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Fault Lines

Sequel to Pressure Points

4 + 1 | Alexia Putellas x doctor!reader

You try to keep it casual. Alexia is not conviced and very jealous. 4 times Alexia fell first. 1 time you fell harder.

wc: 9k cw: 18+ mdni, a tiny bit of smut, jealousy, possessive behavior, angst, communication issues a/n: Yes, I wrote another 4+1, same pairing because why not? So this is a sequel to Pressure Points. I recommend reading that one first to get their dynamic. _______

Interlude

You notice her before she notices you. Your body reacts first. It’s annoying.

A small drop in your stomach like you missed a step. Your breath stutters once. Then you force it even again, like you can smooth it out with willpower. You straighten up, your posture tries to go ready.

Your mind catches up a second later, sharp and irritated.

Stop.

She’s talking to one of the assistants in the hallway, head tilted slightly, listening like she’s giving them her full attention.

One hand hooks into the strap of her bag. When she adjusts it, muscle shifts under the fabric. Broad shoulders under the training top. Everything about her is grounded. Not stiff. Just… planted. Ready without advertising it. Like she knows exactly how much space she takes up. Like she’s never had to apologise for it.

You keep walking. Your steps stay even and measured, as if it’s just another corridor and not a place where people clock every tiny change in your pace. Your face stays neutral. Your posture stays steady. You don’t look away, but you don’t give her anything, either.

Then she turns, and for a second she doesn’t recognise you.

It’s small, almost nothing. A pause in her eyes. A fraction of a beat where she’s placing you in her head, filing you into the right category.

Then she does.

And her gaze locks in, sharp and immediate, narrowing, assessing, taking inventory. Focused in a way that feels like pressure.

She dismisses the assistant with a polite nod that leaves no room for argument. The movement is smooth and practiced. Then she’s walking again, closing the distance until she’s beside you.

When she speaks, her voice is low. “We should talk.”

“About your knee?” you ask, not slowing and very aware of the public space around you.

Alexia glances down the corridor. People passing. Doors opening, closing again. “About the other day,” she says.

You look at her then. Brief. Measured.

“About what,” you ask calmly, “exactly?”

She turns her head toward you, sharp at first. Then she huffs out a quiet laugh, the corner of her mouth tipping into something mischievous. She leans in just enough, her voice dropping to your ear. “About how my hand disappeared in your pants,” she murmurs. “About how much you enjoyed it.”

You don’t flinch. “I’m working,” you say, evenly. You keep walking. She falls into step with you.

“You’re very calm about this,” she says.

“I’m drawing a line,” you correct. “That’s different.”

That earns you a rise of her eyebrow.  “You weren’t calm in your office the other day,” she says quietly, the smirk back in place.

“You’re very public,” you reply.

“You always hide behind logistics?”

“Only when they’re useful.”

A small group of staff passes you. One of them greets you. You answer automatically, professional, unhurried.

Alexia waits until they’re out of earshot. “So,” she says, lower now, “are we pretending it didn’t happen?”

You don’t rush the answer. “No,” you say. “But we’re also not repeating it in a hallway.”

Her mouth curves, amused. “Pity.”

You stop walking then. You turn toward her, hold her gaze just long enough for the pause to register. “No,“ you say, “just bad timing, Alexia.”

She looks at you. The corner of her mouth twitches. 

A voice calls her name from behind. You register it far away.

“I’ll see you,” she says and walks towards the gym.

———————

It settles into a pattern.

Sometimes she finds you.

Late evenings, when the building is almost empty and you’re working late in your office. She knocks once and doesn’t wait, already stepping inside, already moving as if the room belongs to both of you now.

Other times you find her. Bold and without apology. 

After training, when everyone’s already left and her hair is still damp from the shower. You learn which doors stay unlocked, which corridors are quieter, which schedules overlap just enough to make it possible without planning.

