Itz Itzel b*tch

Gay+Football=ME All 4 the girlz

[itzzzitzelll]

Itz Itzels Masterlist 🧡

hi please let me know if any of these aren't working! I've just started doing some headcannon/nsfw writing for some of the players and I can certainly do more little things like that too so please send in some requests!

@wosoluver and I have collaborated with most of the dirty A-Z headcannons. She's an incredible writer so go check out her other fics!

⚠️Update: some of these fics no longer exist as wosoluver unfortunately terminated her account. Very sorry for the confusion.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH ANY OF THE RED OR THE ❤️‍🔥 18+

Smut:❤️‍🔥 Angst:💣 Fluff:🌤

Dirty A-Z Headcannons:

(The link to all the letters meanings)

Kerstin Casparij

A,D,Z ❤️‍🔥

J,L ❤️‍🔥

Alexia Putellas

Y,I,E ❤️‍🔥

D,K ❤️‍🔥

Laura Friegang

O ❤️‍🔥

Misa Rodriguez

R ❤️‍🔥

Lena Obedorf

E ❤️‍🔥

Kika Nazareth

J,Y ❤️‍🔥

Georgia Stanway

S,O ❤️‍🔥

Niamh Charles

D,K,S ❤️‍🔥

[kananikoa1]

Thanks Celine for the banner.

YN’s day was already ruined before the boarding pass mix-up. But somehow, a frantic sprint through the airport leaves her sitting in first class on a private charter flight carrying the Arsenal and Barcelona first teams for a massive overseas exhibition. Surrounded by millionaire athletes, YN just wants to put her headphones in and survive the flight.

She doesn't realize she'll literally be fighting to survive.

When the plane is torn apart mid air and crashes on a remote, uncharted island, the rules of the real world disappear. Millions of dollars, global fame, and on pitch rivalries mean nothing in the jungle. As the survivors band together, YN finds herself caught between clashing egos, unexpected romances and realizing they're not as alone as she thought.

This is a Lost inspired AU

Please read this first

Deleted scenes part 1

Part 1 Turbulence

Part 2 Awakening

Part 3 What do we do now ?

Part 4 I didn't hear anything

Part 5 I see trees and more trees

Part 6 How hard could it be?

Part 7 When are we going to tell them?

Part 8 Its a nice night

Alexia Version

Leah Version

Alessia Version

Part 9 I feel so dirty in more ways than one

Part 10 Now will you stop arguing or do we have to put you in time out

Part 11 YN!!!!!!

Part 12 I almost died

Part 13 Someone was definitely here before us

Part 14 Reunion

Part 15 I'm okay I promise

Alexia Version

Leah Version

Alessia Version

Part 16 We can't hide it any longer

Part 17 You were offside

Part 18 Happy Birthday

Part 19 I wanted to give you something

Alexia Version

Leah Version

Alessia Version

Part 20 Paranoia

Part 21 Ransacked

Part 22 Storm

Part 23 Higher Ground

Part 24 Dreams 18+

Alexia Version

Leah Version

Alessia Version

Part 25 Clean up

Part 26 Who is she?

Part 27 Run

Part 28 We are in Danger

Part 29 Taken

Part 30 We have to fight back

Part 31 The Night Before

Alexia Version

Leah Version

Alessia Version

Part 32 Let's go back get them back

Part 33 Contact

Part 34 Try Me

Part 35 Oh Shut up

Part 36 The Last Night

Alexia Version

Leah Version

Alessia Version

Part 37 We are going home

Part 38 Our Return

Part 39 Saying Goodbye

Part 40 Epilogue

Alexia Version

Leah Version

Alessia Version

[helen-with-an-a]

Hi, my lovelies. So this is the final of these three suggestions and OMG they were so good I loved writing them all. I hope you enjoy. ( @2truthsand1lie I love ur brain and please send any more ideas my way if you would like)

Interruptions

Cata Coll x Reader

Description: You’re getting stressed and Cata thinks she has the perfect remedy

How would you describe Cata? Loud, silly, sweet, goofy, crazy, adorable. She laughed too loudly, spoke with her hands, tripped over nothing, and somehow managed to make even the most mundane moments feel like an event.

How would you describe yourself? Sensible, mature, kind, respectable, level-headed, nice. The kind of person who double-checked locks, remembered birthdays, and thought before speaking. You liked structure. You liked plans. You liked knowing where you stood, what came next, and how things were supposed to go.

How the two of you ended up together was anyone’s guess.

You had been best friends since your youth age group days. Back then, Cata had been the one sneaking sweets into your bag, tugging at your ponytail when you were trying to focus, inventing stupid games to pass the time. You’d been the one reminding her of schedules, making sure she ate properly, telling her to take things seriously for once.

Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, between injuries and recoveries, between late nights and early mornings, something shifted. The teasing lingered a little longer. The touches became more intentional. The laughter softened into something warmer, heavier, harder to ignore.

Even now, years later, it felt like a constant battle to remind yourself that you truly did love her annoying arse.

She knew exactly which button to push, exactly how to wind you up and get on your very last nerve, and she took a special kind of pride in it. It wasn’t accidental. It was calculated, precise, like she had an internal map of your patience levels and made it her personal mission to test their limits daily.

But at the end of the day, you loved her wholeheartedly.

You loved the way she filled every quiet space with noise, every serious moment with a joke, every heavy thought with something light and ridiculous. You loved how she danced around the kitchen while you cooked, how she sang off-key in the shower, how she narrated her own life like she was in some badly written sitcom.

She used her pranks and unserious nature to get you to loosen up, to let go of the little worries in your head and let you enjoy life a little more, even when you pretended to hate every second of it.

And Cata thoroughly, utterly, completely relished in the way your cheeks would redden, your eyebrow would raise, and your teeth would grind together as you tried, and failed, to keep your composure.

She lived for the moment you finally snapped, turning on her with mock outrage, often leaving a few hefty smacks to her arms or torso before you were both laughing your heads off, breathless and tangled, and she was kissing you deeply like it was her victory prize.

It appeared that tonight was one of those nights. It was a team bonding night, hosted by Alexia (as always); a mid-season game night that was usually tamer than some of the more… outlandish… celebratory nights out that could occur. There were no clubs, no music, no tequila shots lined up on some sticky bar counter. Just food, board games, and the vague promise of “relaxing.”

You and Alexia were clearly debating something, a frown etched onto your face as you took in the Catalan’s words. Cata noticed immediately. She always did. The narrowing of your eyes, the way your shoulders squared, the subtle biting of your lower lip like you were trying to hold something back. You were taking whatever Alexia was saying seriously. Too seriously, if Cata had anything to say about it.

“Oi,” Cata muttered, spinning around and whacking Patri in the arm.

“Ow,” Patri complained, rubbing the red mark Cata had left behind. “What the hell?”

“What’s Putellas saying to Y/N?” Cata demanded, jerking her head in your direction.

The two of them turned back to look at you, just in time to see you nod at something Alexia had said, pulling your phone out to type a note.

“How am I meant to know?” Patri said.

“‘Cos Ale has her Capitana face on and my girlfriend looks like she’s trying not to cry,” Cata shot back. “She better not be criticising her.”

There it was. That familiar protective surge, warm and sharp in Cata’s chest. She knew you. Knew how sensitive you were, how deeply you internalised feedback, even when it was constructive, even when it came from someone who cared about you as much as Alexia did.

“I dunno, chica,” Patri replied, a little too casually for Cata’s liking.

“Bullshit and you know it,” Cata cut her off, eyes still fixed on the back of Alexia’s head like she could will the conversation to stop. “Pere kept the captains behind to talk, and now Ale is using team bonding, where we are not supposed to talk about work, to talk about work. So, what is she saying?”

Patri sighed, rolling her eyes at the version of Cata that only came out when you were involved. “Pere mentioned we might be trying a new system and some new pairings in upcoming games. It’ll mean some adaptations. And it might be tricky for her, since she might not get that much game time for a few weeks.”

Cata whipped around to face her. “Fuckers,” she muttered, throwing her hands up in frustration.

Patri tried to explain it properly. Injuries, tactical adjustments, different styles for different opponents. All logical, all reasonable. But Cata wasn’t really listening anymore. Her mind had already wandered back to you.

She knew exactly what this would do to you. You always took rotation personally. Even when everyone told you not to. Even when you understood, rationally, that it wasn’t a reflection of your ability. There was still that little voice in your head that whispered not good enough, try harder, prove yourself. And you listened to it. Every time.

You’d push yourself in training, stay later, arrive earlier, demand more from yourself until you felt like you’d “earned” your place again. It was one of the things Cata loved about you, your drive, your discipline. It was also one of the things that scared her the most.

As her thoughts spiralled, her eyes drifted across the room, eventually landing on Pina, who was standing next to Marta and Caro, clearly half-bored with whatever conversation they were having. Pina felt someone staring and turned, catching Cata’s eye.

Cata smiled.

Pina froze. That smile. That was not a normal smile. That was a dangerous smile. The kind that usually meant chaos, laughter, and at least one person getting into trouble. (And, great sex, although Pina didn’t know that particular consequence).

“Oh no,” Pina muttered under her breath.

The evening had worn on, your conversation with Alexia had ended and the meal had been eaten as you all settled into Alexia’s living room. You had taken a seat in between to Mapí and Kika, Cata settling opposite you with Pina to her left and Ona on the right. Tonight, you had settled on a murder mystery game; all of you playing detectives as you tried to solve the death of some poor fictional character. 

Alexia, of course, took charge immediately. You, Marta, and Aitana fell naturally into supporting roles. You were already scribbling notes, drawing arrows, underlining names, completely absorbed.

Cata leaned towards Pina, lowering her voice. “I got something.”

“Huh?” Pina whispered.

“I got something,” Cata repeated, reaching behind her and pulling out a bright yellow rubber chicken.

Pina stared at it. “Where the fuck did you get that?”

“Glovo,” Cata said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Y/N’s got that stressed-out look again. I only just got rid of the last one and Alexia’s slapped it right back on her face. So I’m gonna squawk this every time she talks and see how long it takes her to break.”

Pina blinked. “I think that sounds like a stupid decision that ends with your girlfriend mad at you.”

Cata stared at her, unimpressed. “She knows what she got into when she started dating me.”

“Your funeral.”

“Yeah, well. When she’s mad, we usually end up having great sex. Worth it.”

“Ew,” Pina grimaced. “I was thinking more that she’ll shove the chicken down your throat until you suffocate.”

Cata shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

It was maybe an hour into the game, and you had narrowed it down to one of three characters. 

“Are we sure it’s not Miguel?” Vicky asked, reaching over to look at one of the pictures on the coffee table.

You were already shaking your head, “No, it can’t be. See he’s-”

HONK. 

A screeching, whining noise blasted through the room, cutting you off from what you were about to say. 

There was a beat of silence, every trying to recover their heart rates. “What was that?” Caro asked. Everyone was looking around, trying to find the source. 

“It came from the couch,” Kika added, an amused smile playing on her lips. “So Pina, Ona or Cata.”

“Not me,” Ona said, lifting her hands innocently. 

“Not me either,” Pina chimed in, holding her hands out. 

Your eyes settled on Cata, narrowing suspiciously at her perfectly serene face. “Cata?” Alexia asked.

“Sí?” She beamed back.

“What was that noise?”

“I dunno know.” Cata shrugged again, although her eyes never left you, telling a completely different story. 

“Mmm-hmmm.” Alexia was unconvinced. “Anyways,” she turned back to the game. 

You didn’t speak for another five minutes or so, too absorbed in listening to Esmee’s theory about who the murderer might be and writing down the reasonings. 

“Clara, what’s the-” you asked, pointing at the map you had pinned to the wall behind where Clara was sitting. 

HONK. 

The same obnoxious shrill sound cut you off again. You turned, your lips pursed and nostrils flared as you looked at your girlfriend. She smiled widely back at you, her round cheeks almost shiny with the intensity of her grin. You took a steadying breath. 

“Cata, mi amor, what are you-” 

HONK.

You blinked, grinding your teeth and setting your jaw. Nobody moved, the whole team freezing as you stared at your girlfriend. You pushed down the irritation. You love her, you love her, you love her. The mantra repeated on your head in a loop. 

Again, it took a little while for you to speak again, although you felt Cata’s eyes on you the whole time as if you were the most captivating thing in the world. 

“I just want to open the envelope,” Kika whined, her eyes flitting to the bright green paper than had who the murderer was written inside, cutting Vicky off.

“We can’t do that.” Alexia scolded the Portuguese player gently.

You rolled your eyes. “That would be cheat-”

HONK. 

“Cheating,” you continued, opting to not even look Cata’s way. You knew her far to well not to catch onto her little game. Although you didn’t know why she was choosing right now to push your buttons in such an over the top way. “And we are not cheater-”

HONK.

You closed your eyes, biting your lip and taking a steadying breath. When you opened your eyes again, you could see Pina and Patri starting to laugh, egging Cata on and boosting her ego as she tormented you.

You swallowed, indicating to Vicky for to continue with whatever she was about to say before Kika had starting whining. 

“So, we’re 100% sure it’s María.” Alexia said, glancing around the room. 

“It’s got to be.” Ewa said.

You flipped through your notebook. “She’s got the motive, she-”

HONK. 

That was it.

“Catalina Tomàs Coll Lluch,” you snapped, standing up. “Will you fucking-”

HONK.

You lunged, ripping the chicken from her hand and smacking her with it.

“You absolute menace. You are the worst person I have ever met.”

She laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch.

With ease, she stood and hoisted you over her shoulder.

“Put me down,” you said, hitting her back.

“Thanks for the night, Ale!” she called, already heading for the door.

She finally set you down in the hallway.

“What the fuck was that?” you demanded, breathless.

“You needed to destress.”

“You annoyed me.”

“No,” she said, softening, hands on your waist. “I distracted you. I de-stressed you.”

“You decided to destress me by irritating me?”

“No, I’m going to destress you by fucking the living daylights out of you when we get home.” She said bluntly. 

“And what … pissing me off was your idea of foreplay?”

She smiled amiably at you, shrugging slightly. “Something like that.”

[purplereina11]

A controversial transfer brings a former rival star to Barça Femení. A flashy, extroverted player who thrives on showmanship. Alexia, calm, private, and fiercely loyal to Barca, sees you as a threat. What starts as outright hostility slowly shifts into undeniable chemistry.

Masterlist

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

R's Hook up - Set After Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

[2truthsand1lie]

Are You Home

Part 2

When your engagement ends because of your cheating ex-fiancée, you jump at the offer to flee Spain for your company’s office in Monterrey, Mexico. Maybe the distance will mend the hurt and help you find yourself again. Lola puts you in contact with a friend of hers that similarly made a move to Mexico to find her happiness. And that sets off a chain of events neither of you expect.

Wordcount: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+

Masterlist

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> Part 3

You open the passenger door and peek inside. “Hola, Lola’s #2 best friend,” you tease.

This woman too is gorgeous. What luck you’re having today.

The dark-haired woman’s mouth drops at your introduction before a full laugh spills out of her, dimples appearing. Fuck, she just gets more attractive the longer you look.

“It’s no contest, princesa. I am definitely best friend #1. You are now 11 minutes late which is a terrible trait in a best friend for Lola considering she’s always late herself.”

You roll your eyes before climbing into the Jeep and turning to check out the back seat.

When you turn back front facing, the woman has one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. “What?” you ask defensively. “Just making sure you’re not going to kill me and leave my body in a ditch.”

“Princesa, I already told you that is not one of my skills. You’re safe with me,” she flirts, gesturing to your seatbelt as she puts the Jeep in drive.

“Maya,” you say as she pulls onto the street.

“What?” she states back distractedly as she drives away, navigating the traffic effortlessly.

“My name isn’t Princesa. It’s Maya,” you offer.

“Maya…pretty,” she replies softly to herself, though just loud enough that you catch it too. And yet she doesn’t offer her own.

“Shall I continue to call you ‘jock’ in my head? Or did your Mami give you a name?” you finally ask.

She laughs and turns to look at you for a second. Her eyes are mesmerizing. They’re a unique hazel and appear to be slightly different in color between the two, one more green and the other more gold. You’ve never seen eyes like them before.

She glances away and back to the road.

You stare at the side of her face for a few seconds too long and see a smirk growing across her face as she looks straight ahead, very aware you’re still staring.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she jokes.

“Oh, I just might,” you offer breezily, throwing her banter right back.

“Jenni,” she finally says.

“For Jennifer?” you ask, curious. Not a common name in Spain. Not like the oodles of Marias and Martas and Saras.

“Sí. My mami gave me the name Jennifer. But everyone calls me Jenni.”

“How about Jen?” you question lightly.

Her nose scrunches up in thought. “Haven’t really ever had someone call me that consistently. Seems so adult.”

“Ah, and you are no adult?” you pry. “Are you secretly a teenage boy masquerading as a grown woman?”

“Fuck no,” she laughs. “Just seems so serious. Which is not me,” she shares.

“Yeah, I got that from your bad jokes,” you tease.

She grins and shrugs. Silence falls for a few minutes before you break it. “You know Charlie?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Mmhmm,” is all she offers in response.

You’re kind of annoyed. You want the details. She mentioned ex-girlfriends in your texting so clearly she’s somewhere within the women-loving-women spectrum.

“Don’t tell me the lesbian circle here is as intertwined as it is in Madrid,” you bemoan.

She perks up at that, again glancing at you. “You’re from Madrid?”

“Sí. Latina district.”

“No kidding!” Jenni exclaims in excitement. “We’re practically neighbors! I’m from Carabanchel!”

“Lola didn’t mention you were Spanish, much less from Madrid,” you state as she pulls into a small parking lot, squeezing the vehicle into one of the few open spots.

You both exit the vehicle and head for the restaurant. It’s quaint. Looks cozy. The music playing on the patio is inviting. Hopefully the food is as appetizing as the environment.

“Lola didn’t really give me any details either,” the dark-haired woman replies, holding open the door and gesturing you inside.

You feel the faint touch of her fingertips on your lower back as she guides you inside.

“Dos, por favor,” she instructs the host who leads you both out onto the patio and to a table tucked away in the back corner.

You are pleasantly surprised to realize it’s a live band out on the patio, not just music being piped through speakers. Jenni raises her eyebrows at you. “So? Did I pass?”

You sniff, feigning disapproval. “I haven’t tried the food yet,” you state.

She laughs and it makes you smile too.

“So, the lesbian scene here. What’s it like?” you venture again.

Jenni looks off to the side, watching the other tables. “Not sure. I haven’t mingled much.”

“Bullshit,” you state.

That snaps her gaze back to you and she chuckles at the look on your face. “Okay, okay. I have mingled a little. With Charlie once or twice. That’s how we know each other.”

“Ah, her comment about Spanish women makes even more sense now,” you tease, smiling at her softly.

“What comment?”

“She said all the pretty women around here seem to come from Spain,” you shrug.

Jenni smiles. “Well from where I’m sitting, she isn’t wrong in that assessment,” she replies easily, causing you to blush as her eyes rake down your body. “The Madrid lesbian scene wasn’t doing it for you anymore?” Jenni teases lightly.

You tilt your head wondering just how much of your personal life Lola shared with her.

She reads you well. “Lola didn’t mention anything besides that your move was largely driven by the same reasons I had – a good career move.”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink.

“And because my long-term relationship imploded. And I needed to be thousands of miles away from it all.”

Your eyes go wide. That sums up your reasons very succinctly. “Ah. Our reasons sound exactly the same then.”

Jenni smiles sadly at you. “Sorry you’re in the same shitty club.”

You shrug. “Even if I could go back in time, I’m not sure I’d change anything? Everything ending, and how it ended, really showed me just how badly she didn’t love me. Not like I loved her,” you add softly, running your finger through the condensation your water has left on the table.

Jenni’s hand softly squeezes your own, stilling it. “Well, count me as a friend. And we can bitch about your ex-girlfriend all you want.”

“Ex-fiancée,” you amend.

“Shit,” she states. “Sorry Maya. How long were you together?”

“Ten years. Had the future all planned out together, you know. What almost hurts more than the relationship ending is now feeling like I’m starting over from scratch but 10 years older.”

“Yeah, been there. Feels like all the years together just vanish somehow? Like the work and dreams no longer mean anything. Leaves you feeling pretty empty.”

“Exactly. How long was yours?”

“7 years. But we played together. Worked together. So, it also felt so much longer than that.”

“What sport does my favorite annoying jock play?” you tease.

She smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your favorite, huh? Gotta remember to tell Lola that. Football.”

“I should have known,” you snort. “Lola really only has football friends.”

“And you,” Jenni adds.

“And me,” you confirm. “Though I think your best friend status with Lola is safe. I’m really Cristina’s best friend hence the sleepover privileges Lola is forced to accept.”

Jenni laughs. “I knew it! I knew Lola wouldn’t prefer you over me for her best friend. No offence.”

You chuckle. “None taken. You and Lola can keep your fratboy energy while Cris and I sip wine and gossip.”

The dark-haired woman smiles and nods in acceptance.

“Did you still have to work together after you broke up?” you ask as the waitress returns to grab your orders.

Jenni diverts your conversation in favor of asking if she can order for you both. To make sure you get the proper experience.

You agree and she shoots off a few orders of food to the waitress before turning back to you. “Yes. It was torture. It affected my game terribly. It affected the team because there was so much anger there that it spilled out onto the field. Even during games. She has always been do or die for that club so it felt like I lost everything – my person, my apartment, my club, my teammates, my friends there, my identity.”

“I get that,” you offer gently. “It’s like you’ve been a duo for so long it’s hard to remember who you were without them.”

“Exactly. And when you go to sever yourselves back into two people, two separate lives, you realize someone is going to get the short-end of the break up. You can never perfectly cut down the middle. Sounds like we were both on the losing end.”

“Well, here’s to getting over being dumped by who we thought were our forevers by packing up our shit and fleeing to Mexico to lick our wounds!”

Jenni chuckles and knocks her glass against yours.

“Viva Mexico!”

You laugh and affirm “Viva Mexico!” just in time for your food to be delivered.

The young man delivering your food gives you a long glance and a dazzling smile. “Por supesto, viva Mexico!” he proclaims. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks you, still staring in a manner that is fast slipping from good hospitality into the sexually interested category.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and watch Jenni’s face as she does roll hers. It makes you laugh, and she smirks back at you. You shake your head at his question, not bothering to look at the man, and hear a small huff of annoyance from him as he walks away.

“Nobody can take their eyes off you tonight, princesa,” Jenni says cheekily.

You do roll your eyes this time. “Well, he’s barking up the wrong tree,” you state, annoyed.

Jenni chuckles and pushes two of the small plates towards you. “Try these first.”

“What are they?” you ask curiously as you spoon each onto your plate.

“Try first,” Jenni urges with soft eyes. “Trust me.”

“Well you haven’t killed me yet, so I guess maybe you are trustworthy.”

“Plenty of time for that after dinner,” she jokes.

“Pretty sure you said you’d be on your best behavior with no more jokes,” you fire back as you take a bite of the first dish. It’s some sort of protein in a deliciously sticky sauce that is a mix of salty umami with a sweet finish. It’s intoxicating.

“Hmm, not sure I said that princesa–”

“Maya,” you interrupt.

“Ok, Maya. Pretty sure I said I would refrain from dirty jokes, not all jokes.”

“You definitely did not caveat your statement with that,” you argue.

“Are you a lawyer, Maya? Because you sure like challenging me at every opportunity.” Her grin as she says it relays that she likes it.

“Actually, yes,” you respond easily. “Love this,” you point towards the dish. “Can I know what it is now?”

“Grilled octopus in a plum oyster sauce,” she replies instantly. “Delicious, no?”

“Almost better than sex,” you reply, smirking.

Jenni runs a finger across her mouth, trying and failing to hide the appreciative smirk that appears. “It is pretty good,” she agrees, clearly holding her tongue from saying more.

“Did you find it?” you ask as you take a bite of the second dish.

“What?” Jenni asks, digging her fork into the octopus dish now that you’ve had a taste.

“Happiness?” you ask softly, openly. “Whatever you came here to find that wasn’t in Spain?”

Jenni squints as she finishes her bite, clearly thinking through her words. “I think I’m closer than I have been in a few years,” she answers honestly. “I wouldn’t say I’ve found it completely yet. But definitely much happier than I was in Barcelona when I made the decision to come to Mexico. Sorry if that isn’t the answer you were looking for,” she adds with a self-conscious shrug.

You reach out and place a hand on her wrist. She raises her eyes to yours. “Thank you. You are one of the only people in the past few months to not sugarcoat this situation.” You squeeze her wrist and let go. “It helps. It gives me hope maybe there’s an after that is even better than the before.”

“That’s what keeps me going,” Jenni says with a hopeful lilt. “What are your thoughts on dish 2?” she asks.

“Also very good,” you answer, stealing another bite. “Squid? And curry powder?” you ask, tilting your head as you filter through the tastes on your tongue.

The dark-haired madrileña’s lips curl up. “You a foodie?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “That was pretty impressive.”

You chuckle, running a hand through your hair and shrug. “I enjoy good food, yes.”

Jenni smirks and takes a drink from her glass, eyes still on you.

“As if you aren’t too!” you exclaim. “Ms. “I’ll-order-for-both-of-us-so-you-get-the-total-experience”

She smirks. “Guess I’ve found my restaurant buddy. Most of the girls on my team aren’t as adventurous.”

“We’ll see if you get me home in one piece before I agree to any future dinners,” you tease, motioning towards dish 3 by her elbow.

She pushes it towards you willingly. “Not in my skill set,” she teases once again.

“You keep saying that. So, if that isn’t part of your skillset, what is?” you ask curiously.

