, you typed and then deleted it, because you felt it was too vague.

I had a good day, you typed and then deleted it, it was too simple.

I'm glad you didn't give up on me, you stared at the words for a long moment and then you hit send.

Your heart hammered as you watched the screen, waiting, then a minute passed, two and then three dots appeared.

Alexia: I'm glad you let me stay.

You read the message three times and then you set the phone down, pulled the blanket up to your chin, and let yourself smile in the dark, you didn't know what the future held but for the first time in five years, you weren't afraid to find out.

The next morning, you arrived at training earlier than usual, the pitch was empty, the grass still wet with dew and you dropped your bag by the bench and started jogging laps, your breath clouding in the cold air, the rhythm of your feet on the ground was soothing and steady.

By the time the first teammates arrived, you were drenched in sweat and Mapi gave you a long look as she walked past.

"You're in a good mood," she observed.

"I'm always in a good mood."

"You're literally never in a good mood."

You shrugged. "Maybe I'm changing."

Mapi didn't respond but she was smiling as she walked to her locker.

Alexia found you after training, as she always did.

"Same place?" she asked.

You nodded. "Same place."

You walked to the café together, your shoulders almost brushing as the morning was cold, and you hadn't brought a jacket, and as always Alexia noticed.

"Here," she said, shrugging off her jacket and handing it to you. "Take it."

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering."

You looked down at your arms, and of course, you were, in fact, shivering.

"Fine," you muttered, putting the jacket on, it was too big, the sleeves fell past your wrists, and the hem hit your thighs, and it smelled like her, like laundry detergent and something else, something warm.

Alexia smiled. "It looks better on you anyway."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't take it off.

At the café, you sat across from each other like always, you got a black coffee and Alexia got a coffee with a pinch of milk.

"I've been thinking," Alexia said, stirring her coffee.

"Dangerous."

Alexia laughed, "I've been thinking about what you said, about the poster and about wanting to be like me."

You stiffened, but Alexia didn't seem to notice in that moment.

"I used to have posters too," she continued. "Posters of Ronaldinho, Xavi and Iniesta. I'd stare at them before bed and imagine myself on the same pitch," Alexia looked up at you, "I know what it's like to want something so badly it hurts."

You didn't know what to say, so you stayed quiet and you just listened.

"I also know what it's like to be disappointed," Alexia said quietly, "to realize the people you look up to aren't perfect and that they make mistakes and that they say the wrong thing or they forget."

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "I just want you to know that I see you and not only the player you, the defender, I see you, the girl who tore up a poster and built a wall to keep herself safe, " Alexia set down her spoon, "I see her and I'm not going anywhere."

Your throat tightened and you had to look down at your coffee, at the dark liquid swirling in the cup before you said, "I don't know how to do this," you admitted, "the... trusting thing and letting someone in."

"Neither do I," Alexia said, "but we can figure it out together."

That night, you sat on your couch with the jacket still wrapped around you, and you should have washed it, you should have folded it, put it in a bag, and returned it to her tomorrow but instead, you just sat there, breathing in the faint scent of her, letting yourself feel something other than anger for once.

We can figure it out together.

You didn't know if you believed her but you wanted to.

And maybe that was enough.

---

The weeks that followed were quiet in the best way, there was no dramatic confession, no second storage room encounter, no tearful declarations under stadium lights, it was just coffee, just conversations, just the slow and unremarkable work of learning to trust someone who had every reason to walk away and didn't.

You stopped counting the days, you stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop and somewhere along the way, without noticing, you stopped flinching every time Alexia got close, it happened gradually, like the way frost melts in spring, imperceptibly, until one morning you look outside and the grass is green again.

"You're different," Mapi said one afternoon, falling into step beside you as you walked off the pitch.

"Different how?"

"I don't know, you’re much lighter, like someone took a hundred pounds off your shoulders." Mapi glanced at you sideways, "It's the coffee, isn't it? The daily coffee with a certain captain."

You didn't deny it, there was no point in doing that, so you simply said, "maybe."

Mapi grinned, "I knew it. I knew you two just needed to talk."

"We did more than talk," you said, then immediately regretted it when Mapi's eyebrows shot up.

"More than talk?"

"Not like that…. I meant... we fought and we yelled and I told her about..." You trailed off, unsure how much to share.

Mapi held up her hands, "you don't have to explain, I'm just glad you're not walking around like you're attending a funeral anymore."

"Was I really that bad?"

"Yes it was that bad."

You laughed, actually laughed, and Mapi beamed like she'd won a prize.

---

The note in your locker became a routine, not every day, but often enough that you started looking forward to it. Sometimes it was just a word, "hola" scrawled on a napkin, sometimes it was a quote, or a reminder about training, or a stupid joke that made you roll your eyes.

You kept every single one.

You didn't know why cause sentimentality, there wasn't something you'd allowed yourself in years but there was something about the handwriting and the way Alexia looped her letters, the way she dotted her i's with a small circle, that made you feel seen cause by that simple gesture, she was thinking about you, even when you weren't in the same room.

---

Training became something you looked forward to because of the moments in between. The water breaks where Alexia would find you, handing you a bottle without being asked, the stretching sessions where you'd end up next to each other, shoulders almost touching and the small, wordless acknowledgments that you were on the same team, in every sense of the word.

You caught yourself watching Alexia during drills, she was good, really good, and not just technically, you'd always known that, but in the way she moved through the world, the way she lifted up the players around her, the way she never complained, never made excuses, never asked for more than she was willing to give.

This is who she really is, you thought, this is who she's always been.

The villain you created in your mind was a lie, and the hero was real and you were finally ready to see her.

---

One afternoon, after training, you stayed late to work on free kicks cause you'd been struggling with your accuracy, too many shots sailing over the bar, too many chances wasted, and Pere had given you a few pointers, but something wasn't clicking.

"You're leaning back."

You turned and you saw Alexia was standing at the edge of the penalty area, her training bag slung over her shoulder.

"I'm not leaning back."

"You are, watch," Alexia dropped her bag and walked toward you, placing a hand on your lower back, "when you strike, your weight should be forward, over the ball cause if you lean back, the ball rises."

Her hand was warm and you felt something running through you, and you tried not to think about it.

"Show me," you said.

Alexia took the ball and placed it on the grass, and took a few steps back, her run up was smooth and effortless as she struck the ball with the inside of her foot, and it curled into the top corner of the goal without a hint of hesitation.

"See?" She turned to you, brushing grass off her shorts, "forward."

You tried again, this time focusing on keeping your weight over the ball and the shot was cleaner, still not perfect, but better.

"Good," Alexia said, "again."

You took another and then another, and each one was an improvement, each one bringing you closer to the feeling she'd described.

"Thanks," you said, finally looking at her.

Alexia was closer than you expected, close enough to see the sweat on her forehead, the slight flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes reflected the afternoon light.

"Anytime," she said.

Neither of you moved and the moment stretched, and then someone shouted from the locker room, and the spell broke.

"We should go," Alexia said, stepping back.

"Yeah."

You walked inside together, not speaking, but not in silence either.

That night, you lay in bed and thought about her hand on your back, it wasn't the first time she'd touched you, the storage room had seen to that, but it was different, softer and much less desperate, it was the kind of touch that asked for nothing and gave everything.

You touched the spot where her hand had been, pressing your fingers against the fabric of your shirt.

She's not going anywhere.

The thought didn't scare you anymore.

---

The first time you sat with the team for dinner without being forced, Mapi almost choked on her drink.

"Well, well, well," Mapi said, recovering, "look who decided to join the living."

You rolled your eyes, "I've always been living."

"Barely," Mapi gestured to the empty seat next to her, "sit and tell us everything."

"I don't have anything to tell."

"Liar."

But you sat anyway, and when Alexia walked in a few minutes later, she didn't hesitate as she slid into the seat next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

Around you, the team exchanged glances, you saw Patri raise an eyebrow and Mapi gave a thumbs up, Pina just smiled, you ignored them all, you were too busy noticing the way Alexia's shoulder brushed yours when she reached for the bread.

After dinner, you walked to the parking lot together, the night was cold, the sky clear, the stars bright enough to see despite the city lights and you walked slowly, not wanting the evening to end.

"I had fun," Alexia said.

"Me too."

Alexia stopped by her car, turning to face you, "I know this is... new…. for both of us and I know we're not... whatever we're not but I want you to know that I'm happy, happier than I've been in a while."

You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded.

Alexia smiled, that small and genuine smile that you'd come to recognize, the one she didn't show to cameras or reporters, the one she saved for moments like this.

"Goodnight," she said.

"Goodnight."

Alexia got into her car and drove away and you stood in the parking lot for a long time, watching her taillights disappear into the night.

---

You didn't dream of the pitch anymore.

You dreamed of coffee cups and handwritten notes, you dreamed of warm hands on your back and shoulders brushing in the dark, of a woman who refused to give up on you, even when you'd given her every reason to walk away.

You woke up with the sun streaming through your window, and for the first time in five years, you didn't reach for your phone to check the news or your messages or your endless to do lists, you just lay there, breathing, and let yourself be happy.

The only way to move forward is to let go of the past and embrace the future.

Your mother's voice, soft and warm, you didn't push it away and you let it settle in your chest, and you let yourself imagine what the future might look like.

Coffee, conversations and a woman who smiled at you like you were someone worth knowing. 

You didn't know if you deserved it, but for the first time, you thought maybe you didn't have to deserve it, maybe you just had to be willing to try.

And you were.

[shadowywosofic]

Lost for words| Chapter 7: The confession | Alexia Putellas x reader

Summary: The villain was never her and for the first time, you let yourself cry in front of someone who doesn't walk away.

Words: 3.1K

Previous chapters

Chapter 1: the day you stopped believing in heroes

Chapter 2: First day

Chapter 3: The one who won't bend

Chapter 4: Cracks in the ice

Chapter 5: The breaking point

Chapter 6: Aftermath

Three days passed after Madrid before you spoke to Alexia again, and it was not for lack of proximity, because you trained together, ate in the same cafeteria, walked the same hallways but the silence between you had become a living thing, breathing in the spaces where words should have been, and it was different from the avoidance of the week before it felt less hostile and more expectant, like both of you were standing on the edge of something, waiting for the other to jump first.

You caught yourself watching Alexia during training, the way she moved, the way she called out instructions to younger players, the way she laughed at something Mapi said, and it was a real laugh, not the performative kind. It reminded you of the girl in the poster, the one you'd worshipped before the anger took over, but she wasn't that girl anymore, she was just Alexia, tired, patient, and waiting. for you to take a step,

You were the one who owed her an explanation.

---

It’s thursday afternoon and training had ended an hour ago, but you'd stayed behind to work on set pieces with Irene. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the pitch, and most of the team had already showered and left.

You were gathering the cones when you heard footsteps behind you, "thought you might still be here."

You turned and saw Alexia standing at the edge of the pitch, her training bag slung over one shoulder, her hair still damp from a shower, she wasn't dressed for training, just jeans and a hoodie but she looked as tired as you felt.

"I was helping Irene," you said, "but she's already gone."

"I know," Alexia stepped closer, her steps crunching on the gravel, "I waited cause I wanted to talk to you, alone."

Your stomach tightened cause this was it, the moment you'd been avoiding for six days.

"Okay," you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

Alexia didn't speak immediately, she just stood there, looking at you with her expression unreadable. The sun caught her face, illuminating the dark circles under her eyes and the slight crease in her brow, she looked older than she had a week ago. 

"I can't keep doing this," she said finally, "the silence, the avoidance, walking on eggshells every time we're in the same room," Alexia paused, searching for words, "I don't know what I did, I don't know what happened between us but this, whatever this is, it's worse than the fighting."

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out, so Alexia kept talking,

"I'm not asking you to forgive me for something I don't understand," Alexia continued, stepping closer, "I'm just asking you to tell me, please. What did I do?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and something in your chest splintered. You looked down at the cones in your hands, then dropped them on the grass cause your fingers were shaking and you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt this exposed, not in the storage room, where the anger had masked everything, but here, in the open air, with nothing but the truth between you.

"It wasn't here," you said, "It didn’t happen in Barcelona, it was five years ago."

Alexia's brow furrowed in confusion, "five years?"

"It was on an international friendly, my first senior cap actually, and I played against Spain", you paused, forcing the words out, trying to explain the best you could with the little words that came to your mind, "you were the captain on that game too…. you were... you were my hero, I had your poster above my bed and I watched every interview, every compilation cause I wanted to be you."

Alexia's expression shifted but not to recognition, it shifted to confusion cause she was trying to place the memory of that moment.

"I made a tackle on you it was really hard, clean, but hard," you swallowed hard but kept talking, "you went down and when you got up, you got in my face and said something, it was really fast and in Spanish, and I didn't understand a single word." and after saying that you looked up at her for the first time, your eyes burning, "all I saw was your face and the way you looked at me like I was nothing, like I didn't belong on the same pitch, like I was a bug you'd just brushed off your shoulder."

The silence that followed was deafening and Alexia stared at you, her mouth slightly open, she wasn't shaking her head or denying it, she was just... searching and digging through years of memories, trying to find the one you were describing.

"I don't..." Alexia started at you and then stopped as her hand came up to her forehead, pressing against her temple as she mumbled in a lower tone, "five years ago… a friendly… a tackle," and her eyes widened, "Wait, were you... were you the one with the dark hair? The defender who wouldn't stop pressing?"

Your heart hammered as she said those words, "you remember?"

"I remember a player, really young and hungry, who made a tackle on me that left my hip sore for a week." A ghost of a smile flickered across her face but then faded, "I don't remember what I said, it was five years ago and I've played hundreds of matches since then." but then Alexia’s voice softened, “but I remember thinking... this one has something cause she's not afraid."

You blinked but you were unable to say anything, cause that wasn't what you'd expected.

Alexia stepped closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of brown gold in her eyes, the same way you had during the drill weeks ago.

"I don't know what I said to you," she said quietly, "but I know I wouldn't have mocked you. I don't mock young players and I never have. I remember what it felt like to be nineteen, to be hungry, to want to prove myself, " she paused, "if I said something sharp, it was frustration mostly at myself, at the game, at my own performance but not at you."

The words hung in the air and you wanted to believe her and a part of you already did.

"But the look on your face," you whispered, "the way you looked at me..."

Alexia shook her head slowly, "I don't know what to tell you cause I don't remember the look and I don't remember the words. All I know is that I've spent the last month trying to get close to you, and you've pushed me away at every turn and now I finally understand why."

Alexia reached out, her hand hovering near your arm, not touching you, just there.

"You've been carrying something that wasn't yours to carry, you have been carrying a moment I probably forgot ten minutes after it happened, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you've been hurting for five years because of something I said and don't even remember."

Your vision blurred with tears, actual tears, that were building behind your eyes, and you couldn't stop them. "I don't know how to let it go," you admitted, your voice breaking, "it's been so long and it's been everything I have been fuelling myself for that time, the anger is the only reason I got here."

"Then let me help you find another reason," Alexia said softly.

You stood there, frozen, as Alexia's words settled over you like rain after a drought. "Let me help you find another reason."

No one had ever offered you that, not once in five years. You'd built your career on spite and silence, on proving a point to a woman who didn't even remember the moment that had broken you and now that woman was standing in front of you, hand extended, not physically, but emotionally and asking you to let her in. You couldn't remember the last time someone had seen you cry, probably never cause you'd made sure of it. Tears were weakness, and weakness was something you'd buried alongside the torn poster in that locker room trash can but now the tears were falling, hot and silent, tracking down your cheeks before you could wipe them away.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't sure what you were apologizing for. For crying? For hating her? For wasting five years on a misunderstanding?

Alexia shook her head. "Don't apologize, no need to do it for this." She took a step closer, and this time her hand didn't hover. t landed on your shoulder, warm and solid she was not grabbing, not pinning, her hand was just... there.

"You were nineteen," she said quietly, "I was twenty six and I should have known better. I should have been more aware of how my words might land, especially with someone who didn't speak the language and that's on me, not on you."

You looked up at her, your vision blurred. "You don't even remember what you said."

"No," she admitted, "but I remember being young and frustrated and thinking only about myself. I'm not proud of that version of me and I've grown since then, I hope but the fact that I don't remember doesn't mean your pain isn't real. You felt what you felt, and you built a story around that moment because it was all you had to go on and I can't blame you for that."

"You should blame me," you said, your voice cracking,  "I hated you for five years. I tore up your poster. I used you as fuel for every training session, every match, every moment I wanted to quit and you didn't even know."

"Maybe I should thank you," Alexia said softly.

You stared at her,  "what?"

"That anger got you here to Barcelona, to the best club in the world and you're one of the best defenders I've ever played against and I've played against a lot, " a small smile tugged at her lips, "if a few sharp words in Spanish were the spark that lit that fire... then maybe they weren't entirely wasted."

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry so you did both , it was a choked, wet sound that was half sob and half disbelief, "you're supposed to be angry at me," you said, "I shoved you and I ignored you and I made you feel like dirt for weeks and then in the storage room, I..." You couldn't finish the sentence.

Alexia's expression didn't change as she spoke back, "you did and I'm not going to pretend it didn't hurt but I also understand now. Not the details, not until tonight, but I understood that something was broken in you, something that had nothing to do with me, even if I was the target."

She paused, her hand still on your shoulder, "I don't forgive you for the storage room," she said quietly, "Not yet cause that's going to take time, but I can understand it and I can choose to move forward instead of holding onto it."

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, embarrassed by the look of your own face. "You're too nice and it's so infuriating."

Alexia laughed, a real laugh, and just said,  "so I've been told."

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the pitch in twilight and the floodlights hadn't come on yet, and the two of you stood in the gray half dark, close enough to touch.

"Do you want to know what I think actually said?" Alexia asked.

Your breath caught. "Do you remember just know what you said?"

Alexia was quiet for a moment. "No, not the exact words cause it was five years ago and  I've played hundreds of matches since then," Alexia looked down at her hands, "but I've been thinking about it and about the kind of player I was back then."