You see each other again, then again after that. Then again. Not regular, but reliable. Sometimes the distance between those moments is short, sometimes it stretches. 

The places change.

The physio room, lights dimmed but still on, the door locked without comment. The paper on the table crumples under your hands. She stands close behind you, close enough that you feel her before she touches you. Her breath is warm at your neck. She presses in slowly, deliberately, making you stay where you are.

The locker room, after the noise has faded and the doors have closed. A faint smell of shampoo and sweat. The room public enough that being caught feels possible. Her body against the wall, breath uneven. Your hand on her mouth, firm, silencing every sound, leaving her whimpering.

The gym, once, on a random Tuesday night. She has training the next morning, just a few hours from now. You come up behind her, unhurried. You meet her eyes in the mirror and don’t look away. Your hands slip between her thighs, your mouth is on her neck.

Sometimes one of you initiates with a look, a pause held just long enough to shift the air. Sometimes with a hand at the wrist, a quiet come here, a door already closing.

Other times it happens without prelude. One moment neutral, the next not. The change immediate and understood.

It fits around training schedules. Travel days. Recovery windows. Work that still gets done. Conversations that still happen in daylight and public spaces without leaving a trace of what follows later.

You don’t talk about it afterward. 

Never. 

It doesn’t need a name. It has limits.

Doors closed before hands meet. Pauses before glances linger too long. A shared instinct for when to step back.

The next time you see each other, it’s the same as always: professional, focused, aligned.

And so far, that’s been enough.

———————

#1

The new signing arrives on a Tuesday. Carlota Serrano. Forward. Twenty-four. Transfer from Atlético.

You’ve seen her stats, her injury history is mostly clean, nothing that raises flags.

She’s scheduled for her medical at two and arrives five minutes early. You’re already in the exam room when she knocks once and steps inside without waiting for an answer. Confident. Light on her feet. The kind of confidence that doesn’t ask for permission.

“Hola,” she says, already smiling. “You must be Y/N.”

“I am.”

“Carlota.” She crosses the room and extends her hand. Her grip is warm, steady, and she doesn’t let go immediately. “I’ve heard good things.”

“Sit,” you say, gesturing to the exam table.

She does, swinging herself up easily, watching you as she goes. Her training top rides up a little; she doesn’t correct it.

“So,” she says, leaning back on her hands. “Do you always look this serious at work?”

“Only when it matters.”

She laughs. Soft. Easy. “Good answer.”

You step closer. Professional distance. “Arms up.”

She lifts them slowly, deliberately, like she knows exactly where your eyes will go. You place your hands below her shoulders, fingers firm, practiced. “Any tightness here?”

“A little,” she says. Then, after a beat, “But I think you’re fixing it.”

You don’t react. Your hands move lower, checking mobility. Carlota follows your touch instead of holding position on her own.

“You don’t rush,” she says, watching you. “I like that.”

You shift position. “Hamstring history on the right?” “Yes,” she says. “But you should check both.” A smile. Playful. Testing.

She lies back before you ask, one leg extended. You place your hands on her thigh, just above the knee, pressing upward. She exhales. Not sharp, but audible. “That okay?” you ask. “Mhm,” she says. “Feels… thorough.”

Your pressure increases, methodical. “You can go higher,” she adds lightly. “I trust you.” Before you answer, there’s movement outside the room.

A knock, Alexia steps in without waiting for an answer. 

She doesn’t look at Carlota. Her eyes go to you first. Then to where your hands rest on Carlota’s thigh. Then back to your face. She needs a moment to collect herself. “I… need tape,” Alexia then says. Her voice is flat. Controlled. “Cabinet’s unlocked,” you reply, not moving your hands.

Alexia crosses to the cabinet. Her movements are deliberate, unhurried. She opens the door, retrieves a roll of tape and turns.

Now she looks at Carlota. “How’s the medical going?” Alexia asks. Carlota grins, unbothered. “Great. She’s very thorough. Great hands,” she smirks. “She is,” Alexia answers flatly.