“Hmm,” she responds. “Well, I’m pretty good at the whole football thing?”

“Oh yeah? So, if I google Jenni + Spain footballer I’ll find a ton of results?”

She cringes slightly, eyes dropping to the table. “Maybe don’t google me. You have questions I’ll answer them. Just don’t use the internet to look me up.”

You drop your teasing tone. “Ok. I promise. I won’t google you.” Her eyes jump back up and she nods, clearly relieved. “What are these other talents besides football?”

“Solid dinner companion. Amateur DJ. Part-time comedian. Occasional tik-toker. Cuddler of dogs. Baby whisperer. And I’m really good at puzzles.”

You let out a full laugh. She is fairly funny; you’ll give her that. She beams at getting you to laugh. “Those are not the answers I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Something much cockier? Arrogant? That’s been my experience with professional athletes, besides maybe Lola. But even she has her moments. I don’t know. Picking up women? Flirting their pants off? Playing poker? Another reference to being good at sex? Definitely wasn’t expecting any of the ones you mentioned.”

“Being a footballer is my profession. It’s not my personality,” Jenni gently corrects your assumptions. “What’s been your experience with professional athletes?” she asks candidly.

“Sofia, my ex, played basketball professionally. Our whole lives revolved around her and her career. Maybe my experience has been skewed. But most of her circle were professional athletes. And pretty much all of them fit that mold.”

“Hmm, sounds like it’s good you’re expanding your circle to include other athletes then. We’ll help show you they were the exception, not the rule.” She says it with an easy smile, correcting your misconception without any heat behind it.

You nod in acceptance. “You’re already off to a good start,” you inform her.

Jenni smiles in response, dimples peeking out. It’s rather unfair just how attractive she is without trying. “What are you thinking?” she asks curiously, head tilting adorably.

You shake your head to clear those thoughts. Maybe it’s time you start mingling. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve had any companion besides your hand, and obviously your sexual frustration is starting to surface in inopportune thoughts.

But the open, friendly expression on her face has your mouth answering before your brain can catch up. “That I like your smile,” you answer honestly. Well at least your mouth didn’t divulge the dirtier thoughts you were having. Thank heaven for small mercies. “And that if I knew footballers looked like you, maybe I would have gone to watch more of Lola’s matches.” Fucking mouth.

You can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks when your brain does finally catch up and realizes all that you just said.

Jenni looks almost shy as she ducks her head down for a second, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before raising her gaze back to you, cocky persona back in place. “Maybe I can convince you to come to one of our home games. Free ticket of course. And then I can send a picture back to Lola and gloat.”

“Of course – everything is a competition with you athletes,” you tease, rolling your eyes.

She shrugs but laughs in agreement. “Hardwired in at this point, I think. But I am serious about the tickets – just say the word and you’ll have one waiting for you at the ticket window.”

You crinkle up your nose. “Hmm, I’ll think about it. Don’t really know much about football.”

“Lucky you, I happen to be an expert.”

“Really? Just how good are you?”

“Pretty good.”

“That scale seems subjective,” you challenge lightly.

“Good enough to make a living off it,” she adds with a smile.

You’ll give her that. “Okay, that’s a better scale of measurement. Not by much, mind you.”

She grins. Seems you aren’t the only one enjoying this banter.

Your waitress thankfully is the one to bring the bill, not the man with the roaming eyes who dropped off your food earlier. Jenni already has a hand out. And the tattoos covering her hands pull your focus. Your eyes can’t help but linger over the multitude of ink, following it up and across her arm, easily on display in her sleeveless blouse.

It takes you a second to realize she’s already slipping her card to the waitress. You reach for yours to pay your half too when you hear her say, “Put it all on the one, thanks.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you protest as the waitress swipes the card tableside, turning the device around for Jenni to sign. “I make more than enough to pay for my own dinner.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you as she signs and hands the device back. “Maybe I need to look into what you do once I finish my football career then, Ms. my-company-found-me-an-apartment-halfway-across-the-world.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s standard corporate world stuff. What do you plan to do once you’re done playing professionally?”

“You aren’t supposed to ask that – it’s a bad omen,” Jenni lightly teases.

“Non-athlete, so that superstition doesn’t count for me.”

“Oh, is that how superstitions work?” she asks.

“Mmmhmm.”

“I have a few things brewing. Broadcasting. Some sponsor things. Investments. Could coach I suppose, but not sure I want the headache. Eventually I think I’d like to work up into a Sports Director role for one of the clubs that has a youth academy. I like working with kids.”

“I could see that – you’ve got youthful energy,” you respond.

She grimaces. “A kind way of saying I act childish?”

“No, no. You just have a light energy to you – something bright and hopeful? I’m not sure I’m putting it into words in a way that makes sense. But I’ve had more fun tonight than I ever expected to have eating dinner with a stranger. Because of you.” You smile, meaning it.

That seems to mollify her on your initial words. Clearly she has heard some reference to being child-like before, and it wasn’t positive. You note that for the future.

Your head settles on that – future. You did have a good time. You both seem to vibe and play off each other well in conversation. And she’s not a bad person to have sitting across from you. Very easy on the eyes. You would do this again.

“Well since you paid this time, next one's on me,” you offer confidently.

An eyebrow is already arching up, mischievously. “Oh, next time, eh? So, did I pass?”

You shrug, glancing away. “Yeah, you’re alright.”

She laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I think you’re better than alright. I accept your offer for another dinner date.”

“Don’t think this counts as a date,” you state as you slowly drink from your glass, eyes on her.

Her eyes roam your face, smiling easily. “I asked you to dinner. I picked you up. We conversed over a good meal. You laughed at my jokes. Now I take you back home. Sounds like a date to me, no?”

You chuckle. “You didn’t ask me to dinner. You invited yourself,” you respond with a smirk. “Going to have to put in a little bit more effort if you’re angling for a date.”

Jenni tries and fails to suppress a smile. “You Madrid girls are so high maintenance,” she teases.

“You are a madrileña too, Jennifer!”

“Never said I wasn’t also high-maintenance,” she cheekily responds, making you laugh.

The two of you get up from the table and slowly amble back to the car.

“Thanks for this,” you state sincerely. “I was ready to settle for the recommendation of a quick and likely shitty dinner. This was much better than I ever anticipated.”

She reaches for the passenger door to open it for you and smiles as you slide in. “Me too.” Jenni adds softly, “It’s nice to hear a Madrid accent again. You sound like home.”

For some reason that statement lands deep in your chest. You haven’t been away from Madrid, from Spain, for more than a day. Jenni has been here in Mexico for a while. You’re already feeling a little homesick. You can’t imagine how she’s feeling.

The drive back is quiet but not uncomfortable. The radio is playing a Karol G song that you absentmindedly hum along. You can see Jenni’s lips quirk up, pulling your attention from the road over to the dark-haired woman next to you.

She turns her head quickly to give you a glance.

“You know, your eyes should be on the road. Unless this is how you plan to kill me,” you jokingly state.

Jenni rolls her eyes. “Zero plans to kill you. I plan on collecting on that second date,” she adds.

Now you roll your eyes. “Can there be a second date if there hasn’t been a first?”

“Princesa, I’m hurt. This is the date we will tell our grandchildren about – how our love story started,” she teases with an infuriatingly beautiful smirk.

You laugh and go along with her ridiculous talk. “Oh, is that so? Already planning our children? And just who is going to birth these children of ours?”

“You?” she asks cheekily. “I am an athlete, princesa. My body is not my own while I’m under contract.”

“The only way I agree to that is if you put a huge ass rock on my finger and we’re back in Madrid,” you play along. “No way I have your kids without getting wife designation first.”

“Done,” Jenni responds happily. “Big wedding or family and close friends only?”

“Smaller. We honeymooning in Ibiza or Menorca?”

“Definitely Menorca. Private beaches,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she quickly glances at you.

You laugh at her ridiculous face. “Eyes on the road!” you admonish again. “We are not having sex on the beach, Jenni. Sand gets everywhere. It’s a nightmare.”

“You are the one who brought sex into the conversation, princesa. I was thinking sunbathing,” she states.

“Sure, Ms-sex-is-a-hobby,” you deadpan.

“Ok. No sex on the beach,” the striker relents. A second later, “We will have sex in the ocean instead – much less sand,” she exclaims gleefully.

You chuckle and shake your head at the woman. She’s ridiculous. And you think you like it. “The logistics of that sound difficult,” you muse.

“I am a professional athlete, cari. You have so little faith in my capabilities?”

“I haven’t seen your capabilities yet. I’ve only seen you walk into a restaurant. Not exactly material that screams ‘I have the upper body strength to pin you up against a door’.”

Jenni pulls off the highway and coincidentally hits the red light. You feel her eyes turn to roam over your body as soon as the vehicle stops. You turn your head to meet her gaze, small smirk on your lips. The look she is leveling at you is hungry. You thought her eyes were beautiful before, but arousal looks good on her.

“We can arrange a demonstration,” she husks out. You feel it shoot right down your spine and land at your core. Shit, you really need to get laid sometime soon. Before this woman saying ‘hello’ has you melting into a non-verbal puddle.

“I don’t dish out on the first date, Jennifer.”

“I meant my upcoming home game on Friday,” she teases, hunger still present but overshadowed by humor. “And I have a three-date rule, anyways,” she confesses quietly as the light turns green and she drives off towards your apartment complex.

“Really?” you ask curiously. You would not have guessed that.

She shrugs self-consciously. “I know the lesbian standard is to move fast, but I’m trying something different this time around. Trying different steps for different results, you know?”

“Admirable,” you assure her. “So how many have gotten to date three?” you tease.

Her Jeep bypasses the front entrance to your complex, pulling into the second drive that seems to lead to the underground parking deck for residents. Huh. You had no idea that existed. How does she? Must be from when she was seeing Charlie.

Jenni pulls into a spot labeled 510, parking.

“Are you sure you can park here? Isn’t this someone’s spot?”

She waves your comment off. “It’s fine.”

Your rule follower heart squirms at the idea. You would never.

“Well, since I implemented it, nobody has gotten to date two,” she answers softly, bringing you back to your previous conversation. Her crooked smile is in place as she shrugs. “Well, except for you,” Jenni adds as her full smile emerges.

“This wasn’t a date–” you start.

“No, no - you just admitted this was a date when you said you don’t have sex on the first date!” she interjects, smirking.

You huff. She may have you there.

Jenni opens her door and slides out, looking back across the car at your confused face. “Let’s go,” she motions for the elevator across the parking deck.

“Why are you getting out?” you question, meeting her around the back of the Jeep.

“Walking you to your door,” the striker answers, offering you her elbow.

You roll your eyes but laugh and thread your arm to rest in the crook of her elbow.

“It’s my last-ditch effort to get you to admit this night checked all the boxes for a date,” she murmurs into your ear.

A shiver runs through your body at the puff of air across your ear. You know Jenni feels it based on the content hum she quietly releases as she pushes the button to call the elevator. The two of you stand in comfortable silence, still linked together.

As the elevator opens you slowly detach and enter the lift. “Hold the door, please!” a frail voice calls out.

Jenni’s tattooed arm slings out to hold the door as an older woman comes hobbling into view, a brilliant smile leveled at Jenni in gratitude.

“Jenni!” she proclaims. “I haven’t seen you in weeks! How are you, Chiquita?”

Your brow furrows in confusion as they continue talking.

Who is this woman? And how does Jenni know her? How long exactly did the footballer see Charlie? Long enough to become fast friends with the abuelita of the building?

The striker’s answering smile takes up her whole face. And you can’t help but soak it in. “Hola Maribel! We’ve had away games the past few weeks – I haven’t been home much. I’m good, though. Are you doing ok?”

“Siempre, chica. I’m alive! Who is your date?” the older woman pries good-naturedly as she pushes the button for the 2nd floor.

Jenni blushes slightly and quietly murmurs “see even she thinks this is a date” to you out of the corner of her mouth. “This is Maya,” she introduces you to the older woman. “She just moved here.”

You reach your own hand out to push the button for the fourth floor as Jenni chats with the little old woman.

“Ah, bienvenido! You’ll love it here,” Maribel offers with a warm smile. “Make sure this one comes and visits me more often, eh?”

You can’t help but smile and nod as Jenni ducks her head in mock admonishment. The lift dings as it stops on the second floor. Maribel offers one last grin and an “Adios chicas!” as she exits the elevator and waves before the door shuts.

“You seem to know a lot of people here,” you comment absentmindedly as the lift starts back up.

“Hmm,” the striker answers in response.

“You never answered my text earlier – is this complex bad? Is that why you’re walking me to my door? Should I be worried?”

Jenni looks at you and smirks as you both exit the lift on the fourth floor. “No, it’s a good complex,” she offers. That is hardly an answer.

You tell her such. “Cryptic much? Why were you so invested in where I lived?”

Jenni rolls her eyes at you as you stop in front of the door for your apartment. “Apartment 10, huh?” she asks as she gestures to the 410 marker on your door. “Good number,” she states cheekily.

“Is the whole love of specific numbers an athlete thing?” you ask. “I’ve never met a subset of people more invested in informing people on which numbers are the best.”

The dark-haired woman just laughs. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“So, I assume you’re number 10?”

Jenni grins and nods.

“Well this is me,” you offer lamely, thumb pointing to the door behind you.

Jenni leans her shoulder against the wall next to the door. “Nice place ya got,” she teases. “Door looks very sturdy.”

“Oh shut up,” you chuckle.

“Gonna invite me in?” she asks.

“Nope,” you answer lightly. “Wouldn’t want to tempt your three-date rule.”

She grins. “Date three, then,” she flirts.

You huff out a laugh. “Okay, goodnight, Jennifer”

“Night, neighbor,” she states as she pushes off the wall and starts walking further down the hallway, away from the elevator.

“Neighbor?” you question loudly as she heads for the stairwell half way down the hallway.

“I asked about the complex because I thought maybe Lola meddled and influenced you in choosing this place. I’m in 510,” Jenni offers lightly, pointing up to the ceiling. “So, you’re my floor neighbor!”

Everything clicks into place. Charlie. And Maribel. And the parking in the underground deck.

Jenni pushes open the stairwell door, turning back over her shoulder with a teasing, "I guess I'll be seeing you around, princesa." She throws you a wink like it's the most natural thing in the world and then pushes through the threshold, the door softly closing behind her.

You let out a disbelieving laugh into the air, alone in the hallway. Well, tonight sure turned out differently than you ever imagined.

It looks like you will be seeing more of Jenni, whether you planned on it or not. But turning into your own apartment, a smirk on your lips as you relive some of the night, you aren’t exactly mad about that.

Part 3 - Nov 4th

[a-pute11as]

between lessons - patri guijarro

word count - 7.7k | summary - moving to barcelona with limited spanish definitely wasn't your brightest decision, luckily your neighbour is more than happy to lend a helping hand, with more than just spanish lessons.

MDNI 18+ - suggestive comment (if you squint)

-

you glanced at your phone and sighed. honestly, you’d been hoping the taxi would drop you off right outside your new apartment, not halfway up the road with four overstuffed suitcases and zero upper body strength to carry them.

gripping two handles in each hand, you gave it a try, dragging the cases more than lifting them, the wheels barely cooperating with the uneven pavement. after a few hopeless meters, you gave in and started the slow shuffle. two at a time, a few steps forward, then circling back for the others. 

muttering under your breath, you couldn’t decide what annoyed you more. the fact you decided against shipping your clothes with the rest of your stuff, or that the apartment waiting for you was basically unfurnished, had no food, and was filled with boxes you still needed to unpack. 

perfect.

you were too caught up in your internal complaints to notice the voice at first, rapid spanish that you weren’t entirely sure was aimed at you.

“necesita ayuda?” 

you looked up, eyes meeting the gaze of the person in front of you. a warm, slightly amused gaze, half hidden under a baseball cap. 

“puedo ayudarte con las maletas, si quieres.” she smiled softly, pointing at the suitcases next to you. 

your eyebrows furrowed, you had no clue what she was saying, you followed her pointed finger, realising what she was pointing at, “ohh my suitcases,” you laughed awkwardly, “uh sorry i don’t speak much spanish.”

one of her eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly, an amused look on her face, “are you here on holiday? or do you live here? because four suitcases is a lot for a holiday.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at her words, “i just moved here, like today.”

she nodded slowly, the amused smile only growing, “ah so you moved to spain and you don’t speak spanish?” 

“well i know a few basic things from school, and a few things i can’t imagine i’d use that often.” you confirmed, trying to make it sound slightly better.

her eyebrows lifted as if she was waiting for you to attempt some spanish, and who were you to deny the incredibly attractive spaniard in front of you of that request. 

“pegamento.” you practically muttered, attempting to keep a straight face, yet the total look of disbelief on her face had a smile tugging at your lip. 

her face scrunched in disbelief, “pegamento? glue? why do you know how to say glue and not how to accept help from a stranger?” 

“i swear i’m already looking for a local tutor.” you defended, maybe actually paying attention in your gcse spanish lessons would’ve been helpful.

she paused for a moment, as if she was silently weighing up her options before speaking, “i’ll help.”

“really?” you titled your head slightly, “you’d help the random english stranger you just met on the street trying to push four suitcases?”

she shrugged casually, already stepping forward, “why not? it’ll be fun.”

there was something so genuine about the way she said it, like she meant it, not out of obligation, more like curiosity. 

“which building?” she asked, already taking the handles of two suitcases like it was nothing.

you pointed down the road, “that one. i think.”

-

by the time you reached the top of the stairs, your arms felt like jelly and your patience had thinned to a thread, but you were grateful. grateful you hadn’t had to do it all alone, and even more grateful that the person helping you somehow made the whole situation feel less like a disaster.

you pointed toward your new front door, “that one.”

she nodded, wheeling the suitcases over while you fished your keys out of a side pocket. the door creaked open to reveal exactly what you’d been dreading, boxes. lots and lots of boxes that you were going to spend hours unpacking. 

luckily, your landlord was nice enough to allow the furniture to be delivered a couple days before your arrival, but that didn’t change the fact that you had a bed that was in boxes and a sofa that you swore looked bigger online. 

“cozy.” she said with a smirk, stepping inside just enough to drop the bags gently on the floor.

you gave her a look, “you mean empty?”

“empty with great potential,” she offered, clearly teasing, “like your spanish.”

you laughed, brushing some hair back from your face, “thanks again. seriously.”

she held out a hand, “patri.”

you paused a half-second before taking it, her grip was firm but warm, just like her voice had been.

you gave your name in return, and something about the way she repeated it, soft under her breath, like she was testing how it felt in her mouth, sent a quiet flicker through your chest.

she tilted her head slightly, still holding your hand, “suits you.”

your smile twitched wider before you caught yourself, pulling your hand back slowly.

“nice to meet you, and thank you again.” you said, the words suddenly feeling a little too polite for the moment.

she backed toward the hallway, the smile still on her face, “bienvenido a españa.”

before she turned, she nodded toward the door across the hall, “i’m right there, if you need anything. or if your ceiling falls in. or if you start crying over missing english tea.”

you raised an eyebrow, “already assuming i’m the type to cry over tea?”

she grinned, already at her door, “you’ve got that look.”

“rude.”

“definitely accurate.”

and with that, she stepped into her apartment, leaving you standing in the middle of your empty flat.

-

you’d been setting up your new home for a good chunk of the day, music filling your apartment as the first thing you did was connect your speaker to fill the silence. only taking a half an hour break out of your unpacking schedule to half fill up your fridge with a few things from the local shop that would get you through the next few days. 

your kitchen cupboards were filled with pots and pans, the sofa had been readjusted so it sat in the perfect position for the wall you had planned to put the tv on whilst still having the perfect view out the window.

your clothes were a different situation, they were half scattered around your living room floor in an attempt to categorise them, which didn’t really work out how you expected when you started getting distracted by literally everything else. 

finally, your bedroom. the flat-packed bed was practically taunting you as you looked at all the pieces you had laid out across the floor. 

“here we go.” you muttered to yourself, staring at the instruction manual that was in 6 different languages, yet none of them were english. 

you tried fitting the two wooden pieces together—confident, for once, that you were following the vague little diagrams correctly. for about five glorious seconds, it looked like it might actually hold.

then it collapsed. loudly.

the sharp crack echoed off the bare walls, slamming into the silence. if your neighbours didn’t know you’d moved in yet, they definitely did now.

you stared down at the fallen frame in front of you. surely the sofa wasn’t that bad. you could survive one night. maybe two. then you’d just pay someone with actual tools to assemble it.

you were mid-defeated sigh, already halfway to abandoning it completely, when a knock interrupted your thoughts.

you groaned as you got up, muttering under your breath, “not a diy lesbian, apparently.”

you opened the door, and there she was.

patri.

now in a pair of joggers and a hoodie, casual and yet somehow still managing to look incredible even when being effortless. 

“everything okay? i heard a bang.” she said, peering past you like she half-expected smoke.

you gave her a sheepish smile. “i was trying to build a bed, but i can’t understand the instructions”

“want some help?”

you blinked, a short laugh slipping out, “wait, you’re serious?”

she leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, completely at ease, “it’s my day off. i didn’t go to the gym, so i’ll consider this a workout.”

you let out another soft laugh, shaking your head, “if you’re really okay helping me out again, then yeah i’d love some help.”

she grinned, already stepping inside, “let’s see if i can be a diy lesbian.”

“you heard that?” your eyes widened, stopping in your tracks momentarily. 

she chuckled under her breath, walking in the direction of your bedroom, “you english people aren’t exactly quiet.”

patri stepped over the scattered pieces of the bed frame like it was nothing, crouching with an easy confidence that made you irrationally jealous. she surveyed the mess you had made before letting out a soft hum.

“i see the issue,” she said, pointing towards the two parts you had attempted to put together, “you put this in the wrong way, see the instructions say the other way around.”

you stood back, crossing your arms over your chest, “well i didn’t learn how to speak spanish in the 5 hours since you last helped me.”

she smirked, “that seems to be your issue a lot today.”

you were about to fire back something when she stood and, without a word, reached for the hem of her hoodie and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.

you weren’t ready.

the shirt underneath clung slightly to her frame, it was plain, dark grey, and sat tight across her biceps. her arms were completely on display, muscles taut and defined as she stretched slightly, then knelt again to grab one of the frame pieces.

she moved like she knew exactly what she was doing. you, on the other hand, were rapidly forgetting what furniture even was.

there were tattoos on her right arm, your eyes studied the way they curved around each muscle, only bringing more attention to each ounce of definition. a tiger, a butterfly, and a few others decorated her forearm. 

you didn’t mean to stare, you were really trying not to. you were just watching as she reached to join two parts of the bed together with a level of ease you could only dream of, but then her bicep flexed and your mind went blank. suddenly all you could focus on was the way her bicep pressed against the arm of her shirt, the veins that ran across her hand and the grip she had on the wood. all attempts to not stare were completely gone, you couldn’t even hide it. 

“pass me that screw?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

you blinked, “what?”

she looked back at you properly now, one eyebrow lifted. 

“the screw?” she repeated, trying not to smile.

“right. yes. screw. those little metal things.” you scrambled to grab it, brushing your fingers against hers as you handed it over.

“thanks,” she murmured, before getting back to work like she hadn’t just caught you actively eyeing her arms like they were a tourist attraction.

she didn’t actually say anything. but there was a tiny flicker in her expression, like she knew exactly what you saw.

and she was enjoying it.

you cleared your throat, dragging your eyes away and trying to pretend the walls were very interesting, “have you built a lot of beds in your life or...”

she smirked, tightening the bolt with a hum, “i tend to be the person that people call when they have furniture to build, might be these strong arms.”

“of course you are.” you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks. 

she laughed at that, but it made you feel more at ease, somehow the stranger you had met just this morning had become your saviour in a matter of hours. 

you watched as patri gave the final bolt one last twist, before effortlessly pulling the mattress on top of the frame like this was an everyday thing for her. she sat on it, leaning back on her hands with a satisfied sigh.

“done.” she smiled, glancing over at you. 

you blinked at it, a real functioning bed, “god, you’re too good at this.”

patri grinned and patted the mattress, still in its plastic wrapping, but that was a problem for future you.

“come on,” she said. “we built it. we earned a sit down.”

you hesitated for half a second before climbing up beside her, the frame creaking softly under the combined weight. you both sat at the edge, legs swinging slightly, hands resting on the mattress between you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. just a soft silence.

then, out of nowhere, patri leaned back slightly on her palms and said with a playful lilt in her voice, “deberíamos probarla, no?” 

you glanced at her, brow furrowing, “what?”

her smile widened, just a little, “nothing.”

“no no, don’t do that. what did you say?” you asked, nudging her knee gently with yours.

she tilted her head, pretending to think, “i said, we should test it out.”

you squinted, still suspicious, “like, test test? or a spanish test? because one of those sounds like something i’m not mentally prepared for right now.”

patri just laughed, “don’t worry, this time we’ll just sit.”

you tried to play it cool, but your cheeks gave you away, warmth creeping up as you focused very hard on your feet.

“i really need those spanish lessons,” you muttered.

she glanced over at you, completely amused, “or you could just keep talking to me.”

you looked up, and there it was again, that hint of something just below the surface. 

you smiled, “i think i could manage that.”

-

the next morning, sunlight woke you before your alarm. you shuffled toward the kitchen in search of caffeine and nearly tripped over something that had been slipped under your front door.

a folded piece of paper.

you bent to pick it up, eyebrows furrowed, and unfolded it to reveal a short, neatly written note in black ink.