Alexia looked back up at you. "I was competitive. Too competitive, even more than I am right now and I hated losing. I hated hard tackles and if I thought someone was being reckless, even if they weren't, I would get in their face. So if I had to guess? I probably said something like 'Eso es tarjeta’ 'That's a card' or  'Ten cuidado chavala que esto es un amistoso', 'Be careful kid, this is a friendly.' Something sharp, something to warn you off." Alexia held your gaze. "Not because I looked down on you because you were good and because you scared me a little and I didn't know how to handle that except by pushing back."

"You could have just said that in English," you muttered.

Alexia smiled. "Where's the fun in that?"

You laughed, actually laughed, for the first time in weeks and it was a broken, surprised sound, but it was real.

"So what now?" you asked.

Alexia tilted her head, "what do you mean?"

"I spent five years hating you and now I don't. Now I have to figure out who I am without that," you paused, "and I have to figure out who you are, the real you and not the villain I made up."

"That sounds like a good place to start," Alexia said, "we're teammates and we don't have to be friends overnight but we can try to be... something. Something honest."

"Honest," you repeated, "I don't know if I'm good at that."

"You just were and that's a good start."

Alexia picked up the cones you'd dropped earlier, stacking them neatly and ou watched her, this woman who had been your idol, then your enemy, and now something else, something you didn't have a name for yet.

"Alexia," you said.

She looked up.

"I'm sorry…. for the storage room and for the silence…. for all of it."

Alexia held your gaze for a long moment and then she nodded, "I know, give me time."

"I will."

You walked back to the locker room together, not speaking, but not in silence either, it was a different kind of quiet, tentative, like the first few steps after a long illness.

When you reached the door, Alexia paused and said "same time tomorrow?" Alexia asked.

"For training?"

"For whatever." Alexia shrugged, "we can start small, maybe some coffee after practice but there’s no pressure."

You thought about it, you thought about the old you, the one with the wall would have said no and would have made an excuse, walked away, protected herself from the risk of getting close.

But the wall was gone.

"Coffee sounds good," you said.

Alexia smiled, it was not the wide or performative smile she used for cameras, but a small, genuine one that was tired, but real.

"Good, then I'll see you tomorrow."

Alexia walked through the door, and you followed a few steps behind, your heart lighter than it had been in five years.

You didn't go straight home after the locker room, instead, you sat in your car in the parking lot, the engine off, the windows fogging with your breath. The floodlights had dimmed, leaving the Ciutat Esportiva in shadows and you could see Alexia's car a few spaces away, cause she was still inside, probably changing, probably taking her time after all that happened today.

You should leave and you knew you should leave.

But your hands stayed on the steering wheel, and your mind stayed on her words.

"I don't forgive you for the storage room, not yet."

That’s fair, more than fair, and honestly, you hadn't expected forgiveness, you hadn't deserved it but the fact that she'd said not yet instead of never, that meant something, it’s a door left open, a possibility.

Your phone buzzed and it was a message from Mapi: You talked to her? I saw you two on the pitch.

You typed back: Yeah.

Mapi: And?

You stared at the screen for a long moment thinking how could you summarize an hour that had undone five years of your life?

You: We're okay. Not great but okay.

Mapi: That's more than I expected. Good job.

You set the phone down and watched as Alexia's car started, its headlights cutting through the dusk but she didn't look your way, she just pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared onto the main road.

Coffee after training, you thought. Small, but it’s a step. It wasn't nothing, it was a beginning.

You started your engine and drove home.

That night, you lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, but the thoughts were different now it was not the endless loop of anger and shame, but something quieter and hopeful.

Alexia didn't mock you cause she never did, and for five years, you built a villain out of a moment you didn't understand.

The truth should have hurt and in some ways, it did, the realization that you'd wasted so much time on a lie you'd told yourself, but underneath the regret, there was something else.

Relief.

You didn't have to hate her anymore and you didn't have to carry that weight. The wall was gone, and on the other side wasn't an enemy, there was just a woman, tired, patient, and willing to try.

The only way to move forward is to let go of the past and embrace the future.

Your mother's voice, soft and warm, resonated in your head and for the first time, you didn't push the thought away, you let it settle in your chest, and you let yourself imagine what the future might look like. Coffee after training and small conversations and maybe, eventually, something more.

You didn't know if you deserved it, you didn't know if Alexia would ever fully forgive you for the storage room, for the weeks of coldness, for the years of silent hatred.

But you could try.

That was all anyone could do.

You rolled onto your side, pulled the blanket over your shoulder, and closed your eyes, and tonight sleep came easier than it had in weeks and when you dreamed, you dreamed of coffee and conversation and a future that didn't hurt.

[shadowywosofic]

Lost for words| Chapter 6: Aftermath | Alexia Putellas x reader

Summary: You avoid Alexia for days, but a plane ride to Madrid forces you side by side and you realize you can't keep running from the truth.

Words: 3.6K

Previous chapters

Chapter 1: the day you stopped believing in heroes

Chapter 2: First day

Chapter 3: The one who won't bend

Chapter 4: Cracks in the ice

Chapter 5: The breaking point.

The days after the storage room blurred into a frenetic haze of avoidance and regret.

You woke up the next morning with your phone still in your hand, the screen dark and Alexia's contact name burned into your memory from the night before. You hadn't typed anything, you hadn't called but you'd stared at her name for so long that the letters had started to blur so you put the phone on the nightstand and lay back, staring at the ceiling.

Your body ached in places you didn't want to name and there was a big bruise on your hip and it was not from the fall during the drill, but from the edge of the shelving. There was also a scrape on your elbow and on your collarbone and the fading imprint of teeth.

You touched it. 

Flinched. 

Then touched it again.

What did you do? the question had no answer or rather, it had too many, and none of them made sense to you at all. 

------------

You arrived at training earlier than usual the next morning and the parking lot was empty, the floodlights still humming from the night before, you sat in your car for a long moment, watching the sun rise over the Ciutat Esportiva, and tried to prepare yourself for what was coming.

Just don't look at her and eep your head down, train and leave as fast as possible.

Simple.

You walked into the locker room, changed in your corner, and put your headphones on before anyone else arrived and when the first teammates trickled in, first Mapi, then Patri, then Caro, you didn't look up as you laced your boots with methodical focus, your jaw tight, your breathing controlled.

"Morning," Mapi said as she passed.

You nodded but didn't speak back to her.

She paused, glancing at you and her eyes lingered on your collarbone for a fraction of a second, long enough to notice the bruise and long enough to file it away but she didn't comment, she just walked to her locker, her usual easy energy replaced by something quieter.

She knows something happened, you thought.

You pulled your jersey over your head and walked out to the pitch without waiting for anyone else.

Training was brutal not because the drills were hard, they were routine at this point, but because every second of it was done with a single of the usual sounds, no one joked, no one laughed and Mapi's usual chatter was reduced to monosyllables, Patri kept glancing between you and the door, waiting for someone.

Waiting for her.

Alexia arrived ten minutes late and you didn't see her come in, you were at the far end of the pitch, running through a passing drill with Ona, but you felt it cause the air shifted and the chatter that had started to build died again.

You didn't look up, you didn’t dare, you kept your eyes on the ball, on Ona's feet, on anything but the woman who had just walked onto the pitch but you could feel her gaze, heavy and questioning. The same way it had been in the storage room, right before you'd shoved her against the shelves. You passed the ball harder than necessary and Ona stumbled to control it, shooting you a confused look.

"Sorry," you muttered. "Focus."

Pere split the team into two groups for a small sided game and you were placed on the second team and Alexia was on the first team, so you took your position at center back and Alexia was at the opposite end of the pitch, playing as a more defensive midfielder and for the first twenty minutes, you didn't come near each other, the ball stayed on the other side of the field, and you let yourself breathe.

Then it happened.

A clearance from Patri sailed over the midfield, and Alexia ran onto it, she was fast, faster than you remembered and you were the only defender between her and the goal so you closed the space, your cleats digging into the grass, your body low, she saw you coming but she didn't slow down and for a second, you thought she might run through you, a mirror of what you'd done to her two days ago but at the last moment, she pulled up, shielding the ball, and laid it back to a trailing midfielder.

You stumbled past her, off balance, your shoulder brushing hers.

"I'm not going to tackle you," she said quietly, not looking at you.

Your breath caught but you didn't respond, you just reset, taking your position, and the game continued, but her words echoed in your head for the rest of the session.

I'm not going to tackle you.

Not because she couldn't but because she wouldn't.

After training, you showered and dressed faster than anyone else, your clothes were still damp when you pulled your bag over your shoulder and headed for the door but Mapi blocked your path not aggressively, she was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable, but she was there, and she wasn't moving.

"You're leaving early again," she said.

"I'm tired," was all you managed to say.

"You're always tired." Mapi tilted her head, studying you, "you've been tired for three days and Alexia's been tired for three days, what a coincidence eh?"

You gripped the strap of your bag really hard, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay, if that’s what you want," Mapi nodded slowly, "then I'll be direct, what happened between you two? Because she's a mess, she made three mistakes in training today, three. I've seen her play through broken ribs, and she didn't make mistakes like that."

You didn't answer.

"And you," Mapi continued, stepping closer, "you're not even pretending anymore, you're not cold you're hiding, and there's a difference."

"I'm not hiding from anything."

"Then why won't you look at her?"

The question hung in the air and you wanted to say something sharp, something that would make Mapi back off, but nothing came out of your mouth because she was right, you hadn't looked at Alexia once during training.

"I'll talk to her when I'm ready," you said finally.

"When will that be?" Mapi said.

"I don't know."

Mapi studied you for a long moment and then sighed, "Fine but for what it's worth? Whatever happened, she didn't deserve the silent treatment and neither do you."

Mapi stepped aside, and you walked past her without looking back.

That night, you sat on your couch with a glass of wine you didn't drink, the apartment was dark and the city hummed outside but your mind was full of images you couldn't escape.

Her hand reaching for you in the storage room.

Her voice: "I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could."

The way she'd looked at you during training, not angry, not hurt just... waiting.

You touched the bruise on your collarbone, it was fading and in a few days, it would be gone, and there would be no physical evidence that any of it had happened, no mark, no scar but you would remember. You would always remember the way she'd said your name when you'd pinned her against the shelves, not pleading, not angry just... present, like she was right there with you, even when you were trying to push her away.

What if you've been wrong about her this whole time?

The question surfaced again, unwelcome and persistent cause you'd spent five years building a version of Alexia that didn't exist, a villain, a monster, someone who looked down on you with contempt but the woman you'd shoved against those shelves wasn't a monster, she was kind and patient and confused.

And she'd said she didn't hate you.

You didn't sleep well that night, you tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around your legs, your mind replaying the same scenes on a loop, first the drill and then the storage room, the walk home, the way Alexia's voice had sounded when she said, "I'm not going to tackle you."

At 3:00 AM, you gave up, you walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and leaned against the counter, the refrigerator hummed but the city was quiet outside and you pulled out your phone.

Alexia's contact was still there, still open from the night before, her name and her number and the little profile picture she'd set years ago, a photo of her lifting the Champions League trophy, her face split with joy.

You'd saved that number years ago, back when you were nineteen and after a promo a player had given you her number,  back when you'd still believed in heroes. You'd never used it, never called, never texted but you'd kept it, like a relic from a life you'd abandoned.

Your thumb hovered over the message button but what would you even say?, "I'm sorry I shoved you against a shelf." or "I'm sorry I used you to punish myself." or "I'm sorry I've spent five years hating you for something you probably don't even remember."

None of it was enough, none of it captured the knot of shame and confusion and longing that had taken up permanent residence in your chest, so you put the phone down and pressed your forehead against the cool countertop.

You need to know what she said.

The thought surfaced pretty clear in your mind, but you couldn't keep running, you couldn't keep pretending that the version of events you'd constructed was the truth and you needed to know, really know, what Alexia had said to you on that pitch five years ago.

But asking meant admitting you might have been wrong.

And admitting you were wrong meant tearing down the last remaining piece of the wall.

—-------

The next day at training, you arrived even earlier, the sun was barely up and the pitch was empty, the grass still wet with dew. You dropped your bag by the bench and started jogging laps, your breath clouding in the cold air.

Run, don't think just run.

So you ran until your legs burned, until your lungs ached, until the only thing you could feel was the rhythm of your feet on the ground but even then, the thoughts crept back.

She doesn't remember, she never did and you've been fighting a ghost for five years. 

By the time the first teammates arrived, you were drenched in sweat and your hair plastered to your forehead. Mapi gave you a long look as she walked past, but she didn't say anything. Neither did Patri or anyone else who came next cause they'd learned to give you space.

But Alexia, when she arrived, didn't look at you at all, she walked to her locker, changed without speaking, and headed to the pitch without a glance in your direction.

It should have been a relief but it wasn't, it was worse.

Training was a blur of drills and silence and you were paired with Irene for defensive exercises, and she worked you hard, pushing you to your limits something you were grateful for because the exhaustion and the focus left little room for thoughts to consume you.

But every time you looked up, Alexia was there, not looking at you, she was just... there, running drills on the other side of the pitch, her face set in a mask of concentration.

You caught Mapi watching the two of you and her expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes, concern, maybe or pity, you weren’t sure about it. 

You looked away.

After training, you sat on the bench for a long time, alone, the team had trickled back to the locker room, their voices fading into the distance, the floodlights clicked off, one by one, until you were sitting in the gray half light of the late afternoon and you thought about the night after the storage room, the way you'd scrubbed your skin raw, trying to wash away the memory of her touch, the way you'd lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ghost of her breath on your neck.

"I don't hate you."

You believed her now, and that was the worst part, you believed her, and you had no idea what to do with that belief.

Your phone buzzed, it’s a message from your mother: How are you? You haven't called in a few days.

You stared at the screen thinking how could you explain any of this? How could you tell your mother that you'd spent five years hating someone for saying something they probably didn't said and that you'd only realized it after shoving them against a storage room shelf and fucked her?

So all you could do was to typed back a : I have been busy. I'll call soon.

She sent a heart emoji and you set the phone down.

—---------

That night, you lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.

For five years, you'd held on, you'd clutched those four seconds of Spanish, of words you didn't understand and turned them into a reason to hate, a reason to isolate yourself and a reason to build a wall so high that no one could climb it.

But the wall was gone now and without it, you were left with nothing but the truth.

You didn't hate Alexia. 

You never had.

You hated yourself for loving her, for still loving her, even after you'd convinced yourself she was the villain. You hated that she was kind and patient and real and you hated that she saw through your masks and most of all, you hated that when she touched you, you'd felt something other than rage.

You'd felt safe and that terrified you more than any hatred ever could.

You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket over your shoulder.

Sleep didn't come easily but when it did, you dreamed of a pitch, not the storage room, not the locker room, just a pitch with green grass, blue sky, and Alexia at the other end, waiting and in the dream, you walked toward her and this time, you didn't stop.

—----------

Friday came, and with it, the first real test, the team had an away match on Saturday and a flight to Madrid in the evening. That meant a morning training session, followed by a bus to the airport, followed by hours of forced proximity in tight spaces.

You'd managed to avoid Alexia for almost a week but a plane full of teammates left nowhere to hide.

You boarded the bus early, taking a seat near the back, by the window. You put your headphones on, closed your eyes, and pretended to sleep and around you, teammates laughed and chatted, the usual pre trip energy filling the cabin.

You felt the bus shift as someone sat down next to you.

Please don't be her, please don't be her.

You opened one eye and it was Mapi.

"Relax," she said, settling into the seat, "it's just me, she's sitting up front with Irene."

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders dropping an inch and until then you hadn't realized you'd been holding tension there.

"You look like hell," Mapi added, not unkindly, "have you slept at all this week?"

"Some."

"Liar,” Mapi said as she pulled out her phone, scrolling through something, "look, I'm not going to ask what happened but whatever it is, you need to fix it cause the team can't afford two of its best players being weird around each other."

"We're not being weird."

Mapi gave you a long, sideways look, "you haven't said a single word to her in six days and she hasn't said a word to you. You leave training at different times, you eat at different tables, you literally crossed the street yesterday to avoid walking past her."

You stared out the window unable to make eye contact with her, "you're keeping track?"

"Someone has to," Mapi put her phone away and turned to face you fully, "I'm not saying you have to be best friends. I'm not saying you have to forgive each other for whatever happened but you need to be able to stand on the same pitch without it feeling like a funeral."

You didn't answer cause you dind’t had anything to counter her with, so silence was the option.

Mapi sighed. "Fine be stubborn but when we're in Madrid and we're losing because you won't pass to her, don't say I didn't warn you."

She stood up and moved to another seat, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The flight was worse.

You'd picked your reserved seat the night before, choosing a window seat in the back, hoping no one would sit next to you cause usually the plane wouldn’t be full, but this time the plane was full, and the last person to board was Alexia.

She stopped in the aisle, her eyes scanning the rows, and there was only one empty seat left, and it was next to you.

You saw her hesitate and for a second, you thought she might ask someone to switch but then her jaw tightened, and she slid into the seat beside you, buckling her belt without a word, the plane took off and the cabin lights dimmed, around you, teammates read, slept, or watched movies on their phones.

You stared straight ahead, your hands clenched on your thighs.

Ten minutes passed, twenty…. and then Alexia spoke.

"You don't have to pretend I'm not here." Her voice was quiet, meant only for you but you didn't turn your head.

"I'm not pretending."

"You haven't looked at me once."

"Maybe there's nothing to look at."

She was silent for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice was different, softer, almost tired.

"I don't know what you want me to say, I don't know what I did but this…the silence, the avoidance…it's worse than the fighting."

You finally turned to look at her, her face was paler than it should be and here were dark circles under her eyes, the kind that came from sleepless nights. Her hair was pulled back, but strands had escaped, framing her face in a way that made her look younger and vulnerable.

Your chest ached, "you didn't do anything," you said.

"Then why?"