There’s a pause.

“I should finish this,” you say, finally removing your hands. “We’re almost done.”

Alexia hesitates, then leans against the counter, arms crossed. The tape still in one hand. Watching. “Don’t let me interrupt,” she says like she’s totally unbothered, shaking her head a tiny bit.

You meet her eyes. Brief. Measured. Her jaw is tight. Shoulders rigid. She’s holding herself perfectly still, but you can see the tension coiled beneath the surface.

You turn back to Carlota. “Other leg.” Carlota shifts, extending her left leg now. She’s still smiling, glancing between you and Alexia like she’s trying to solve an equation.

Your hands return to her thigh. Same routine. Same pressure. “Everything feels good,” you say after a moment. “No issues.” “Told you,” Carlota says. “I’m in great shape.”

“Clearly,” Alexia mutters under her breath.

Carlota sits up, swinging her legs off the table. “So I’m cleared?” “You’re cleared,” you confirm. “Perfect.” She grabs her bag. “Thanks. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” She smiles and door closes behind her.

Silence.

You turn toward the sink, washing your hands. The water runs cold, then warm. You don’t look at Alexia. “You need something else?” you ask.

“No.”

You dry your hands. Slowly. Deliberately.

When you finally turn, she’s still there. Still leaning against the counter. The tape forgotten beside her.

“You were flirting with her,” Alexia says. “She was flirting with me,” you correct.

A beat.

“That’s what I said.”

You hold her gaze.

Alexia pushes off the counter. Steps closer. "I watched your hands on her thigh," she says. Her voice is low. Her jaw tightens. "And she was looking at you like—" She stops. Her hand comes up, gestures sharply, then drops. "Like she thought she could have you." The words come out rougher than she meant. She exhales. Hard. Tries to reset. Her hands clench briefly at her sides.

"I need you," her eyes lock on yours. "Now," she says finally.

You look at her properly. At the way she's holding herself too still.  At the tension in her shoulders. At the frustration she's barely keeping contained.

Her eyes flicker. You step closer. "Alexia," you say softly.

She meets your eyes again. You can see it: the edge of control fraying.

"Do you want me to lock the door?"

The question settles between you. Her breath catches. Just a little. She swallows. Then her gaze darkens, steadies. “Yes,” she says.

You cross to the door. Turn the lock with a soft click. When you turn back, she’s watching you. Waiting. You walk back to her. Slower this time. Deliberate.

“Tell me what you want,” you say.

She lets out a breath you were not aware she was holding.  “I want to touch you.”

“Then touch me.”

She closes the gap instantly. Her hand catches your waist, tight and certain, and she’s kissing you like she’s trying to erase the last ten minutes. Like she’s trying to prove her body is realer than her thoughts.

You kiss her back. Your fingers grip her shirt, keeping her anchored. Or keeping yourself.

Her breath breaks against your mouth.

“Y/N—” she breathes.

“What?”

She presses her forehead to yours for half a second, eyes shut. Then she moves again. Pulling you with her.

She’s turning you toward the exam table. “Here,” she says. “Where she was.” The paper crinkles when your legs hit the edge. The sound is too loud.

Her mouth is back on yours immediately, cutting off whatever you might have said. Her hand slides under your shirt. Warm against your ribs.

You inhale sharply. She pauses. Checks your face like she still remembers you have a choice. You don’t look away. “Don’t stop,” you say.

Something in her expression shifts. Softens. Focuses. Her hand moves lower. Your breath catches again, deeper this time.

Alexia leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Quiet,” she murmurs. “Anyone could walk by.” You nod once.

And then you let yourself go still beneath her hands. Let her set the pace. Let her take the noise out of your body, out of hers, too. One controlled breath at a time. Just certainty. Just her. She holds you like she can’t afford to lose grip.