'here’s my number. text me if you need anything - p.'

the smile that found its way onto your face was immediate. maybe getting stuck halfway up the road with four suitcases wasn’t that much of a disaster after all.

you grabbed your phone and saved her number, pausing only briefly before opening up a new message.

you stared at your phone, trying to figure out what to send her. it needed to be something casual, nothing too full on, but enough that made you feel interesting.

you - the bed held up, i appreciate the help last night. if you’re serious about the spanish lessons, i could do with some help before i start my new job

you hit send before you could talk yourself out of it, it was a pretty pathetic excuse but you couldn’t admit that you wanted to spend time with her because you were definitely attracted to her so learning spanish would help to do. 

a few minutes later, her reply lit up your screen.

patri - start googling your coffee order, i’ll pay if you order in spanish

your fingers moved quickly across the screen, a small smirk tugging at your lips. 

you - i’ll end up ordering a microwave or something.

patri - i believe in you, inglesita. you just need some confidence. i’ll get you at 3.

-

you spent most of the morning unpacking the rest of your things, well mostly. you didn’t have enough storage for your clothes, so the suitcases remained a statement in the corner of your bedroom until you ordered a new wardrobe. 

the rest of the morning was spent switching between duolingo, deepl and a youtube video that you were convinced was tricking you with the pronunciation, yet you kept paying attention adamant that you wouldn’t be paying for your coffee.

so when the knock came at your door, you were fully prepared. well as prepared as you could be. 

​​the café patri took you to was only a few streets away, small and tucked between two buildings you wouldn’t have given a second glance to yesterday. inside, it smelled like strong coffee and fresh pastries. there was a quiet hum of voices that somehow made the space feel like home.

she held the door open for you, then nodded toward the counter, “you’ve got this.”

you took a breath, stepping up to the counter, “un café con leche, por favor.” you said it slowly, clearly, definitely not fluently but good enough that the barista knew exactly what you wanted.

she just smiled and nodded, moving to prepare your order without any further question.

you turned to patri, wide-eyed, “that actually worked.”

she grinned, “muy bien, inglesita. i told you that all you need is confidence.”

the two of you moved to a small table by the window. the sun poured through the window and hit her face in a way that made her features even sharper. her jawline, cheekbones, that annoyingly perfect smile.

your coffee arrived a few minutes later, and you felt a ridiculous amount of pride over the most basic coffee order you could manage.

“what kind of lessons are we going to do? should i be buying notebooks?” you asked, eyebrows raising. 

“oh no, that is like school, this is going to be far more fun.” 

you tilted your head slightly, not entirely sure what she meant, “how am i going to learn then?”

“real life learning.” she nodded firmly, “stuff you will actually use.”

your eyes widened slightly, “so maybe i will need an actual tutor then.” 

“trust me, if this way doesn’t work then i’ll pay for your tutor myself.”

the rest of the time in the cafe was spent translating the menu, ensuring you could recognise different coffee orders, smoothies and a small list of breakfast and lunch items in case you stumbled into another cafe without your human translator. 

at first you were skeptical about her method, surely you’d need to learn how to conjugate verbs or learn the differences between past, present and future tense, but instead you were learning a menu. yet an hour later, you could confidently translate the menu and had ordered another drink that was a little more complicated than just a coffee. 

-

your spanish lessons continued over the week, sometimes it would be in the form of random texts throughout the day like questions you’d have to figure out the answers to or phrases she would talk into your conversations. she even broke her ‘real-life’ method slightly, when she sat you down and taught you how to conjugate verbs for 20 minutes before making you translate a selection of texts between her and her mum. 

and to your joy, translating her texts revealed a confession in which patri told her mum that she was enjoying spending time with her pretty new neighbour, even telling her mum ‘te gustaría ella’.

besides her spanish lessons, she continued helping you settle in, offering to build whatever flatpacked furniture you had delivered, even offering to carry your shopping up the few flights of stairs when the two of you conveniently arrived back at the same time, her from work and you from attempting to fill up your cupboards beyond a loaf of bread and a half empty bag of pasta.

little moments with patri became frequent markers in your new life, you started to look forward to them. to her.

maybe it was her kindness, always constant, the way she always seemed to notice when you needed help before you asked. or the way her actions spoke louder than her words, the way she remembered your coffee order, texts asking if you needed anything from the shop, or her soft humour she used to pull you out of your own head.

sometimes it was her smile, the way it started slowly, tugging at one corner of her mouth before it reached her cheeks and lit up her whole face. or that grin she got when you managed a full sentence in spanish without her help, proud and teasing all at once, like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or applaud.

and then there were her eyes. they were sharp when she was focused, the kind of focus that made the rest of the world fall away. in reality they were soft and warm. they caught the light in a way that made you lose your train of thought more often than you’d ever admit.

she moved with that same focus too, it was deliberate and confident without even trying to be. there was a kind of ease in the way she carried herself, like she always knew exactly where she was meant to be.

and god she was beautiful, it was impossible not to notice. her skin was sun-kissed, her hair was soft brown but when it hit the light it practically shined and when she smiled, really smiled, it was unfair how easy she made it look. you started to notice the little things about her but your favourite was the colourful beaded necklace she’d wear with any outfit.

you told yourself you just admired her, how infectious her energy was or how her passion and drive pushed through everything she did. but sometimes, when she laughed at something you said, head tipped back, eyes crinkled, and sunlight caught in her hair, admiration didn’t feel like the right word anymore.

-

it was the first time you were in her apartment, it was weird at first, it felt so wrong in comparison to the flip of your apartment just across the hall. yet the more you looked round, the more it felt like her. 

her apartment was cosy. blankets and soft pillows across the sofa. pictures of her family and friends lining the walls. a barcelona jersey on the wall, her name across the back with the number ‘12’. it was filled with small black writing, little messages sprawled across it in spanish that you didn’t quite understand.  

you and patri hadn’t quite got to the conversation of jobs, she knew you had moved for work, for the opportunity to start something new but you hadn’t really got into what she was doing. 

“that’s cool,” you pointed towards the signed memorabilia that held pride of place above her sofa, “what’s it from?” 

“oh just some friends that signed it after a big win.” she shrugged casually, yet the smile that tugged at her lips wasn’t as casual.

you walked over to it, attempting to read the writing that was inscribed across it. it read small messages of congratulations, a few mentions of goals, ‘superestrella’ mentioned more than once. 

“what did you win?” you asked curiously, finger running alongside the writing as you attempted to translate a few more. 

“uhhh the champions league, that was from 2023,” she started, moving to stand next to you, “i scored two goals within two minutes, and got player of the match.” she hesitated slightly as she told you.

you turned toward her so fast you almost tripped over the edge of the rug, “wait, the champions league?” you said, voice a little higher than usual, “as in, football? like, the football champions league?”

patri laughed softly, rubbing the back of her neck, suddenly shy in a way that didn’t match the confidence you’d seen from her before, “fútbol,” she corrected with a small smile, “but yes. that one.”

you blinked. hard,  “so all this time i’ve been getting spanish lessons and furniture building help from a national treasure?"

“well, you needed help.” she said simply, shrugging again as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

you stared at her for a moment, genuinely baffled that you hadn’t had this conversation before.

after a moment, she turned to walk towards the kitchen, your feet automatically following her, “you’re handling this better than most people do when they find out,” she said.

“well you’re still the same person that has helped me since the moment i got here, now i just know you’re actually a pretty big deal around here.” gaze meeting hers with a softness that told her you were being honest.

her eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long before she looked away, running a hand through her hair,  “good,” she murmured, “then maybe you’ll come watch a match sometime. see what all the fuss is about.”

patri pulled two glasses out of the cupboard, filling them halfway with the red wine she’d just taken from the fridge, “you ready to make a paella?”

“i’ll definitely give it a go.” you said, smiling weakly as you tied your hair up. 

the recipe card sat on the counter between you, handwritten, slightly stained and full of loops and curls that made the words look far prettier than your own handwriting.

you leaned over it, brow furrowed, “okay, so dos tazas de arroz.”

“mhm.” patri hummed, sipping her wine, watching you over the rim of the glass like this was far more entertaining than it should’ve been.

“tazas is cups? or mugs? maybe spoons?” you glanced helplessly toward the cupboard.

she didn’t move, just leaned against the counter, “what do you think?”

“i think your mum’s handwriting is too pretty for my duolingo brain and your menu teaching.”

patri’s grin widened, “that’s not an answer.”

you sighed dramatically. “okay, cups. two cups. of rice. i can do that.”

you measured the rice, more with your heart than the measuring levels of the cup she gave you, then looked back at the next line.

“aceite de oliva, that’s oil? olive oil?”

“muy bien inglesita,” patri said approvingly, still refusing to step in fully, “you’re doing great.”

you pointed at the next bit, mouthing the words slowly, “pimiento rojo, pimiento verde, that’s red and green uh peppers?”

“sí.” she said, nodding lightly, a proud grin etched onto her face.

“this is going suspiciously well,” you muttered, glancing down again, only for your confidence to immediately crumble at the next phrase, “rehogar el pollo hasta que esté dorado. right. okay, pollo is chicken, and i’m assuming that means cook.”

she stepped closer, just over your shoulder now, “medium heat,” she murmured, reaching past you to turn the dial on the stove. her hand brushed your arm as she moved back, warm and quick, but it lingered in your head longer than it should have.

you focused way too hard on the pan, “okay, rehogar el pollo so the chicken goes in.”

a few minutes later, the kitchen smelled incredible, a mix of spices, garlic, and the faint sweetness of the peppers. you leaned down to check the next step, squinting at the handwriting.

“añadir el caldo y el arroz poco a poco. that’s add something a little, right? the broth?”

“sí,” patri said, this time moving beside you, “the broth and the rice. little by little.”

“okay,” you nodded, measuring what you felt was right but you heard the sharp breath in from patri beside you.

“that’s more than a little.” she said carefully, her eyes a little wider than usual.

“what, too much?” you asked, biting your lip apprehensively.

“your ‘little by little’ is more ‘mucho por accidente’.”

“accidentally a lot.” you translated automatically, which earnt a laugh, clearly impressed with your attempt.

“look at you, mi estudiante estrella.”

you tried not to smile too much, attempting to ignore the heat that was rising to your cheeks, stirring the mixture as she leaned in again, close enough that you could feel her breath against your skin when she checked the texture.

“needs more broth,” she murmured, reaching past you to pour some in. her arm brushed yours again, yet this time it was slower, more unintentional, but enough to make your chest feel warm.

“you do realise you’re meant to be supervising.” you said, voice a little shaky.

she smirked, eyes still on the pan. “i’m supervising. very closely.”

you rolled your eyes, though your pulse definitely betrayed you, “this recipe is complicated enough without you trying to distract me.”

“i’m not distracting,” she said innocently, stirring the rice, as she elbowed you lightly, “just helping in my own way.”

you glanced sideways at her. the soft focus in her eyes, the way she smiled, the soft glow across her cheeks.

by the time you both tasted the finished paella, somehow not burned and somehow surprisingly delicious, you were still grinning.

patri raised her glass, “por tu primera paella.”

you clinked your glass against hers, “for my first paella,” you echoed, “and my very patient teacher.”

she smirked, taking a sip, “muy paciente.”

-

the more time you spent together, the more both of you opened up. she talked about her work schedule and how difficult it was that she could never plan in advance because football was always changing. how demanding the whole set up was, both mentally and physically, but also how much passion she had for the sport, how much she loved her teammates like they were family and how she’d give anything to do it for as long as she could. 

so when she invited you to a match, you jumped at the chance.

you’d never been to a professional football match before and the way patri talked about it, about the roar of the crowd and the adrenaline of the pitch, made it sound incredible.

the morning of the game, you were full of nerves and excitement, pulling open your apartment door to grab your morning coffee order when you nearly tripped over a small gift bag sitting neatly at your doorstep. 

the tag on it was handwritten in familiar but slightly messy ink, ‘for game day. no pressure. – p.’ 

you smiled before you’d even looked inside. inside was a folded barcelona kit. her kit. dark blue and garnet, her name and number 12 printed across the back. tucked into the bag was a smaller envelope, a ticket to the match, and a note.

‘i’ll be looking for you, inglesita.’

you bit your lip, trying not to grin too hard as you held the shirt up. it was perfect.

by the time you arrived at the stadium, the energy was unreal, drums, chants, and a sea of people in matching colours. you found your seat easily enough, front row and easy to spot.

something about wearing her shirt felt familiar, like it was the most natural thing ever, yet nerves were building through you as you scanned the field. and then you spotted her.

patri stood near the sideline, head tilted as she listened to a teammate, hands on her hips, her expression sharp and focused. 

and then, as if she felt it, she glanced up.

her eyes found yours almost immediately. the noise of the crowd seemed to dull for half a second as her mouth curled into a grin. she lifted one hand and gave you a small, unmistakable wave.

you froze, then lifted your hand in return, slightly awkward and definitely a bit overwhelmed, she just smiled further before jogging back to whatever warm up they were doing. exactly where she should be, in her element.

for the next ninety minutes, your eyes were fixed. 

patri was everywhere. commanding the midfield, calling for the ball, threading seemingly impossible passes through defenders. when she scored, the stadium erupted, but she didn’t look at the crowd, she looked at you, pointing briefly toward your section with that same grin you were starting to recognise far too well.

by the time the match ended, a clean win for barca, your throat was sore from cheering.

your phone buzzed a few minutes later.

patri - dinner? with the team. nothing fancy. they want to meet ‘inglesita.’

you laughed, shaking your head as you typed back.

you - so i’m famous now?

patri - only a little. meet me by the players’ exit in 15.

when you found her again, she was already out of her kit, hair damp from the shower, a light jacket over a basic pair of jeans and white shirt. she smiled the second she saw you, that same easy warmth from your kitchen now mixed with the high of victory.

“look at you in my shirt.” she smiled, eyes flicking to the shirt you were still wearing.

“you left me no choice,” you teased, tugging at the fabric, “the gift bag was very persuasive.”

“it looks good on you,” she said simply, her tone quiet but sure, “come on, the others are waiting.”

“how many are there?”

“uff not too many” she said, gesturing toward the parking lot, “they promised to be normal. i give it ten minutes before they embarrass me.”

“good,” you said, bumping her shoulder lightly as you walked beside her, “i can’t wait to see that.”

she glanced sideways, smirking, “you’re enjoying this too much.”

“you invited me.”

“already regretting it.”

“no you’re not.”

she laughed, shaking her head, but didn’t deny it, leading you toward the car park where a few players were already waiting, all mid-conversation and laughing loudly. 

“everyone, this is-” she started, only to be interrupted by a voice calling out.

“ah, la inglesita!”

the woman who said it grinned, stepping forward to give you a quick, friendly hug, “i’m cata, we’ve heard a lot about you.”

“all good things i hope.” you said quickly, earning a laugh from her.

the girl next to her raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicked to the shirt you were wearing, “wow. patri’s name? bold move.”

“it was a gift!” you said, hands up defensively.

patri groaned, “ignore them.”

cata looked at her with a grin, already walking toward the restaurant, “this is way too fun.”

the restaurant was small and tucked away, but filled with a warmth you wouldn’t get at a bigger venue. you sat beside patri, half lost in conversation, half just taking it all in.

they were exactly how she’d described them. you could see it in every shared glance, every inside joke that you only half-understood. vicky and kika debated over who was the worst driver, clàudia kept stealing bites from everyone’s plates, and patri sat right beside you, happy to take it all in.

“you okay?” she asked quietly when the noise peaked, leaning close enough that her shoulder brushed yours.

“yeah,” you said, smiling at her. 

you watched her for a moment, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the way her whole face softened when she looked at her teammates. 

most of dinner moved into shared stories, laughter, too much wine, and cata’s insistence that you needed to attend another match so they could ‘keep embarrassing patri’.

when it was finally over, and you both stepped out into the cool barcelona night, she nudged your arm lightly.

“thanks for coming,” she said, her voice low now, quieter than it had been all evening, “i wanted you to see this part of my life.”

you smiled, eyes finding hers, “i’m glad you showed me.”

she held your gaze for a second longer than necessary before her lips curved into that soft smile again.

“good,” she said. “because next time, i expect you to know all the chants.”

you laughed, shaking your head as you started down the street together, “you’re assuming there’ll be a next time.”

“oh, there will,” she nodded easily, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, “trust me.”

-

the week after the match passed in a blur of small, almost unremarkable moments that somehow became the highlights of your days. you’d see patri in the mornings sometimes, hair still damp from training, hoodie hanging loose over her kit as she passed you in the hallway with a quiet smile and a soft “buenos días.” 

other times, she’d text you something small, asking if you were practicing your spanish like you should be, or sending you pictures of little things that reminded her of you. before you realised it, you’d started checking your phone more often than you wanted to admit.

there were evenings too. long stretches of conversation that had nothing to do with football or lessons. sometimes she’d talk about her family back home, her mum’s cooking, the sea breeze she missed when barcelona felt too busy. other times, she’d just listen, asking small questions that somehow made you say more than you planned to. 

it all felt natural.

-

you hadn’t planned on crying. honestly, you thought you’d been holding it together pretty well. new job, new country, new everything. but one bad day was apparently all it took for everything to crash through the cracks you’d been ignoring.

it wasn’t anything dramatic. just small things piling up. a mistake at work, a call from home that left you feeling like you were on the outside of everything, the silence of your flat suddenly feeling way too quiet than what you remembered.

so when the knock came at your door that evening, you didn’t even bother trying to fix your face before answering it, assuming it was just another parcel being delivered.

patri stood there, as casual as ever in joggers and a hoodie, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other.

“you didn’t answer my text.” she said simply, eyes scanning your expression.

“oh, sorry. i just-”

she didn’t let you finish the sentence, she just lifted the bag slightly, “ready for a movie night?”

she brushed into your flat like it was her second home, setting everything down on your coffee table as she reached for the remote, “don’t worry, i’ll pick a good one.”

an hour later, there were empty crisp packets on the table, the wine was half gone, and you were both mid-argument about whether the plot of the movie was actually funny or just something stupid to make fun of.

it wasn’t planned, the way you leaned into her. you just shifted to get more comfortable, and her arm was just there. when she didn’t move it away, just let it rest around your shoulders, it felt natural to let your head drop against her shoulder.

for a while, neither of you said anything. just the sound of the film playing quietly in the background, the glow of the screen painting soft light across her face.

“feeling any better?” she asked after a few minutes, her voice low but soft.

you nodded against her shoulder. “yeah. i just needed this, i think.”

“bad day?”

“bad everything,” you admitted, “i knew moving would be hard, but i thought i’d be better at it.”

patri’s fingers brushed gently over your arm, her thumb began tracing slow circles, “you’re allowed to have bad days, it’s just how you manage them that counts.”

you tilted your head enough to look at her, smiling weakly, “is that your motivational speech for the day?”

“it made you smile so it’s good enough.” she smiled lightly, eyes soft. 

you laughed quietly, “thanks, patri.”

“anytime, inglesita.”

you stayed like that for the rest of the film. her thumb continued tracing slow circles against your arm, your breathing syncing up without meaning to. when the credits started, neither of you moved for a while. content in the bubble you had created for just the two of you.

and though you were definitely still homesick, being in her arms felt pretty close to being home.

-

you had knocked on her door mid afternoon, coffee cups in hand, receipt paper tucked between them. 

“buenas tardes.” she smiled, stepping to the side as you walked in.

“good afternoon to you too, favourite teacher.” you grinned in return, placing the cups on the counter as you pulled out the receipt, “can you translate this for me?”

she took it from your hands, scanning over it for a moment, “it says ‘for the pretty girl’ and it’s just a number.”

“oh, well that’s sweet then.” you smiled lightly, “anyway, here’s your coffee.”

patri was quiet for a moment, head tilting at you slightly, “did you get flirted with at the coffee shop?”

“well, the girl called me guapa and said ‘para una cita’ then gave me the receipt so i just said thank you and left.” you shrugged, sipping from your drink. you had no real interest in the girl, you weren’t going to text her but you did want to know what she said.

she nodded slowly, “so you don’t plan on texting her? or going on a date with her?”

you shook your head, “no definitely not, i’m honestly not interested.”

patri hummed, still watching you over the rim of her cup, “not interested, huh?”

 “no,” you repeated, leaning against the counter, “why?”

she set her coffee down, the corner of her mouth twitching. “because that was a pretty smooth line. ‘for the pretty girl’? not bad for a barista.”

you laughed, “yeah, i’m sure she uses it on everyone.”

“maybe,” patri shrugged easily, stepping closer just enough that you could smell the faint trace of her perfume, “but still. if someone flirts with you in spanish, you should at least know how to respond properly.”

you gave her a look, “are you saying i need flirting lessons now?”

“exactly.” she leaned against the counter beside you, “you’ve learned how to order coffee, ask for directions, read my mum’s texts, flirting is the next logical step.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your chest. “and you’re the expert?”

“obviously.” she grinned, eyes shining with that same playful energy that always got you into trouble, “okay, lesson one. say ‘me gustas’.”

you frowned, “what does that mean?”

“say it first.” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

you sighed dramatically, “me gustas.”

“good,” she nodded, as if she was actually assessing your pronunciation. “that means ‘i like you.’”

your brain stalled for a second, and you blinked, “wait- what?”

“yep.” she was entirely too pleased with herself, “see? easy. now, try it again. with more confidence.”

you laughed, shaking your head, “you’re impossible.”

“come on,” she urged, stepping closer, “say it like you mean it.”

you rolled your eyes, yet you said it again, quieter this time, “me gustas.”

“much better.” she said softly, and you realised she wasn’t smiling anymore, well not teasingly, at least. her eyes flicked from your mouth to your eyes and back again, and suddenly the space between you felt smaller than it had a few moments ago.

you exhaled a quiet laugh, but it came out shakier than you thought, “okay, fine. what’s next then, teacher?”

“lesson two,” she said, voice lower now, “compliments. you can say tienes una sonrisa bonita.”

“and that means?”

“you have a beautiful smile.”

you raised an eyebrow, “you’re not even pretending this is educational anymore.”

patri’s smile widened, but she didn’t back off, “you wanted to learn real world spanish. i’m giving you the essentials.”

you repeated her words and she gave you a content nod, yet you couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes fixated on your lips as the words left your mouth. 

“there are lots of things you can compliment, like tu sonrisa. tu risa. la forma en que tus ojos se iluminan sin querer. la forma en que bebes café como si fuera el asunto más serio del mundo. la forma en que siempre lo intentas, incluso cuando es difícil. la forma en que-”

“okay, okay,” you interrupted, laughing nervously, holding your hands up, “i definitely can’t repeat all that.”

she leaned in just a little, so her shoulder brushed yours, “you don’t need to.”

you tried to step back slightly, but she mirrored you, keeping you close without actually closing the space entirely, “you’re really just saying all of this to see me flustered, aren’t you?”

“maybe,” she admitted easily, “but can you blame me? it’s true.”

you shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heat creeping into your cheeks, “i’m going to need a break if you keep talking like this.”

“no breaks in my class,” she teased, voice low, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. “lesson two is about appreciating details. and i’m full of details about you.”

you tried to laugh it off, but the warmth of her body in front of yours and the softness in her voice made it impossible to stay casual, “i think you’re just trying to scare me into paying attention.”

“if that’s what you call it,” she murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, “i’d say it’s working.”

for a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathing, smiling, letting the tension hang. your mind raced, heart thudding, aware of every little gesture. the tilt of her head, the way her lips curved when she spoke, the warmth of her arm brushing yours.

you were caught somewhere between wanting to step back and wanting to lean in, and patri seemed to sense it. she tilted her head slightly, eyes soft but mischievous, and let the silence stretch.

“so” she murmured, voice low, “maybe words aren’t enough, huh?”

your breath hitched before you could answer, heart hammering in your chest. “i- maybe not,” you admitted, the words awkward but honest.

she smiled, that small, knowing smile that made your knees weak, and leaned just a fraction closer. the faint scent of her perfume wrapped around you, warm and familiar, and your hands twitched at your sides, unsure what to do.

then, she moved.

her lips met yours, gentle at first, testing the waters, soft and deliberate. your body froze, caught by surprise before instinctively leaning in to meet her halfway. the kiss deepened slowly, tentative at first but growing with the quiet confidence she radiated.

her hands rested lightly on your arms, they were steadying and grounding, but also pressing just enough to remind you she was here. that this was real. your hands found their way to the back of her neck, hands resting at the base of her hair.

when she finally pulled back, it was only slightly, just enough for you to catch your breath. her forehead rested against yours, a slow smile tugging at her lips.

“extra credit,” she whispered, and the warmth in her eyes made your chest ache.

you laughed quietly, “i think i need a lot more lessons.”

“then i’m a very willing teacher.”

[luciasona]

Princess Treatment | Keira Walsh.

✧ Keira Walsh x Reader

✧ 5.2k words

During the Euros you realised just how much you love Keira, and now is your chance to make up for lost time, unspoken words, and to make new promises.

✧ Tags; new relationship, fluff, so fluffy, light-ish smut, soft-top!keira, reciever!keira, post euros2025

~

Set immediately after the Euros

~

Your relationship with Keira was not like any relationship you'd experienced before. Keira was a star, for one. You were not. Her time was taken away from you at a moments notice, and you couldn't even complain because the last thing you want is for a woman like Keira to throw her ambition away for romance.

You'd been friends for a while before this, but friends was so, so different to lovers. It was you who had fallen first, breaking down in tears one night as you sent the text to Keira confessing that you like her, a lot, and probably can’t handle being friends if she doesn’t feel the same.

Everything about her pulled you in. She made you laugh until your stomach ached, she was kind and thoughtful and had a spirit that you wanted to be around every moment of every day. Shockingly, she very easily admitted she also had feelings for you. So you two decided to try something out.

Even if the timing wasn't ideal.