You opened your mouth and he truth was there ready on the tip of your tongue, because five years ago you said something in Spanish and I didn't understand it and I've been hating you ever since, but the words wouldn't come.

"I can't explain it," you said instead. "Not yet."

Alexia held your gaze for a long moment and then she nodded, slowly, and turned back to face the front of the plane.

"Okay," she said, "but when you can… I'll be here."

The words hung in the air between you, fragile and heavy at the same time.

You didn't respond but you didn't look away from her either.

---

The match in Madrid was a win a 1–2, a really hard fought and deserved game. You played well, solid in defense, but something was missing, the fluidity that usually came with team chemistry felt stilted, forced.

After the final whistle, you walked off the pitch alone, your head down but as you were going back inside a hand caught your elbow and as you turned, you saw Alexia.

"Good game," she said simply.

"You too," was all you managed to say.

She nodded and walked away.

It was the most normal interaction you'd had in weeks and somehow, that made it hurt more.

---

That night, in your hotel room, you lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Your phone buzzed it was a message from Mapi: I saw you two talking on the plane. Progress?.

You typed back: Maybe.

Then, after a moment, you sent her another message: I don't know.

Mapi: Well, it's something now try to get some sleep.

You set the phone down and closed your eyes, you thought about Alexia's face on the plane, the dark circles, the vulnerability and you thought about the way she'd said "I'll be here" not as a promise, just as a fact. You thought about the storage room, and the way she'd met your anger with something that wasn't fear.

"I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could."

You believed her now and that belief was terrifying, because it meant you had to confront the possibility that you'd been wrong about everything.

The only way to move forward is to let go of the past and embrace the future.

Your mother's voice again and it was louder this time.

For five years, you'd held on to a version of events that might not even be true, you'd built a wall out of four seconds of Spanish you didn't understand and ou'd turned Alexia into a villain so you wouldn't have to face the fact that you still loved her but the wall was gone now and the villain was just a woman, tired, patient, and waiting for an explanation you didn't know how to give.

You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket over your shoulder.

You need to know what she said.

The thought was clear. 

You couldn't keep running, you couldn't keep hiding behind a misunderstanding that might have been yours all along.

When you get back to Barcelona, you will find out the truth.

Even if it broke you.

[shadowywosofic]

Lost for words| Chapter 5: The breaking point | Alexia Putellas x reader

Summary: Words failed you again but this time, you didn't need them

Words: 3.2K

Previous chapters

Chapter 1: the day you stopped believing in heroes

Chapter 2: First day

Chapter 3: The one who won't bend

Chapter 4: Cracks in the ice

🔞 Explicit content: sex, strong language, minors DNI.

NOTE: Thank you so much to @wonderfulwoso for all the help and support she gave me about writing this chapter and her advice ♥️♥️ she's the real MVP

The days after the dinner were unbearable.

You couldn't look at Alexia without hearing the words she said to you, "you don't have to hate me forever." You couldn't train next to her without remembering the way her body had felt against yours during the drill, chest to chest, breath to breath, and when night fell, you couldn't sleep without dreaming of her hand reaching for you, and this time, taking it.

You woke up angry every morning.

Not at her. 

You were angry at yourself, angry that the wall you'd built was crumbling, and you were the one holding the sledgehammer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It happened on a Thursday.

Training had been brutal, a high intensity scrimmage that left everyone short tempered and out of frustration, you'd made a hard tackle on Patri, then another on Mapi and Pere had shouted at you twice to calm down. 

But you didn't.

Then you saw Alexia with the ball, she was driving through the midfield, her head up, looking for a pass and you stepped out of your defensive line and lunged, not for the ball, but for her, your shoulder caught her hip, and she went down hard, rolling onto the grass with a grunt and you instantly could hear the whistle blew and Pere ran onto the pitch, his face red, "what the hell was that?" he shouted at you.

You didn't answer as you were staring at Alexia, who was already getting up, brushing grass off her shorts and she looked at you, not with anger, not with frustration just disappointment.

That was worse.

"Both of you get inside now," Pere ordered. "Cool off and I don't want to see either of you for the rest of the session."

Alexia walked off the pitch without a word and all you could do was follow a few steps behind, your jaw tight, your heart pounding.

The locker room was empty when you got there, as the rest of the team was still training, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a cold, unforgiving glow, and Alexia sat on the bench in front of her locker, unlacing her boots slowly, methodically, and you stood by the door, arms crossed, waiting for her to say something.

But she didn't.

"Why don't you just yell at me?" you said finally, your voice sharper than you intended, "I fouled you really hard. Say something, insult me or something."

Alexia didn't look up. "What would be the point?"

"The point is you're supposed to be angry and that you're supposed to hate me, that's how this works."

Alexia set her boot down and finally looked at you, but her expression wasn't angry, it was tired.

"I don't hate you," she said quietly, "I don't think I ever could."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you started pacing back and forth, your boots echoing on the tile. 

The silence was suffocating.

"You should," you said, "you should hate me like I’m sure everyone else does."

"I don't."

"Why not? I've been nothing but cold to you, I've ignored you, pushed you away, and made you look stupid in front of the team. Why won't you just give up?"

Alexia stood up slowly and she didn't raise her voice, she didn't need to.

"Because I see you," she said. "The real you, the one who helped Alba with her press. The one who told me about the empty lot and your father's double shifts, and that's the you I want to know, not this... wall you've built."

You stopped pacing but your hands were shaking.

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're hurting," Alexia said, stepping closer, " and I know something happened… something I did or said, and you've been carrying it for years, and I don't know what it is, but I want to understand, and I want to help if I can."

"I don't need your help."

"Everyone needs help."

"I don't need yours."

She was close now, too close, and you could smell the grass on her skin, the faint trace of her laundry detergent, and instantly your body remembered the drill, the press of her hips, the heat of her breath.

"Then what do you need?" Alexia asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached out, her fingers feeling like feather light as they brushed against the damp fabric of your sleeve. It wasn't a grab, it was an invitation, a soft bridge offered across a canyon you’d spent years widening.

You didn’t think, because you couldn't afford to think, because if you felt the warmth of her hand for one second longer, the wall wouldn't just crumble, it would vanish so you grabbed her wrist, your grip tight enough to leave a mark, and hauled her toward the heavy equipment door. You needed the lights off, you needed the world to stop looking at you, and more than anything, you needed to stop seeing the pity in her eyes, so as you kicked the door shut, the latch clicked sounded so hard, it felt like a sentence being passed.

The air in the storage room was thick as you shoved Alexia inside, your palms hitting her shoulders with enough force to send her stumbling back into a stack of crates, you were both still vibrating from the training, lungs burning, skin slick with a film of sweat and field grit. Alexia’s jersey was stuck to her collarbone, her ponytail frayed and wild and seeing her like that, exhausted but still so damn composed, made something in your chest snap and you didn't just want to argue, you wanted to tear the calm right off her face.

"Stop being so damn nice!" you spat, your voice trembling. "It’s all a lie and you’re supposed to be the one who ruins everything for me, why won't you just act like it?"

Alexia didn't fall as she surged forward, her fingers like iron bands as she caught your forearms, pinning you against the door. "Why are you so afraid of me being human?" she hissed, her face mere inches from yours.

The silence that followed was really loud as you looked at her, really looked at her, and the hatred you’d carefully nurtured felt like it was catching fire and in that moment, you didn't know who moved first, but suddenly the space between you vanished. 

It wasn't a kiss. 

It was a collision.

There was no tenderness in the way you grabbed her as you hooked your fingers into the damp collar of her jersey and yanked at it, the heavy synthetic fabric straining and groaning against the force and Alexia responded in kind, her hands rough and impatient as she fought with the waistband of your shorts, her fingers catching on the drawstring in a desperate, clumsy scramble, the spandex of her training leggings was a second, slick skin, making the heat between you feel trapped and suffocating and when your hand finally found the waist, you didn't slide it under, you hooked your thumb and hauled the fabric down with a sharp, punishing tug that left a red friction burn against her hip. There was no finesse in the way you exposed her, only the raw, animal need to strip away her defenses, and the sound of your heavy, synchronized breathing filled the small space, masking the distant sounds of the rest of the team leaving the facility.

"You hate this," Alexia gasped against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin with bruising force.

"I hate you," you hissed, the words coming out as a jagged snarl as you spun her around, her cleats skidding and squeaking against the concrete floor before her chest hit the cold metal shelving, the impact rattled the mesh bags of balls nearby, a dull, rhythmic thud thud thud that timed itself to the pounding of your heart and you pressed into her, the salt of her skin sharp on your tongue, your weight pinning her against the unforgiving edge of the rack. You wanted her to feel the bite of the metal, a constant reminder of the friction that had been building between you all season.

You pinned her there, your body heavy and demanding as you used your weight to trap her, shoving her clothes aside with a blunt desperation, you weren't looking for a rhythm that felt good, you were looking for a way to break her, driving into her with an unforgiving force that found her slick and scorching from the heat of the training session. The sudden, deep invasion made her back snap into a rigid arch, her breath hitching into a broken sob that was half shock and half raw need and you didn't give her a second to adjust, hooking your fingers in a rhythmic, punishing curl that forced her to feel every jagged inch of your movement.

Alexia didn’t just take the weight, she met it, she was straining against the cold metal shelf as she hooked a leg behind yours with her athlete’s strength, pulling you closer and forcing you to feel the frantic, terrified rhythm of her heart against your own. 

She wasn't a victim of your rage, she was the mirror for it. 

Her strong hands didn't just claw at the shelving, they anchored into your shoulders, her nails digging through the synthetic fabric of your jersey, demanding you stay present in the very moment you were trying to use as a weapon.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered harshly in her ear, your movements fast and punishing. "Is this enough attention for you?"

Alexia’s fingers clawed at the metal shelf, her knuckles white. "More," Alexia managed, her voice a wrecked sliver of defiance. "Don't... don't stop now, you coward."

The insult fueled you as you bit down on the sensitive curve of her shoulder, leaving a mark you knew would purple by morning as you increased the friction, your hand slick and moving with a violent intensity, and every time she tried to turn her head to look at you, to find some shred of connection, you pushed her face back away instantly. 

You didn't want to see her eyes. 

You didn't want to see her confusion.

Alexia was trembling now, her muscles clenching desperately around your hand, a rhythmic, pulsing heat that threatened to pull you under with her and you could perfectly feel her peak approaching, a frantic, messy build up that ended in a shattered, voiceless scream as she collapsed against the shelves, her body racking with tremors so you didn't give her a second to breathe as you pulled her back toward you, flipping her around, her eyes were glazed, searching yours for a moment of softness, but you shoved your knee between her legs, forcing them apart.

"Don't look at me," you commanded, your voice raw.

You worked her again, this time with a focused and cruel precision as you used the heel of your hand to grind your weight against her, the friction of your palm against her clit, really harsh and relentless as you wanted her overstimulated, her nerves frayed to the point of breaking. Your thumb caught the hood of her skin, dragging against the most sensitive point with a punishing pressure that turned her whimpers into frantic, ugly sobs you hoped none could hear. You watched the way her thighs shook and buckled as the muscles corded and jumped under the strain of the pleasure you were forcing on her like a sentence, and when Alexia finally broke, a second, more violent release rolling through her, you felt a dark sense of triumph and an even darker sense of self loathing. 

For a heartbeat, the adrenaline of the training and the violence of the moment blurred into one as you felt the way she hung off the shelving, her muscles honed from hours on the field, now turned to water under your touch, the smell of the turf grass clinging to her skin mixed with the sharp, metallic scent of the room and this time you had won the "play," you had dominated the space, but looking down at the way her fingers still twitched against the metal, you felt a sickening hollow open up in your gut. 

This wasn't a game you could walk away from with a clean win. 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

As you withdrew your hand, the sound of it, wet and heavy, was loud enough to make your stomach turn. Your fingers were slick, stained with the evidence of her orgasm, and you felt the cooling moisture begin to itch against your skin, and the scent of her was starting to feel heavy, musk thick, and undeniable, and it clung to you like a mark of the war you'd just waged and the line you'd finally crossed.

Without a word, you began to pull your clothes back into order as Alexia stayed slumped against the crates, her chest heaving, her hair a ruined mess as she looked at you, her mouth opening as if to voice the million questions crashing through her mind, but her body and her brain were unable to do anything other than stare at you not really understanding anything that just happened. 

"Alexia," you said, your voice flat and lethal, "don't even dare to say a single word about this."

You didn't help her up, you didn't offer a hand or a glance as you turned on your heel and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with finality. 

You didn't look back. 

You could still feel the phantom pressure of her jersey under your fingers, the way the fabric had almost given way, how your legs felt heavy like you’d just played double overtime, but the exhaustion wasn't physical, it was the weight of the silence you’d left behind that door. You’d broken her "nice" streak, but in the process, you’d realized how much of yourself you’d had to shatter to do it.

As you stepped into the hallway, the cool air hit your face, but it did nothing to wash away the feeling of her skin, and inside Alexia remained in the dark, alone, trying to piece together how a moment of such intense fire could leave her feeling so utterly frozen.

The hallway was cold.

You stood with your back against the wall, your chest heaving, your hands still shaking, your jersey was twisted, your shorts loose at the waist and you didn't bother fixing them, you just breathed a couple short, ragged breaths that did nothing to slow your heart.

You could hear nothing from inside the storage room, there was no movement, no voice.

She's still in there.

You should have gone back, you should have said something, anything, to break the silence, but your feet wouldn't move and your mouth wouldn't open.

This changes nothing, you'd said to yourself.

But you weren't sure you believed it.

You didn't remember how you got back home.

One moment you were in the hallway outside the storage room, and the next you were standing in your apartment, still in your training kit, staring at the wall and the sun had set, making the room dark.

You didn't turn on the lights.

You walked to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror and you could see how your hair was a mess, your lips were swollen and there was a red mark on your collarbone, a bruise forming, or maybe a bite. You touched it, and the memory came flooding back, her hands, her mouth, and all the sounds she'd made.

You turned away from the mirror.

You couldn't look at yourself.

The smell of the room followed you home, it was a cloying mix of industrial rubber from the footballs, the metallic tang of the shelving, and the sharp, undeniable scent of her. It was under your fingernails and trapped in the fibers of your hair, you scrubbed at your skin until it was raw, but you could still feel the phantom heat of her clit muscles clenching around your hand, a pulsing reminder that you hadn't just broken her "nice" streak. You had invited her into the one place you never let anyone go: the truth. 

You sat on the edge of your bed for a long time, staring at the floor.

Your phone buzzed, it was a message from Mapi: You okay? You left early, i wanted to talk after everything that happened.

You didn't answer.

Another buzz again, a message from Mapi: Alexia looks... weird did something happen?

After reading that you instantly turned off the phone and dropped it on the nightstand.

The wall was gone, it was not cracked, it was gone. 

You'd spent five years building it, and in ten minutes of raw, angry, desperate chaos, you'd torn it down with your own hands and now there was nothing between you and the truth you'd been running from.

You didn't hate Alexia.

You never had.

You hated yourself for loving her and for still loving her, even after you'd convinced yourself she was the villain. You hated that she was kind, patient, and real, you hated that she saw through your masks and most of all, you hated that when she touched you, you'd felt something other than rage.

You'd felt safe.

And that terrified you more than any hatred ever could.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You lay down on the bed, still in your dirty clothes, and stared at the ceiling, your mind running many things at the same time until you hear it again.

The only way to move forward is to let go of the past and embrace the future.

Your mother's voice, soft and distant, makes you focus and have a clear thought around all the noise in your thoughts. 

For five years, you'd held on, you'd clutched that single moment, a moment of four seconds of Spanish you didn't understand and turned it into a life raft, It had kept you afloat, but it had also kept you alone and isolated.

For five years, you'd played those four seconds on a loop in the back of your brain, you can clearly hear the roar of the crowd, the smell of fresh cut grass, the sting of the tackle you'd made. You were nineteen, a rookie with shaking legs and a heart full of idols and then Alexia was in your face, her words sharp and fast in a language you didn't understand, her expression twisted with something you'd read as contempt and in that moment it was where everything split in two.

But tonight, as you felt the ghost of her touch, you realized the person who had never moved past being that girl in the pitch wasn't Alexia.

It was you.

And now, lying in the dark with the ghost of Alexia's touch still burning on your skin, you wondered if holding on had been the real mistake all along.

You closed your eyes and tried to rest but sleep didn't come.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice that sounded like your own whispered,

Maybe it's time to let go.

[helen-with-an-a]

Hi my lovelies. So I’d thought I’d have a cute little thing between Ale and Amor. I’m not entirely sure I love the ending but I think it’s sweet. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Self-Care

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: The development of yours and Ale’s self-care days.

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

May 2021

It had been a long week. Long, but good. You were in that final stretch of the season where finals came fast and thick, where every match carried weight, where there was no room to coast. Even though the league was technically already won, the standard never dipped. If anything, it sharpened. The team demanded the best. Nothing less.

You were tired. Not just physically. You felt it settling behind your eyes, that familiar fog creeping in as your mental capacity edged closer to its limit. It wasn’t new — you’d learned this feeling back in Wolfsburg — but experience had taught you to recognise it early. The heaviness in your limbs. The shortness of your patience. The quiet craving for stillness. The persistent wish to just stop, if only for a moment, without guilt.

Thursday became your sanctuary.

For Barça, Thursday was considered a “calmer” day. Training started thirty minutes later than usual and wrapped up almost an hour earlier. The sessions themselves were often sharper, more intense, but you didn’t mind that. If anything, you found yourself craving Thursdays, clinging to them as a marker in the week. Proof that rest could exist alongside ambition.

They usually began gently. Curled up with Alexia, her head resting on your chest or your body tucked into hers, limbs tangled in that easy way that came from familiarity. You took your time. Coffee sipped slowly. Breakfast picked at lazily. Soft kisses pressed into skin and quiet giggles shared for no reason at all. The drive to training was filled with Spanish and Catalan songs you were only just beginning to understand, Alexia singing along beside you, correcting your pronunciation when you tried. At training, she was more than happy to translate drills, her hands sometimes wandering a little too low, or lingering a second longer than strictly professional, a small smile always playing on her lips.