When it’s over, you’re both pressed close, breathing unevenly. Alexia’s forehead rests against yours.

You don’t touch her first. You let her decide if she stays. She does. For a second longer than necessary.

Then she pulls back, careful again, like she’s rebuilding herself in real time.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly.

She looks at you, blinking once.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

A pause.

“I should—” she starts. Then: “I should go to training.”

———————

#2

The restaurant is warm and softly lit. Someone chose a Spanish place in Gràcia for team night, the kind with exposed brick walls and low ceilings, where the noise stays at a pleasant hum. You’re seated near the middle of a long table, shoulder to shoulder with half the medical staff and a few players who couldn’t find space elsewhere. Plates of patatas bravas and pan con tomate sit half-empty between you.

Across from you, Lucía is laughing. “No, I’m serious,” she says, leaning forward, her eyes bright. “She told me she doesn’t eat carbs after six. I had to explain glycogen windows three times before she even—”

“Let you finish a sentence?” you say.

“Exactly.” Lucia grins. “You get it.”

Lucia is the team nutritionist. Sharp, methodical, someone who approaches food the way you approach injury: data first, intuition second. You’ve worked together for two years now, and the rhythm between you is easy and efficient. She starts a thought, you finish it. You mention a concern, she’s already considered it. It’s the kind of professional synchronicity that makes the work feel less like work.

“Anyway,” Lucia continues, reaching for her glass, “I finally got her to try the adjusted protocol. Guess what happened?” “She felt better.” “She felt amazing.” Lucia shakes her head, laughing again. “And then she asked why I didn’t suggest it sooner.” You smile despite yourself. “Of course she did.” “Right?” Lucia gestures with her drink, almost spilling it. “That’s exactly what you said last week about... what was it, the hamstring thing?” Lucia laughs, loud and unguarded, and you find yourself laughing with her. It’s easy and natural.

Someone else at the table says something you don’t catch. Lucia leans in closer to hear you over the noise. “Wait, what did you say about the potassium levels?” she asks. “I said we should cross-reference with hydration data. You mentioned it last month, remember? The correlation you found—” “—with the cramping patterns, yes.” Her eyes light up. “God, I forgot about that. We should pull those numbers.” “I’ll send you the files tomorrow,” you reply. “You’re the best,” she beams. She lifts her glass toward you. You tap yours against it lightly, the clink soft and clear.

You’re smiling. Relaxed.

Alexia is sitting three seats down, across the table. Quiet. Present but not participating. She has barely touched the water in front of her. Her posture is deceptively casual: one arm is resting on the back of Irene’s chair, the other in her lap. But her jaw is tight. Her eyes are on you. You meet her gaze and hold it for a second. Two. Your stomach twists.

Then Lucia says your name, pulling your attention back. “Sorry, what?” you ask. “I was saying,” Lucia continues, “we should grab lunch next week. Go over the new recovery protocols before we roll them out.” “Sure,” you say. “That works.” “Perfect.” She grins. “I’ll bring my notes. You bring your skepticism.” “Always,” you reply. It comes easily. Lucia laughs again, and this time her hand brushes your arm. Brief. Casual. The kind of touch that means nothing.

You glance back toward Alexia a few moments later. She’s looking at Lucia’s hand. At where it touched your arm. Her hand tightens around her fork. You reach for your water. Take a sip. When you look up again, Alexia is standing. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t make excuses. She just pushes away from the table and walks toward the back of the restaurant. You watch her go. The line of her shoulders is rigid. Controlled. But you know that tension. You’ve felt it under your hands, seen it in the set of her spine when she’s holding something back.

Lucia nudges your shoulder. “You okay?” she asks. “Fine,” you say. “You sure? You got quiet.” “Just tired.” She studies you for a moment, then nods. “Fair. It’s been a long week.” “It has,” you sigh.

The conversation around you continues. Lucia rejoins it easily, laughing at something Mapi says from the other side of the table. You stay quiet, eyes drifting toward the back of the restaurant.