The Euros came and went fast, you sat either in the stands or at home, with a thrumming pulse and a sickness in your stomach at the thought of her heart being broken by losing.

You and Keira were...something. Unlabelled. Seeing each other but not girlfriends. You weren't quite sure. Time kept flying past, chaos became Keira's life, not a moment for the two of you to sit down and think.

You'd had your heart broken enough times to have a lot of fear around truly letting yourself go. The friendship had only become something more during training camp for the Euros, so Keira's time with you has been scarce to say the least. Most of it was made up of texts, calls, and quiet evenings together after she exhausted herself in training.

Take it slow, you kept telling yourself.

She's just another girl. Just because she's…her, doesn't mean you need to have any more fear that it will go right or wrong.

Just let it be.

You really did suppress just how much you felt, until you were stuck at home, unable to attend the Euros final due to your own scheduling conflicts. Breaking that news to Keira had broken you. That was when you should have known.

When Kelly succeeded in that final penalty, tears streamed down your face, falling to your knees in front of the television of your apartment home back in the UK. You were so, immensely, irrevocably, obsessively, proud of her. You watched her celebrate, and you cried some more, because you should be there with her. It was an unmoving sadness and an indescribable happiness all at once.

It was then that you realised you loved her.

---

Three days later, the celebratory parade is over, and finally, Keira is yours again. Well, once she's seen her family. You both decide to let her have that time so you two can have each other without anything else distracting you. Selfishly, you've been waiting weeks, months for this moment.

When Keira knocks on the door of your apartment, it's a warm summers day but you have goosebumps from how nervous you are. You open it, and you both stare at each other for a moment. She looks beautiful, blonde curls framing her face, a lose pair of jeans paired with a white tank top and a light denim jacket. Rather than flinging your arms around one another, you both let on a ridiculous smile, and then you embrace. You become overwhelmed by the joy, cheeks aching from how big your grin is.

The hug gets tighter, so tight, until Keira is pulling you off of your feet and you're both in a fit of laughter. You try and sneak a kiss to her cheek, but she stops you, pushing you inside so you can share a passionate kiss. Keira clasps your face in her hands, tipping you back just enough for effect, but not enough that you're both a heap on the floor.

"My winner," You say affectionately. Keira grins.

"I missed you." She says against your lips, before hugging you tightly again.

"Me too. I missed you so, so much Kei." You struggle to find the words, everything you've thought about wanting to say to her in your weeks apart disappearing from your brain in the most frustrating way. You bury your face in her shoulder.

"Are you crying?" Keira asks a moment later, her voice gentle but light. You pull away, blinking, feeling a tear or two fall down your cheek. You hadn't even realised.

"I don't know." You confess, and laugh softly, "Silly girl," Keira holds you tight again. "No tears." She soothes, stroking your hair before letting you go so she can close the door and pull her suitcase in. You wipe the tear and watch her in a trance.

You exhale some of the emotion, your heart still racing, hands shaking. "Long journey? How are you feeling?" You ask, taking one of her bags along with the suitcase and pulling it through to the living room.

"Just three hours, after another four yesterday and another four the day before. I'm well good considering it all." She says in jest, and you shake your head with a smirk, knowing full well she's probably, definately, quite exhausted.

"I'm happy you're happy." You say, leading her to the kitchen island where you've made her a full English breakfast. For...late lunch. Keira looks at the food and then looks at you.

"You didn't." She says excitedly.

"Of course I did. Least I could do." You say, taking the warmed plates out of the oven. There's a hint of regret in your tone that you couldn't do more. You should have been there for her in the final. But you don't let that on as you uncover the food and let her take what she wants.

"You're sweet." She says simply, beginning to dish up a healthy amount. She's been travelling all day, so you suspected she might be hungry. You come behind her, wrapping your arms around her.

"Keira..." you murmur, nuzzling your nose against her neck. "You don't know what you mean to me." You say quietly.

Keira stays silent for a moment. "I could say the same. I've neglected you." She lets out a woeful sigh, but there is honesty behind the sentiment. She drops the tongs and places her hands atop yours instead.

You can only laugh.

"As if. You've been out working yourself to the bone. I've...I let you down. I should have shown up for you at the final. I feel fucking awful." You say, holding onto her tightly, as if nervous she'll leave.

"Don't be silly. It wasn't your fault. And even if you chose not to...I would have understood anyway. It's a big deal coming to a game like that. People talk, it's a crazy atmosphere...I get it." Keira says, but you know deep down that she would have wanted you there. It was such a big moment in her career, would probably only come second to winning the World Cup - if when they manage to do that.

"I know. But I still should have. I'm sorry." The two of you embrace again. Keira is so warm, so soft, her arms hold you together. She kisses the side of your head.

"Let me treat you today." You add after a moment. "If you'll let me?" You ask softly, pulling away. She presses her forehead against yours.

"Sure. Anything you'd like." And for a moment you believe Keira might just feel the same. That this isn't just a case of being into each other, that you're in love.

"Cool." You say, and press a kiss to her lips before grabbing your plate.

"This looks banging. Didn't know you had it in you," she says, taking a roasted tomato. You laugh.

"I can pull myself together when I want to." Little does she know just how much you have planned for today. Okay, it's not all that impressive, but it will hopefully mean something to her.

—

The two of you eat brunch together on the kitchen island, catching up on Keira's weekend in Manchester with her family, how the other girls are fairing, and what you've been up to between your FaceTime calls and texts. It's a pleasant time, Keira is clearly still a bit on edge from all the adrenaline but she's back to the more relaxed nature that you'd missed over the tournament season. You don't look away from each other, and somehow this conversation alone is more intimate and charged than most dates you've been on with others.

"Leah thinks you're well sweet, she told me I needed to come see you as soon as possible. That I now have priorities." Keira says as she sits up, bringing her empty plate to the sink.

"Ah-ah-ah," you gently bump her away with your hip, stacking the plates and cutlery. "Go sit on the couch if there's nothing else you want to do." You instruct, and Keira looks a little disarmed but pleased about it.

"Right on." She pads away, and you load the dishwasher hastily.

—

When you return to the couch, Keira has made herself comfortable, smiling at something on her phone, which she drops almost immediately as you appear above her. "Hi gorgeous," she reaches out and pulls you down, you laugh and drop your phone on the floor beside hers and nestle in behind her. She turns to face you.

It's an easy return to the gentle romance the two of you had missed out on over the past few weeks. Although you've only been more-than-friends for a short while, you can't remember a time before it.

After a few moments of silence she speaks.

"I feel so weird right now." She mumbles it into your shoulder, and you stroke her back gently.

"Why's that?" You question, mildly concerned. You felt equally touched that she trusts you so readily to be vulnerable with though.

"It's just a lot. All the chaos and then it's like...you return to these quiet moments and you don't know where you belong." She explains, and you look at her lovingly.

"It must be a lot. You've done it before though. You can do it again. These first few weeks are the hardest right?"

"I suppose, yeah. It's just a crazy life. Messes with your self perception." She laments, and you try to soothe her with caresses. Her smile has faded a bit, and you can see the exhaustion in her eyes. To expect any different would be ridiculous.

"You're allowed to be tired." You stroke her cheek softly, and you swear you notice a few more wrinkles than she had previously. Most likely stress, dehydration, lack of sleep, or all of those at once. Keira chuckles softly.

"I know. That's why I came here. I figured you'd let me be tired with you." She says, making your chest warm.

"Always. Anything you want today, you say the word, and we'll do it." You kiss the tip of her nose which makes it scrunch up slightly.

"I kinda just want to do this for a while." She says with a fond smile, and you nod. "Turn over. I made a watchlist of everything you like, so just choose anything." You say, and Keira grabs the remote from the coffee table before settling back against you.

You prop your head up a little higher so you can see the TV and spoon Keira at the same time. Being the younger one, it was often you who was the little spoon, the one getting the wise words, the one getting doted on like a princess. But today is for Keira, and you're very much enjoying this role.

Keira chooses a series you've both watched a fair few times over any of the films you thoughtfully selected, but you have no complaints.

"Great taste as always," she playfully kisses your knuckles, and you notice how her voice is a little croakier than usual. You must admit that you like it a lot this way, even if it's probably a result of shouting on the pitch. Keira's voice was always sweet to you.

You can't see her face to confirm if she's doing the same, but paying attention to the TV is quite difficult when your thoughts are racing so intensely. It's mostly happy, mostly bewilderment that this is real. That Keira has chosen you. God you are so happy.

—-

A few hours later, you take Keira to your bedroom to unpack some of her things. You walk in first, forgetting what you'd done, before quickly going behind her when she enters the room, placing your hands on her shoulders.

Her hands go to her mouth, letting out a shocked giggle.

"You're not serious!" She exclaims. It's a bit over the top, yes, but it's what she deserves. You had decorated the bed with a heart made of rose petals. In the middle is two bags of her favourite sweets, along with a card. Hanging from your wardrobe door is your Lionesses jersey that you'd worn to the earlier games, complete with a 4 and Walsh on the back. On the nightstand that became unofficially Keira's on your first night together is a bouquet of flowers, surrounded by hand-cut paper hearts. On the other nightstand is a silver 4 balloon.

It's all so cheesy, but it makes Keira take a step back in surprise.

"Well this is something," she grins, pulling you in for a kiss before leading you to the bed with a giddy step. She sits down, her feet dangling off the edge, before tapping her lap to encourage you to sit on it.

She wraps her arms around you like a vice, pressing a hard kiss to your cheek which makes you giggle.

"You like it?" You ask. God you're so in love with this girl.

"I love it. It's so thoughtful and cute of you." She says with full sincerity, picking up a rose petal and smelling it. She looks at you with an animated exclamation. "It's real!"

"Hell yeah. Only the best for my princess." You say, your heart thrumming loudly. Keira's complexion hides little, so its obvious that she blushes just a bit.

"Princess?" She says incredulously, but the look on her face tells you that she liked it at least a bit.

"Yeah. You're my winning princess. Today, at least." You say bashfully.

"So that's what this is about? I'm getting princess treatment?" Keira teases, her hand slowly caressing your back. You nod softly. "You could say so."

"You're my princess all the time, but this is quite nice for a change." Her words make you feel even more giddy, you've been trying to be the one in charge today but it's difficult to stay composed when even the slightest bit of praise melts you to the bone.

"I like this side of you." She whispers fondly, laying down on her back impressively slowly for the fact your weight is still on her.

She winces when you accidently lean on her leg in the wrong way, and you move your weight off immediately.

"I'm sorry baby." You say suddenly with a worried expression, and she shakes her head.

"It's alright." She encourages you to rest your head on her chest, your leg outstretched over hers. Yet somehow still, it's not close enough.

"Are you still in a lot of pain?" You ask, and Keira seems to contemplate it for a moment.

"I am...a bit. It's a weird feeling after competitions. You're like...fully worn out, you have to recover from a baseline of complete exhaustion. But it's a weirdly good feeling...that's probably the adrenaline though." She says, and you nod, rubbing your thumb against her shoulder.

"I've never met someone I look up to more." You say softly.

"I'm sure you have. I'd say most of the girls on the team showed more grit than me this tournament. They had more going on, at least..."

"But they're not you."

You say it with complete honesty. You're obsessed with Keira, and the worry that something will come between you two or that you've accidentally read Keira's emotions completely wrong makes you hold onto her tighter.

Keira seems to notice, and turns over so she can pull you in.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks.

"Everything and nothing at all." You say mostly honestly. A whole load of lovey-dovey nonsense threatens to spill out but you hold it in. Waiting for the perfect moment.

"Alright." Keira says softly, pressing her nose against your forehead. This is such a contrast to the craziness of her life up to now. The silence of the room is welcomed but loud.

—

Keira takes a bath while you unpack some of her suitcase. You recognise that she might want a moment to herself, to unwind and rest her wearied muscles. You fold up her shirts and hoodies, her shorts and jackets.

Encased in a protective container is her gold medal, and you don't dare take it out, but you do admire it from a distance.

You touch up your makeup, before sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her, hands clasped together nervously. When you hear the bathroom door unlock, you shuffle back, legs crossed.

Keira looks adorable, her damp blonde curls are your absolute weakness.

"You look nice," she says, dropping the towel and you playfully cover your eyes and quickly hide your face in the pillow. Keira laughs. When you open them again she's in a white shirt and underwear, so you cover them again. "I can't." You say bashfully.

"I can't believe you." Keira scoffs playfully.

"God forbid I have a crush and get irrationally nervous seeing you." You say, and the butterflies come back all over again when she sits on the bed.

"Right back at you."

It takes her a moment to notice, but she soon lifts up and pulls a piece of paper from under her leg. "Hm?"

Keira opens the letter and her expression falters. "Christ."

---

Keira,

My heart may as well be bloodying the paper I am writing on, because there is no other way of expressing just how deeply I feel for you. When we were friends, I knew you were someone special; someone who made me laugh until my stomach hurt, someone who inspired me, someone who brought out the best in me.

Watching this tournament only made me more overcome with emotion for you. Your determination, talent, and commitment to your craft is just one of the many things I love most about you. I want you to know that I will always support that, even if it means putting me on the sidelines momentarily. Your success is my success, and I love, love, love watching you win.

More importantly though, I've long known that I love you, but I realised during the final that those feelings are cataclysmic and pretty untameable. It has never felt like this before...I feel out of my depths, but so certain that this is where I should be. I simply love everything about you. I realised that no success of my own could compare to watching the person I love achieve their dream. I should have said this sooner, but I love you Keira. I really do.

I want to be your companion on the best and worst days. You're the apple of my eye and my heart is yours now. Here's the corniest line yet; you are the only trophy I could ever need. You are the win of all wins. Your soul is worth a thousand screaming victories.

I would very much like to be your girlfriend. Will you be mine?

---

You watch Keira's expression with fleeting glances, letting her take her time to soak in the words. You notice her hands shaking slightly and so you wrap your arms around her back, resting your head there. You really should have told her sooner.

Then you hear her sniffle, and she turns to fling her arms around you, a few tears dampening her freckled cheeks.

"Sweetheart," she hugs you tightly.

"You've got me good." She giggles a little through the tears, sniffling into your shirt.

"I- I have no words. That was so- unexpected. But so sweet. You've got such a way with expressing yourself. I just...wow, you're amazing." She says, and you squeeze her tighter, almost getting emotional yourself.

"You deserve it." You say, the weight finally off of your chest. You knew deep down she wouldn't feel anything but a complete reciprocation of what you wrote, but you know that love is as temperamental as the game Keira plays. Unexpected in the best and worst ways.

"I love you too. And hell yeah do I want to be your girlfriend. Every day. All the time. There wasn't a moment at the tournament where I didn't think about you. It was all for you." You've never heard her sound like this, raw emotion permeating her voice.

"Oh Kei..." You say in euphoric disbelief, holding her face to kiss her softly, before wiping away her tears with your thumbs. Your smile is like you've won a game of your own.

She gently pushes you down onto the bed and you tangle your limbs together in every way possible.

"My best girl. I'm gonna treasure that. Forever." She hums against your neck, and you reach under her hoodie to feel her rapid heartbeat.

The two of you lie there for a few minutes, cuddling and for the first time in your life, love feels so...so right.

Your fears, insecurities, doubts...they amount to nothing.

Keira turns and half accidentally, half purposefully, catches your lips in a kiss. It's sweet and relaxed, Keira is all softness and warmth compared to the coldness of lovers before. She's gentle, but intentional. It was Keira's way; she doesn't show off, but what does, she does it right. Quiet perfection.

So Keira tends to take a bit more control between the two of you.

But not tonight.

When the kiss deepens and you feel her getting closer, you press her shoulder back down, swiftly straddling her. You grin, and Keira looks smug.

"Go on then," she whispers, and you resume the kiss, her hands going to your waist in that possessive manner that you love.

You move your mouth to her neck, each movement fuelled with passion and desperation to please her and overwhelm her with your love.

You kiss down Keira's neck with a growing eagerness, hearing the way her breath becomes heavier when you finally bite down in the spots she likes.

She isn't especially vocal in bed, but you almost like that her queues have to be sought out, rather than given to you freely. She is a challenge, this girl, but you're having the time of your life figuring her out. Her gentle gasp when you sink your teeth in particularly hard makes your stomach warm.

"So sexy, Kei," you whisper in a lower register, gently tugging her shirt off which she lifts up to assist in.

"Love it when you speak like that." She answers, her cheeks flushed as you look down at her bra.

Usually she's in a sports bra, which you do not mind - it's just as hot to you. But something about this new lacy purple and the way it contrasts her pale skin has your heart racing.

"Something new," she says bashfully, but there's a devilish grin emerging on her face. You’re greedy in the way you look down at her.

"I love it. You're. So. Sexy," you punctuate each word with a kiss to her chest, your thumbs running up and down her bra straps. Her hand finds your hair, lightly twisting it into a ponytail, taking it out of your face.

"Thought you might," she says in a delayed response. By the grip of your hair, she guides your head back up her neck, and in an instant the look in your eyes changes from giving to listening.

"Leave marks, pretty girl." She says lowly, and your underwear becomes impossibly wetter. You do, kissing the side of her neck before sucking on the skin until it bruises. Doing it harder makes Keira's back arch up slightly, which to you, is quite the reward. You grind against her thigh, searching for some relief after far too long of failing to be satiated.

The hand in your hair is gentle but commanding, taking you around her neck and down her chest until she finally lets go again and allows you to continue kissing.

"Need to make you feel good." You whisper, finally slipping her straps down and reaching behind to expertly unclip her bra. "You always do." She purrs, her hand grabbing your ass through your jeans more surely.

"I want to worship you...make you feel amazing. You're so perfect." You say breathlessly, pulling her bra away from her body at the same time as she pulls your shirt up and off.

The praise seems to get to Keira in a way it rarely does. That gives you the push you need to keep going, holding her hands at either side of her head as you take one of her nipples in your mouth. You have no thoughts, no inhibitions, just a mind clouded with obsession and desire.

You move your mouth to her other breast, teasing it lightly as both you and Keira have a thigh pressing into each other. You grind your hips gently, which Keira seems to enjoy from the way she’s groping your ass harder.

“Do you want to be good for me, yeah? You’re gonna do as I say?” Keira is the one to push her leg harder between yours this time, and it makes you moan against her unexpectedly. Your cheeks are bright red, but so are hers.

“Yes,” you answer, unable to form any further words.

“Take your time. I want to savour this.” She instructs, and you nod as you work your way down her body, not missing the chance to kiss her toned stomach and move your hands over it. The muscles flex slightly and it’s so attractive.

“I will,” you answer, pulling down her shorts and sitting up to help get them over her legs, before settling back between them. Keira is more confident this time than she was before, in giving herself to you that is. And you get it; receiving is vulnerable. Letting go of control for someone is vulnerable.

Keira is relaxed though, blonde curls fall to the pillow as she leans back, reaching to hold your hair again, but not taking any control. Simply to caress it.

Your hands spread her thighs further, and you press your cheek against the soft inner skin, kissing slowly up towards her underwear.

“Can I?” You ask, hooking your fingers around her underwear.

“Course,” Keira says, and she looks at you with a carnal kind of desire that sends your head spinning. You pull her underwear down, grinning as she takes two attempts to kick it off of her foot.

At first you’re overcome with nerves, Keira is older and more experienced, and maybe she’s had girls that-

Until you taste her and your world seems to collapse in on itself until it’s just you and your sexy girlfriend sweet talking you in her sexy accent. Keira exhales pleasantly, and you gently grasp both of her thighs.

You trace your tongue up to her clit a few times, attempting to stimulate every nerve before you focus your pleasure in. You take it slow enough that it’s not rushed, and fast enough that it’s not torturous.

But when you do focus in on her clit, she moans softly, and god do you wish you had something between your own legs right now. It only makes you go firmer, not hesitating to let her wetness get on your face.

“Shit,” Keira murmurs, her pitch heightening, a sign that you must be doing well. You alternate between a firmer, pointed tongue circling her clit, and flattening it to access more surface area. She seems to enjoy the latter most, so you keep that up.

One of your hands move to join you, teasing around her entrance with two of your fingertips.

“Fuck- yes, do it,” Keira pulls at your hair lightly and that makes you moan. It takes you a moment to regain focus, before slipping one finger inside.

Keira is all you can taste, and you feel strangely possessive about it. You take the fingering slowly, even teasing her clit periodically before resuming something more intense.

“Harder. I know you can do it, sweet.” Keira says, and like she herself is in control of your hands, you slip two fingers in deeper, making Keira shudder and clench around you.

So the slow and steady plan has been roughly abandoned. Keira has her back arched as you begin to fuck her passionately, dragging your fingertips against her inner walls each time they pass.

“Fuck- good girl, you’re so good, making me-“ she loses her words, needing to breathe or else she may just pass out. The sounds you make are obscene, your own breath is short and all you want is to make her cum. She’s dripping onto your bed, and you’ve never wanted someone more.

The tightening around your fingers is a good indication that she’s close, as are her divine moans each time you thrust or curl your fingers inwards.

Your fingers are knuckles deep, your tongue going hard against her clit until you feel the tension in your girlfriend's body unravel like a coil, her orgasm sneaking up on her. She pulls at your hair, other hand clawing at the sheets as she moans vulgarly. Your name spills from her lips in a way you've never heard before.

She becomes hotter, wetter, everything at once. It’s intense, and you forget any other sexual experience before apart from this one; apart from Keira. Her orgasm lasts impressively long, but you’re careful not to overstimulate her, searching for the signs of her muscles collapsing before taking your tongue off of her clit.

“Holy fuck,” she takes your hair away from your face, and you carefully pull your fingers out, before pushing yourself back up to eye-level with her. You're both breathless, taken aback by just how intense that was.

Keira wipes your chin and lips with her hand, before slipping her fingers inside your mouth. You suck them obediently. An unexpected move from her, but one you loved nontheless.

“You were pent up?” You ask teasingly, one hand still lingering between her thighs to soothe some of the orgasmic aftershocks, two fingers massaging her clit slowly.

“Could say so. Or maybe you’re just that good.” Keira purrs, still flushed and spent. “Best one I’ve had in a long time,” she murmurs into your ear, pulling you closer and kissing your neck this time, leaving you no time to respond.

“I’m so wet for you.” You confess lowly.

Keira’s hand slips into your unbuttoned jeans.

And with a devilish glint in her light eyes, she lets you know just how long tonight is going to be.

“Of course you are.”

A/N: This turned out a lot longer than expected but was so fluffy and cute! This is definitely my love letter to Keira, honestly one of the sweetest individuals and most underrated WOSO girls ♡︎ Let me know if you enjoyed, and as always my requests are open :)

[chai-berries]

Stop looking at me like that. I’ll fall in love all over again — Patri Guijarro

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day Four

Using your own key, you unlock the door to Patri’s apartment. You slip your shoes off and take your bag and coat off as well. Following the music you can hear floating around the apartment, you walk into a scene of utmost suspicion. Patri, standing in the middle of her living room, frozen like she was just caught doing something bad. Her hands had gone flying behind her back as soon as you walked in. You only caught a quick flash of whatever she was hiding. Maybe pieces of paper?

“Ho-hola, chiqui! ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?”

You raise an eyebrow at Patri’s sheepish expression.

“You texted me to meet you here? Te acuerdas? For lunch?” You crane your neck to look behind Patri’s back. “Are you hiding something behind your back?”

“No, no, I'm just resting my hands behind my back. Just trying something.”

Patri steps back, away from you when you try to peek behind her. Rolling your eyes, you give up for a second. You then look her up and down.

Patri is wearing her reliable tan trousers. Thrifted, therefore they are softened but still durable. And a white undershirt with a new green short sleeve button up — unbuttoned, of course — on top. Everything was perfectly oversized on her and you really did love the look. She looked so, so very good. But also —

“You know, you look like a grandpa standing like that.”

“Que?” Patri shrieks. “What are you talking about? I thought you liked this outfit?”

You nod in confirmation. “Yeah, well two things can be true.”

Patri groans. “Ugh! I cannot stand you!”

You both know she doesn’t mean it.

You press on. “So, grandpa-patri. What’s behind your back, hmm?”

Patri straightens up. She stares back into your eyes; you can tell she’s weighing her options.

“It’s a… surprise.. for you!” She sighs loudly, defeatedly, under your gaze. “It’s a surprise for you and if I tell you all my work will be for nothing. That's all I'm gonna say! Vale?” She shoves the paper into her back pocket and walks up to you and puckers her lips.

“I’m sorry, mi Amor. I promise it’ll be good. Trust me, hm? Kiss? Por favor?”

You peck her lips quickly. She frowns at you and wastes no time bringing you back towards her lips, kissing you soundly. You smile against her mouth.

She pulls away and subconsciously licks her lips. When your eyes go from them to her eyes, she smirks at you.

“Bien, chiqui?” She asks.

“Sí,” you nod back.

There’s a part of you that wants to look at the paper Patri hid from you. But you also want to see what this whole thing is about, directly from her. The side that loves Patri’s sweet surprises wins and you let it go in favor of having a nice lunch with your girlfriend at the café on the corner that you guys loved.

On the walk back from the café two hours later, Patri brings it up again.

“I’m sorry for the whole hiding thing. I just have been working on a gift for you for a bit and you can ask even the girls about it, I've been driving people crazy planning it.”

“Patri.” You take your free hand and curl it around her bicep of the same arm that was holding your other hand in a warm clasp. “It’s okay. I'm not mad. I never was. I thought it was funny. Actually, now that I know that it’s a surprise for me, I'm excited to see what you have planned. I love your surprises.”

You rest your head on her shoulder so you don’t see the proud smile that grows on Patri’s face, her chest warming from your loving words and touch.