By late afternoon, the time was yours. Alexia had her standing appointment with the sports psychologist, then often spent the evening with her mother or her sister. You liked knowing where she was, liked the rhythm of it, even as you welcomed the solitude.

At first, when you’d just moved to Barcelona — before Alexia had fully rooted herself into your life — you filled Thursdays by exploring. Park Güell. Montjuïc. The Gothic Quarter. Random side streets that invited you in without warning. But now, with whatever this was between you having grown and softened and deepened into something more, Thursdays shifted. They became yours again. Time just for you.

You had your self-care routine perfected. Years in the making, now non-negotiable. It began with the first half of your everything shower — oils, shampoos, masks doing their quiet work while you moved through your skincare with careful precision. Shaving, waxing, smoothing every inch of yourself until you felt more like you, before finally surrendering to water that bordered on too hot, letting it seep into your bones and loosen everything you carried.

Thursdays gave you that space. That moment. The permission to stop. An entire afternoon devoted to yourself, indulged in purely for your own enjoyment.

And when evening settled in, you cooked. Slowly. Thoughtfully. Yes, there was a diet to consider, numbers to keep in mind, but Thursdays were different. A chance to experiment. To take your time. You sipped your drink, music low, dancing barefoot around your quiet little flat on the outskirts of Barcelona, content in the stillness you’d carved out just for yourself.

You were in the middle of cooking dinner, onions just beginning to sizzle in the pan, when the doorbell rang. You barely spared it a second thought as you crossed the flat, wiping your hands on the edge of your robe. You expected Señora García — your elderly neighbour who occasionally needed to borrow something — or maybe Marc from next door, who had an uncanny habit of asking you to open bottles for him.

You pulled the door open.

“Mi amor?” Alexia’s voice was soft, surprised. Her eyes swept over you in one slow glance; your hair wrapped in a towel, a robe she’d never seen before hanging loosely from your shoulders and tied at your waist. Warm air drifted out behind you, rich with the scent of onions and oil, the quiet hiss of something frying following it.

“Ale?” You blinked, momentarily thrown. She was meant to be having dinner with her mother and uncle. She’d told you that herself that afternoon, kissed you gently, murmured that she’d see you in the morning. “Wha-your mum?”

“Mamí isn’t feeling too great, so we rescheduled.” Alexia supplied it easily, but her brow furrowed as she took you in again. “Is everything okay?” The question carried more than it needed to. You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?

“Yeah. Everything’s good.” You were still a little stunned, but you leaned up onto your tiptoes anyway, pressing a light kiss to her lips, grounding yourself in something familiar.

“C-can I come in?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Sorry, I just wasn’t…” You trailed off, shaking your head.

“I can go, if you want.” Alexia half-turned, gesturing back down the corridor. It would hurt, leaving like that, but she would. If it was what you needed, she’d do it without hesitation. She would do anything for you.

“No, don’t be stupid.” Your smile came easily now, the haze lifting. You reached for her hand, tugging her gently into the flat. “I’m in the middle of making my tea, but I think I’ve got enough for you?”

“Tea?” Alexia echoed, amused. “As in the drink?”

“Oh, uhhhhh ... Dinner. Cena, right?”

“Sí,” Alexia smiled, warmth settling back into her features. “Cena.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Alexia asked as she settled onto one of the bar stools, the wood creaking softly beneath her weight.

You snorted, shoulders relaxing as you turned back toward the stove. “No. Not really.”

“Not really?” Alexia’s eyes narrowed just slightly, that familiar glint of curiosity (and suspicion) settling in. “So I was interrupting something.”

You rolled your eyes, lips curling despite yourself. Damn Alexia and her infuriating ability to listen, to catch the pauses between words, to infer more than you ever intended to give away.

“No, no…” you tried, waving a hand dismissively as you reached for the wooden spoon, stirring the chicken now sizzling in the pan. Alexia didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She simply raised an eyebrow, folding her arms loosely as she watched you. Waiting.

“Fine,” you huffed, defeated. “So. Obviously, you know Thursdays are quieter.” You glanced over your shoulder at her, then back to the pan. “When I first moved here, I used them to explore. Walk everywhere. Get lost on purpose. Learn the city.” You paused. “But now I have you to show me everything…”

You caught the way her blush bloomed instantly, warm and unmistakable, creeping up her neck and settling high on her cheeks. It mirrored your own.

“So,” you continued, clearing your throat, “I use Thursdays as a bit of a… ‘me day’. You know?”

“A… ‘me day’?” Alexia echoed, the words foreign on her tongue.

“Yeah. Like, self-care.” You shrugged, reaching for the chilli. “Face masks. Hair masks. Shaving. All that stuff. And then I cook.” Your robe and the pan in front of you.

She hummed softly, thinking it through. “And…” Alexia paused, tilting her head. “That helps you unwind?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a little more serious now. “Everything’s so different compared to Germany or England. New language, new systems, new expectations. There’s just … a lot … of information all the time.” You shrugged again. “So this is my time to decompress. Reset a bit. Be English for a while. No translating or learning. Just me.” Then, lighter, teasing, “And as a bonus, it sets me up nicely for weekend games.”

Alexia smiled at that as she stood, moving toward you until she was close enough that you could feel her warmth at your back. Carefully, deliberately, she rested her hands on your hips, thumbs brushing just above your hips, turning you to face her.

You looked up. She was close. Impossibly so. The soft light from the kitchen cast gentle shadows across her face, her hazel eyes catching the flicker of the candle you’d lit earlier, reflecting the tiny flame.

“You’re beautiful,” you said before you could stop yourself.

The effect was immediate. Her breath caught. Her cheeks deepened from pink to a vivid red, lips pressing together in a shy, almost disbelieving smile.

“I don’t think anyone has called me that before,” she admitted quietly.

“Well,” you shrugged, resting your forehead briefly against her chest, “you are.”

Carefully, tenderly, she smoothed some damp hair away from the back of your neck, her touch reverent.

“So are you, mi amor,” Alexia murmured. She pressed a light kiss to the top of your head. “Inside and out.”

January 2022

“Mmmmm, bon dia, mi amor.” Alexia’s voice was low and warm as she snuck up behind you, her arms settling easily around your waist.

You jumped despite yourself, shoulders tensing for half a second before you relaxed back into her, instinctively leaning into the familiar comfort of her body. You laughed softly at your own reaction.

“Hi, beautiful.” You tilted your head slightly, pushing your cheek out in invitation. She obliged immediately, pressing a light kiss there before giggling under her breath.

“I brought un chocolate,” she said proudly as she pulled back just enough to reach around you.

You gasped, entirely overdramatic, eyes lighting up as she passed you the warm cup. “And it’s from that place down the road.” You pouted, clutching it like something precious. “Ale, that’s so sweet.”

“Only for you, mi amor,” she replied easily, lips curving into a soft smile as she watched you take your first sip.

“Iros!” Get a room. Mapí’s voice rang out from the other side of the room.

“Tú y Ingrid son igualmente asquerosas,” you and Ingrid are just as gross. Jenni chimed in without missing a beat followed immediately by an indignant “Oi!” from Mapí.

You stuck your tongue out in Mapí’s direction, choosing to ignore the comment entirely as Alexia laughed quietly beside you.

“So,” you said after taking another sip, finally disentangling yourself from her arms. “I was thinking… what are you doing tomorrow after training?”

You already knew the answer, really. Her mum and sister were both out of town this week, and Alexia had been noticeably restless, unsure what to do with a suddenly free Thursday evening.

“Uhhh… no sé.” I don’t know. She shrugged, eyes flicking down briefly. “Probably just relax… por qué?” Why

“Well,” you started, hesitating, eyes dropping to your shoes. “I was thinking… do you want to come to mine tonight?”

Alexia blinked. “But it’s Thursday…”

“I know.”

“But Thursdays are your day.”

“I know that too.” You smiled into your cup, taking another sip, deliberately casual. She stared at you now, clearly trying to work through it, unsure where the line was.

You sighed, rolling your eyes affectionately. “You want to sit and relax and be calm, right?”

“Sí,” she answered slowly.

“And I want to see you tonight.” You paused, softer now. “So. Two birds with one stone. Relax at my place.”

“Two … birds?… Qué?”

“It’s an expression.” You waved it off. “I’ll be having a relaxing night in my flat. You’ll be having a relaxing night in yours. So let’s relax together.”

“But it’s your-”

“Ale,” you interrupted gently. You reached for her hand with your free one, threading your fingers through hers and giving it a small squeeze. “I want you there.”

She looked at you then, really looked, her expression softening completely. The noise of the room faded into the background a little as her thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“Okay,” she said quietly, smiling.

Alexia was almost giddy as she waited for you on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, hands clasped together like she didn’t quite know where to put them. You were still in the bathroom, pulling out all of your bottles, tubs and jars, lining them up with careful familiarity. When you finally opened the door for her earlier, you’d looked utterly adorable - your now-familiar robe, affectionately dubbed your fancy robe, hanging loose around your body, exposing a sports bra and last season’s training shorts. Alexia had pretended not to notice the small stitched 11 on your thigh, though her heart had swelled all the same.

“Okay, baby,” you said as you flopped onto the sofa beside her, a basket of brightly coloured things balanced on your lap. “You ready?”

Alexia eyed the contents with open suspicion. She had never seen this many products outside of a shop before.

“Where do we start?” she asked, carefully pushing the silly flutter of anxiety aside.

“I usually start with hair.” You reached into the basket, pulling out a small glass bottle. “Oil and massage first. Then face mask.” You nodded toward a vivid green tub. Alexia shuffled a little closer, nodding along as if she understood.

You smiled softly at her nervousness. You knew she was excited, she’d been buzzing since she arrived, but new things had always unsettled her, no matter how much she wanted them.

“Do you want me to do yours,” you asked gently, “or do you want to do it yourself?”

She hesitated, then looked up at you. “You,” she said. “Por favor.” Please

“Of course, beautiful.” You leaned in, pressing a series of quick kisses to her lips until she was giggling despite herself. “Sit on the floor for me?”

She slipped off the couch obediently, settling between your knees. You poured a little oil into your palms, rubbing your hands together to warm it before threading your fingers into her hair. Almost immediately, you felt her relax. With each slow circle of your fingers against her scalp, her shoulders dropped, her breathing deepened. A quiet, unguarded moan slipped from her before she could stop it.

“You’re tense, my love,” you murmured.

“Cansada,” Tired she mumbled, voice low and heavy.

“Relax,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Alexia would later swear it was the best ten minutes of her life. Your hands were magic, coaxing the stress of the season out of her bit by bit. You worked through every tight spot, even the stubborn kink at the back of her neck that had been bothering her for weeks, until her head felt light and her body loose.

“Te toca a ti,” Your turn, she slurred eventually, eyes half-closed.

“I did mine before you came, baby.” You smiled, helping her back onto the couch, amused by the soft oh she let out as she sank into the cushions. “Face masks next.”

She stretched lazily, then nodded. “Puedes hacerlo?” Can you do it?

“Of course, beautiful girl.”

You straddled her gently, placing the tub on the arm of the sofa. Her hands found your waist without thinking.

“Hola,” you smiled.

“Hola,” she echoed, grinning. You leaned down, kissing her slowly, deliberately.

“Mmm… t’estimo, mi amor.” I love you

“Love you too, baby,” you murmured back.

You dipped your fingers into the cream. “This might be cold,” you warned.

“Oye,” she protested as you touched her cheek, jerking away instinctively.

“Ale,” you whined, laughing, gently cupping her jaw to keep her still. “Don’t move.”

“Sí, mi amor,” she agreed, smiling softly, eyes closing as she let you take care of her.

“I’m happy I asked you to come over tonight,” you whispered. 

“I’m happy I said yes.”

April 2026

“Ale,” Pina smiled brightly as she slipped herself neatly between you and Alexia, linking an arm through each of yours before either of you could react. “Y/N.”

“Hola,” Alexia replied easily, offering the younger girl a fond smile.

You, on the other hand, narrowed your eyes. The tone was too sweet. The grin too wide. You knew that look — Pina was absolutely up to something.

“What?” you asked flatly, untangling yourself.

“What do you mean what?” Pina shot back, feigning offence as she pressed a hand to her chest.

“You know exactly what I mean.” You raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed.

She held your gaze for a second, then sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes and tipping her head back toward the sky. “Ugh, fine. You caught me.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “We were just wondering if you wanted to go on a team night out?”

You hummed. “Who’s we?”

From the other side, Alexia turned her head, already scanning the room for the usual culprits.

“Esmee…” Pina started.

“And?” You folded your arms, waiting.

“Clara…” she added carefully.

You pursed your lips, unconvinced.

“AndCataKikaSydneyVickyOnaMapíandLaia,” Pina rushed out in one breath.

“No.” Alexia’s voice was sharp, immediate, cutting across.

“But you didn’t even hear what the plan was!” Pina whined, shoulders slumping.

“I don’t need to hear it,” Alexia replied firmly. “It’s not happening.”

She sounded every inch the mother she pretended she wasn’t. You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips, well aware of how much she claimed to despise the Team Mother title the fans had gifted her.

“But, Ale…” Pina tried again, arms flopping uselessly at her sides.

“No.”

“Por fav-”

“No, Clàudia.”

“Por qué?” Why Pina tilted her head up, brown eyes wide and shining, fully committing to the act.

“Do not even attempt that,” Alexia warned, already recognising the tactic. “It is a Thursday.”

“So?” Pina countered immediately.

“So it is a Thursday, and we cannot go out.” Alexia’s eyes flickered, just briefly, toward you.

Pina caught it. Instantly, she twisted around to face you, latching on with renewed hope.

“Please?” she tried.

Behind her, you saw it - the subtle shift in Alexia’s expression. Not the stern captain now, but something softer. Hopeful. Thursdays had become sacred. Your shared self-care nights. Quiet. Calm. Something Alexia cherished more than she ever admitted. Ever since that first time years ago, it had become a regular feature in her life and would anything to protect it.

You sighed lightly. “You go,” you conceded. “Ale and I will have to rain-check.”

“Boooo,” Pina huffed, shoulders slumping again.

“Whatever,” you laughed, shoving her lightly away. You wiggled your eyebrows at her. Alexia’s hand found yours immediately, squeezing once. “At least I can get a date.”

[auxilium25]

When did you get hot? pt.3

part 1, part 2

alexia putellas x guijaro!reader

warnings: Suggestive, age gap

4.2K words

Morning came far quicker than expected, with a fully showered and ready Patri pulling the duvet off your body and yelling at you to get ready so you could head to breakfast. You simply groaned and pulled the sheets back over yourself, telling her you’d be there in a few and to go without you. “Vale, pero tienes que levantarte pronto que el desayuno lo quitan en dos horas” she said, “ok ok, en 5 me paro” and you’d meant it, really you did, you were just going to rest your eyes for two seconds and then you’d jump in the shower, but the second you cozied up again you were a goner.

About half an hour had passed since you’d fallen back asleep and you were woken up this time by an incessant knocking at your door. You sluggishly made you way towards it thinking it was Patri and that she had just forgotten her key or something. However, you were sorely mistaken, when you opened the door you were met with a pissed Alexia, who instead of waiting to be let into your room like a well-mannered person would do, simply barged in and started rummaging around.  “Well good morning to you too then” you said while rubbing your eyes, trying to get your brain to catch up. Two seconds ago you were pleasantly asleep and now there was a stunning blond tearing through your room.

“Where is it?” she said still not looking at you. “Huh?” you truly had no idea what she was talking about. She let out an exasperated breath and while turning said “My thong y/n, the one you…” Alexia completely lost her train of taught, she had barged into your room without even glancing at you, so when she turned she around and saw you standing by the door with a sleepy confused expression, wearing only a slightly baggy t-shirt and panties, she was stunned. No she was more than that, she could literally feel as each air molecule escaped her lungs as you took her breath away.

As her eyes feasted on you, she noticed you weren’t wearing a bra by the visible little indents that your nipples made against your shirt. And as she looked further down it only got better, you had on some plain cotton panties, nothing fancy or intentionally sexy, but still damn. And then came your legs, god your legs, your beautiful, defined, tanned legs where on full display and they seemed to go on forever. She had seen you naked before sure, but her mind was clouded by a lot, and she meant a lot, of alcohol that night. So seeing you here, like this, so domestic, so cute, so fucking devourable, it had sent her brain into a frenzy. She was brought back to reality by you saying “take a picture, it’ll last longer, you could even use it to get yourself off later”. Alexia really needed to stop getting lost in you.

 Regaining her focus Alexia’s face turned stern once again, as she took a few steps towards you “mis bragas y/n damelas”. You just smirked at her, your sleepy state leaving and instead being replaced by your usual brazenness. To clear somethings up, you hadn’t taken her underwear with intent to use it for dubious or lustful purposes, you would never. Instead you had taken them because you knew it would piss her off and it would keep your banter going, hopefully leading you into the exact situation you were in now. “You know I don’t really recall any panties, maybe you could describe them, help me jog my memory” she huffed at you “No estoy para juegos y/n, give them back… now, I won’t ask again”, you put up your hands in surrender “fine, fine, let me just grab them” you walked towards your dresser and swiftly pulled them out. You turned around and held them out to her, but the second she went to take them from your hand you pulled back, “but I do have to say I’m quite shocked” you say while holding them up in the air with both hands “inspecting” them, “I never would have guessed this is the type of underwear you packed for camp or wore on a daily basis, I mean it seems like something someone would wear with the intent of having someone else takeoff”. She tries to take the garment out of your hands again but you simply raised them higher, you weren’t that much taller than her, but you did have long limbs, so that gave you an advantage. “whoahh easy there tiger,… I’ll give them back in a second I just want you to answer one simple question for me, do you have national team sidepiece capi?…” you say wiggling your eyebrows at her, before continuing in a lower tone “or did you bring these for me?…”. That makes a light blush creep up her neck and you quickly use it in your favor. “your blushing, so you did bring them for me…” she quickly regains control of her face and answers defensively “I did not bring them for you” “you don’t have to lie to me Ale, you can admit you wanted me to fuck you again, not to toot my own horn but people usually do come back for a repeat performance” “you know what I’m done, you want my panties so bad keep em, just don’t talk to me anymore” she says as she hurredly makes her way towards the door with you following in step behind her.