Alexia is standing near the restrooms, phone in hand. She’s not looking at it. Just standing there. She doesn’t look at you. Then she walks back to the table. Leans down to say something to Irene. Grabs her jacket from the back of her chair. “I’m heading out,” she says to the table. “Early media thing tomorrow.” A few people nod and wave goodnight.

Her gaze flicks to you once. Brief.

Then she’s gone.

The minutes stretch.

Eventually, people start talking about moving to another place. The group begins to shift, but the energy is winding down. Some are staying, some leaving.

“I think I’m done,” you tell Lucia. “You sure?” “Yeah. Early day tomorrow.” “Alright.” She smiles. “Thanks for the company. This was good.” “It was.”

She squeezes your shoulder, brief and friendly, and you say your goodbyes to the others still at the table.

You grab your jacket and head for the door. Outside, the air is cold. Sharp after the warmth of the restaurant.

The street is quiet. Just a few people passing. You pull your jacket tighter and start walking toward where you parked, down the side street, away from the main road.

The alley between the restaurant and the next building is narrow. Dimly lit.

You’re halfway through when you see her.

Alexia.

Leaning against the brick wall. Arms crossed. Waiting.

You stop. “You left early.“

Alexia’s mouth tightens. “You didn’t.”

She pushes off the wall and steps closer. “I didn’t like watching that,” she says. “The laughing. The way you were so easy with her.” She stops. Shakes her head once. “It’s stupid.”

“It is. Lucia’s my friend.”

“I know that.” Her voice drops. She’s close now. Close enough that you can feel the heat from her body, the tension in how she’s holding herself. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, like she needs to get it out. “I just—” She reaches for you then. Her hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing in just enough to ground herself. She waits half a second, long enough for you to pull away if you want to. You don’t.

She kisses you. There’s urgency in it, a slight clumsiness, like she’s moving faster than she can think. You kiss her back, your hands coming up, gripping her jacket, steadying her. She exhales into your mouth, a rough sound, then breaks the kiss to rest her forehead against yours.

“I don’t want to feel like this,” she says. Quiet. Honest. “Then don’t,” you say. Her laugh is short. Almost bitter. You kiss her hard, to swallow the sound of it.

Your hands fist in her jacket, pulling her closer. You walk her backward until her back hits the wall. Your hands are moving under her jacket, under her shirt. You feel how tense she is. How much she’s holding.

You lift one knee slowly, deliberately, pressing it between her legs. Offering.

Alexia stills. She looks at you, eyes dark and startled, like the choice you just made landed deeper than she expected.

You hold her gaze.

She presses closer then, using the space you’ve given her, the contact grounding her.

She shifts her weight against your thigh, carefully, testing the pressure. Then again. Small movements. Deliberate. Like she’s choosing every inch of it. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t pretend.

Your own breathing changes before you can stop it. Your body reacts to hers, to the way she’s using the contact like an anchor.

Alexia makes a sound against your neck, swallowed immediately, like she refuses to let it become anything bigger than it already is.

You keep your hands on her back. Flat. Steady. She moves again, a little firmer this time, still controlled, still quiet. Then again, firmer. Her breathing grows rougher, until the alley is all breath and fabric and the hard edge of the wall behind you. She presses her forehead to your collarbone, eyes shut now, jaw clenched like she’s riding something sharp and familiar.

You feel her reach the edge of it fast. Too fast for how hard she’s been fighting all night.

A sharp inhale. Her body stills. Then a slow exhale like she’s letting something go that was hurting her to keep inside.

She stays pressed against you. Breathing hard. For a second she doesn’t move at all. Then she pulls back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are dark. Unsteady. Honest in a way she never is in daylight. “You okay?” you ask. “Yes.” A beat. Then her mouth drops to your neck. At first it’s just lips. Searching. Like she’s trying to calm herself there. You tilt your head without thinking. That’s when she loses the edge of it. Her mouth closes over your skin with more pressure than she meant to use. She sucks, hard, instinctive, like she needs the certainty of leaving something behind.