She turns her neck to press a firm kiss on your head wherever she could reach.

“Te amo mucho, mi Vida,” she whispers this into your hair but it’s loud enough for you to hear. You press your own kiss on her shoulder.

“Te amo más, mi Sol.”

Almost a week has passed since that day. Patri is pretty busy with football and your own job has hit the start of the busy season so you guys barely see each other besides when you fall asleep and wake up together.

But Patri’s surprise is sitting in the back of your head at all times. You haven’t caught her working on it again. You assume she hasn’t had time to even try to hide it from you. You don’t try to bring it up either, not wanting to pressure her.

It isn’t until she asks you if you wanna go on a date on the weekend that the surprise comes back to the forefront of your mind.

“An excursion” is all she tells you when you ask. And to wear something pretty, but comfy enough for sitting. She doesn’t give anymore hints and you fight against complaining about it because you didn’t want to ruin your surprise just because you are impatient for it.

The day starts out beautifully. You wake up to the bed empty but still warm, and a note left on Patri’s pillow that says “went for coffee and pastries, be back soon <3”

You place the note on your bedside table and decide to start getting ready for the day, hopping in the shower.

Patri comes back just as you exit the shower, her voice carrying through the door. You open it to see her holding up a to-go coffee cup and a sweet smelling paper bag.

“Thank you, mi Sol,” you press a loving kiss to her lips. She carefully sits the bag down and uses the now free hand to bring you closer to her, deepening the kiss. You smile against her mouth, feeling her do the same. She eventually pulls away so you can both breathe. Handing the coffee to you, she nods her head back towards the bathroom. “You finish that and I'm going to take my own shower. I can't believe you didn't wait for me,” she playfully scolds you. You shrug innocently.

”Well, you were gone when I woke up. and I wanted to get started for the day. I'm just so excited, Patri!”

She gives you a giant grin.

“Me too,” she confesses sweetly.

Switching places, you let her duck into the bathroom to shower. Taking your coffee and pastry bag, you sit at your vanity to get started on your hair and face, taking sips and bites as you go along.

An hour later, you are sitting in the passenger seat of the Cupra. Patri adjusts the radio till she finds a good channel. You watch her back out of the driveway and start the one hour drive to wherever she was taking you. She feels your eyes on her face, peeking over at you. She sticks her tongue out at you, making you giggle. She grins back, her eyes squinting into crescents.

The hour passes easily, you guys creating a balance of talking about anything to singing loudly to the songs on the radio. You don’t even realize you are at the place, until she signals and turns off the main road and onto a one way side street. You don’t recognize where you’re at, but you trust Patri enough to know where she’s going.

Finally she pulls off to the side and shuts the car off.

“Vamos, mi amor,” she winks at you and slides out of the car, heading to the trunk. You follow her and see that she has a whole set up in the back. There's the picnic basket you found while antiquing, filled with delicious food that you can now smell. She also has a giant tote bag, a blanket sticking out on top. You go to grab the tote bag from her and she hesitates but decides it's better to give in to you, making sure the bag isn’t too heavy for you. She shuts the trunk and locks the car, using her free hand to reach for yours.

”The walk is short,” is all she says, guiding you towards a trail that continues to slowly climb the hill you were parked on.

She’s right, the walk taking less than ten minutes. You step out from the trees and bushes and see a beautiful look out spot. You could see the entire city of Barcelona below you.

”Wow,” is all you can say.

”I knew you would love it,” Patri responds confidently. She heads towards a spot of green grass and flowers, sitting the picnic basket down. She asks for the tote bag and you give it to her. She then asks you to stand back so she can fully lay out the blanket.

She gestures down at the blanket and you sit down and watch her also sit and start digging through the basket. She passes you something food shaped, wrapped up in plastic and paper.

You both sit in peaceful silence and eat a little bit of food before Patri is digging through the tote bag again. This time she pulls out a familiar looking piece of paper and a small jewelry box. Your eyes widen at the box and you look up at Patri’s face to see her staring back at you already. She sits the box down and clears her throat. Words seem to fail her as she tries to start talking a few times only to close her mouth. She groans and shakes her head. She looks back at you, where you sit watching her with a small smile on your face. She can see the love and affection reflecting in your eyes and it both comforts her and flusters her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she begs.

You stare back in confusion. “Like what?”

”Like you can see in my soul,” she says. “I’m going to fall in love with you all over again if you keep looking at me like at.”

You smirk. “What would you say if I told you that was my plan all along?”

Patri grumbles, a grin fighting to appear on her face. “Then it’s working. Quite well.”

That makes you snort with laughter, her expression trying so hard to be serious.

“Okay,” she says, rolling her neck and shoulders, easing the tension out of her body. She starts to read off the paper, her eyes flicking between it and your eyes.

“Mi Vida. To say you are the love of my life would be immeasurably inaccurate. You are my best friend, my soul mate, my other half. Finding you is something I thank the Gods for every minute. I wouldn’t change any part of my life before you, if it meant I got to have you in every life, every time.”

Patri pauses when she sees you are tearing up. She reaches her thumb out and catches the fat drop of water as it rolled down the apple of your cheek. She smiles warmly at you and you return it easily. You reach up and hold her hand to your face. After a moment, she takes her hand back and grabs the box and hands it to you.

“Don’t open it just yet,” she notes before continuing to read off her paper. Her eyes stay glued to the paper but nothing comes out. This time you take your hand and pick up hers and squeeze it. She smiles at you again and you can see tears in her own eyes.

“Uh, sorry,” she chokes out. Clearing her voice she starts again. “I love you so much. I love you more every day and in every way. I am so grateful that you love me too. I hope you know just how much I adore you,” she says, looking deep in your eyes. You squeeze her hand again. “And if you don’t know, I hope the ring in that box reminds you every day you wear it. If you’d like it to, of course.”

As the words wash over you, you look down at the box, then back to Patri to see her nod her head. You take that as your cue to open it.

Inside is the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen. It was bright and shiny but not gaudy. It was absolutely perfect.

“Patri…” You murmur, your eyes not leaving the ring.

When you look up again, Patri has moved and is now on one knee, back straight and a giant lovesick grin on her face.

“Dios mío,” you whisper.

Patri silently asks you to stand in front of her and you carefully get up. She takes the box in her hand and picks the ring from it. Dropping the box to the blanket below, she pinches the ring between her thumb and index finger.

“Mi Vida,” she begins when you’re ready. “It would be an honor to be your wife for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”

You can barely let her finish before you blurt out your answer: “YES! SÍ, SÍ, SÍ!! Oh my God, of course!!”

You know you’re blubbering right now but Patri is grinning wetly up at you so you know you’re not alone. You hold your left hand out and let Patri slide the gorgeous ring onto your finger. Once it’s on, Patri stands up and scoops you into a tight hug.

“Oh Patri, mi Sol! I love you so much!” You wrap your arms tight around her neck and press wet kisses to her cheek and forehead. You can feel her kissing your face on the other side which makes you feel so warm inside you can feel it from your toes to your ears.

She loosens her grip and you lean back to take her face in your hands. She’s crying now and you wipe the tears before they fall. You press a firm kiss to her lips, tasting the salt from both of your tears.

Patri’s hand comes to cup the nape of your neck and deepens the kiss. You let out a pleased sigh against her mouth, the sound vibrating against her lips. She swallows the noise eagerly, keeping you close as you continue to kiss.

“Te amo,” Patri murmurs against your mouth. “Te amo mucho. Eres el amor de mi vida.” She peppers kisses all over your face, before coming back to your lips and pecking them over and over again.

“Mmm, te amo, cariño,” you whisper back to her. “I love you so so soooo much.”

a/n: over 2400 words by accident lmao ya know this didn’t start as a proposal fic but patri’s surprise also took me by surprise. it’s like she took over the writing for a second and it went from a cute surprise date to her getting down on one knee and asking Thee Question <3 hope u patri lovers enjoyed this sweet dose of love!! i had so much fun writing it

reblogs and comments make me wanna write more ;)

[helen-with-an-a]

https://www.tumblr.com/helen-with-an-a/781271222667313152/httpswwwtumblrcomhelen-with-an-a781264987901?source=share

have you ever noticed in videos that lena has really long legs, to the point that her hips are at counter top level if you get my vibe 😉😉

Hello my lovely. So I no longer write for Lena Oberdorf but I loved the story so I have changed it to a Cata story. Thank you my lovely.

Test Drive

Cata Coll x Reader

Description: You and Cata go to Ikea.

“Cata, baby, what about this?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

“Huh?” she replied distractedly, her eyes glued to her phone screen. She was off in her own world, thumbing through something.

“What about this?” you repeated, a little louder this time, pointing to the table in front of you. It was nice. Big enough to fit four people comfortably, five if everyone was willing to get a little cozy. The wood was painted white, and there was a quirky, carved pattern running along the edge, something floral but abstract. You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but it gave the piece some charm.

“Lemme see,” Cata said, finally pocketing her phone. She scuttled over, slipping in behind you and resting her hands lightly on your waist. You felt her hips press into your lower back as she leaned forward to get a better look.

You laughed under your breath, tilting your head. “Baby,” you whined softly, trying to turn around, but her arms tightened just a little.

“What?” she asked innocently. You sighed, shaking your head at her antics, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“What do you think?” she asked after a beat, her voice dropping a little, gentler now as her fingers traced lazy circles over your shirt. You couldn't help but relax into her.

“I wouldn’t have asked for your opinion if I didn’t like it,” you teased, glancing back at the table. It really did look good here, in the showroom’s dining setup, under the artificial lights that made everything feel warmer than it actually was.

You knew this was the last way she wanted to spend her rare day off, wandering the winding maze of Ikea, then hitting up a few other shops afterward. Not exactly the relaxing kind of day off she fantasised about. But she was here anyway, half-distracted, half-present, and entirely trying to make it tolerable for both of you.

“It looks good. Sturdy,” she said with a firm nod, stepping beside you now. Whether she was reassuring you or herself, you couldn’t tell.

“So, I’ll mark it down?” you asked, reaching for your phone and pulling up the notes app where you'd been keeping a running list.

“Yep.” She popped the “p” with a grin, one hand sliding down to intertwine her fingers with yours.

“You’re so weird,” you huffed, though there was no heat behind it. You rose up on your tiptoes and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

She smiled into the kiss, her nose brushing yours. “You love it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Unfortunately.”

—

“What about this?” Cata asked, pointing to a cabinet top with an almost casual flick of her hand. It wasn’t anything wildly extravagant, simple and sturdy with a deep blue base and a faux-marble surface. You could already picture it in your new kitchen: the two of you moving around each other in easy, familiar loops, music playing from a little speaker perched on the windowsill, both of you humming along, swaying lazily between the stove and sink, drinks half-forgotten on the side, sharing kisses and long touches as you moved in a carefully choreographed dance.

“Nice,” you said, the word leaving your mouth with a small, instinctive smile.

Cata’s expression shifted almost immediately. The little crease appeared between her brows, her lips pressing together as she turned toward you, studying your face like it held some code she hadn’t quite cracked. “Do you not like it?” she asked, her voice dipping slightly, softer, tinged with a trace of uncertainty.

“No, no, I do,” you said quickly, meaning it, and you watched as the tension in her shoulders eased. She reached for you without hesitation, her fingers curling around your wrist as she tugged you closer, pulling you into her orbit like she always did.

“Hola,” she murmured, her face so close now that you could feel the warmth of her breath, the barest brush of her lips against your skin when she spoke.

“Hello, my love,” you replied, the words coming easily, familiar and true. You pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, smiling as you did.

“So you like?” Cata asked again, tilting her head toward the countertop, but not quite taking her eyes off you.

“Yeah,” you laughed under your breath as she guided you by the hips, gently but insistently, until your back was pressed lightly against the cool edge of the counter.

“There,” she murmured, more to herself than to you, her arms braced on either side of you now. You could feel the solid presence of her body, close and certain. “Comfy?” she asked, one eyebrow arched in mock challenge.

“Yes,” you replied, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

“If you’re not happy, we can keep looking,” Cata promised, glancing over her shoulder at the neat rows of other showroom pieces. Her hand squeezed yours gently, a quiet reassurance.

“No, this is fine,” you told her, shaking your head with a small smile. “I’m just not really in the market for a countertop based on comfort.”

“Well,” she grinned, leaning in so her lips brushed your ear, “maybe you should be.”

—

“Cata?” you asked, your voice a mixture of confusion and mild horror as you took in the sight before you.

“Sí?” she grinned up at you from her place on the floor, looking far too pleased with herself for someone currently lying awkwardly in the corner of a display shower.

“Why,” you began, gesturing vaguely to the absurdity of the situation, “are you on the floor?”

“I’m measuring,” Cata said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She even had the audacity to roll her eyes, like you were the one being ridiculous.

“Measuring what?” you asked, crouching a little yourself as if getting to her level might somehow help you understand whatever was happening here.

“The shower,” she replied plainly, as if this explained everything.

“It has all the information here,” you pointed out, tapping the little laminated plastic wallet taped neatly from the wall. You scanned over it quickly; measurements, materials, available colours – literally everything any normal person might need.

“Well, I had some more things that needed to be checked,” she said airily, grabbing your outstretched hand and using it to haul herself to her feet. Cata brushed herself off with a little huff, then turned to you with a bright, expectant look.

“Stand here for me,” she instructed, already reaching out and steering you into position beneath the fake shower head before you could agree or protest. It wasn’t really a request so much as a declaration, and you found yourself moving simply because there was no other viable option.

You shot her a look as she took a step back, arms folded, head tilted slightly as she assessed the scene. Cata’s eyes flicked from the overhead fixture to the width of the shower tray, then back to you, standing there like an obedient test subject.

“This seems big enough, right?” she asked, gesturing vaguely around the cubicle, as if the answer wasn’t already printed in three different places on the product information.

“For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes a little, though you could feel the corners of your mouth twitching upward.

Cata grinned. “For us,” she said pointedly, stepping in beside you and pulling the fake glass door shut with a soft click. The space suddenly felt even smaller with both of you inside it, her familiar gentle scent and the warmth of her skin filling the space more than any hot water ever could.

“See?” she continued, turning in a slow circle as though inspecting the room. “Plenty of room. We won’t be struggling for space.”

“We don’t struggle for space now,” you objected, though your tone was already fond, teasing.

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s… debatable.” You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head as she gave you a quick, satisfied nod.

“You’re so weird.”

—

“Isn’t it a little… high?” you asked, eyeing the bed suspiciously as Cata stood beside it, looking like she was already imagining a lifetime’s worth of naps and lazy mornings sprawled across it.

She glanced at you, then back at the bed. It was wide, covered in crisp white display sheets, the kind that practically dared you to sit on them even though you weren’t supposed to. It did look comfortable – plush, with a soft give to the mattress and one of those ridiculously padded headboards you could lean against for hours.

“I don’t think so?” Cata replied, a small crease appearing between her brows as she tried to see whatever it was you were seeing. Her eyes drifted from you to the bed again, measuring it like a coach assessing a tactical setup.

“I don’t know, it just seems … taller than the one we have at the moment,” you said, leaning forward to press your hand into the mattress. It had that satisfying sink, the kind that made you want to just curl up right there in the middle of the store. “See,” you pointed out, standing beside it again. “It just about comes to my hips.”

“That’s not a bad thing though,” she mumbled, almost too fast for you to catch it.

You turned your head, raising a brow. “Hm?”

“I think it’s the perfect height,” she repeated, this time with a bright, unbothered grin, the kind that usually got her out of trouble but only made you more determined to argue your case.

“I’ll have to jump to get into it,” you pointed out, gesturing exaggeratedly to the distance between the floor and the top of the mattress.

“I’ll help you,” Cata grinned, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into her like it was the simplest thing in the world. You could feel her laughter rumbling in her chest before you even heard it.

“And when you’re on international duty? An away game? What then?” you teased, tilting your head back to look at her.

“We’ll get you a step stool,” Cata said immediately, not missing a beat and pressing a quick peck to your temple. She burst out laughing when you reached out and pinched her side in retaliation.

“Aye!” she squealed, squirming away just enough to escape your fingers but not enough to let you go. “Abuse!”

“Justice,” you corrected smugly.

She grinned down at you, her hands still warm against your waist. “I’m still saying it’s the perfect height.”

“Of course, you would,” you muttered, though you could feel the traitorous smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. It was impossible to stay annoyed at her for longer than a few seconds, especially when she was looking at you like that, like she’d already planned out the first night you’d spend in that bed together.

—

“Are you sure about all the choices we made today?” you asked, clambering into bed with a groan, your muscles aching slightly from hours of showroom wandering, price comparing, and debating the virtues of matte finishes versus gloss.

“Of course, I am,” Cata grinned up at you. Before you could properly settle, she grabbed your wrist and used an unsurprising amount of strength to tug you over her, leaving you straddling her hips with a squeak of surprise.

“But… they were mostly my options,” you frowned, biting your lip as you looked down at her. “I don’t want you to just agree because you think I like it. That’s not fair.”

Cata let out a soft, almost amused sigh and reached up, her fingers brushing against your cheekbone in that annoyingly perfect way that made your breath catch. You leaned into her touch automatically, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the warmth of her palm soothed away some of your lingering worry.

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, her thumb stroking gently along your skin. “I promise, I like all the things we chose today.”

You opened your eyes, searching her face for even a flicker of doubt, but there was nothing there except easy certainty. Still, something must have flickered across your own expression because she gave a quiet laugh and added, “They’re all perfect. Every single one ticked my boxes.”

“Your boxes?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sí,” she grinned, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “My boxes. You know, strong, sturdy, spacious, comfortable for you.” She counted them off on her fingers.

You snorted. “Those are your must haves?”

Cata gave you a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course, I want you to be comfortable.”

You blinked, your stomach giving a tiny, stupid flip at the way she she was looking at you.

“What? Why?”

She smirked, tugging you a little closer, her hands settling firmly on your hips. “For when we have sex. Gotta keep my girl comfy when I’m making her see stars.”

A laugh burst out of you before you could stop it, the warm flush on your cheeks doing nothing to hide how pleased you secretly were. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” Cata grinned, stealing a long, sweet kiss.

[helen-with-an-a]

Worth It (18+)

Patri Guijarro x Reader

Description: Patri finally follows through on her plan.

Anticipation : Worth It (18+)

TW: Smut. 18+. Soft!Dom Patri. Sub!R. Edging. Missionary (R receiving). Cunniligus.

Patri had made you wait even longer.

You’d barely made it off the pitch before you were on her — dragging her into the showers, your grip unforgiving as you shoved her beneath the cool spray. It did nothing to soothe the heat coursing through your veins, your skin feverish beneath the chill of the water. Her hands had been relentless, scratching down your back, teasing the curve of your hips, groping your arse, roaming everywhere like she’d starve if she stopped. Her lips had followed the same desperate path, dancing over your skin; sucking marks into your collarbone, nipping at your jaw, biting the tender flesh of your shoulder, then soothing each sting with a maddeningly soft kiss. You could hardly catch your breath, and it had nothing to do with the steam that fogged up the space around you.

You knew the rest of the team was well aware of what was happening. They’d seen you pull her into the showers without a word, the intent clear in every step, every look. You and Patri were no secret. There’d been knowing smirks, raised brows, maybe even a few groans of “for fuck’s sake” as the door slammed shut behind you. But couldn’t care less.

In this moment, there was only her.

“Patri, please,” you breathed, voice shaking as her hands slid down, fingers curling around your thighs. In one swift, effortless motion, she lifted you up, pinning you against the cool tiles. Your ankles locked tight around her hips, pulling her flush against you.

“Mi princesa,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. A tender kiss followed, feather-light on your damp skin. “Mi corazón.” Her voice dropped into a low, indulgent laugh as you tried to grind down, using your legs to urge her closer. “Paciencia.”Patience

You let out a shaky breath, the spray of water pounding against your shoulder as your head fell back. The coolness of the tile was a weak counter to the burn inside you.

“Listen to me, mi niña bonita.” Her voice took on a note that made your stomach flip, commanding yet impossibly soft. She waited, holding you firm until your eyes met hers. Chocolate-dark, pupils blown, she looked at you like she could devour you whole. You bit your lip at the heat rushing through you, your pulse frantic.

“This is what we’re going to do,” she began, slowly adjusting her grip on you, her fingers biting into your skin. Your chest rose and fell with each desperate breath. “We’re going to get out of these wet clothes,” she murmured, kissing your cheek, lips lingering just a beat too long. “We’re going to actually shower, properly.” Another kiss, this time to the other side, leaving a phantom warmth in its wake. You whimpered, your nails dragging lightly down her shoulders.

“Then we’ll head outside, go back to the hotel,” she continued, her words a promise and a warning all at once. She let the moment stretch, the tension between you a taut, electric thing.

“And then,” her lips brushed the corner of your mouth as she spoke, “if you’ve been a good girl, ” she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, one brow arched, a wicked glint in her eye. “If you’ve behaved, I’ll fuck you so good you won’t remember your own name.”

Your stomach twisted, a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, and you clenched around nothing, desperate for the relief only she could give. She felt it, of course she did, smirking against your skin as she held you tighter.

You honestly couldn’t remember what had happened next. One minute, she was murmuring promises in your ear, telling you she was going to ruin you, take you so high you wouldn’t know which way was up. And the next, you were spread out on the bed, damp skin against cool sheets, Patri above you like a storm rolling in, heat radiating from every inch of her.

You must have been a good girl. You had to have been. Because Patri was a woman of her word, always. She never gave without reason, never let you have what you wanted unless you’d earned it. And right now, the way she had you pinned beneath her, bare and aching and at her mercy, told you that you must have done exactly as she asked. You must have showered like she told you, kept your hands to yourself even though it nearly killed you, followed her gentle, firm instructions with wide eyes and bitten lips. Because she didn’t reward disobedience.

“Baby,” you breathed, the word escaping you in a shiver as her thumb brushed lazily over your nipple, a feather-light touch that had you arching beneath her.

“Sí, mi amor?” she replied, her voice low and thick with amusement.

You didn’t even know what you were asking for. You just knew you needed her. More of her. Anything she’d give. The words tangled in your throat, nonsensical, half-formed.

“Please,” you managed, the word cracking apart on your tongue, soft and desperate.

She must have been in a good mood. Usually, Patri made you work for it. She’d tease it out of you, one syllable at a time. Make you tell her exactly what you wanted, no hiding behind vague whimpers and half-begged pleases. She liked to hear you say it, name it, admit it. Admit that you needed her. Even if you didn’t know. And if you hesitated, if you faltered, she could wait. She was endlessly, maddeningly patient.

But tonight, something in her must have softened. Or maybe it was the way you looked beneath her, wrecked already from nothing but a few kisses and a handful of whispered threats. Because she didn’t make you beg properly this time.

You felt her smile against your skin as she began her slow descent down your body. Lips pressing, teeth grazing, tongue flicking against every patch of skin she could reach. A trail of heat and sensation in her wake. She knew exactly what she was doing, how to push you to the edge without a single word. It was overwhelming in the best, most intoxicating way possible. You didn’t know whether you wanted to sob or laugh or cling to her until the world fell away.

And by the time she reached the place you needed her most, you were trembling, every nerve alight, entirely hers.

She hummed gently, pressing a kiss to your hip as she skimmed her nose across the bare skin. “Listen to me, mi vida.” You took a shuddering breath, lifting your head to look at her. “I’m going to edge you, play with you a little, make you mine. But you need to tell me when you’re about to cum, bien? Can you do that for me, mi amor?” She looked up at you so innocently, as if she hadn’t just said the most wicked of things to you.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Buena niña.”

You swallowed hard, a soft, breathy moan escaping you as you felt her part your flesh with careful, reverent hands. The cool rush of her breath against your heat made you shiver, a helpless, instinctive reaction you couldn’t control.

“Bonita,” she murmured, so quietly you weren’t sure if she meant for you to hear it, or if it was meant for herself. Either way, it made your stomach tighten.

You forced your eyes open for a moment, catching sight of her between your thighs, the warm, satisfied curve of her lips as she looked up at you, drinking in the sight of you laid out for her. Your eyes fluttered shut again, your body tense with anticipation, chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths.

She licked her lips, as though savouring the moment, before leaning in and pressing the softest, most maddening kiss to your clit. You gasped, your body jolting like she’d shocked you, a sharp pulse of pleasure radiating outwards. A needy moan followed, your hips twitching beneath her touch.

She took her time, her tongue tracing slow, teasing circles around your clit, light and gentle, deliberately holding back from giving you too much, too soon. The sensation was low and steady, a hum of pleasure building under your skin, each pass of her tongue winding you tighter.

It was obvious she was in no hurry. She was properly savouring every reaction, every quiver of your thighs, every desperate sound that slipped past your lips. It wasn’t just about you; this was for her too. She loved this – relished in it, watching you fall apart bit by bit, knowing exactly how to drag it out and make you ache for more.

Electricity coursed through you, a spark catching in your stomach and spreading, every nerve ending alive and crackling under her touch. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your body already edging closer to something dizzying, and yet Patri moved like she had all the time in the world. The bubble was growing bigger; with every stroke of her tongue, every flick, every suck, every hum, your body twitched and rocked, grinding down on her mouth – taking as much as she let you.

“P-pat–” you stammered, your voice breaking apart with a ragged moan, the pressure in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter with every devastating flick of her tongue. “Patri.”

She hummed in response, a low, satisfied sound vibrating against you, never breaking her rhythm, never giving you a moment to breathe. The tension inside you snapped another notch higher, your thighs trembling around her shoulders.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, your voice thin, desperate, barely more than a breath. “I’m… I’m gonna… shit… you… I’m—oh my god, I’m gonna cum.”