When she opens the door your quick to push your arm above her closing it and trapping her between your body and the door, with your unoccupied hand you gently grab her hip and flip her so she’s facing you, it surprises you when she doesn’t put up much resistance, allowing you to maneuver her so your eye to eye. “Ok ok me pase, perdon, tomalas” you say while gently playing them in her hand, “gracias” she says before she tries to turn around but your grip on her waist stops her, if she wanted to she could remove herself from your grip but she doesn’t, at least not yet, “soltame y/n” “no” “como que no?” “que no, que no te voy a soltar, y la verdad es que tampoco creo que quieres que te suelte” “ahh si y eso porque” “por que se que hay una parte de ti que le encanta esto, que le gusta que te caiga atras, que coquete contigo…” “y quien te dijo eso?” “ de boca nadie, pero me doy cuenta con tus acciones, porque por mas que digas que no quieres nada conmigo Ale, aun viniste a mi cuarto” “vine por…” you interrupt her “no digas que viniste por las putas bragas esas, que las dos sabemos que te pudiste haber comprador mil mas, no son ni la perla por dios”, she huffs at you but doesn’t deny it, so you continue “Admit it, a part of you likes this, wants me just as much as I want you” “ni en tu sueños y/n” “bueno déjame decirte que en mis sueños sí, y mucho eh… y creo que en los tuyos tambien” you pause looking her up and down before ever so slowly leaning forward and just as your lips ghost over hers she stops you while griping your jaw making you look straight at her before speaking “Y/n tu y yo, nunca, y escuchame bien cuando digo nunca, nos vamos a volver a enrollar, me entiendes” she doesn’t let you answer she just makes your head nod back at her before gently pushing you back and turning back towards the door ready to leave. Just as she’s crossing the door to leave you tell her “we’ll see about that reina”, Alexia doesn’t give you an answer she simply continues on her way shutting the door and leaving you staring at the space she occupied seconds ago.

Once your brain finally remembers it has functions to fulfill you let out a shaky exhale and start actually start getting ready for the day. After taking a much needed cold shower and dawning your training clothes you head to breakfast, which is mostly empty now with only a couple stragglers still there, you fix yourself a plate of what’s left and sit down next to patri. “porque te tardaste tanto peque” she says whilst gently nudging your arm with hers “por nada, I just, fell back asleep after you left” it wasn’t a complete lie you did spend another half hour sleeping but you also spent another 20 mins with Alexia, but those where miniscule details that Patri didn’t need to know.

You barely ate, taking a bite here and there while you pushed the food around your plate. Alexia had served as a pleasant distraction this morning, but she was gone now and while there were other people chatting animatedly around you, you couldn’t find it in you to participate. You were getting stuck in your head again.

Eventually everyone made their way back to their rooms to finish getting ready and chill for a bit before heading to the training pitch. You sat on your bad just staring up at the ceiling when Patri laid beside you “que pasa y/n/n”, “no me pasa nada patri, tu sigue con lo tuyo que yo estoy bien” she turns to lay on her side so that she is looking at you “just because you moved halfway across the world doesn’t mean I don’t still know you peque, tienes rato metida en esa cabeza tuya y se que en lo que sea que estas pensando te esta agobiando” you know she’s expecting you to turn and look at her, to just tell her all your problems like you did when you were little, but you don’t, you stubbornly stay looking at the ceiling. “it’s nothing patri really, I’m just a little nervous ok”, she wraps her arms around you pulling you into her, hugging you in spite of your protest “nena, you’re going to do amazing ok, I know it and you should know it to ok, yeah it may take a bit to settle and find your pace with the team, but it’ll be like that with everyone, first trainings are filed with little mistakes and its normal, no one is expecting anyone to be perfect, ok?” you stayed silent just letting her hold you. God you missed your sister and a part of you knew she was right, nothing was going to be perfect today, but another bigger part of you also knew that you didn’t have the luxury of messing up, sure you were called up for training camp, but there were too many of you here some of you were going to be cut and you knew it was probably going to be you, you were young, new to the team, and you had already rejected playing with them before, they weren’t loyal to you, and despite your last name you weren’t anyone at all here.

Training was simple enough with Montse having you ease into things, trying to asses where the players stood individually right now. You had been doing ok, not great not bad, but almost everyone was the same, they only thing was that you couldn’t get out of your own damn head, and people were starting to notice, you’d messed up on a drill, your feet catching under you and making you stumble, and you were stuck replaying it in your head, sure you were still keeping up with the rest of training but it was your body going through the motions automatically while you were battling with your head.

You were currently in the middle of a passing drill, it was simple, receive the ball in from behind, turn and pass quickly. You were standing in line with Patri behind you waiting for your turn, when she put her hands on your shoulders and said “calmate nena, I can hear your thoughts from here” you rolled your shoulders shrugging her hands off you “I’m fine”. But you weren’t fine and that was made obvious to absolutely everyone the second you were up again, it wasn’t that you messed up the drill, your pass was perfect, the only thing was the power you put behind it, it was as if you wanted to go through Claudia’s foot.

A couple minutes later they finally called for a water break, and while everyone took this opportunity to make fun and chat, you stood by yourself trying to get your head under control. You were fucking it up, your first real chance and you were blowing it, no way in hell were you going to the Olympics playing like this. You were brought out of your thoughts by a hand being placed on your shoulder from behind. As you were turning to look at who you assumed to be your sister trying to raise your spirits “Patri ya te dije que estoy bi… Alexia?”, “Hola” she said with a shy smile, why the hell was she here, “toma” she said handing you a water bottle, you took it from her hands and without really looking at her and said “gracias”. You turned back around expecting her to leave after that, but of course she didn’t “you’re stuck in your head guijarrito” “I’m fine Alexia, really” “pues no lo aparentas la verdad” you just let out an incredulous chuckle at that, “te estas enfocando demasiado en no equivocarte y/n, calmate un poco” “yeah that’s easier said than done” she gets a little closer to you “enfocate menos en el pase que paso y mas en el de ahora, you remember that day back in Barcelona, que me enseñaste el juego ese, como se llamaba, camello…” “Horse” “si si eso, be like when we were playing that, olvídate de lo que viene mañana, let it only be you, here now, playing football just for fun, vale?” you take a deep breath calming yourself a little, Alexia gets closer to you looking around to make sure no one was near enough to hear what she was about to say “Y si necesitas una distracción…” she paused lowering her tone “mirame el culo que se que eso te hace olvidarte de todo lo demas…” and with that she leaves and you just let out a low exasperated “madre mía”.

Surprisingly or maybe unsurprisingly Alexia’s pep talk, if it could be called that, actually worked, when you reassumed training you were a completely different person, you were visibly lighter, actually paying attention to the little side commentary the team had going on and towing in your own little quips here and there. And when you felt your doubts starting to creep back in you did let your eyes wander over to Ale and the thoughts quickly disappeared, you’d bet 100 euros that she was even bending over a little more on purpose, she even winked at you once when she caught you ogling her. God that woman was going to be the death of you.

The rest of the day went by surprisingly quickly, and you were now just hanging out in the common room playing some ping pong with the girls. Much to your dismay Alexia wasn’t here, she and Irene had tragically been held back by Montse to discuss some things privately. After about an hour you saw Irene enter the common room and you expected Alexia to stroll in behind her, but after 10 minutes had passed and she still hadn’t answered you guessed she probably went to her room. You simply got up fully focused on going to find her telling Vicky when she asked why you were leaving that you had simply grown bored of beating them.

You made your way to Alexia’s room, now actually knowing where you were going, but you were stopped dead in your tracks when you rounded the corner and saw her standing at the threshold of her door clearly seething with anger as she talked to Jenni. “Es que no me lo puedo creer, los cojones que tiene esa mujer para venir y decrime eso a mí”, you saw as Jenni gently took her hand and pulled her in towards her wrapping an arm around Alexia’s waist, while her other hand gripped softly the back of her neck while she guided her head into the crook of her neck. You saw as Jenni leaned down and whispered something to Alexia, that visibly calmed her down, even getting a slight laugh from her. You obviously knew about their history, you were living in America not under a rock, and you had seen their closeness trough pictures, but seeing it up close it felt different, it didn’t seem like exes who simply ended on good terms and were know friends it was more like a couple who didn’t want to admit their feelings for each other. A frown settled on your face when alexia unwrapped herself from Jenni’s embrace and pulled her inside her room behind her. Ok so maybe you had read the whole situation wrong, maybe it was just a stupid mistake that alexia had made that night, and here you were acting like a petulant child bringing it up. Maybe you were right when you said before that Alexia had someone on the national team.

You turned around and headed back to where you came from while your head was filled with unanswered questions. Where she and Jenni at it again? Had you made a complete fool of yourself pursuing her? Had she told Jenni about your advances? fuck maybe she didn’t want you flirting with her, had you made Alexia feel uncomfortable? maybe you misinterpreted Alexia’s interactions, had she just tried to be friendly and you just made up this movie in your head? you know what no way, there was actually no way this was all in your head, she told you to stare at her ass for fucks sake, that’s not something you do with friends, right? Or maybe it was how alexia interacted with friends she had seen naked, maybe she used playful banter to sweep what happened under the rug, maybe she was the same way with Jenni. That left an unsettling felling in your chest, that felt strangely like jealousy, which was absurd, you had no claim over Alexia, hell if you were being honest you couldn’t even really be considered friends, you didn’t know each other you had only interacted properly a handful of times, if that.

You were still thinking about it when you finally reentered the common room, your body was basically on autopilot as you plopped down next to Jana on a bean bag. She turned to look at you observing you for a second before saying “todo bien?” “huh, eh sí sí”, as Jana was about to pry but she was interrupted by Vicky saying “look who came back with her tail between her legs”, “callate Vicky, es más después de Pina juego yo, para ganarte otra vez” you said while standing up and heading to the ping pong table.

A little later you were all called for dinner. After making your plate you sit next to your sister with Jana taking the chair on the right side of you. You were all chatting animatedly when Alexia and Jenni finally walked into the room, you watched as they fixed up their plates, and you couldn’t help but notice the little frown that appeared on Alexia face when she reached the end of the line and found out there weren’t any more of those protein muffins she liked. They sat together, really close, like maybe too close, I mean their arms were touching, you couldn’t really eat like that. You turned back to your own dinner, falling into conversation with the girls around you. After a bit, everyone started saying their goodnights and heading to bed, today you could make mistakes, but tomorrow you couldn’t, Montse would be announcing the official squad list in 2 days, so everyone was a bit on edge. Patri patted you shoulder and told you that she was going to Pinas room for a bit. Before leaving the canteen you stopped to talk to Sara, a very nice lady from the kitchen staff, hoping she could do you a little favor.

Afterwards instead of heading to your own room, you found yourself walking the same path you had a couple of hours ago and before you knew it you were at alexia’s door. You knocked softly and a couple seconds later the door opened. “Hola” “Hola Capi, may I come in?” “no creo que esa sea la mejor…” you cut her off showing her what had hidden behind your back “I come baring gifts” she gently took the muffin from your hand and lead you into her room “how did you know” you just shrugged “I’m a woman of many talents”, you stopped for a second, letting all the teasing leave your voice before telling her “It’s a thank you, you know, for helping me today”, “you didn’t have to get me anything y/n, honestly it…” you cut her off again “I wanted to… to be honest if it wasn’t for our little chat I would’ve bombed today” “you wouldn’t have” “I would, so Ale just accept my thank you gifts and be grateful ok?” “ ok ok, thank you” it silent for a second before you step a little closer to her again “I have something else for you” “y/n el muffin es mas que suficiente, de verdad…” you cut her off once more “shh, its nothing really, I’m fairly certain it’ll annoy you more than anything” you say while pulling something out of your pocket, you took her hand and gently placed something in her palm, when Alexia looked down at her hand she found a little crown made out of a yellow post its, she lets out a little laugh, god you loved that sound, “gracias” “de nada”. Silence fell upon you once again, it wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t quite comfortable yet either, “sabes…” “entonces…” you both spoke at the same time, you both hesitated opening and closing your mouths, “Tu primero” “you first” you said in sink again. “Dime tu primero Ale” she looked at you for a moment and you saw the hesitation in her eyes, she shook her head and simply said “no importa, olvidalo mejor dime tu” you looked at her and you saw the softness and vulnerability her eyes held so you decided not to pry “vale, ehh… solo queria preguntarte si todo estaba bien?” you saw the confusion on her face and quickly added “its just that I might’ve seen you early with Jenni and you seemed pretty mad, you don’t have to like tell me anything, I know were not really friends or know each other that well, but I just…”, she placed her hands on you shoulder and said “breath guijarrito” you let out a low exhale mixed with a chuckle, before looking at her again “I’m good tho, thanks for asking, its just some bureaucracy crap, don’t worry about it”, “vale, vale… but for real, if you ever want to talk or I don’t know not talk, and just be distracted I’m here ok?” she nodded at you, and the mood felt slighty heavier, so in hopes of lightening it you said “I mean I don’t have an ass like your to get lost looking at but I do believe I have some other desirable features” you said while jokingly flexing your arms, “callate” she said whilst playfully pushing you back, you lifted your arms in mock surrender “hey you were the one who said it first, I was actually quite surprised, for a second there I taught I was still dreaming… quien hubiera pensado que la reina seria tan picara”.

After that silence engulfed you once more, “I should go…” “yeah”, you both walked the whole 5 steps to the door, before you turned to look at Alexia again “good night” “Bon nuit”, Alexia expected you to turn back around and leave, but you didn’t instead you just looked at her for a second, as if assessing her, she didn’t know what exactly you were trying to find in her eyes but she also didn’t interrupt you or look away. After a couple more seconds you just gently shook your head and let a smirk appear on your face “un besito de buenas noches?” Alexia just laughed, god two seconds ago you were looking at her with such softness and now you were back to being cheeky, “no guijarrito, we’ve been over this before” you simply shrug “can’t blame a girl for trying” she waited for you to leave but once again you made no move to, in fact you stepped slightly closer to her looking at her lips before returning you gaze to her eyes “y si me eligen para los olympicos, ahí me das uno de felicitaciones?”, Alexia doesn’t know what possessed her body in that moment but she found her hand traveling up to your face and gently gripping your jaw, letting her thumb swipe over your cheek before moving in so her lips were ghosting over yours and softly saying

“ni de coña”.

A/N: sorry for the short chapter I just truly haven't had the chance to properly sit down and write, but I also didn't want to make you guys wait weeks for another part.

[auxilium25]

When did you get hot? pt.2

alexia x guijarro!reader

warnings: age gap, suggestive

part 1

5.8k

Alexia had left your dm on read, opting to ignore her impending demise until it was absolutely necessary. She wasn’t like this, she wasn’t a reckless person at all, in fact most people would describe her as annoyingly calculating, so what had happened in the span of a week that left her world spinning off its axis?

She didn’t know what exactly about you it was that enamored her, you were hot that was a fact, but alexia had tons of hot people hitting on her on a daily basis, and she didn’t have a single problem turning them down, she had learned long ago that with the fame that she now possessed random hookups and little flirts here and there were off the table, god forbid she ended up tangled in some girl's sheets one night to then wake up to half the world knowing about it, because the girl had decided to rant about it on tik tok. So it wasn’t that alexia lacked restraint, yes it had been a while since she had last fucked someone, having broken up with her girlfriend a month prior and having yet to bed someone else, but at her grown age of 30 she couldn’t really justify her indiscretions on being horny. So she quickly scratched that idea from her head, the truth was you were different, yeah yeah there’s the line that everyone says to justify their actions, but she truly meant it, you had caught her completely off guard. Usually when she met a younger player they looked at her with admiration and a bit of shyness, stumbling over their words and unable to look her in the eye, but it wasn't like that with you, instead when you looked at her, it was as if you grew more confident, like her being La Reina, was nothing to you, you meet her gaze head on, often forcing her to be the one to look away.

She wasn’t expecting that, Patri had always described you as a reserved child, often hiding behind her back to avoid social interactions, but that description seems eons away from the woman alexia had met, the one who openly flirted with her and unabashedly checked her out. So maybe it was your unexpected confidence that had short circuited her brain and caused her to make the worlds dumbest decision? Whatever it was it didn’t matter now, it was a onetime thing, a momentary complete shutdown off her rationality that led her to allow you to bed her that night, but that was over and she was now back to her functioning self again and it would never, and she meant ever, happen again.

But just because alexia decided to overlook your little night tryst didn’t mean you’d do the same. So five days later when it was time to report to Las Rozas for camp, alexia was shitting herself, you did say you wouldn’t tell anyone, but alexia didn’t really know you and had no idea if you’d actually keep your word or not.

She was one of the first to arrive, being team captain and all, going through the usual motions, talking to Montse, getting settled into her suite, catching up with the girls that where there and the others that had been arriving, if she was being honest her heart jolted a bit every time the main door opened and a new face walked in, awaiting your arrival anxiously. Finally, midafternoon you and Patri strolled in to the compound together, and you had literally taken alexia’s breath away. Had you gotten taller in the past couple of weeks?

Alexia didn’t know what she was expecting, hell she shouldn’t have been expecting anything at all, but it definitely wasn’t you strolling in wearing a pair of low rise jorts and a cropped Spain baby tee that clung to you like a second skin, alexia could see how the fabric hugged your bicep, how the sliver of space between the shirt and shorts showed the bottom of your abs, and your very prominent v-line, your thighs where covered but alexia could see the rest of your legs, the definition in your calves, wait? what the actual fuck was she thinking right now, thirsting over someone calves..., but man were they good calves, alexia let her gaze drop to your feet, you where sporting a pair of clog Birkenstocks, this was good alexia hated those, they were an old person shoe, and she didn’t understand why people wore them, but when she looked at you wearing them all that went out the window, she taught they complemented your outfit perfectly. Man was she fucked.