You inhale sharply. Not because it hurts. Because it surprises you. Her body stills immediately. She pulls back just enough to see your face. You’re breathing hard. Still holding onto her. Her gaze drops to your neck.

The mark is already blooming.

Her hand comes up, slower now. Fingers brushing the skin she just marked. Almost surprised at what she did. Careful.

She leans in again and kisses the mark. Soft. Then again. A third time.

Each one lighter. Intentional. Like she’s trying to undo something without words.

Her forehead rests against your temple. She just stays there, holding you, until the tension drains out of her body.

Then she pulls back, just enough to look at you. “You should wear your hair down tomorrow,” she says quietly. She watches you for a long moment, like she’s committing something to memory. Her thumb grazes your lip. Careful, testing. 

Then her hand drops away. Steps back.  “Be careful,” she says, looking you in the eye. “Of what?” She hesitates. “Of this,” she says. “Of me.”

You hold her gaze for a moment, then she turns and walks away.

———————

#3

The gym smells like rubber and sweat. Mapi is on the mat, one leg extended, the other bent beneath her. You’re kneeling beside her, hands on her hip, guiding her through a controlled rotation. Her flexibility is good but there’s tightness in her lower back that needs attention.

“How’s that?” you ask. “Fine,” she says. “A little tight on the left.” You adjust your grip, applying gentle pressure. “Tell me if it’s too much.” “It’s not.” You’re focused. Present. The work is clean, methodical. Mapi breathes through the stretch, her expression calm.

A voice cuts through the low hum of activity around you.

“Hey.”

You glance up. A man you don’t recognize is standing a few feet away. Tall. Dark hair, pulled back. Training gear that looks too new. He’s smiling, broad, easy, like he’s already decided you’ll smile back.

“I’m Mateo,” he says. “New physio. Started this week.” You nod once. “Y/N.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “Everyone knows.” He chuckles, like it’s a compliment you’re supposed to accept. “They talk about you like you’re a myth.”

You turn back to Mapi, adjusting the angle of her leg. “The miracle worker,” he adds. “That’s the term I heard” You don’t look up. “Keep your leg relaxed,” you say to Mapi.

Mateo laughs again. “See, that’s what I mean. Calm. In control.” He leans slightly to one side, trying to catch your eye. “Very attractive combo.”

Mapi’s eyebrow twitches. You ignore him.

“So,” he continues, undeterred, “how long have you been saving careers around here?”

“Three years,” you answer, clipped.

“Wow.” He whistles softly. “Three years and everyone’s still obsessed. That says a lot.” He lowers his voice. “About you.”

You shift your grip, focused. “That uncomfortable?” you ask Mapi. “No,” she says. “You’re good.”

Mateo grins at that like he’s been included. “See? Trusted. Adored.” He steps closer, enough that he’s fully in your peripheral vision now. “I’m trying to learn how you do it. People skills. Touch.”

You finally look at him. He brightens instantly. “I mean professionally,” he adds quickly, though the grin doesn’t soften. “But still. You’ve got a way.”

“I’m working,” you say.

“Of course,” he replies easily. “But work’s better with the right company, no?” He tilts his head. “We should grab a coffee. Talk shop.”

You open your mouth to answer—

“Mateo.”

The voice cuts in cleanly. You don’t have to look to know who.

Alexia’s walking toward you from the weight area, stride unhurried but direct. Her attention already fixed.

Mateo turns instinctively when she stops just behind him. “Hola, Capitana,” he says, straightening.

Alexia doesn’t return the greeting. Her eyes flick to you first. Quick. Assessing. Then back to him.

“Vicky needs you,” she says. Mateo blinks. “What?” “Vicky,” Alexia repeats, tone unchanged. Calm. Absolute. “By the weights. She asked for you.”