And then – nothing.

Her mouth left you, the relentless pressure gone in an instant. Her tongue stilled, her hands gentling against your hips to keep you from chasing the contact you so desperately needed.

You let out a desperate, broken whine, hips squirming restlessly against the sheets. “No, no, no, no,” you pleaded, the word tumbling out over and over as you writhed beneath her, trying to hold onto the fading heat, the ghost of the high she’d dragged you to the edge of.

“Mi buena niña,” she murmured, her voice soft and indulgent, like you were something precious she could toy with. She leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh, her chin slick with your wetness, the sight of it making your pulse skip wildly.

You whimpered, the mixture of frustration and aching desire curling tight in your chest, and you could see the smug glint in her eyes when she looked up at you.

“I told you I’m going to play with you for a little bit,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your skin, the promise in her voice sending another shiver through your overstimulated body.

Fuck. You’d let her ruin you a hundred times over if it meant she’d touch you again.

She waited. Waited until your breathing began to steady, until the frantic hammer of your heart slowed just enough for you to catch a fraction of yourself. All the while, she murmured soft, meaningless nothings against your skin — words you couldn’t quite make out, though the warmth of her voice and the tenderness in her touch kept you hovering in that maddening space between frustration and aching need.

You jolted when you felt her finger, feather-light, gathering some of your wetness, teasing you with a slow, deliberate circle around your entrance. The barely-there pressure made your hips twitch, a helpless, instinctive reaction, your body pleading for her without a single word.

With a soft sigh, you clenched as she eased a finger inside. It was gentle, unhurried, her other hand smoothing along your thigh as though to soothe you. A shudder ran through you when she pressed a tender kiss to your clit, letting you adjust, letting you settle around the slow, stretching intrusion.

She moved torturously slow, pulling back with a deliberate 'come hither' motion, the pad of her finger brushing that perfect, sensitive spot deep inside you. You moaned softly, your back arching as a bolt of pleasure sparked through you.

Patri was patient, as always; driving you mad, as always. She took her time, coaxing you back up bit by bit, building you again with expert precision. A second finger slid in like it belonged there, your body welcoming it eagerly, the stretch delicious and addictive. It felt like forever and yet no time at all, the heat in your belly rekindling, growing hotter with every press of her fingers, every flick of her tongue.

She knew exactly how to work you — every flick, every thrust in perfect, devastating combination. Her tongue was everywhere: circling, pressing, flattening against your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble. You could feel yourself hurtling towards that edge again, the pleasure tightening, pulling you apart and rebuilding you all at once.

“Patriiiiii,” you whined, voice high, tight, your throat closing around the sound. “Close.”

You barely got the word out before everything stopped again.

Her fingers stilled inside you, her tongue withdrawing, leaving you clenching around nothing, the sharp ache of denial blooming in your core.Your head dropped back with a desperate whimper, another pleading, wordless sound on your lips.

You felt her lips at your thigh, her voice a dark, indulgent murmur. “Que buena niña.”

A soft, praising whisper that made your entire body shiver, even as you bit your lip against the cruel, exquisite frustration she left in her wake.

“One more,” she promised, voice low and smooth, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “One more, around my strap.”

You groaned, the sound thick with frustration and desperate, aching need. Your hips shifted against the sheets, your body already begging for it even as your mind threatened to unravel. But you nodded anyway, because you loved it. You loved the push and pull of her, the relentless way she held you on the edge and reeled you back, the tender torment only she could manage.

You were too far gone to question the fact that she’d packed her strap. Or lube. Or the goddamn vibrator – which, if you could believe your eyes, sat beside her on the mattress as she knelt back between your trembling thighs, the deep red toy already glinting with lube. It was a newer one too, you realised with a hazy blink. One she’d teased you with a couple of times before. A little thicker than the others, but it curved so perfectly you could already feel where it would press, where it would drag.

“You’re such a good girl,” she whispered, her hand tracing soothing circles along your thigh, steadying you as she lined the toy up. The praise made you shudder, the words settling like a blanket and a brand all at once. You sighed, your body instinctively relaxing, hips tilting up to meet her.

She eased inside. A gasp tore from your throat, sharp and unguarded. The stretch burned, just a little, but you were so wet, so ready, it slid in with sinful ease, your walls fluttering around the intrusion.

Patri didn’t know where to look. Your face, where your eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted in a perfect, desperate 'o', etched in pleasure. Or between your legs, where you were eagerly taking every inch of the strap, your thighs quivering as shocks of pleasure raced through you. Her thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles, perfectly in time with every shallow thrust of her hips.

“Mi niña bonita, mi belleza, mi princesa,” My pretty girl, my beauty, my princess she murmured, the words tumbling from her lips like a prayer,”

She moved slowly, torturously controlled, every press of her hips matched with a firm circle of her thumb and a new praise, her voice thick with adoration. The toy nudged perfectly against that spot inside you, and with every thrust, you felt yourself spiral deeper, slipping further into that blissed-out, floaty haze only Patri ever managed to drag you into.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, your body arched, back bowing off the bed, chasing more, craving everything. You were thrumming with it, with love, with lust, with the overwhelming need to fall apart in her hands.

“Close,” you gasped, the word punched from your lungs as you felt your toes curl, your heels digging into Patri’s lower back, urging her deeper, harder.

“You’re close, mi vida?” she asked, voice so unbearably soft, so smugly knowing, as she leaned down, still pistoning into you, her breath hot against your cheek. “You going to cum for me?”

“Y–you said… you said… one more…” you choked out, your voice cracking under the pressure, barely able to hold yourself together.

“That’s right,” she purred, smiling wickedly as she caught your lips in a soft, slow kiss, a cruel contrast to the relentless movement of her hips. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

And she wasn’t stopping. The bubble in your stomach was stretched thin, trembling, your body one continuous, desperate tremor.

“Patri,” you warned, sharper now, a desperate edge to your voice.

Her lips brushed yours again, and you felt her smile — that maddening, gentle, infuriating smile.

“Buena niña,” she muttered against your mouth, and then stilled completely, buried deep inside you.

You were groaning again, whether it was from the sharp sting of frustration as the fire dancing along your nerves started to dim a little, or from the intoxicating, lazy slide of her lips against yours, you couldn’t tell. It blurred together, pleasure and denial, heat and tenderness, until you didn’t know where one ended and the other began. But either way, you weren’t about to complain.

Because kissing Patri was one of your happy places. One of the safest, softest corners of your world. The feel of her mouth on yours, the way she kissed you like it was a conversation, like it meant something every single time, had the power to steady you even as your body trembled. She tasted like sin and safety all at once; a maddening combination you’d never get tired of.

The way her lips moved with yours, soft and sure, one hand steady on your hip while the other cupped your face, made your chest ache. She kissed like she touched everywhere else — slow, deliberate, teasing when she wanted to be, tender when you needed it most. She took her time, brushing her lips against yours like she had nowhere else in the world to be.

Your hands found her shoulders, fingertips digging into the slick skin there, clinging to her like an anchor. The press of her hips, the lazy drag of her thumb when she resumed circling your clit, the slow build that started all over again. You moaned into her mouth, the sound half frustration, half helpless adoration. And she swallowed it up, kissed you through it, her lips curling against yours as though she knew exactly what she was doing to you. And she did. She always did.

The world narrowed to the press of her mouth, the unrelenting ache in your core, and the quiet, unbearable sweetness of being loved like this — completely, utterly, by the only person who’d ever managed to ruin you so beautifully.

It was slower this time, not because she was being cruel, but because she was savouring you. The build of pressure between your legs came in gentle, rolling waves rather than the frantic crash it had been before. Each thrust of her hips was steady, measured, and every graze of her thumb over your sensitive skin was deliberate, like she was reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

“Mi buena niña,” Patri murmured, breaking away from your lips just long enough to press a tender, chaste kiss to your forehead. The kind of kiss that made your chest ache, made your eyes sting for reasons you didn’t quite have words for. “You deserve this, mi corazón. For today, for the week, for everything.”

A moan slipped from your lips, sharp and needy, not just from her words but from the way she said them; like she meant it, like you were the most precious thing in the world. You rocked your hips up to meet hers, your movements growing instinctive, mindless, your body so completely attuned to hers that you didn’t have to think about what you were doing anymore. You whined softly, drowning in it, so utterly lost in Patri you weren’t sure where you ended and she began.

“Listen, bebé,” she murmured again, a soft command wrapped in warmth. “Vamos, mi amor.”

She slowed her hips, her eyes fixed on you with something lovesick and proud, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped, your body arching into the brief loss of momentum like you were chasing it.

“You, cariño,” she coaxed, reaching out to grab the vibrator from beside you, the sight of it enough to make your stomach flutter. She pressed it into your trembling hand. “Hold this… here.” She guided your fingers, placing the head of the wand against your clit, her fingers curling around yours for a moment as she clicked it on. The low, teasing hum made your breath catch, hips twitching. You whined again, the sound embarrassingly high and desperate.

Patri smiled, a slow, knowing thing that made your toes curl. “And I’ll do everything else, sí?” she promised, her voice so soft it felt like a secret meant only for you.

You were nodding before she even finished the sentence, already falling apart for her, your body pliant, strung out and floating somewhere just beneath the ceiling.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything,” she cooed, her hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you panted. “Just feel good, sí?”

“Feel good,” you echoed, voice barely there, thick with emotion and need. And you did. You were high on it, on her. On the sweetness of her words and the electric light roaring through every inch of your body.

You whined shamelessly as she picked up her pace again, each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Her free hand came to press gently on your lower belly, her palm firm and grounding, pinning you in place in the most intoxicating way. The pressure made everything sharper, every movement of the toy inside you dragging perfectly against that aching spot.

You were overwhelmed. Not just by the sensation, but by her. By the way she held you, the way she spoke to you, the way she looked at you like you were something fragile and sacred. You had never felt so full, so wanted, so impossibly loved.

And you were happy. God, you were so fucking happy.

“Patri,” you shuddered, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, like the only word you had left in your body. You were flying now, hurtling toward the edge with no hope of stopping, the path to your climax laid wide open, the pleasure an unrelenting tide threatening to swallow you whole.

“Patri… oh my god…” The words were broken, breathless, torn from you without thought. You weren’t thinking anymore. You couldn’t. There was no room for anything but the feel of her inside you, the steady press of the vibrator against your clit, the warmth of her hand splayed against your belly, the weight of her gaze on you. You were utterly, blissfully lost in her, in the all-consuming ache, the thick, molten pleasure bringing you higher and higher with every second.

“I— I’m… cumming,” you croaked, your voice thick under the weight of it. It felt like it took everything you had left to force the words out, your body already shaking, your muscles clenching down in warning, on the brink of unraveling.

“Sí, mi vida,” Patri groaned, her voice low and thick with affection, with heat, with pride. “Sí. Cum for me, bebé. Be a good girl,” she coaxed, her hips never faltering. “Be my good girl, and cum.”

And it broke you.

The coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure ripping through you so violently it knocked the air from your lungs, your entire body locking up, trembling, as you cried out her name. It was blinding, overwhelming, the kind of orgasm that left you teary-eyed and breathless, clinging to her like a lifeline. You could barely hear yourself, but you knew you were moaning, babbling her name, a string of soft, broken sounds that only she could drag from you.

Patri held you through it, whispering soft, filthy praises in your ear, her hand stroking your side as your body jolted and quivered, lost in the storm she’d so carefully built.

“Such a good girl, mi amor.” Patri mumbled into your hair when you had calmed down. “My good girl.”

[lvnleah]

Fic idea

Lucy bronze x reader

after the euros final when they’re celebrating with their family readers niece comes on the pitch with Lucy’s niece and nephew. Lucy plays with them. Maybe it makes r want a baby with Lucy.

the next chapter | lucy bronze.

first lucy fic, i fear i might have a new fav to write for 🫶🏻

You’d barely stopped crying since the final whistle.

The shootout had been a blur. You hadn’t been able to watch any of it, you stood beside Lucy on the sidelines with your back facing the dugout. 

When Chloe scored that winning penalty, it felt like the world slowed. You immediately jumped into your girlfriend, Lucy’s, arms. It was the second euros you’d won together since dating. 

The first in 2022 you had only been together for a couple months, your relationship was still a secret so you didn’t get to celebrate publicly. Now this time three years later, you were able to celebrate with her publicly. 

After the chaos of the trophy lift, players made their way into the stands to celebrate with their families. You and Lucy made your way to your mum, sister and niece and her family who were all sitting together. 

“Auntie Luce!” Zizi, Lucy’s four year niece, said as she pulled on Lucy’s arm, “We play on the pitch in the confetti?”

“You want to play on the pitch in the confetti?!” Lucy gasped, matching Zizi’s excitement. “Oh I’m sure we can! Shall we take Auntie y/n and baby Riley with us?”

“Yeah!” Freddie nodded, bouncing in the seat beside Zizi, “Auntie y/n and baby Riley come!”

“Come on then you little monsters!”

“Luce, be careful,” You sighed as you watched her scoop the two kids up, “You’ve got a fractured tibia!”

“I’ll be fine!” Lucy shouted, halfway down the stairs already. 

You followed Lucy and the kids onto the pitch, the soft crunch of gold confetti under your boots making everything feel surreal. Riley had dozed off again in your arms, one small hand curled against your chest, unaware that the stadium was still echoing with the sound of England’s victory.

Freddie darted ahead of Lucy, trying to kick a stray ball someone had left near the touchline. Zizi was too busy throwing confetti into the air to notice where she was running, tripping over her own feet before Lucy caught her mid-fall.

“Oi, slow down, little monster,” Lucy laughed, easing Zizi upright with one arm while bracing herself awkwardly. “You’re gonna break my other leg.”

“Don’t joke,” you muttered under your breath, stepping beside her. “You shouldn’t even be carrying them.”

Lucy exhaled, finally lowering herself to sit on the pitch with a wince. You joined her, cradling Riley against your chest and glancing sideways at Lucy’s bandaged leg, half-wrapped under her sock.

“She okay?” Lucy asked, reaching out to gently brush Riley’s hair from her face.

“Yeah,” you said. “Completely unaware she just slept through a Euros final.”

You watched as Lucy’s fingers lingered on Riley’s tiny hand. She looked so natural like that. She was settled, calm, and quietly focused around kids. It hit you all over again, that ache. The ache of wanting a baby. 

It was something you and Lucy were both jealous of. Your sister had a beautiful baby girl while Lucy’s brother had two gorgeous kids as well. Seeing Lucy with kids made your ovaries want to explode. 

She looked so natural, like she was made to be a mother. You always had a baby around you, whether it was a friend or one of your nieces or nephews, a baby was never far. 

You loved the days when you got to babysit them. It made you imagine what life with Lucy would be like if you had kids. It always made you want to start the process immediately. 

“I’ve been thinking about something,” you said, voice soft.

Lucy looked over, a little guarded, like she was worried where your head had gone.

“Yeah?”

You looked out at Freddie and Zizi, now lying on their backs in the confetti like they were making snow angels.

“About… us. About what’s next.”

Lucy nodded slowly. “You mean, like… moving house? Or…”

You paused. “I mean like having a baby.”

Her expression didn’t change right away. She just looked at you, searching, like she was trying to figure out if you were serious. Then she smiled, not wide, not dramatic, just something small and honest.

“You mean us, having a baby?” she said. “Not just borrowing Riley or Zizi and Freddie and giving them back after a few hours?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I know it won't be easy. And it might not be soon. But I want it to be something we start to think about.”

Lucy let out a long breath, almost like relief. “I think about it too, you know. A lot more recently.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “It’s weird. I didn’t when I was younger. I always thought football was all there’d be. But now…”

You both looked out at the kids again, at Zizi trying to bury Freddie in paper like it was sand.

“…Now I think I’d be a good mum,” she said.

“You would,” you said, without hesitation.

She looked back at you. “You would too.”

A comfortable silence settled over you before Lucy broke it a few minutes later, “Would you want to carry? Like pausing football for a bit to have a baby, would you want to do that?”

You nodded, hand rubbing up and down Riley’s back, “Yeah, yeah I think I would. I mean, I can always come back to football. I’m only twenty-eight.”

“You calling me old?” Lucy joked. 

You rolled your eyes, “You know what I mean. If you were to carry it would most likely be after you retired. Anyways, you know I’d be the first to carry.”

Lucy smiled at that, She leaned over slightly, brushing her shoulder against yours. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

You gave her a soft shrug. “I think about it every time you hold one of the kids. Or when we babysit. Or when we go home and it’s quiet and it’s just us, and I wonder what it’d feel like if there was someone else in the house. Someone tiny.”

Lucy didn’t say anything at first, just reached over to tuck a loose curl behind your ear, her fingers lingering for a second too long. You knew that look. She was already there with you, in that imaginary future, holding a baby who looked a little like both of you, despite it being impossible, and a lot like home.

“I used to be scared of it,” she admitted. “Having a baby. Being responsible for someone that small, someone who needs you every second of every day. But when I see you with Riley… or when I think about how we’ve made everything else work, I think we could actually do it.”

You smiled, eyes a little misty again, though this time it wasn’t from the match.

“We could,” you said. “Not tomorrow, obviously. But maybe we start looking into it? See what the steps are. What the options are for us.”

Lucy nodded. “I’d like that. I mean… I want that. With you.”

The kids were now running in circles, high on leftover match adrenaline and sugar from the family box snacks, but you barely noticed. You were watching Lucy with grass stains on her knees and confetti stuck in her hair, injured and still smiling like the win wasn’t the best part of her night.

You leaned over and kissed her cheek, gentle and full of promise. “We’ll figure it out.”

Riley stirred in your arms then, scrunching her face into your chest, and you both looked down, instinctively swaying just a little in that way that all baby-holders do.

“You’re really good with her,” Lucy whispered. “It’s… stupid, but seeing you like this? It makes me fall in love with you all over again.”

You didn’t reply, just let the words sit between you for a while. You couldn’t help but feel like the best part of your future had already started. 

A year later, and everything had changed. 

It had been a year since your second euros win. A year since you and Lucy had the first conversation about having kids. A year since your lives changed. 

After the final and the conversation on the pitch, you and Lucy began to research IVF clinics the second you were back in England. You began the process the following September and had your first transfer in October. 

Luckily, it worked the first time and you and Lucy got your baby girl. 

Now, a year on from the final, your 3am looked a lot different. Last year, you were partying away as you celebrated your trophy. 

Now you were propped up against the headboard, duvet pooled around your waist, one arm curled protectively beneath your daughter as she nursed quietly. Her little fingers kneaded at your skin, eyes fluttering open and closed in that milk-drunk way that made your heart ache.

Lucy sat beside you, legs stretched out under the covers, head resting heavily on your shoulder as she watched the two of you like she still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Lucy whispered, voice thick with sleep and awe.

You glanced down at Isabella, at the faint dimple in her cheek as she suckled. At the shock of dark hair that never seemed to lie flat. At the impossibly tiny ear pressed against your chest. All you could do was smile.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “She really is.”

Lucy’s fingers traced gentle circles on Isabella’s calf where her babygrow had ridden up slightly, her touch feather-light and reverent.

“I could watch you two forever,” Lucy murmured, turning to press a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re… unbelievable.”

You snorted softly. “I smell like sick, baby milk and I haven’t washed my hair in four days.”

“Still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Heat crept up your neck at that. You looked down at your daughter again, your thumb brushing over the delicate curve of her cheek as she began to drift back to sleep.

“Remember when we said we’d think about it?” you whispered.

Lucy hummed. “Best thing we ever did.”

You shifted slightly and Lucy immediately moved with you, wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling herself as close as she could without disturbing Isabella.

“We really did it,” you said quietly, emotion catching unexpectedly in your throat.

Lucy kissed your temple and stayed there, lips pressed warm against your skin.

“We did,” she whispered. “And I’m so proud of you, my love.”

You let the words settle over you as the room fell silent again, just the sound of your daughter’s soft breathing, and Lucy’s steady heartbeat against your side. You realised there was nowhere in the world you’d rather be than right here, feeding your baby, Lucy pressed into your shoulder like you were the safest place on earth.

[nepher-forget]

Taste of home

Cata Coll × Reader

Summary: you're a chef, who owns your own restaurant in Barcelona. One day a very weary goalkeeper stumbles into your restaurant.

Warnings: none I can think of.

Masterlist

The restaurant was quieter than usual that evening, the low murmur of voices carrying over the scent of roasting peppers and garlic. A warm golden glow filled your Restaurant in Barcelona. Little Taste of Home. The light was bouncing off the terracotta tiles and old wooden beams and the smell of good food was filling the air. Only a few tables were occupied, regulars lingering over dessert and wine, their laughter muffled.

When the door opened and Cata stepped in, you noticed immediately. Her expression was weary, her shoulders tight, her movements slow and sluggish. She looked like someone who had just barely made it through the day. You slipped out from behind the bar, wiping your hands on your apron, and greeted her with a soft smile. Whoever this woman was, now she was under your care and you'd try your best to make the day better.

“Table for one?”

She nodded wordlessly, eyes flicking around the cozy little dining room as if unsure she’d even made the right choice by walking in. You guided her to a table in the corner, one of the more private spots where the candlelight softened the shadows. A sprig of rosemary sat in a jar next to the olive oil, filling the air with a clean, herbal sharpness. The table was cozy and had a nice chair, that probably was your favorite one in the restaurant.

You set down a menu, but she looked at it with confusion, her brow furrowing as she flipped between the sections. “This is… strange.” She admitted. “It’s not in order. Usually it’s starters, mains, desserts…”

“That’s on purpose.” You said lightly. “Think of it more as a journey. Each section is a different place. Spanish, Catalan, Italian, English… You can build your own meal depending on what calls to you.”

She scanned the pages again, fingertips brushing over the Catalan dishes. Something flickered in her eyes at Escalivada and Fideuà, before reading through shepherd's pie and Krithraki dishes, though she didn’t choose. You could sense the hesitation, the pull between familiarity and curiosity.

“You look like you’ve had a long day.” You said gently.

Her lips parted, surprise flashing across her face. “That obvious?”

You shrugged. “I’m a chef. I see it often enough. Food helps.” You paused, tilting your head. “Where’s home for you?”

For the first time since she walked in, her expression softened. “Mallorca.” The word left her lips with a quiet fondness, like it carried its own weight of sun, sea, and family.

“Then you don’t need the menu.” You said with a grin. “I’ll make you something from there. Something that tastes like home.”

Cata blinked at you, caught off guard. “You can do that?”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice as though sharing a secret. “I’ve cooked all over Spain. Mallorca too. Trust me?”

There was a beat of silence, then the tiniest curve of a smile tugged at her mouth. “Yeah. I do.”

With a small smile you told one of your servers to get the lady a drink on the house and then you grabbed the menu.

You disappeared into the kitchen, the rhythm of the restaurant shifting as you began to work. Olive oil hissed in the pan, garlic sizzling until the air filled with its perfume. You roasted red peppers and eggplant, their skins blackening, then peeled them down to their tender hearts. The scent of saffron bloomed as it hit warm broth, golden threads releasing their fragrance. You pulled out a handful of sobrasada, the island’s cured sausage, softening it slowly so its paprika-rich fat could infuse the dish.

On her plate, you built something not on the menu. A small spread of pa amb oli, rustic bread rubbed with tomato and drizzled with local olive oil, served with a side of roasted vegetables and a saffron rice dish laced with hints of sobrasada and peppers. It wasn't what you'd usually find in a restaurant, but something closer. More intimate and homemade, the kind of plate someone’s abuela might set down on a kitchen table.

When you carried it out, Cata sat straighter, the warmth of the aromas pulling her in before she even took a bite.

“What is it?” She asked.

“A little taste of Mallorca.” You said, setting the plate before her. “Not perfect, maybe, but close.”

She picked up a fork, hesitating for only a moment before taking the first bite. The flavors melted together. Simple, yet hearty, rich with the smoky spice of sobrasada. Her shoulders eased almost immediately, and when she looked up at you, her eyes were brighter than when she’d walked in.

“It… does taste like home.” She murmured, almost to herself. You smiled softly, leaning on the edge of her table. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

For the first time all day, Cata felt something inside her loosen. The world outside could wait. Here, in this small restaurant near the training grounds, with a stranger who somehow knew exactly what she needed, she finally felt like she could breathe again. When she left an hour later you had packed her a few rubiols, a pastry from Mallorca and Menorca. You had filled them the traditional Mallorcan way with some jam. “A little treat for when you feel down again.”

After the first time Cata came in, you hadn’t expected to see her again. She had slipped in quietly, worn down by a bad day and left looking lighter, calmer, like the food had worked its magic. But then she came again. And again.

At first, it was every couple of weeks. Always on evenings when training had drained her or matches hadn’t gone her way. Then it became weekly, her visits so regular you started to look up when the doorbell chimed. Already half expecting to see the goalies frame in the doorway. Sometimes she was smiling, sometimes subdued, sometimes just bone-tired, but always she left after a meal that seemed to settle her spirit.

She never bothered with the menu anymore. She’d slip into her usual corner table, leaning her chin into her hand as you walked over, her favorite drink in hand and smiling.

“Long day?” You’d ask as you put it down and smiled at the Barcelona Goalkeeper.

Her lips would twitch into that familiar almost-smile. “You could say that.”

“Mallorca or a surprise?”

“Surprise me.”

And you would surprise her. Sometimes pa amb oli with different toppings. Sometimes tumbet, layers of eggplant and potatoes, rustic and comforting. Once, when she looked particularly homesick, you even managed an ensaïmada for dessert. Perfectly flaky, sweet, and dusted with powdered sugar that clung to her lips and made her laugh when you pointed it out. When she felt experimental you'd make her Cottage pie of Pho or Kaiserschmarrn.