After spending god knows how long trailing her eyes over your body outfit, alexia finally looked back up to your face, some of the girls had approached you and your sister, and while Patri was animatedly telling them some story about your travel, you let your gaze drift over the group, looking straight at alexia, having caught her checking you out once again, and were now porting that stupid cocky little smirk from the last time this had happened. Once you’d locked eyes you simply raised an inquisitive brow at her. She was the one who told you it was a one and done, and know here she was, in the middle of the Las Rozas lobby, two seconds away from drool dropping from her mouth as she took in your appearance. She quickly tried to compose herself and made a hasty escape, citing that she had forgotten to clear something with Montse about tomorrows training. Yeah this camp was going to be fun for you.

A couple of hours had passed and everyone was now here and had finished settling into their rooms, Patri had asked for you two to be roomed together, so that she, in her words, could show you the ropes. You were a little annoyed to be honest, you didn’t need your big sister’s protection, you’d earned your spot to be here and you were going to soak up every opportunity. But you also knew she was only doing it to try and help, since it was your first time with the national team. Plus, she wanted everything to go perfectly, you’d missed out on the world cup for her, standing by her even though you were aching to represent your country at the maximum level, it had hurt her even more when Spain had won, you could have been a part of that team, but you choose to support her stance and not go until things actually changed. You didn’t hold that against her, it was your choice to not attend after all, but she still felt guilty about it.

You were currently having dinner with the squad, everyone catching up, telling stories about what they had done the couple of weeks they had off. Patri had pulled you to sit with the Barca girls, past and current. She was a little apprehensive thinking it might be hard for you to fit into their dynamic, they had known each other for so long and you had just gotten here, but that worry was quickly washed away the second you sat down and made a quick comment to Pina that no wonder she was small If she inly ate carbs, quickly causing the group to burst out laughing.

This was a version of you Patri didn’t know, well she did know but it was usually reserved for your family and close mates only, but it seemed that going abroad hadn’t just strengthen you as a player but also as a person, shedding your shy persona, and becoming this confident girl that like to banter. It suited you, she always knew you were awesome and funny and now the rest of the world could see it too. But what Patri didn’t like was the innuendos that were being thrown around the table, some even hinting at you doing some nonfamily friendly things with one of your teammates back in New York, “Cata cut it out, la peque no hace esas cosas” Cata just smirked at patri no way she actually taught you were still a virgin at your 21 years of age “venga patri, hasta vos sabes que la mini guijarro no es virgencita ya, solo mirala, como ha crecido eh, de lo más seguro todas las tias tienen que estar tirandosele encima alla, pidiendole que les susurre sucierias al oido en español” “That’s so not  true” she then turned to you “tell them peque” she said looking at you inquisitively now, you just averted your gaze, suddenly very interested in what your chicken looked like, but you couldn’t help the little tug at the corner of your mouth that gave you away. Pina as helpful as always quickly pointed it out to the whole table “she’s smirking, oh my god its true, la mini guijarro ya esta toda crecidita”, that elicited Mapi to wolf whistle and a couple others to start questioning you on your apparent sexcapades in the states, ohh fuck me you taught. Ok so in hindsight maybe Patri sitting you down with her crude friends that certainly had no boundaries was a terrible idea. Once the group noticed that every little comment they made enraged patri further they doubled down on their ministrations, talking at her instead of you now, patri ended up getting up abruptly from the table shoving her index fingers into her ears and loudly saying lalalalalala to drown out their comments, she continued that all the way to the door of the canteen briefly turning around to flip off the group that was bellied over with laughter.

After dinner, came initiation time, and seeing you were the only newbie this time around it meant you had to be embarrassed all by your lonesome, the girls all threw about crazy ideas, you heard prank calling your Gotham teammates, an interpretive dance, letting cata cut your hair, and a shit tone of other stupid ideas. Patri finally got them to go easy on you and settle on a simple performance, you’d chosen to sing Mr. Brightside, you didn’t have to be vocally talented to go on par with the song, and it also allowed you to spend half the time doing air guitar solos. Plus, it was pretty awesome to see Alexia looking like a deer caught in headlights when you sang the part of it was only a kiss, how did we end like this, it was only a kiss, it was only a kiss at her, you’d played it off singing other bits to the other girls, you’d even pulled Cata up, and reenacted the part of where he says and she’s touching his chest now, to patris’ utter dismay. All in all, your performance was a hit, with Vicky even chanting for an encore.

After a bit of laughter and slight teasing, the room had settled again, with the girls branching off to chill and chat in little groups, you were currently siting with Jana, Cata, Vicky and Pina, deciding whether or not you’d all play a board game, the civil talk had quickly escalated into a mini battle when Pina accused Vicky of always cheating in UNO, so while they were bickering you’d let your eyes wander across the room, in search for one person in particular, Alexia. When you’d come up empty handed a frown appeared on your face, you two hadn’t exchanged a single word since that night. You expected her to ignore your dm, but you didn’t think that the cold shoulder would transcend into camp. Your eyes quickly scanned the room again noticing that everyone but alexia was there so you took this as your opportunity to finally get her to talk to you, yeah you’d been here like 8 hours, but alexia had at least said hello to everyone else, so it wasn’t you being dramatic or anything going to look for her, it was just you wanting a proper welcome from your captain.

You’d excused yourself from the group saying you were just going to get something from your room and that you’d be back in a few. It had taken you a couple minutes to find her room, with you not being very familiar with the compounds layout and having to stop at each door to read the name plates, but when you finally found the door with the A. Putellas sign taped to it, all your aimless wandering had been worth it. You were about to knock on the door, when you remembered you had no clue if alexia was in her room or not, she could very well be in the middle of an important meeting right now, and you would just be an idiot knocking on the door of her empty room. You considered turning back around and heading back to the girls, but you’d already made it this far, worse case scenario you knocked, she wasn’t in the room and you went back to the lounge. So you gave in and knocked softly on the door, you didn’t receive an answer, so you knocked a little harder in case she was wearing headphones or something and couldn’t hear you the first time, yet no sound was made on the other side of the door, so you turned around, a little deflated, ready to head back to the common room. You had taken a couple of steps when you heard a door behind you open, you turned you find alexia wrapped in a soft white towel looking at the other side of the corridor in hopes to find who had knocked on her door, when she turned to look the other way she was surprised to see you walking towards her. Once you were face to face all you let out was “Hi”, she looked at you questioningly clutching her towel a little tighter “hola?” “ohh so you are able to speak to me” “Que?” she said clearly not paying attention to you, instead looking behind you to make sure no one else was witnessing this interaction “no I just taught that since you hadn’t uttered a single word towards me in the entire day, despite going out of your way to welcome everyone else, that maybe you’d lost the ability to communicate with me through words and it was now only going to be you undressing me with your eyes from afar” that caught her attention, you could literally hear her breath hitch when you’d finished your sentence. She quickly pulled you inside to make sure that you wouldn’t be seen or heard. “que coño dices?, estás loca diciendo esas cosas en el medio del pasillo donde cualquiera te puede escuchar”, she took a deep breath looking at you properly now “ taught we agreed we wouldn’t talk about that night”, you lean against the desk in her room crossing your arms over your chest “well to be exact I only said I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, not that I wouldn’t tease you about it, and secondly the eye undressing didn’t happen that night, well it did in part, but the one I was referencing a moment ago, was from this afternoon at arrivals”, alexia ran a hand down her face hoping that god would intervene and grant her peace before she killed you. “Look that’s enough y/n, I get the banter the morning after, you were still riding the evenings high, but it’s over now, so be a big girl and let the dust settle” that struck a nerve, you hated when people used your age against you “yeah well I’m not the one who can’t even be civil, you’re the team captain for fucks sake and you couldn’t even talk to the newbie on her first day” you pushed back.

You were at an impasse now, locked in a staring match with the catalan woman, neither of you willing to budge just yet. Alexia being the more mature of the pair relented first “ok fine, ignoring you wasn’t the right move on my part, but you can’t blame me for it, you literally referenced our indiscretions the moment you opened your mouth to speak with me” she says shifting the blame back to you before remembering that she had opened her mouth with the intent to somehow settle this “but I’m sorry about it anyways” “I’m sorry too” you say meekly while looking at the floor, this hadn’t gone the way you’d imagined it would, although Alexia having no clothes on already was a nice surprise, and you were at a lost as to how to proceed at the moment.

After a beat of silence, you’d looked at her again eyes trailing upwards from her feet, remembering that this whole interaction was happening whilst she was wrapped in a towel, body still damp from her shower. When your gaze finally settled on her face again she just raised an inquisitive eyebrow at you sporting an are you serious right now expression, you calmly just shrugged your shoulders, pushing off of the desk averting your gaze for second before settling back on her with a tiny smirk on your face “so are you gonna do it?”, alexia was once again confused by your question “huh, do what?”, you shrugged again taking a couple steps towards her, not so close to crowd her, but close enough to make Alexia’s head spin, she instinctively gripped her towel a little tighter, suddenly remembering she wasn’t dressed and the only thing covering her body was that small white fluffy piece of fabric. You let your gaze drop once again, looking at her exposed neck and broad shoulders, there was a single droplet of water currently making its way down the expanse of her skin, you followed it with your eyes as it trailed from the top of her jugular all the way down to her sternum until it was covered by the towel as it presumably made its way down through the valley of her breast. Never in your life had you wanted to be a water droplet more.

Alexia noticing where your gaze had fallen pulled the cloth a little tighter against herself and cleared her throat pulling you out of your lust filled daze. Any normal person would have been embarrassed to have been caught staring, especially if the subject on which you had poised your gaze upon was your current captain, way older than you and one of your sister’s closest friends. But you weren’t like everyone else, in fact you looked almost proud? alexia noted, looking straight into her eyes and sporting a cheeky little smile, and she hated that it turned her on.  

Thankfully you decided to continue your previous conversation, allowing alexia to focus on something else that wasn’t how good you looked. “Are you going to give me a proper welcome capi?”, alexia rolled her eyes at you, no way you were still fixed on this, she was about to argue with you, when she decided to take the high ground and just give you what you wanted. So putting on her captain voice she said “Bienvenida al equipo y/n guijarro”, you nodded at her before responding “Gracias… but if I do recall correctly everyone else did also receive a hug when they were welcomed” you took two more steps towards effectively crowding her now, “I’m not giving you a hug” she responded immediately steeping back to try and put some space between you, but you were nothing if not determined so you continued walking towards her until the back of her legs hit her bed. You pouted at her once again, damn you and your stupid pouty lips and puppy eyes that made something in alexia’s chest, and between her thighs, flutter. “But that’s not right Capi, with this your just incentivizing unfair treatment inside the squad” you opened your arms and made grabby hands at her “I’m naked y/n” “I don’t mind, actually I thinks it’s better this way, allows us to be closer” you moved towards her again but were quickly stopped by her firm hand on your chest “te dije que no ya”, you relented, you knew if you kept pushing this it would only end badly for you so you decided to take another approach. “ok so if I can’t get a hug, could I get something else for my welcome?” she looked at you unsurely, what the hell was alexia doing, she should have sent you back the second you appeared at her door for fucks sake, this wasn’t good, she was basically naked, standing so close to you that you were almost sharing the same air. Alexia knew what she should do now send you away finish her night routine and try and forget this encounter, and all the others she had with you, happened. But that’s not what she did. How was it that every time she was near you all her rationality went out the window? “what do you want instead?”, ok so that was so not the right thing to say, your eyes took on this mischievous glint, the second you heard her reply. “Well…” you started stopping for a moment to feign as if you were actually taking your time to think of an option, “I could settle for a kiss” taking a small step towards her again, “no way… I just told I wouldn’t give you a hug what makes you think I’d give you a kiss” you shrugged again, alexia was really starting to hate this whole nonchalant thing you had going on, “You’ve done it before”. That brought alexia back to her senses quickly stepping aside to create some space between you, trying to regain her composure “ok we’re done here, you need to go now”, so you’re not at the joking about it stage yet, noted.

“Wait, look I’m sorry I swear I won’t mention it again, scouts honor” you said trying to look as sincere as possible while doing the little scouts promise hand gesture thing, it was the wrong hand, but you weren’t a scout and you weren’t really planning on keeping that promise anyways. “You still need to leave” alexia said not budging, “ok how about this as a compromise, you give me a little welcome peck and I’ll go” “no” “yes” “no y/n”, “ok how about instead of a kiss on the lips a cheek kiss, like the ones our abuelas give us to say hello”, Alexia looked at you unsure, playing this game with you wasn’t good, but she needed you out of this room and this was as close as she was going to get to reasoning with you “fine, but you have to keep your hands to yourself” “sure” you said whilst putting your hands behind your back in a show of good faith. Alexia took a few steps toward you, making sure her towel was secure before leaning in to plant a kiss on your cheek, however you swiftly turned your head to the side, looking to get a proper kiss instead, but alexia fast reflexes interrupted your plan, she stopped herself millimeters away from for your lips, you could literally feel her breath on your face. She quickly pulled away creating space between you two “ok were done, out, now”, you chased after her, hands reaching out to try and hold her “no come on look I’m sorry I promise I won’t try it again, just give me another chance” you pleaded with her even holding out your pinky so she knew you were for real. “No moving, no chasing for more, a little cheek kiss and then you’re are out of here, understood”, you nodded at her, before returning your hands behind your back and standing completely still. Alexia went towards you again, this time gripping your jaw so that you couldn’t turn your head even if you tried. She then pressed her lips softly to your cheek, it was a modest kiss, simple, quick, but it left the room charged with this underlying tension. She slowly removed her hand from your jaw and stepped away. You turned to look at her and time seemed to stand still for a moment, that was until there was a gentle knock on the door “Ale estas ahi?” Irene said, bringing both of you back to reality, alexia was the first to take note of how the situation looked, you were in her room, had been for about 15 minutes or so, while she was naked bar the towel covering her, and your pupils were wide, and she could only presume her would be the same. She could not let Irene see you two like this, so she sprang into action “si, ya voy” she shouted back, whilst franticly looking around to see where she’d hide you, with limited options at her disposal she settled on hiding you behind the bed motioning you to stay quiet.  

She walked to the door and tried to look as composed as possible when she opened it “Que paso?”, Irene took in alexia’s appearance noticing that she seemed a bit flushed but decided not to comment on it, she did not want to know what alexia was getting up to in the shower. “Montse wants to speak to us about something, and she asked me to come get you, but if your occupied I can ask her if it can wait” “no no, I just finished my shower anyways, just give me a second to get changed ok?” “ok I’ll wait for you out here so we can go together” “vale” alexia said while gently shutting the door and turning back around, she walked back to where she had left you to find you holding one of her thongs and raising your brow at her, it wasn’t a sports thong by any means, it had an intricate lace pattern for fucks sake. “madre mía, quien pensaría que estas son las braguitas que se pone la reina”, ok so maybe leaving you right next to her opened half unpacked suitcase wasn’t the best idea. She ignored your comment completely, taking her underwear from your hands and tossing them back into her suitcase before pulling you upright, “Irene me está esperando afuera, me voy a cambiar rápido y me voy con ella, cuando salga espera unos minutos y después vete de la habitación sin que nadie te vea” She didn’t even wait for your answer, she just picked out a change of clothes from beside you and went into the bathroom to change. She was done rather quickly not wanting make Irene wait around a lot, when she finished she stepped out of the bathroom and went straight out the door, leaving without sparing you another glance. You spent a couple minutes in her room, looking around to kill the time and snooping a little. When sufficient time had passed you left her room, making sure that there was no one in the hallway before exiting. You went back to the lounge and made up some bullshit excuse about losing track of time after you had opened tik tok to check something one of your friends had sent you. You didn’t really know if they bought it or not, but either way you didn’t care, it’s not like they would ever jump to the conclusion that you had gone to Alexia’s room to flirt with her. You settled back in and watched as Vicky exchanged a card with Jana under the table so that they could get Pina to draw 4.

It was around 12 now and everyone had gone back to their respective rooms, you had an early training session, followed by gym and then media. You were currently lying on your bed starring up at the ceiling, with a thousand thoughts running through your head, what if you weren’t good enough? what if the only reason you were here was because your last name was guijarro? sure you had been pretty good the past couple of seasons in the nwsl, but here being pretty good wasn’t enough, here you were expected to be great, you were surrounded by world class talent, you couldn’t be subpar. What if you sucked at training tomorrow? these girls had played with each other for years, they had their own style and connection and what if you couldn’t adapt to it, sure you had made some buddies off the field but on the pitch it was different, the barca girls didn’t even have to talk much anymore they just knew where the others would be purely on instinct. What if you were slow, mistimed passes, your touches were to heavy or missed clear shots?, would everyone realize that you didn’t have what it takes to be here?, would they all whisper behind your back that if you didn’t have the last name guijarro you wouldn’t be here…

You were pulled out of your self-deprecating cycle by your sister’s soft voice “y/n estas despierta?”, you turned sidewise to look at her “Si, que paso?”, she copied your actions turning towards you as well “en que piensas?”, you weren’t really an open book especially with feelings, much preferring to bottle it up and let it out later while kicking a ball, but you older sister knew you, she knew your tells, how’d you retreat into your own head and let your thoughts consume you, you always saw the small flaws you committed and hyper fixated on them. You put this immense amount of pressure on your shoulders always demanding perfection from yourself. “its nothing” you deflected quickly but patri wasn’t having that “I know you y/n, I know that right now your getting stuck in your head, so tell me what your thinking about so that I can help you”, “I’m just thinking about tomorrow” with that patri finally understood, you had settled in so well that she had kind of forgotten that this was the first time you were here “oh.. you know you’re going to be amazing right, you’ve smashed it all season, plus you are in way better form than most of us who stopped playing about a month ago” you shrugged, even though it was too dark for her to see you, “plus if you’re having a hard time, Salma stands with her legs to open when she has to defend on the counter, so you can easily nut meg her, and you can out jump more than half the squad so you’re going to dominate corners, you’ll be the third best player out there no doubt” “only third?” you’d asked, “obviously, alexia’s first and I’m second, you may be good mini me, but I’ll always be better” you threw a pillow at her whilst she laughed at you, so much for modesty.