What surprised you most was how easily she lingered after the food was gone. At first she would eat and slip out quietly. But soon, she began to stay. Asking about your day, your cooking, your stories. You told her about learning to cook in kitchens that were too small and too hot, about recipes passed down through whispers rather than written words. She listened intently, her dark eyes warm, elbows resting on the table as though she had all the time in the world. You told her how you had traveled most of Spain and Europe to learn and study different culinary skills. And your dream did come true. A successful restaurant in the middle of Barcelona with the way of thinking and menu you always wanted. A menu that gave everyone the chance to find something comforting if needed, but also to experience a taste from far away without ever leaving the table.

And then one night, after the last table had emptied and you were wiping down the bar, she didn’t leave at all.

“Can I help?” She asked, rolling up her sleeves before you could answer.

You laughed. “What, with cleaning? You’re a goalkeeper, not a dishwasher.”

“Hands still work, don’t they?” She shot back, already stacking plates. Her grin was tired but playful, and you felt something shift in your chest.

Moments like that became common. Her laughter mingled with yours in the quiet hours. The brush of her hand when she handed you a plate. The warmth of her gaze when she watched you cook, as if the sight of you in your element was something she didn’t want to miss.

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you started to fall. And judging by the way her eyes softened when they found yours, the way she leaned closer when you spoke, the way she always asked for food that reminded her of home just so she could see your version of it… yeah she was falling too.

One evening, the restaurant was nearly empty, the last customer had just left. The two of you sat at her usual table. A candle burned low between you. The light was casting flickering shadows. She pushed her empty plate away, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you.

“You know.” She said quietly. “This place… you… It feels more like home than anywhere else I’ve found here.” Your throat tightened. You swallowed, trying to play it off with a smile. “That’s what I wanted when I opened it. A little taste of home.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve given me more than a taste.”

The silence between you was charged, full of unsaid words. You could hear the ticking of the clock above the bar. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Slowly and cautiously, you reached across the table. Her hand met yours halfway. Warm and steady, fingers intertwining without hesitation.

Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to.

It wasn’t just food anymore, or comfort, or routine. It was love, growing quietly between candlelight and saffron. Until it became as much a part of the restaurant as the rosemary jars on every table. And from then on, Cata didn’t just come in when she had a bad day. She came in because of you. And every day without fail she'd get a good healthy meal for free and kisses in the apartment upstairs after the store closed.

The rhythm of your life changed slowly. But it felt so natural, until one day you realized you couldn’t remember what it was like before Cata became a part of it. At first, she was the guest who stopped in after bad days, then the friend who lingered at closing, then the constant presence who seemed to fit seamlessly into your world. Over the next few months, the friendship tilted into something deeper until it was impossible to ignore.

Dating her felt both extraordinary and entirely natural. Like the missing piece of the restaurant’s warmth had finally clicked into place. You would close up late at night, switch off the soft golden lights downstairs and climb the narrow staircase to your little apartment on the second floor with her hand brushing yours. Sometimes you’d pause halfway, listening to her laugh echo off the walls, the kind of laugh that made you feel you were exactly where you needed to be.

Your apartment was relatively big and it was cozy. The house had three floors and you only used the ground level for the restaurant . So you had two floors for the apartment. It was a big kitchen and living room set up, four bedrooms, two bathrooms. Plastered walls painted cream, shelves crowded with cookbooks and tiny ceramic dishes, the faint smell of herbs drifting down from the roof garden above.

At first, Cata stayed over on the worst nights, curling into your sofa or your bed when training had left her too tired to go back to her own place. Then it became almost all weekends. Then longer stretches. One morning, after she’d left a toothbrush by your sink and socks in your drawer, you both realized she had already moved in without either of you saying the words or realizing it.

Still, one evening after about 6 months of dating, she made it official. You were chopping peppers for the next day’s breakfast when she padded into the kitchen in one of your aprons, hair damp from a shower. She leaned against the counter, eyes bright but serious.

“You know.” She began. “I’m here all the time anyway. And I… don’t really want to be anywhere else.” You glanced up from your chopping, heart skipping a beat. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Her smile grew slow and certain. “Yes. I want to live here. With you.”

It wasn’t a grand declaration, but it didn’t need to be. You set the knife down and pulled her into your arms. Your cheek pressed against her damp hair, your heart racing with a kind of joy you couldn’t put into words.

From then on, life above the restaurant was yours together. The second and third floor turned into a shared space. Her training gear tucked next to your kitchen equipment, her framed photos from Mallorca lining the hallway wall beside your grandmother’s recipe cards. One of the bedrooms was renovated into her space so she could have a place to go when she needed to be alone, just like you had the kitchen. On Sunday mornings, she’d brew coffee while you fried eggs. Both of you were moving easily around each other in the kitchen. Most nights you’d cook dinner for her in the restaurant and you'd share a meal downstairs before you went back to work.

And then there was the roof. The stairs from the third floor up opened out onto a little garden you’d cultivated over the years. Planters full of rosemary, basil, mint and even small citrus trees that thrived in the sun. An old outdoor sofa, a table with some chairs and even some things to give shade. Now it has become your shared refuge. After long training days for her or exhausting shifts for you, the two of you would climb the last flight of stairs and step into the open air.

Up there, the city felt quieter. Lanterns strung across the rooftop swayed gently in the breeze, casting a golden glow over the herbs and vines. Cata loved to sprawl out on the old outdoor sofa. Her hair tired up messy, shoes kicked off, watching the stars slowly appear in the sky. After your shifts ended way later at night you often joined her with a glass of wine, your head resting on her shoulder, her arm draped around you.

One evening, she traced lazy circles on your hand as you leaned against her, the smell of lavender and basil in the air. “You know what I love about this?” she murmured.

“The wine?” You teased, smiling into her shoulder.

She chuckled softly. “That too. But mostly… this whole house. The restaurant downstairs, you here, the garden above us. It feels like a world we built together. Like it’s ours.”

You tightened your hand around hers. “It is ours.”

And it was true. The three-story house had become a universe contained within its walls. Laughter and cooking downstairs, love and life on the second floor, peace and dreaming on the roof. Every corner carried both of you, woven together into something you couldn’t imagine untangling. Even if it was just your name on the deed, this was your home with Cata. You couldn't imagine not having her here.

Cata still had bad days, of course. Matches went wrong, training could be brutal. But now, when she came home. She didn’t need to order something from some take out place and curl up alone on the couch trying to keep it together. Someone was there waiting for her. Someone who made her food that tasted like Mallorca.

The change in Cata’s routine didn’t go unnoticed. Even if she thought she was being subtle. Her teammates had always joked about her habits and quirks, but recently something was different.

During training breaks, Ingrid raised an eyebrow as Cata unwrapped a neatly packed lunch, arranged with colors that could rival a professional food photo. “Since when do you bring… homemade stuff every day?” She asked, poking at a slice of vibrant roasted pepper.

Mapi smirked, nudging Pina. “Seriously, that doesn’t look like your usual stuff. Where’s the pasta? The sandwiches? that we all get from the cafeteria?”

Alexia leaned over, inspecting the neatly sectioned containers. “It’s like… gourmet. Who’s making this?”

Cata only shrugged, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks, but she didn’t answer. She had learned early that some things were better left unshared. “I like to eat healthy.” She mumbled, cutting into a perfectly roasted sweet potato cube.

Aitana tilted her head, suspicious. “Healthy, sure… but this looks like someone went to a cooking school just to pack your lunch. And I swear I’ve seen these before… same veggies, same bowls, same… everything.”

Cata’s fingers tightened around her fork, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I… cook sometimes.” She said vaguely, avoiding anyone’s gaze.

Ingrid exchanged a knowing glance with Mapi. “Cook sometimes? That’s an understatement. Who exactly is cooking for you? Because I don’t know about you, but that’s way too perfect for a hurried breakfast from the cafeteria.”

Cata laughed softly, more to cover her own flustered expression than anything else. “You’ll find out one day.” She said, neatly placing her lid back on the container. “Find out what?” Pina pressed. But Cata just shook her head, tucking the lunch into her bag with a careful precision that made it clear. This was private.

Training sessions went on as usual, but whispers began to circulate. Alexia noticed the same mango cubes in Cata’s container week after week, the spiraled zucchini ribbons, the tiny dollop of homemade dressing. Mapi commented casually, “She’s either dating a chef or she’s secretly opening a restaurant in her kitchen at home.”

Ingrid, ever the teasing one, eventually cornered her after practice. “Okay, I’m asking once. Who is making these? Because it’s not just healthy…. it’s art. And we need answers.”

Cata just smiled, a small, secretive smile that didn’t give anything away. “Some things.” She said softly. “Are just for me.”

No one pressed further. Cata had built her little bubble of privacy around her relationship with you. Her teammates had noticed the lunches, the consistent care in her meals, the glow she carried after eating them, but they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know about the little apartment above the restaurant, the roof garden where she laughed with someone who made her feel completely at home. Or the girlfriend who insisted she eat well because she cared.

And Cata liked it that way. For now, the secret stayed hers alone, tucked into her neatly packed containers, colorful and perfect.

The weeks rolled into months, and Cata’s secret slowly grew heavier on her shoulders. Her teammates had all but stopped teasing her about the lunches, though the looks and whispers never really went away. She could see it in the way Mapi smirked every time she unwrapped one of your carefully packed containers or how Aitana tilted her head, studying her as if she were piecing together a puzzle.

So when talk of the next team dinner came up during cooldown stretches, the usual back-and-forth started immediately.

“Let’s do tapas.” Pina suggested and some people groaned. They went for tapas half the time. “No, sushi.” Mapi countered. “Something different.”

Aitana shook her head. “Please, no more sushi. I want real food.”

Amid the bickering, Cata sat up and cleared her throat. “I’ll handle it.”

Ingrid’s brows shot up. “You?”

“Yes, me.” Cata replied, a little too quickly. “I’ve got a place in mind. Somewhere… special.”

Mapi narrowed her eyes, a grin forming instantly. “Oh, a surprise? Now this I have to see.”

On the night of the dinner, she led the team down familiar streets near the training grounds. Laughter and chatter bubbled behind her as the others tried to guess where she was taking them. When she finally stopped, Ingrid blinked at the painted sign over the door. ‘Little Taste of Home.’

“This is it?” Pina asked, tilting her head. “I’ve passed here before but never been inside.”

“It looks cozy.” Aitana admitted, already peering through the warm glow of the windows.

Inside, the team filed into the small but welcoming dining room. The thirty seats were filled with rustic wooden chairs and mismatched tables. Terracotta tiles lined the walls, painted with patterns that carried the warmth of Catalonia itself. The scent of saffron, garlic and roasted vegetables wrapped around them like a blanket.

And there you were.

Wearing your apron and smiling as you chatted with a server. Flour was dusting your hands, as you emerged from the kitchen with a warm smile that faltered slightly when you realized who had just walked in. Cata’s entire team. Cata caught your eye, the unspoken reassurance in her gaze saying, It’s okay. I want them to meet you.

“Everyone.” Cata began, her voice steady. “This is Y/N. My girlfriend. And the owner… and the head chef of this place.”

For a second, silence reigned. Then Mapi let out a low whistle. “Now the lunches make sense.” Laughter erupted and Cata’s cheeks flushed pink, but she looked relieved.

You greeted them all warmly, leading them to a cluster of tables pushed together. Menus were handed out, and immediately the chatter started.

“Wait.” Alexia said, flipping through the pages. “It’s divided by cuisines? Spanish, Catalan, English, American… Italian, Greek…” She looked up in surprise. “There are eight different cuisines?”

“Eight.” You confirmed with a proud smile. “Each one with both vegan and non-vegan options. I wanted everyone to feel like there’s something for them here, whether they’re after comfort food or trying something new.”

Aitana leaned closer, scanning a section. “This is so different. It’s not starters, mains, desserts in order. It’s all… little collections.”

“That’s the idea.” You explained. “Every cuisine is its own chapter. You can choose from just one section or mix them. Build your own story through food.”

Ingrid pointed at the small line printed at the top of the menu. “What’s this say? ‘Not on the menu? Give us a recipe, and we’ll bring home to you anyway.’”

You nodded, eyes warm. “It means exactly that. If you’re missing something. If there’s a dish that tastes like home for you, I’ll make it. You bring me the memory, I’ll bring you the food. The whole restaurant is built around that idea.”

The table went quiet for a moment, the weight of those words sinking in. Then Pina smiled. “That’s beautiful.”

“And brilliant.” Alexia added, flipping through the menu again. “I don’t even know what to pick.”

“Get ready.” Mapi laughed. “Because if this is where Cata’s been sneaking off to, we’re about to eat very well tonight.” You smirked teasingly. “Well good, the monthly payments are due and my girlfriend wants new sneakers for 150€ too. So order as much as your wallets want to leave.” That made everyone on the team chuckle as they looked through the menu.

Cata chuckled, sliding into her seat beside you. Her hand brushing against yours under the table. She looked around at her teammates, their expressions filled with curiosity and anticipation. And then she looked back at you.

For the first time her two worlds, football and this new home, had collided. And seeing the way the team settled in, already laughing and talking. All of them marveling at the menu, Cata felt lighter than she had in months. This wasn’t just a restaurant anymore. It was a piece of her heart, and now, she was finally ready to share it.

[wosospacegirl]

Hahahahahahha

[a-pute11as]

anything for you - laia codina

a/n - just a little blurb because i can imagine laia is the biggest softie in the world x

MNDI - 18+ suggestive (if you squint)

laia was a lovergirl in every sense of the word. 

she’d wake you up with your favourite breakfasts whilst you were still half asleep in bed, every time she went into town she would bring you home flowers she got fresh from the market and if you were ever cold then she’d take anything off her own back to cover you instead. 

even on the weeks you were both at your respective international camps, she’d fill your suitcase with love notes that made your heart ache and one of her shirts that she sprayed with her usual perfume so you always had a little piece of her.

so when you walked into your house after a long day of training followed by an even longer media session to the familiar smell of laia’s abuela’s recipe, it was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. the smell of mixed spices and the sound of spanish music playing through the speaker welcomed you into your shared home in a way that compared to nothing else. 

the music that filled your home dulled out the sound of you coming through the door, also missing the ‘babe, i’m home’ that you called out as you stepped out of your shoes. she was even completely oblivious to the way you stood in the door frame, arms crossed with a smile across your face, as you watched her dance around the kitchen, humming along to the songs from the playlist she had perfectly curated. 

it wasn’t until she spun round, spatula dropping out of her hand as you finally caught her attention, jumping as her eyes met your amused gaze, the shock of being watched clear across her face. 

she let out a shriek, hand covering her heart as she spoke fast spanish at you, “dios mío amor, cuándo coño has entrado?” (oh my god love, when the fuck did you come in?)

“about 5 minutes ago.” you grinned, uncrossing your arms as you started walking towards her. 

“do not scare me like that,” she pouted, arms flopping to her side dramatically, yet you couldn’t help but laugh at your girlfriend's dramatic pose in front of you, “amor, it is not funny.” her arms now crossing over her chest as her eyes narrowed at you. 

“oh baby, it definitely is.” you mocked her pout, your bottom lip sticking out as you stood in front of her, arms making their way to rest around the back of her neck.

she rolled her eyes at you and you couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatics, yet her hands automatically raised to sit safely on your waist, fingers working their way under your shirt to rest on your bare skin. 

“you cooking for me?” you asked, head tilted as your mock-pout was replaced with a sweet smile.

“por supuesto, amor. i know today was long with training and media so i wanted you to come home to something yummy.” she said softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. (of course)

your smile was quickly replaced with a smirk, your fingers moving gently against the back of her neck, up into the bottom of her hair in a way that had her head leaning back into your hand, “i always have something yummy to come home to.”

you watched as her jaw dropped slightly, eyebrows raising as she met your gaze, “oye, you’re naughty.” 

you leant into her touch, pressing a slow kiss to her lips before pulling away ever so slightly, “i can’t stop myself when i’m around you.” you muttered, leaning forward to capture her lips against yours again.

her fingers pinched lightly at skin before she pulled away slightly, eyes glazed in a way that made you want to turn off the stove and take her upstairs, “go and change, dinner will be done soon.”

when you returned laia was still stood at the stove, humming to herself as she stirred the pot, filled with some kind of rice dish. 

you moved automatically, standing behind her as your hands rested on her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, “gracias por la cena, it looks delicious.” (thank you for dinner.)

“anything for you.” she smiled, body relaxing in your touch as your chin rested on top of her shoulder. 

a/n - wanted to post something small, so apologises that this isn't formatted as usual, wanted to switch it up and do a little blurb. any feedback is always appreciated <3

[moonlight-alexia]

you’re so golden | a.p. x reader/p.g. x reader

alexia putellas x reader (sister) + patri guijarro x reader (romantic) | 2.0 | you win the ballon d’Or

ˏˋ°•*⁀ i’m falling asleep while midway formatting to post this. but i hope you all like it!!

any and all feedback, comments, reblogs etc are very appreciated and welcome <3

You knew they were announcing the Ballon d’Or shortlist today but you weren’t really paying any attention to it. Being Alexia’s younger sister there was a lot to live up to and you never really expected to get much recognition in these kinds of things. To you, as long as you played well to help your teams and were a kind teammate to everyone that played at Barcelona or within the national team that was all that really mattered to you.

You’d long accepted your fate living in your older sister's shadow and you were never jealous. You’d always looked up to her and loved seeing her do well, and honestly, you were just happy living your life without worrying about the extra pressures of making sure you had done enough to be recognised at awards like this one.

You’d only ever made the top 30 once but unfortunately for you, you tore your ACL the match before and couldn’t even attend along with your other teammates that were also nominated. That was the closest you had gotten to stepping into that world, the glittering galas, golden trophies and the endless speculation of who deserved what.

That injury is what decided for you that chasing those kinds of individual accolades just wasn’t worth it. You were just happy you were able to step foot on a pitch and play again. You liked who you were and focusing on your football here in Barcelona and your friendships, relationships, and everything that came with the quieter parts of football. The parts that went unnoticed by most, but made it all worth it for you.

You knew your worth as a person outside of the dazzling trophies. Not that it wouldn’t be nice to win something like Alexia has, it just wasn’t something you needed. Nice to have but you could live your life without it, unbothered.

You were laying on the couch, enjoying your day off and the sun that was filtering through the window. Your legs lay across Patri’s lap while her fingers grazed lightly against your skin when she wasn’t furiously typing on her phone. You knew she was religiously refreshing her socials while they were announcing the shortlist, you also knew she was definitely messaging the other girls in your group chat you had, especially since you could hear the faint buzzing of your own phone from all the messages coming through.

You laid there, eyes closed, the sun casting a soft glow against your skin. Patri occasionally telling you who had been nominated, you smiled at the excitement in her voice whenever it was one of your Barcelona teammates. The main reason you fell for her as hard as you did, the way Patri so easily and effortlessly supported all of her friends. There was never a ‘what about me?’ moment, she was genuinely happy for everyone around her and her smile was one you could never stop dreaming about.

Not once did you open your eyes, just letting her voice wrap around you like a warm blanket. Lost in the tone and sound of her voice you realised you were only really half paying attention to the actual words that she was saying. Occasionally humming in response, stretching out and settling deeper into the couch cushions as the time passed by. It was the Ballon d’Or after all so you could probably predict most of the nominees before they’re announced anyway.

You could tell when there was a slight break in the names being announced, it’s when Patri’s touch on your leg lingered longer. Her thumb was rubbing over your leg, until it stuttered and came to a complete stop. Patri’s hand didn’t move from your leg, it stayed there, and you knew her well enough to know that meant something was up.

Your eyebrows scrunched, you opened one eye to see her just staring at you, then looking at her phone and back at you, ‘Qué?’ Yawning slightly and looking at her properly now.

The way she looked at you, there was a glimmer of pride in her eyes. You didn’t know what you had done for her to look at you like that but you still melted under her gaze. A light blush coming across your cheeks, ‘Patri, mi amor,’ You whined a little, nudging her hand to get her to talk, you could tell she wanted to.

‘Bebé, look,’ Patri turned her phone towards you, ‘About time,’

You blinked slowly, taking her phone from her and just staring at the screen. Your name and picture was staring back at you. Your name on the Ballon d’Or account. Your breath caught in your throat, you didn’t really know what to think or how to feel.

You’d been so content just being in the background, enjoying the simplicity of playing football and being a good teammate, a good person.

You sat up leaning forward, your forehead resting against Patri’s shoulders and her arms wrapped tightly around you, ‘Wow, I can’t believe it,’

‘I can,’ Patri kissed the top of your forehead, letting her lips linger for a moment, ‘I’ve been saying it for years,’

‘But you are a bit biased, no?’ You let out a soft laugh, rolling your head so you were looking up at her, your head still against her shoulder.

‘Eh, maybe just a little,’ Patri smirked, hand coming up to cup your cheek, ‘Proud of you cariño. I really mean it,’

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

If someone had told you this time last year that you would be going to the Ballon d’Or ceremony as a nominee, you would’ve laughed it off as a playful joke. But you were on that plane to Paris, not just accompanying Alexia after she’d been nominated but alongside her with your own nomination.

‘You deserve it,’

Something you’d been told by every single person who you knew that found out about your nomination. You weren’t really used to it, it was always Alexia’s scene, not yours so it felt a little weird.

‘Just take it all in, enjoy the moment, proud of you hermanita,’

So you did just that, even if the red carpet and flashing lights of the cameras all felt like a blur and you were still a little unsure when you got from the plane to being all dressed up and in your seat at the ceremony. But you were here and trying to enjoy the moment, you’d basically scratched yourself off of having any chance, not that you didn’t think you deserved it but you’d never really been in the spotlight. There’d always be an adjustment to the sudden change.

Your leg started bouncing as the names went by and yours still hadn’t made an appearance, the nerves in your stomach slowly creeping up into your throat. ‘Hermanita, relax,’ The urge to roll your eyes at Alexia’s words, of course someone who has been here so many years in a row telling you, the only time you’ve been here is when Alexia had taken you.

But today was obviously different, your first real awards ceremony and you couldn’t think about or focus on anything else other than that right now. Alexia’s hand rested against your thigh, a calming presence, your leg slowly stilling, you were glad to be sitting next to your older sister.

You don’t even remember the moment they said your name as the winner of the Ballon d’Or. All you remembered was how tightly you were gripping Alexia’s hand when it was down to the two of you. Even if you hadn’t won and Alexia did it was still a win for your family and for your club.

But you won. You couldn’t believe it. The moment your name was read out your ears started ringing, tuning out all of the clapping echoing through the building, a surprised look on your face while you just stared forward, unmoving.

The minute your name was called out, Alexia had the widest grin on her face. She was the first one on her feet and she couldn’t have looked more proud of you. Of her little sister. It wasn’t until Alexia had pulled you up out of your seat and into a tight hug that you came back to reality.

You held on to Alexia like she was the tether keeping you grounded to reality, ‘Me?’ Your voice was almost barely heard against the roar of the crowd, but Alexia heard you, and laughed at the surprised, questioning tone in your voice.

‘Sί,’ Alexia still held you in her arms, you leaned back a little, looking at her. Alexia’s eyes glimmered in the dull lighting that surrounded you both, a glimmer of pride in them, a look that was only reserved for you, ‘Of course it was you. It had to be you,’ You’d had a great season but you being you had dismissed just how good it really was. Everyone else saw it though.

It was what Patri had been trying to tell you all season and even more since your nomination was announced. You knew she wouldn’t let you forget this. Neither would Alexia or any of your friends, ‘Go on, this moment is yours,’ Alexia let you go and you started to make your way towards the stage. Patri was in the row behind but you still managed to find her hand, she gave you a little reassuring squeeze.

Just when you were about to make some progress towards the stage, you remembered, turning around suddenly, eyes wide and slightly panicked, ‘Wait Ale, give me your speech I don’t have anything prepared I didn’t think I would actually win,’

Alexia laughed at you and her hands on your shoulder turning you back towards the stage, ‘Just speak from your heart, hermanita. That’s what got you here,’

Walking towards the stage, your feet felt heavy and the lights were blinding. You looked out, trying to find the familiar faces in the crowd to ease your nerves so you wouldn’t stutter while trying to give your speech. Finding Alexia, Patri, your mum Eli and older sister Alba in the crowd, your heart started to relax a little, not beating so hard against your chest.

You knew you would be okay as long as you had their support, so you didn’t try to rush through your speech or run away as soon as you could. You let yourself live in this moment, you let yourself feel what it’s like to be in the spotlight for once.

You glowed golden in the spotlight and Alexia could feel how much you belonged up there. Her pride never faltered, not even for a second. She’s had her turn and now it’s yours. She could watch you win a million of these awards and she’d always be the one cheering the loudest for you.

‘I thought I’d just come here and support my teammates, be proud of them for their achievements, be proud of my sister. Which I am, proud of all of us, because everything we do we do for each other. This is a team sport before anything else and this moment…,’ You glanced down towards the golden ball, an even bigger smile spread across your face, if that was even possible right now, but with a softer edge to it, ‘This moment belongs to all of them too. Without them I wouldn’t be standing here right now. To everyone who believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself, thank you,’

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‘Lo siento, Ale,’ You’d turned towards your sister while you were waiting to go through airport security. The adrenaline of the night was wearing off and you were beginning to crash in the quietness of the airport, but you had to make it to the plane before you could let yourself fully.

Alexia shook her head, eyebrows scrunched, ‘Why are you apologising?’