After calming your laughter you’d both settled again and the room had now become silent, you were just about to wish her goodnight when she spoke up again. “y/n?” “yes patri” “is it true?” you paused not knowing what she was referring to “what?” she paused for a second slightly embarrassed about the what she was going to ask, she cleared her throat and as level and monotone as possible she said “What cata said?, you know about you and the girls”, you were beat red, this was so not happening “patri, we don’t…, that’s not… I don’t wanna talk about this” that made patri sit up abruptly on her bed “peque!! you’re… you’re too young for that” you groaned loudly,  your big sister talking to you about your sex life was mortifying , “I’m 21 patricia, and I know for a fact you did it way younger than me”;  “uhm first of all you have no way of knowing that, and secondly its different, your la peque”, “just forget about it patri, and by the way we shared a wall back home and it was quite thin so yes I do know”, it was patris turn to blush, you turned to face away from her hoping that this would be the end of it and that you two could forget this conversation even happened. But she couldn’t let it rest “I just have to tell you one more thing” “por favor no” “look sex…” she started tentatively as you curled further into yourself covering your face with your pillow “it’s fun, great even, but… but it also has risks, you have to be careful who you chose to do that with…” this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real, you repeated in your head trying to drown her out “despite some people thinking it doesn’t matter it does, you bare yourself completely to someone and they do the same to you, so you can’t… it isn’t something you do just cause your… excited okay..., plus you also can’t do it with just anybody, not only because it intimate, but you don’t know what they’ve been up to, and you could end up with…” you pulled the pillow off of yourself and told her “callate ya por favor, I get it ok, I don’t need you to give me the safe sex talk, so please just drop it and go to bed”. “ok ok I’ll shut up now” she said settling back down onto her bed “just one last thing” you groaned again “you can’t do it with any of my friends or people I know ok?, that means teammates here and at barca”; “fine sure whatever” you said hoping that this would be the end, but of course it wasn’t “just one more thing…” you cut her off needing this whole encounter to end “goodnight patri”, “ok ok fine goodnight y/n”.

Thankfully that was the end of it, and patri went to sleep shortly after, but you couldn’t you were in your head again, but you weren’t thinking about training this time, instead you were thinking about a particular older catalan woman. What would your sister do if she found out you’d already gone and slept with one her of closest friends? You knew you were playing a very dangerous game but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, maybe if you hadn’t gotten a taste you could forget about her, but you had and now you couldn’t wait to do it again. You were about to try and force yourself to sleep, when your phone buzzed beside you, it seems alexia finally found out what you had taken from her room after she had left.

Tomorrow was definitely going to be interesting. part 3

[auxilium25]

When did you get hot?

alexia x guijarro!reader

warnings: mdni, smut 18+, age gap.

7.5k+ This was bad, no this was worse than bad, this was terrible, horrifying, abysmal, and any other adjective you could use to describe the epitome of bad. Alexia knew she shouldn't be here, and she certainly shouldn't be here naked, wrapped up in the arms of Patri Guijarro's baby sister after having spent the night, and early hours of the morning, defiling each other yes, defiling, because that is the only word that can be used to describe the sinful things she had done with you throughout the evening.

Alexia was fucked, well and truly fucked, how in hell had she gotten here was beyond her, but now all she could do was try and make sure nobody found out about her little escapade with you. She'd unwrapped herself from your arms, put on a shirt she had found by the foot of the bed, and then gently pushed your shoulders to try and wake you up, she then repeated the action not so gently after you didn't even stir the first time. "que pasa?". Fuck your groggy voice was hot, but Alexia couldn't dwell on that, she needed you to put on your clothes and get the fuck out of her room before anyone found out.

“tienes que vestirte e irte rapido a tu habitación antes que se despierten las chicas” she told you while quickly gathering your clothes that were thrown about the room. "Vale, vale, solo dame cinco minutos para levantarme” you said while closing your eyes again, not having understood a single word she uttered. Alexia quickly pulled you upright not letting you go back to sleep, "No, you have to get out of here right now, and you have to make sure no one sees you leaving my room". You were barely awake but you could sense the panic in Alexia's voice, so you started lazily putting your clothes from last night back on. “why do you want me out of here so quickly, scared what your teammates will say when they find out that their Capi se follo a la mini Guijarro”. Alexia's eyes basically double in size at your comment “Callate, nadie se puede, ni se va a enterar que esto ocurrio, you’re going to keep this to yourself and we are going to act like it never happened” She said while pushing you to the door. You put your hand to your chest in faux appalment "I have to say I'm a little hurt ale, I taught we had quite the night together, it definitely seemed like you enjoyed it quite a bit, especially when I had my fingers buried in you coaxing a third orgasm out of you, with you nails clawing at my back while you desperately canted your hips, in fact I specifically remember you saying something along the lines of" you mockingly clear your throat and put on your best breathy Alexia impression “mierda y/n, así, así mismo, no pares, no te atrevas a parar, que me voy a…” Alexia clamped her hand down hard on your mouth to shut you up, “ni te atrevas a terminar esa oración” you simply stared into her eyes and slowly rolled your tongue against her hand. She pulled her hand off your mouth and quickly wiped it on your pants “This isn’t a game y/n, I mean it, no one and I mean no one can find out this ever happened, Patri and I are teammates, scratch that co-captains, and more so we’re friends she’d go ballistic if she found out what we did…”

You decided to be nice and put her out of her misery, instead of continuing to tease her, “Calmate Ale, no tienes nada por que preocuparte, I’m not one to kiss and tell, or in our case fuck and tell” Alexia rolled her eyes at you and reassumed her task of pushing you out the door, she paused for a second moving you aside, to open the door and check that the coast was clear, once she was sure no one was in the hallway she turned back to you. “Come on, there’s no one out there, so go quickly”, you just lazily smirked at her making no move to leave. “What no goodbye kiss or anything, I mean I did make you cum like 4 times last night, and now you won’t even give me a little peck for the road” Alexia looked at you unimpressed, this couldn’t be what her life was right now “Enough with the games y/n, come on, the girls will start getting up soon and you need to be out of here before that happens”, you pouted at her, you actually had a pout on your face right now while looking at alexia “venga, dame un besito de despedida, aunque sea uno pequeñito por fa” Oh fuck me alexia taught, this couldn’t be real, she couldn’t have her friends little sister in her room at 5 am, asking her for a goodbye kiss, this all had to be a surreal dream, or an alternate reality, because no way, the Alexia Putellas, two time Ballon D’or champion, captain of Barca and overall Queen of football was being coerced into a goodbye kiss by a girl almost ten years younger than her. She looked back at you, noting your seriousness and relented, she didn’t have the time to be arguing with you right now, she put her hands on your shoulders and gave you a little peck, but as the saying goes give someone an inch and they’ll take a mile, you quickly chased after her lips recapturing them to give her a proper smooch, when Alexia felt you trying to push your tongue in her mouth she finally came back to her senses and pushed you away. “Okay, vale ya tienes tu beso, ahora fuera”, she said while reopening the door. “you really know how to charm a girl ey putellas”, despite your teasing comment you complied and walked off, heading back to the room you were actually supposed to spend the night in, quickly pulling the covers off and going straight back to sleep, what could you say, you were tired, you’d been very attentive lover last night and it had left you thoroughly exhausted.

However, back in her room sleep alluded alexia, she was tired and she still had about an hour before she absolutely had to be up, but her mind was processing about a thousand thoughts at the moment, how could she have been so stupid, out of all the people in the world to spend a wild night with it had to have been you, you were off limits, forbidden fruit if you will, and alexia had devoured you whole, or well mostly the other way around, but those details didn’t matter, what matter was that this shouldn’t have happened, you’re patri’s baby sister for fucks sake, la peque de la familia guijarro that had gone abroad to develop and was flourishing in the states, the one she always talked about with so much pride and love, the one she had explicitly told everyone to keep their hands off of. So if alexia knew and understood all these things, how the hell had she gotten here, she could blame it all on the high of winning the champions league and securing their first quadruple, on making her triumphant return after a tuff year and relapses with her injury, on riding the high of having scored the goal that sealed their 2-0 victory against Lyon, and on all the alcohol that was consumed to aid in their celebrations of this triumphant season. But she knew deep down that this, whatever it was that you two had, started out long before the alcohol started flowing.

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You’d flown in a couple of days before the champions league final, you actually wanted to be there for the Copa de la Reina final but with the NWSL season in full swing it was even a miracle you were in Spain right now, the club didn’t want you to go and miss out on this week’s match, but after a terrible call from the ref got you awarded a red card, they relented. And you were estatic, you wouldn’t ever purposely get a red card and put your team in jeopardy, but you weren’t all that mad about the idiotic call because it meant you could finally see your sister play in a champions league final, and you could go back to Spain even if it was for two seconds. It had been almost three years since you stepped foot in spain, with the American league being so different from the Spanish one and having refused to be part of national camps, out of solidarity to your sister and las 15, even if it did leave you with the bitter taste of missing out on being world champ, you haven’t had the chance to come home, so to say you were excited to be back was an understatement. You didn’t tell Patri you were coming, the las time you spoke you’d told her the club didn’t want you to miss training and was therefore not allowing you to go see her play, so when you casually appeared outside of Ciutat Esportiva casually leaning your tall frame against her car looking like the picture of relaxation it shocked her, so much so she stood frozen with her mouth agape for a solid minute only being brought back to reality after you let out one of your characteristically teasing comments “se te va a llenar la boca de moscas hermana si no la cierras sabes”, that snapped her back to reality and she sprinted off towards you and gave you a massive hug, basically barreling into you. “que coño haces aquí”, “bueno no es todos los días que tu hermana mayor tiene la oportunidad de ganarse un cuadruplete”. Patri just stared at you trying to process if this was real or her imagination, had she died in the middle of training and this was what her heaven montage was. Once she finally regained her senses she said “But you said you couldn’t come, that the club wouldn’t let you…”, “yeah I kinda lied about that, sorry, but in my defense it was for a good reason, surprising you was way better than me telling you over the phone”. “You know I should be mad at you for letting me be all sad and mopey that you wouldn’t be there this year either, but I’m to excited to care right now, come here peque” she said while pulling you down to hug her again, “ok so tell me everything, who have you seen, do mom and dad know, do you have plans here in the city, you have to come to the last training with me tomorrow so we can spend the whole day together before I leave for Bilbao”.

While the whole surprise happened, you caught Patri up on what you had done in the little time you had been in Spain and what your plans were before you headed down to Bilbao with your family, a small group of barca player had gathered in the car park and were watching you. “Quien es ella?” Vicky asked, “That’s y/n, patri’s little sister the one she’s always talking about, she has a picture with her in her locker from when they were both at la masia” Irene responded, “no way, that’s the little kid in that picture, she looks, she’s so” Mapi was at a loss for words, the kid in that picture was a baby, with braces and a shirt two sizes too big, “she’s hot now” Cata said, stating it as a fact, without an ounce of shame, like she wasn’t talking about a teammates sibling being fit. Irene gave her a playful nudge “Que no te escuche la patri, que te mata, esa chica ama a su hermana más que cualquier otra cosa en el mundo, se llega a enterar que andas diciendo que esta guapa ahora y nos quedamos sin portera para la final”. Through this whole encounter Alexia was still, standing quietly at the back of the group just observing you as you casually talked with your sister, the way your arms flexed when you crossed them, the sliver of your exposed torso from which she could see a hint of your abs and your legs that seem to go on for days. When she finally remembers where she was and who she was looking at she quickly pulled her gaze up, but to her utter embarrassment when she returned to look at your face, your eyes where already on her, and you were sporting a little smirk, clearly having caught her checking you out, and you looked kinda proud about it?.

You weren’t unaware of the changes to your body that had happened while living in New York, you’d grown quite a bit standing at 5 feet 10 inches, almost 6 feet on a good day, you’d also gotten stronger, your muscle’s were defined while still maintaining your lean figure, your skin a was nice and golden, and most importantly you’d gotten those god awful braces off, and were back to sporting your pearly whites. Long story short you’d had quite the glow up and you were more than happy to reap the benefits of this new look, you weren’t exactly a player, but you also weren’t tied down to anyone and weren’t afraid to have fun. You’d always known you were into girls, but in Spain you hadn’t experienced much so as any horny teenager who’d just realized they were hot and were living on their own miles away from their parents would do, you started experimenting, learnt what you like and disliked, and how to make sure your partners had a good night as well. And somewhere along that time you’d also gotten confident, long gone was the girl who shied away from everything and in was this woman who knew who and what she wanted and was always going to go after it. You of course didn’t tell any of this to your sister tho, she’d flip, you’d hinted at it, told her about a girlfriend here and there, but patri, was quick to stir the topic away, she wasn’t a prude, not by any means, but this was her baby sister, and to her that meant you would always be pure.

When Patri was sufficed with the details you had shared of your plans for this short stay, she suddenly remembered where she was, looking around and spotting the team still lurking in a group on the other end of the car park, she quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you towards them so that she could properly introduce you. “Chicas esta es mi hermana y/n, but you can call her la peque”, “Uhm, no you cannot call me la peque, and honestly neither can you patri anymore I’m taller than you no”, “sure, sure, you could be 9 feet tall you’d still be la peque” You’d rolled your eyes at her, but relented this wasn’t a fight you’d win, not now nor ever, so you turned back to the group with a smile, “Oh by the way, I asked y/n to come to our last training tomorrow, there’s no problem with her being there right Capi” It took Alexia’s brain a second to register it was her the question was addressed to, because she was once again busy staring at you, damn you looked better from up close, you had a couple of freckles on your face she couldn’t notice from afar, you had a very defined facial features and your eyes had this shimmer to them making them look almost hazel, when did you get so hot?. Once Alexia recognized patri was waiting for an answer she quickly composed herself and tried to piece together what the girl had asked her while she was busy staring at her incredibly fit little sister, “ehh por mí no hay problema, pero tienes que pedirle permiso a Jonathan y ver que te dice” “Ok ok, deja que voy y le pregunto rápido ahora” she then turned to face you and said “Stay with the girls while I go ask him, I’ll be back soon” she placed a quick kiss on your cheek and rushed inside. You turned back to the girls and got to know them a little, they introduce themselves, even if it wasn’t needed, and made small talk, them asking you about the life in the states and the NWSL, you about playing for the best club in the world. This went on for a bit, until the girls started saying their goodbyes, needing to head home and rest after the hard training session. After a couple minutes it was only you and Alexia left, patri had been gone for a while, no doubt begging Jonathan to let you be at training tomorrow, and it was a bit awkward the girl hadn’t uttered a single word to you while the others where there, and you were now standing awkwardly in front of each other, you wondered why she hadn’t gone back home with the rest of the girls, after a couple more seconds of this dreadfully awkward silence you not so subtlety cleared your throat, causing her eyes to snap up and bore into yours. “I’m Alexia” she said a bit stiff while holding out her hand to you, you took it and shook it softly letting out a small laugh “Yeah I know, your names kind of hard to miss, especially in the world of women’s football, La Reina”, that earned you a small huff, that if you squinted could be counted as a laugh, “don’t call me that please, it’s so embarrassing” she said while lowering her head sheepishly and while a small crimson blush spread across her face. you stepped closer then knocking you shoulder into hers “come on, no way that all it takes to make the Alexia Putellas go all shy is to utter a little nickname” “hey, leave me alone ok, you have to admit it’s a little weird, imagine everyone calling you the queen, how would you feel then”, “I don’t know, I think it would feel pretty damn good, having crowds of thousands of people chant my name, having them call me su Reina...” you take a second and hold her gaze before dropping your voice an octave “and it’s also pretty hot”. That single sentence short circuits alexia’s entire system, this is so not how she taught this was going, usually when she meets younger players they look at her like she holds the moon, she’s their idol, the person they look up to, you however are currently donning and expression very different from that, shamelessly checking her out, you did want to look up to her, but physically while you were down on your knees worshipping her with your mouth.

Alexia was frozen, literally frozen, her mind had shut off mid taught after what you had said. Thankfully she was pulled out of her near catatonic state, by patri coming back out into the car park and yelling at you “Ya hable con Jonathan y puedes quedarte mañana en el entreno hermanita”, she said while draping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you into her side. She stopped for a second to assess the situation, you and ale here alone, ale looking like a deer caught in headlights and you with a subtle smirk on your face. “Todo bien Ale” you sister asked, “sí, sí, como no, solo aquí escuchando de la vida de tu hermana allá en los estados unidos y eso”. Alexia responded rather stiffly, Patri threw another cautious gaze between you trying and failing to figure out what was going on, before giving up and turning back to you “Ok come on, we have a lot to catch up on, let’s get home” she pulled you toward the car without waiting for an answer, only looking briefly to say goodbye to alexia “Bye alexia, nos vemos mañana”. Alexia quickly said goodbye back and climbed into her cupra, to head back to her own home. The interaction between you two was weird, people flirted with alexia all the time, but alexia didn’t even know if she could label this as you flirting, you did check her out, but maybe that was just in response to having caught her staring at you before, like getting even while looking the same way, and the whole the la reina being hot, was probably you talking if it was directed at you, whatever it was, it was just a small moment, a nothing, and it wasn’t going to happen again anyway. Or so she taught.

Training the next day was grueling, Lyon where the team to beat and basically barcas biggest rivals, so the preparation for the final was intense to say the least, losing wasn’t an option, so they trained to their limits preparing for the worst, to be ready for anything Lyon may throw at them. Throughout the whole training session alexia was focused, calling out to players to fix their positions, to read better the runs, to pass better, ordering perfection from the team, never relenting, and it honestly had you mesmerized, this was what you wanted to play and compete at the highest level alongside the best in the world. You really wanted to come back to barca in reality youd only left because at la masia the name Guijarro felt too heavy, it had already been claimed by your sister and the only thing it was doing for you was suffocating you, everyone wanted you to be as good as her, but you were just a nubile kid, wanting to play the sport she loved cause it was fun. You don’t regret going abroad it made you who you are, but you do wonder how different life would be if you’d stuck it out, would you be here training with this team to compete in another champions league final, would you have been loaned out to other clubs anyways to develop or would you have crashed and burned and never made it out of the youth teams. Once you felt yourself going down that all too familiar spiral, you pushed these thoughts to the back of your mind, refocusing on the five aside game that was currently unfolding. A few hours later training finally wrapped up, and the players went to go shower and change, you’d headed inside as well, and just looked around at Cuitat Sportiva, wandering aimlessly, waiting for patri to text you she was done. Instead of the I’m ready message you were waiting to received, what had been sent was a message explaining that it would take a little longer because Jonathan was going over some extra stuff for the trip, the game and all that, and he had told patri to have her left ankle checked out after he saw her land awkwardly on it in training. Noting it would at least be 45 minutes before you left, you headed back to the field to just relax on the pitch for a bit, when you got there was a staff member still picking up the cones and everything else they had used for training, you offered to help her chatting with her for a bit, well chatting is a bit of an understatement, you were flirting, but hey you had time to kill and she was truly quite pretty.

 You ended up exchanging snaps and you convinced her to leave you with a bag of balls to kill the time while you waited for your sister, you took your trainers and socks off, much preferring to feel the grass directly on your feet. You don’t know how long exactly it was but after sometime Alexia ended up back on the field, stopping dead in her tracks once she saw you, with your jeans rolled up kicking the ball into the upper right corner of the net. When you felt eyes on you turned to look who they belong to, you were honestly about 90% sure it was going to be the girl from early, but to your surprise, and pleasure, it Alexia, freshly showered. “You just gonna stare or are you going to join?”. That brought Alexia back to reality, she really needed to get a grip she couldn’t be spacing our every time she saw you, she stepped onto the field and started walking towards you. “Hey”, “Hey back, hope I’m not disrupting your kingdom reina” “Come on, I taught you calling me this was over” “I quite like it, but ill ease up on it for a bit, can’t have you getting all flustered again and losing concentration before the big game now can I? the team and the fans would have my head for distracting their capi” you say playfully knocking you shoulder into hers, when you had gotten so close to each other she had no clue. “what brings you back out her ale?” you ask after a beat of silence, “shouldn’t I be the one asking that seeing that this is my kingdom”, “what happened to you wanting me to let that go?, and I’m just waiting for patri to finish up, just taught id kill the time while doing something a little more productive than sitting in this scorching heat, now your turn why you out here again”, she looks at you debating whether or not to tell you the truth, “it’s just something I like to do before a big game, I come back here and stand in the field for a bit, just me in the grass, no expectations, no whistles, no anything, just the same old pitch and me”, “ohh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt your ritual I’ll go, so you can do your whole thing in peace” as you turn to leave you feel alexia’s hand grip your arm “it’s okay you don’t have to go, I’ll just keep you company while you wait for patri, and then do the pitch thing”, you turn to look at her “it’s really ok, I wouldn’t want to derail your schedule or anything, plus I don’t even play here so I have no claim on this pitch” you turn to leave again until you hear alexia say in her captains voice “it wasn’t a question guijarrito”, you turn back to her with your eyebrow raised in a questioning look “guijarrito?”, “yeah, so what, you can have a nickname for me and I can’t have one for you?”, “ok then so I’m now guijarrito I guess reina” you see the faint blush the name elicits but you decide not to comment on it right now, instead opting to push a ball towards her “come on take of your shoes, and will play a game of horse” “horse?”, you look at her incredulously no way she hadn’t heard of this, “ yeah it’s a game where you do a trick shot and I have to try and match it and I f I can’t I get a letter, loser is however spells horse first, come on its pretty simple I’ll show you along the way”.

Alexia got the hang of it rather quickly, which had you considering that you might have been hustled for a moment there, but even if you were currently one letter away from losing while alexia barely had an HO, you couldn’t care less, you’d been flirting with her throughout the whole game, grabbing at her hips to “adjust” her stance, making little comments here and there, you’d even gone as far as calling her mi reina, and then had a proper laugh at alexia went scarlet red, and it didn’t feel just one sided she was giving it back just as good as she was getting, you had some proper banter going on. Right now Alexia was currently trying to match the trick shot you’d just done, you’d hoped in a circle with the ball, then launched it up and scissor kicked it into the top bins. Everything was going quite well but Alexia might have overestimated the space between you when she was turning and ended up knocking into you sending you both to the ground, you landing flat on your back and her squarely on top of you, both of you stood still for a moment, faces so close you were basically sharing the same air, and when you finally gathered the courage to lean in a hand settling on the small of her back, Alexia did a full 180 on you jumping up and away from you, liked you’d burned her. She quickly turned away from you, hastily trying to regain her composure, what the fuck was she doing. You got up from the floor and reached for her, but she pulled away “Look I’m sorry ok, I clearly read this wrong” “Yeah you did” she said harshly cutting you off, a part of you wanted to comment on the wanted to comment that she had been clearly into it and even engaging in this 2 minutes ago, but you kept that to yourself, not wanting to make things worse. “Alexia, we can just forget about it okay, it didn’t happen, we’ve just been playing a simple game of horse nothing else, nothing more okay” she was quiet for a moment thinking about what to do “okay…” “okay then” you were just about to tell her she had earned herself and are when she said while looking anywhere but at you “I think its best if we pick these balls up and you head back inside with patri”, okay so it clearly wasn’t okay, “sure”.

You’d picked up the balls that were thrown about in a very very awkward silence, fuck, fuck, fuck, you taught to yourself, you really needed to learn patience, you got greedy and moved to fast and most likely ruined everything. You thank the lord when a voice pulls you both out of your head “ale, has visto a la hermana de patri, le ha escrito un monton de mensajes y ella no responde” Jana says while looking down at her phone, when she finally pulls her gaze away from the device and toward where she assumes alexia is alone on the pitch, she spots you both. “after hearing her words you hastily search for your phone, when you find it you open it to find out patri has been texting and calling you for the past 20 minutes. “Shit” you murmur before quickly calling patri telling her you’ll be at the car in two seconds and that you were sorry you didn’t see her calls and messages. You quickly sit down, and hastily put on your socks and shoes, you go to grab the bag of balls from alexia’s hand and your finger graze and booth of you freeze, great another awkward moment, you release your hand from the bag and tell her “I need to put that back, I promised the girl who lent it to me”, alexia shrugged saying that shed put it back stopping your complaining about it with one single question “do you even know where it goes…” she takes your silence as her answer “thought so”. You say goodbye to them booth wishing them safe travel and a good game and you’ll see them again in Bilbao, before quickly making your way to the car park and to your sister, you deflect her questions about why your late, if shed knwn you spent the better part of the last hour flirting with her captain shed have your heads.

The next three days passed in a blur and before you knew it, it was champions league final day, the tension and nerves where high all around, you’d called your sister early in the morning to wish her good look, to tell her you would be proud of her no matter what, and to go out there and give it her best, although you do tell her it would be quite quaint if you won with her there, but you know no pressure whatsoever. You got to the VIP family area early, you never really got to be here for your sister and you didn’t want to miss a thing, after a bit other people started filtering in, you didn’t know most, hell you didn’t know anyone that wasn’t your family to be honest, guess you really did miss a lot being abroad. Whilst everyone was chatting amongst each other having become familiar after sharing the same space dozens of times, you took the opportunity to go outside and take a breather, but as you went to leave the box you were stunned to see who you had come face to face with,  you don’t know how on heavens earth Alexia was here, well she could probably bend a lot of rules in her favor but this wasn’t a thing, at least not in the nwsl, players didn’t go to the box before the game, but then again not every player is Alexia Putellas. She had this look of extreme worry on her face and you could see her mind was going 100 miles a minute, you took her hand slowly and gently, giving her the chance to pull away if she wanted, when she didn’t you felt relief wash over you, maybe you hadn’t screwed it all up, “what’s wrong”, as if reality dawned on her in that moment she pulled back, talk about hot and cold, looking away from you before answering coldly “nothing’s wrong”, “okay whatever then”, you say stepping aside to go past her, she sighs and leans her body against the wall and admits in a low tone “I can’t do this” her voice comes out almost broken “what do you mean of course you can, your you”, she wipes at her face “no that’s the thing, I know I won’t even play most the game because of the stupid injury, but the second I step on the pitch everyone will be watching me, if a crumble they’ll tear me apart”, “then don’t crumble” you say “as if it’s that easy” “it is, look alexia we haven’t known each other for very  long, and too be honest I know nothing about you, but I’ve seem you play you’re magical, it’s like you bend the game to fit it to your will” she cuts you off “that was the old me, this me barely held it together for a season before relapsing with her injury, and if I go out there that’s all they’ll see that I’m nothing like the old me that I’m washed ” “this isn’t real, no way in hell is la reina calling herself washed, you literally made the game what it is alexia, yeah you had setbacks but you’ve pushed through, and I know for a fact then when you step on that pitch it’ll just come back to you if you let it, don’t play for anything other than yourself and let the football take over, and I promise you’ll be great, plus I wished on a lucky star las night for a putellas goal today, so it’s basically a done deal anyways” she chuckles at that “why not whish on patri”, “us guijarro girls don’t need shooting stars we make our own magic, plus I’m a sucker for making a pretty girl happy”, Alexia effectively ignores the comment about her being a pretty girl, and takes a second to breathe “Gracias…” “any time reina, any time”, “see you after the game guijarrito” “see you”.

After the game once the players have received their medals and the team has celebrated together they finally let you guys onto the pitch, you hug your sister so hard your mom actually thinks you might be restricting her airflow, you take pictures as a family with the trophy all of you sporting that proud guijarros grin, you stay with your sister after your parents go back up, per her request, congratulating her teammates on their win and just spending time with her on the pitch, the whole time your down there Alexia has someone by her side, be it family or a teammate, so when you finally see her alone you don’t waste your opportunity, and go over to talk to her, you of course congratulate her on her win and spectacular goal, teasing her that if she wanted you to see her with her shirt off that she should do it behind closed doors and not for the world to see. “you know you kinda owe me now” you say while kicking some of the confetti on the pitch “do I know” “mhm” “and what do I owe you for” “for my lucky star obviously, literally spent my maybe once in a lifetime wish on you today, so I’d say I’m owed a pretty big compensation” she gives me an unimpressed look although her mouth betrays her a bit as it tugs into a small smirk “and what were you thinking about getting in return” you shrug, checking your surroundings making sure there’s no one or nothing that can hear what you’re about to say, last thing you want is a camera picking up on your horny flirting with Alexia Putellas, when you’re sure no one around is paying attention you step closer and whisper to her “quiero saber que sonidos hace la reina cuando se corre”, that earns you a choked gasp from her, Alexia didn’t think you’d say anything appropriate but she also didn’t think you’d ask her about how she sound when she cums. As alexia’s brain is still trying to play catch up none other than your sister appears holding her phone to her mortified face, showing the world alexia post win trough an insta live, patri sings at alexia’s face, screaming at her that they’re campeonas, and somewhere along the way she remembers her media training and comes back to being a functional human being. After a bit patri’s attention drifts as she spots cata halfway drunk in the perfect state to go along with all her odd ball ideas so she pivots from alexia to her, buy to your uttermost dismay decides to take you with her, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you along, you turn your face to look back and you find alexia straining at you dumbfounded and you just check her out again and wink, before turning back and looking at your sister.

Alexia taught she had gotten through the hardest part of the temptation, you’d be busy with your sister and family, and shed be busy with hers as well. But rationality and alcohol never mixed, so here she was having spent the last 10 minutes looking at you dance with this random girl, grinding against each other, alexia could see your hands roaming her waist, face dipping down to her neck every so often to say something, and maybe just maybe leave little kisses here and there, and it was driving alexia mad, because even though your body was impossibly close to the girl, you were currently fucking alexia with your eyes. Under any other circumstance patri’d be going absolutely ballistic right about now, but it seems the world was conspiring in your favor, with her and well everyone at the party being absolutely drunk and in their own little bubbles, chasing after their own conquest of the night.

You don’t know exactly when or how it happened, thank god it did, but suddenly you found yourself pressing alexia into one of the wall of the elevator, making out sinfully, devouring her lips and neck with a reckless abandon that was more than likely going to leave a few imprints to remember you by. You vaguely remember alexia telling you to not suck so hard that she had to be presentable tomorrow but its seem like that plea was quickly thrown out the window. You somehow made it inside alexia’s room, and the second the door closed, clothes were flying off, you’d like to say you took your time to savor her as she deserved, but the alcohol in both of your systems made you to desperate for that, instead it was more of an act of primal desire, tearing at each other’s clothes with reckless abandon, nipping, kissing and biting at the vast expanse of skin that was soon available after that. The logistics of the rest of the night are a bit foggy on, you knew alexia’s first orgasm she got all on her own while recklessly grinding on your thigh, the second and third where brought by you fucking into her with your fingers, and the last came from you eating her out, you did try for a fifth but alexia pushed your head away because she was too sensitive, next time you thought, you’d get to five next time. At some point you remember going to the bathroom and getting a damp towel to clean her up a bit, you also brought her one of the waters so you could hydrate, shed lost a lot of fluids in a very short amount of time. A couple minutes later you both relaxed back into the damp sheets, already feeling the exertion of today’s activities, you’d be feeling this tomorrow, so would alexia, hell you think even the bed might still feel it tomorrow, but you couldn’t give less of a damn about the aches of your muscles in the very near future, all you cared about was being in that bed, right next to that beautiful woman.

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Alexia was brought back to reality with the blaring of her alarm, signaling that she had to get up, shower, get ready for the day and pack everything up in a matter of two hours so that she wouldn’t be late to the team bus, that would be waiting to take them to the trophy presentation. As she moved to get up she groaned, every muscle in her body ached, and she knew that this pain wasn’t caused by her time spent on the pitch, at a snail’s pace she made her way into the bathroom, she flicked on the light and the sight that reflected back at her from the mirror, was astonishing, to put it in a nice way, she had love bites all over her boobs and abdomen and a couple littered on her upper thighs, at least you’d been somewhat aware enough no to leave marks where she couldn’t hide them with clothes, but the cherry on top, was the distinct bite mark on her right ass check, as Alexia traced it she remembered how it came to be you and alexia were eating each other out, 69ing, and you were close, just about tumbling into the edge, moaning into alexia’s core, sending a vibrating sensation through her, the only problem was that your sounds weren’t trapped in the valley of her thighs, but instead where reverberating rather loudly around the room, “Se va a enterar medio España que estamos follando si no bajas el tono” she said it with a teasing lilt but you knew  a big part of her was really worried about being heard, so you tried you really tried, to just focus on her, and swallow your moans but when alexia sucked on you clit you were a goner, and your moans flowed freely “Alexia, alexia” you said breathlessly, “tienes que parar, joder para, que si sigues así me voy a venir y ahí si que se entera España entero”, alexia stopped, for a second but didn’t remove her head form between your thighs “y dejarte así toda mojada despues de que has sido tan buena conmigo amor” she said leaving little kisses on your inner thigh “I think you just need to have something occupying your mouth” she said whilst lowering her behind harder against your face “si no puedes controlar tus gritos muerdeme para callarlos, I know that whatever happens you'll find a way to make it up to me” and with that she dove straight back in, eating you out with even more fervor than before, you weren’t going to last long, the orgasm was basically already there and with alexia’s driven ministrations it wouldn’t take long for you to cum, so a few minutes later you were sinking your theeth into the flesh of her ass cheek to stifle your cries. Alexia was right and you did thoroughly make it up to her, givinh her her fourth and most powerful orgasm of the night, you wanted more but she was far too sensitive for that, so when she pushed you head away you simply changed direction, going to the bite to kiss and lick the area in order to soothe her.

As Alexia continued to trace the bite mark she remembered how you tried going further down in chase of worshipping her other hole, but last night wasn’t the night for that. what the hell was she saying??, last night was a one off stupid mistake that would never, could never happen again. Even if it was some of the best sex she’d had in her life. To try and shut up her mind alexia hoped into the shower taking her sweet time, and just letting the warm water run along her skin. She just had to survive 24 more hours with you, and then you’d be back in the sates, thousands of miles away, in a different continent, and this will be like a distant dream.

But that was wishful thinking, and that only came back to bite people in the ass. You had been the picture of professionalism at the presentation and you headed back to the states that same evening, swiftly ending any possible contact you and Alexia could have had. Time went by quick and before she knew it, a little under a month had passed since the “incident” and she felt like she was in the clear, the little mistake she committed swept under the rug and everyone was none the wiser. But fate couldn’t always be in her favor, and Alexia learnt that the hard way after seeing the names on Spain’s call up for the Olympics, it was the usual people Athenea, Cata, Misa, Olga, Pina, and then came the old/new addition Patri, and lastly in came yours y/n guijarro.

Alexia told herself this was fine, she had absolutely nothing to worry about… until she 5 hours later did, you had sent her a simple curt message that she knew meant trouble.

Little Edit-A/N:

Ok, so I wasn't actually expecting anybody to read this, let alone nearly 200 people, so I want to say thank you to all of you who read it, enjoyed it, and/or interacted with it, I’m truly astonished by how well it's done.

This is part of some old fanfic work I did two years ago that I brought back from the dead during the weekend after getting stuck thinking about this pair again while battling with my insomnia. I tell you guys this because there are other rough, and I mean very rough, drafts, that I could use to continue this story, so let me know if you guys would be interested in that?, and thanks again for reading. Part 2, part 3