‘You didn’t win,’ You had a little pout on your face, Alexia’s eyes softened, you always looked extra small to her when you were tired

‘But you did,’ Alexia wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into her side, kissing your temple gently, ‘And I did win too, hermanita, I got to watch you win, walk up on that stage, hold the golden ball that is yours and that means more to me than winning any trophy,’

[a-pute11as]

patri 'golazo' guijarro - patri guijarro

word count - 2.6k | summary - you have your routines, even when it comes to away games, but when the opportunity presents itself to tease her before and after the game, you just can't stop yourself. but after an insane goal, she wants her rightful reward.

MDNI 18 + - borderline smut, very suggestive

-

you hated away games, you were only able to attend a few a year, often taking a few friends or family members to make a mini vacation out of it.

but when you couldn't go, being away from patri for 2, sometimes 3 nights, had you wandering around your shared apartment like a puppy waiting for their owner to come home. 

you’d sit on the couch for hours, switching between shows, counting down the hours till patri’s match kicked off, using anything as a form of entertainment whilst she was away.

eventually when the matches started, your eyes were fixed on her, watching as she played passes that looked like they were straight from the training ground, commanding the midfield with a level that was beyond you, and scoring goals like it was the easiest thing in the world.

of course you watched her games to see her play, but it was even better when the camera stayed on her long enough to watch her hand run through her hair, or her tongue flick across her bottom lip in a similar way she'd look at you when she was on top. it was even better when she’d pull the hem of her top up, her abs on full display as she wiped the sweat off her brow with it. that was your definitely your favourite.

it sent you crazy, and of course she knew that, and used it to her advantage. 

a few days after a night where you had appreciated her abs for what felt like hours, she had flown to tenerife for an away game, you could’ve sworn she could see you through the screen when she looked dead at the camera and lifted her top excruciating slow to cover her face in a way that had your thighs clenching. 

not even 15 minutes after full time, your phone lit up, she had texted you, ‘i hope you enjoyed that.’ and god you really did. 

so when she left for bilbao, you followed your usual routine. driving her to the training ground, a quick goodbye that hurt your heart every time, and a kiss that had kika whistling behind you and vicky gaging alongside her. 

back home, you did everything you usually did, getting yourself comfortable in the corner of the sofa as you worked on your laptop, checking your phone occasionally as you waited for the text that your girlfriend had landed safely. 

that night your phone lit up, a facetime from patri, she was tucked up in her hotel room, a sight that had become far too familiar in the years you’d been together. 

“hola amor,” she grinned, “how are you?”

the sound of her voice hit your ears like it was honey, even if it had only been like 10 hours since you last talked to her, “i’m good baby, how are you? was your flight okay?” 

“so tired, it was very bumpy today but i sat with salma so she was just reading whilst i watched a show.” she spoke, yet your eyes were mostly fixated on her lips, missing her presence a little too much.

“mhm, was the book good?” you asked, definitely paying attention.

“the book? bebé, i was watching netflix,” she laughed lightly, yet she watched the way you nodded slightly, head tilting and a smirk appearing on her face as she realised your head was somewhere else entirely, “it was a book about trying new sex positions, i thought i’d study so we could try new stuff?”

that peaked your interest. 

your eyes widened, blush lighting up your cheeks, “really? you read that in front of everyone?”

she let her smirk widen across her face before you realised what had just happened, “oh my god, don’t lie to me like that.” you whined, throwing your head back as you let out a sigh.

“prestar atención, mi amor.” she laughed, shaking her head with a slight eye roll. (pay attention, my love.)

you narrowed your eyes at her, sending her a glare that had her blowing a kiss towards her phone, “you’re so annoying.”

“make sure you’re paying attention to my game tomorrow, kick off is at 12.” 

“okay patri golazo guijarro, i’ll set an alarm.” you reassured her, grinning at her down the phone, not one to miss a chance to watch your girlfriend on the big screen.

“amorrrr, i told you to stop calling me that.” she whined, but you could see the smile she was trying to fight off her face. 

you said your goodnights, phone on charge and placed on your bedside table but your head was turning, thinking of all the ways you could pull one over on her, the same way she did to you. 

the morning of the game, you sent her your normal good luck text, but this time you included a picture that was a little past the line of innocent.

you were laid in bed in your usual sleep attire, which wasn’t much yet the blanket covered you just enough to not reveal everything, holding your phone from above as you snapped a quick picture. playing as the sweet and supportive girlfriend that wanted nothing more than her name to be on the score sheet, but you were fully prepared to pull a little more out of your sleeve. 

you went about your away game routine from the comfort of your apartment, playing off the texts from patri that warned you of the effects the ‘game you were playing’ had on her. 

little did she know you weren’t done. 

two hours before kick off, you slipped on one of your favourite jerseys, patri’s name on full display across your back. you even decided to put a pair of patri’s training shorts on, ones you had ‘accidentally’ shrunk in the wash but sat perfectly on the curve of your ass. 

and just on time, your phone rang. 

“hola amor.” she smiled, her phone in hand as she sat in the lobby of the hotel waiting for the coach to take them to the stadium.

“hey baby, how are you feeling?” you asked, propping your phone up on the kitchen counter as you continued your lunch prep. 

she tilted her head, watching you move around your kitchen with a look that was half adoration, half hunger, "nerviosa," she said softly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, "but better now." (nervous.)

you looked up at that, raising an eyebrow as you stirred whatever you had going on in the pan, “yeah? is my brilliant cooking helping your nerves?”

patri shook her head, slouching back into the lobby chair with a cocky grin across her face, “your cooking increases my nerves, but seeing you in my kit helps.”

you fought the urge to smirk but failed miserably, “this old thing?” you asked innocently, spinning slightly so she could get the full view, the view you knew she wanted. 

“dios mío,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning your body, not even trying to hide her reaction, “you’re trying to kill me before I even step on the pitch.” (my god.)

“i can take it off if you want.” you suggested, a seemingly innocent suggestion yet the way you tugged your shirt up ever so slightly to expose your midriff before dropping it again had her groaning. a quiet, muffled sound that made your stomach flip.

“i’m not going to be able to focus, eres malvada,” she murmured, shaking her head. (you’re evil.)

you leaned into the camera, head tilted and eyes wide, putting on your best innocent voice, “i’m just showing support for my girlfriend.”

“support?” she scoffed. “you're going to make me trip over the ball thinking about you in those shorts.”

you took a bite of something, licking the fork a little too slowly, “that’d be embarrassing. you should really keep your head in the game.”

patri’s eyes darkened a little, a singular eyebrow raising, “you’re really pushing it.”

a throat cleared loudly behind her, it was one of the coaches letting her know they were needing to board the coach to leave.

patri sighed dramatically, standing up and shifting her phone slightly to avoid showing too much of her teammates, “i have to go, but this conversation isn’t over.”

you blew her a kiss, “good luck sweetheart.”

the call ended, and you were left staring at the blank screen, heart racing, grin practically glued to your face. you went back to your lunch, though now the kitchen felt warmer than it had minutes ago, but maybe that was just the heat spreading across your body. 

when the match kicked off two hours later, you were front and center on the sofa, jersey still on, legs curled underneath you, your phone vibrating every now and then with texts from friends, but your focus deadset in front of you.

you watched as mapi sent a pass in her direction. on the surface, it looked like it was nothing special, just a routine ball. but the moment patri received it, you could tell there was something more. the ball settled at her feet, and with a slight lift of her head, she scanned the pitch. then, with a calm certainty, she struck it, like she already knew its exact destination.

of course, she did.

the ball soared, arching over the defenders, grazing the keeper’s fingertips before slamming into the top corner of the net with incredible force.

you shot to your feet, eyes wide, jaw practically hitting the floor as you stared at the screen. “oh my fucking god,” you muttered under your breath.

on the pitch, the team swarmed her in celebration, but patri’s smile was so casual, it was as if she hadn’t just scored something outrageous.

there was a grin etched onto your face for the rest of the game, a smile that wouldn’t be going anywhere, anytime soon. especially with the stunt you were about to pull.

you watched the game come to an end, the game finished 1-8, your girlfriend's name sitting proud on the score sheet, even getting the chance to wear the captain’s armband for the club that she loved more than anything. your favourite sight.

your phone vibrated nonstop, friends, family, even a few random twitter notifications you had somehow ended up tagged in, but none of it mattered. you were waiting for one name to pop up.

and of course, it didn’t take long.

your screen lit up with a facetime, and you didn’t even hesitate before answering. the picture cleared, and there she was, sweaty hair plastered to her forehead, cheeks flushed from the game, still in her kit on the bench of a loud locker room.

“hola, mi amor,” she grinned, voice hoarse from shouting on the pitch, eyes sparkling in that way that always made your heart flip, “did you see my goal today?”

your eyebrows narrowed slightly, “oh sorry, i was binge watching love island so i ended up missing the match, was it a really good goal?” you asked, head tilted slightly as you asked.

you watched her eyebrows raise, that smug little smirk tugging at her lips.

“don’t lie to me, amor,” she said smoothly, leaning a little closer to the camera. “you never miss my games. but you know what happens when i score, so…” her eyes practically sparkled, “…what’s my reward?”

your stomach flipped, caught completely off guard by the confidence in her tone. your game completely thrown off before you had even started.

before you could even answer, vicky’s face suddenly appeared in the frame, grinning ear to ear. “mi novia favorita! did you see my two goals, they were better than patri’s no?” (my favourite girlfriend.)

you blinked, scrambling for words, but only managed a quick nod, lips parting uselessly.

patri burst out laughing, shoving her teammate away from the camera with a playful push. “vete, niña. this call isn’t for you.” (go away, child.)

when she turned back to you, her smile had softened into something much more deliberate. “so? don’t think you’re getting away with it. i scored, you know the routine, i want my reward when i’m home.”

you swallowed hard, the teasing tone in her voice making it very clear this wasn’t just playful bragging.

“better start thinking, mi amor,” she added with a wink, before someone called her name from across the room, “tengo que irme. but don’t forget, i’m home tomorrow.” (i have to go.)

and with that, she blew you a kiss, and the call ended.

you sat frozen, phone in hand, pulse already racing, whilst your mind was already playing out a thousand possibilities in your head about what exactly she expected when she got back.

it was the afternoon of the next day when the sound of keys jangling in the lock made your heart stop for a second. you sat up straighter on the sofa, pretending to look casual, but the way your heart was beating was anything but calm.

the door swung open, and there she was, suitcase by her side, still in travel clothes, hair tied back in the messiest bun. the sight of her made your chest ache in a familiar way that you loved so much. 

she left her bag by the door, a grin spreading across her face when her eyes landed on you. “hola, mi amor,” she said softly, crossing the room in a few quick strides before leaning down to kiss you. 

it was quick, almost innocent, but it held something much more than that.

“i’m glad you’re home” you breathed, fingers curling lightly at her hoodie, as you pulled her onto the sofa alongside you, refusing to let her go just yet.

her lips curved into something softer as she brushed her thumb over your cheek. “so am i. how was it here? did you eat properly? sleep okay?”

you smiled at her fussing, patri always wanted to make sure you looked after yourself, even if she was only away for a few days, “mhm, i managed, but it’s better now that you’re home.”

she hummed in satisfaction, pressing another kiss to your forehead. for a moment, the tension in your shoulders finally relaxing ever so slightly..

then her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “sooo…” she said, drawing the word out as her hand slid to rest at your waist, “my reward?”

your stomach flipped, heat rushing to your cheeks quicker than you’d like to admit.

“the goal was insane, like golazo insane, so we can do whatever you like.” you said, voice low, as if you were sharing a secret with her.

her grin widened, eyes darkening a little as she leaned closer, “perfect, because i already know exactly what i want.”

her lips were already on yours, hungry, claiming, there was nothing hesitant about it. every teasing moment from the picture you sent on the morning of the match unraveled in that moment. 

when she finally pulled back, both of you breathless, her grin hadn’t faded, “mmm, that’s a start,” she teased, thumb brushing your lip as she watched the way your mind had already gone fuzzy from being underneath her. “that’s not all though, so you better keep going, mi amor.”

just like that she was back on you. the sudden weight of her against you had your breath hitching. her hands slid into your hair, tugging at the base of your neck, just enough to make you gasp. she caught the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, stealing the air from your lungs.

when she finally broke it, she rested her forehead against yours, her voice dropping to a mutter, “all that teasing, now look at you.”

she leaned back slightly, surveying you like she was already mapping out the next move. her smirk turned into something devastatingly deliberate, head tilting slightly as if you were about to become her prey, “i scored a goal like that, mi amor. i think i deserve a little more than this, don’t you think?.”

you could feel your heart beating in every part of your body. especially between your legs. her words were sinking into your skin like fire, heating every part of you. you opened your mouth to protest, or attempt to tease her back, but she cut you off with a slow drag of her lips down your neck, her laugh vibrating against your skin.

“you offered,” she reminded you, breath hot on your collarbone, your back automatically arching into her touch, “my choice. my reward. and i want every bit of it.”

a/n - i am really in my patri era so this was incredible to write, this was an incredible request. thank you for reading, any requests/feedback - my inbox is open. <333

[2truthsand1lie]

Un Dedo

Patri makes a suspicious (drunken) claim that she can ruin a girl with one finger. You argue with her for weeks that is not possible. Which is how you find yourself testing her claim, for science and women everywhere. And to shut her smug mouth once and for all.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+. Smut ahead

It starts with a couple five rounds of beer. The music is thumping loud enough to dictate a tempo inside your skull.

The beer isn't helping the headache that is forming.

Neither is Patri and her obnoxious claim.

"Get your finger off me," you complain, shivering as Patri drags said offending digit down your bare arm. You hate, hate, hate light fluttery touches. It sets your teeth on edge.

Patri just smirks at you, eyes hazy in a way speaks to the many drinks she's had tonight. You briefly admire her confidence in leaning into that drunken buzz whereas you tend to lean away from it, wrestling back control with a soda water and a self-imposed cut-off.

"This finger is gold, chica," she goads you.

"No, it's pale white. You desperately need a tan," you fire back.

Patri just grins lazily at you. "This finger is magic."

"Oooo," you sarcastically state, "it disappears inside a magic hat? Like the bunny?"

The biggest smirk you've ever seen emerges. "It disappears inside somewhere," she corrects with an eyebrow wag.

You stare at her deadpan. "Funny."

She grins wider, enjoying the eye roll she pulls from you. "Sí, I am very funny, bonita."

"You are not," you reply, folding your arms over your chest.

"I am. I am funny. And I have magic fingers."

"You can't claim that about yourself. The funny or magic fingers bit," you clarify. "And you better watch it or you'll be one finger less," you snap, swatting her finger off your shoulder where it continues to drag lightly over your skin, making you shiver.

"Others can verify both. And no bother, I only need one anyways"

You scoff. "Yeah right!"

Patri leans in close, words meant only for you. "I. only. need. one," she punctuates every word, eyes holding an intense amount of contact.

"That's not possible," you reply, a slight questioning tone taking over the end of your statement as you consider the possibilities. No, that absolutely is absurd . Sex takes more than one finger. Everybody knows that.

You and Patri argue about that statement for weeks after. Alexia tells you to knock it off.

You two don't.

But then Irene steps in with her captain voice, even though she's technically not first captain here at Barça; she only has that title for the National Team. But her captain voice is scary. Much, much scarier than Alexia's. It leaves no room to be ignored.

Alexia rolls her eyes when you two bow your heads in submission to the defender and go silent, sitting on the bench in the Barcelona locker room like you were just punished by your mom for fighting with your sibling.

Patri is definitely as annoying as your little brother. But the way your gaze can't help but fall to her hands as her fingers work deftly to tie her cleats or roll pre-wrap around the fitness monitor high up on her bicep really underscores how much you're not thinking of her like a sibling.

You are slightly obsessed with her finger claim even if Irene told you to move on from it already.

You can't.

Because one finger? Just one?

Absurd! Complete and utter nonsense.

Right?

Your inability to move on until you cement once and for all that Patri is definitely a cocky little liar has you both continuing this debate for weeks after the bar night.

Until finally Irene snaps one day at training.

"You," she grounds out, finger pointed towards where you sit on the bench mocking Patri slightly. "Either take Patri up on her offer to show you or shut the fuck up about this. Everyone is tired of you two. Find a new topic!"

Patri snickers.

"And you!" she exclaims, turning to face the midfielder. "Use that charm and take her to fucking bed already. We're all so over this terrible flirting in front of our faces day after day. Shit or get off the pot, yeah?"

Now it's your turn to smirk at the taller brunette while she frowns, arms crossing over her chest.

"I'm not terrible at flirting," Patri pouts.

You grab your bag and twirl around her back, pausing for a second on your way out of the locker room to murmur just for her to hear, "oh you definitely are, Pats. That's why I don't believe for a second that you can take down a woman with one finger."

Patri's affronted face is the last thing you see as you saunter out of the door, grin etched across your face.

You're smug, thinking you won this round.

Until a body collides solidly with your back as you step up to enter your car.

"Ooofff," you grunt as your front gets pushed into your drive side door.

Two hands reach out and grasp yours, firmly raising them up to rest on the roof of the car while a thigh pushes between your legs, spreading them.

Your initial split-second reaction is panic. Until you smell that familiar perfume, clean and slightly sweet with an undercurrent of smoky wood.

Patri.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you grunt, body pushing back into hers reflexively.

Her hands pull back from your wrists, one anchoring on your hip while the other trails down your side, fingers glancing the side of your breast.

A breath shudders out at the fleeting contact. Your instinct is to arch into her, but her fingers are already moving on, giving you no chance of relief.

The whisper of them down your side, tracing ribs, memorizing your reaction. The dip down of your head in defeat. The tight tension settling between your shoulders as you stop yourself from letting any noise slip out. The way your butt pushes slightly back into her pelvis, your control starting to fray at the edges.

All combine into an intoxicating wave of pleasure.

"Giving you a demonstration," Patri groans into your neck, also affected by your bodies pushed up together.

Her lips ghosting over your skin leaves you shivering, a breathy moan finally pulled from you as your body arches back, searching for more contact even as your brain screams at you stop that.

"I want you," Patri growls softly into your ear, nip lightly landing on the end of your lobe. And that really is your undoing.

You don't quite recall how you get from point A to point B. One second she's pushing you up against your car in the Barcelona training parking lot. And the next you're at her place, laid back on her bed as Patri hovers over you.

Those brown eyes of hers that are usually dancing in mischief are blown—more pupil than honey brown iris at this point. It gives her a feral appearance, driven by a hunger she needs to satiate.

And you're just the delicious morsel to help her do that.

You're realizing as she drags your clothes off your body, bare skin reveling in how incredibly soft her sheets are, that the woman holds an ungodly amount of eye contact during sex.

At least you assume she does this to every woman she beds.

All you have to go on is this experience right now. And Patri's eyes boring into yours, serious and intense, are having quite the effect on you.

"Turn," she commands softly, hands dropping to your hip to help you maneuver onto your side.

You're surprised, but curious so you comply rather easily.

But when you hear a rustle of clothes and then Patri's warm body slotting behind you rather than in front, you let out a grunt of disapproval, attempting to roll onto your back so you can see her.

"Shhh," she whispers into your neck, teeth nipping down the sensitive skin there as her hands circle around your front, one wrapping around your neck while the other drops to tease a nipple.

You arch into her hold, head limply falling to the side to expose more of your skin to her.

You are fucked.

She has you under a spell.

Patri somehow is hitting all of your submissive buttons on the first attempt, rendering your arguing mouth into a complaint one. The moans she keeps pulling from you with every suck and nip and kiss down your neck leave no room for speech.

"Let me work, sí?"

You moan as she pinches your nipple before fully palming your breast to soothe the pain.

You can feel the telltale warmth sitting low in your stomach, arousal gathering where you want her most.

Your thighs rub together in an attempt to soothe the demanding desire that has taken up residence between your legs. Sickness spreads over the soft skin there. You're so dang wet and she hasn't really touched you yet, one finger or not.

A lazy thrust forward from her has you gasping and reflexively pushing your ass back into her lap, arousal spiking.

You can feel Patri's chuckle where she attempts to hide it in your back muscles.

If this was any time besides now you'd have some stinging remark on your lips, always finding yourself falling into the trap of arguing with the midfielder.

And Patri would likely just smile that lazy grin back at you, finding humor in your fire.

That's probably why you find her so irresistibly sexy infuriating.

"More," you pant, body unsure whether you should push forward into the hand on your chest or push back into the dip between her legs that perfectly cradles your ass. Instead you try to satiate both needs, pushing forward and then thrusting back, setting your own rhythm in an attempt to ride her body into more.

More contact. More dominance. More pleasure.

You are lit up with arousal, sparks running down your nerves just waiting for Patri to coax it into a full-fledged fire.

The midfielder dismisses your request, hand slowly wandering down from your neck to grope at your other tit, nipple peaked and demanding attention.

She glances it with a finger, a cheeky flick the only consideration she pays your clearly needy self, every part of you on alert and tuned for her.

You try to swallow down your whimper, you really do. But it escapes through hissing teeth as she circles back around and pinches your nipple roughly.

Patri exhales a breath into your ear, shivers running through your limbs in response, so fucking turned on and she's barely touched you.

"Please," you ask softly, trying a new tactic. Less demanding, less combative.

"Please what, guapa?" she murmurs, fingers gliding down to your abs, circles drawn into the muscles there.

"Touch me," you pant the closer she gets to your core. Your arousal has landed warm and heavy in your gut, demanding attention. And slowly all your focus is pulled to that ache between your legs.

One finger teases a trail down towards your core. You pant, muscles tight with tension as you wait for her to finally hit the spot.

She swings wide, glancing down your outer thigh instead and pulling a groan of annoyance from you.

"Patri!" you exclaim. "I'm being good. Please!"

"You're being good?" she questions lowly, your eyes fluttering shut at the vibrations that ring through your back as she speaks.

"Sí," you reply, pushing your hips forward in an effort to entice her back to where you desperately need her one finger.

"You're my good girl?"

You whimper.

Patri shudders at that reaction.

She's undoubtedly the one in control here, but seems like you are getting to her just a little too.

Maybe you can leverage that into getting what you need.

"Patri," you moan, head pushing into her shoulder behind you and body rolling in a silent ask to be touched. "Want you."

"Just me?" she whispers, fingers finding their way back towards center.

"Just you," you confirm. "Touch me? Please?"

Your body shakes with the effort to contain your desire, positively thrumming with need.

"Ok, cariño," she relents softly. "I'm going to prove to you that all I need is a finger, yes?"

"Prove it," you goad gently, core thrusting up.

You could sob as finally a finger slides over the hood of your clit, dragging down through the wetness absolutely coating your thighs.

"Fuck," you whine, thighs trembling.

That finger dips down, pushing slightly against your entrance before swirling in your wetness and trailing back up.

She circles your clit slowly, pressure far too light for your liking.

You whine and gyrate your hips. Having Patri so close to actually touching you like you want has your arousal racing hot and heavy down your spine, heart hammering in your chest.

More, more, more

You bite your lip to stop from begging. Patri has shown you by this point that she's moving at her own pace. Fucking slow as molasses.

But it's working. She's building you up so slowly that you are going half-mad, brain singularly focused on the placement of her one finger.

And just when you think you're going to snap, she presses down, finger firmer as it rubs against your nub.

"Fuckkkk," you moan loudly, hand reaching down to clamp on her hip snug up behind yours. "Yes, please, yes," you sob, hips humping up into her touch.

Patri's lips find your neck, the hand not teasing your core which has been playing with your breast let's go and slides back up to your throat.

A strangled groan escapes from you as her fingers flex softly over your windpipe, pressure just tight enough to send a blood rush to your head.

Good-fucking-God

Your legs start trembling as you careen towards the peak.

"Inside, fucking hell, Patri. I need you inside," you plead.

She doesn't tease this time, just dips that golden finger down and pushes it inside with one movement.

You groan at the intrusion, trying to spread your legs to give her a better angle. You need her deeper.

Until she curls that singular finger, crooking the digit up towards your front wall.

You gasp in surprise at the wash of heat that rolls over you, flushed and panting.

Her finger thrusts slowly, dragging along your front wall, and your moans go up in octave.

That wave of arousal turns to a cool shiver, body wound up tightly by Patri until you're in a sensitive spiral.

"Patri," you moan, clenching tightly as her last thrust rubs against that spot inside that firmly undoes you. Your toes curl, body convulsing as you come hard, gasping, body pushing into her.

Patri kisses gently behind your ear, murmuring words you do not hear, ears ringing and vision splotchy from the intensity of your orgasm.

Finally you go limp, quads twitching occasionally as you struggle to recover from the orgasm that Patri just dragged out of you.

She shuffles away from you slightly, resulting in you flopping to your back with a huff of air once she's removed as your backstop. Your muscles are done, loose and uncooperative.

With large effort you finally convince your neck to turn, head facing a smirking Patri, head propped up on her hand.

When your eyes meet you raise an eyebrow lazily. Her smirk widens. You roll your eyes.

She licks her lip, leans in, and whispers, "Just imagine what I can do with all ten."

You groan and throw an arm over your face, half in exasperation and half in embarrassment at how quickly she dismantled you with one fucking finger.

"Wipe that grin off your smug mouth," you warn, slightly muffled from your arm.

She gently pries it away, leaning forward until you're sharing breath. "This smug mouth will take you to the fucking moon," she husks, surging forward to capture your lips.

You groan into the kiss, body telling you firmly to shut up and let the girl do the work she very clearly was born to do.

At this point you really have to admit defeat. She has backed up her claim with evidence and peer review (you). It's science.

So, when she drops her mouth to your clit, your eyes roll back in pleasure.

You thread your hands through her hair, tug her closer, and enjoy your trip to the fucking moon.