There’s a pause.

Mateo looks past her, like he expects Vicky to wave or call out.

Nothing.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Right. Okay.” He hesitates, glancing back at you. “I’ll—uh—catch you later,” he says, still smiling. “About that coffee.”

He winks at you. You don’t respond.

Alexia watches Mateo leave. Her shoulders drop. Just a fraction. Like she’d been bracing without noticing.

She drops into a squat on the other side of Mapi, forearms resting loosely on her knees. Casual, if you don’t look too hard. Like she belongs in this moment as much as she belongs in any training drill.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

Mapi’s eyes flick between the two of you. Once. Then again, slower. “Fine,” she says slowly. “Just tight.”

“You always are,” Alexia replies lightly. Mapi snorts. “Thanks, Capitana.”

You adjust Mapi’s position, hands steady, professional. Your focus stays on the work because it has to. Because it’s the only neutral thing in the room. “You need something, Alexia?” you ask, still looking at Mapi’s hip alignment.

“No,” Alexia says immediately. A beat. “Just checking in.” “On Mapi?” you ask. Her gaze stays on you. “On you.”

You pause. Just a second. You lift your eyes. Alexia’s expression is controlled, but there’s something under it. A watchfulness that isn’t about football.

“I’m fine,” you say, testing. Alexia studies your face like she’s looking for confirmation you didn’t offer. “Okay,” she says quietly.

Mapi shifts under your hands. “Are we done?” she asks, impatient now, like she’s trying to save you all.

“Almost,” you say. “One more set.” You guide her through the final rotation. Mapi complies, breathing steadily, but you can feel the shift.

Alexia doesn’t speak while you work. She watches your hands like she’s trying to understand something that isn’t medical.

“The physio,” she says. “He’s new.“ Like it’s an apology. After a beat: “he talks too much.”

Mapi’s mouth twitches. She covers it by stretching her neck.

You keep your hands steady. “Some people do.”

Alexia hums. “Mm.” Her eyes don’t move away from your hands.

Mapi sits up when you finish, rolling her shoulders with a small groan. “Thanks,” she says. “Ice afterward,” you tell her. “Twenty minutes.” “Sí, doctora.”

She stands, grabs her bottle and takes a deliberately long sip. Her gaze moves to Alexia. Then back to you. There’s a flicker of something there. Curiosity. A question she doesn’t ask. “Thank you, Y/N,“ she says and smiles at you warmly. She turns to Alexia, slow and deliberate. “I’ll see you at training, Capi,“ she says.

Then she leaves.

The gym noise rushes back in around you.

You stand, brush your hands on your thighs. Alexia rises too. You look at her, measuring your next words.  “Vicky didn’t need him, did she?” you ask. Alexia’s mouth curves. Barely. “Probably not.” You tilt your head. “So why send him away?”

She doesn’t dodge it. “Because you were working,” Alexia says. Simple.

You blink. Once. “That’s it?”

Alexia’s gaze holds yours. Steady. Direct. “That’s it.”

For a second, it almost disarms you. Almost.

You let the silence hang long enough to make it uncomfortable. Then: “You’re giving him more weight than he has.”

Alexia’s expression doesn’t change. But something in her eyes does. A small release. Like she didn’t realize she was holding tension there.

“Weight,” she repeats.

“Yes,” you say. “He talks. That’s all.”

Her gaze flicks to your hands, still slightly flexed from work. Then back to your face. “And you?” she asks. You step closer. Not into her space. Just enough to make the answer unavoidable. “What about me?” “You didn’t stop him,” she says. Not accusing. Not sharp. Careful. Like she’s asking something she already half regrets asking.

You lift your eyebrows slightly. “Are you serious right now?”

Alexia doesn’t flinch. “I’m observing,” she says. “Not blaming you.”

You hold her gaze. Let her see you decide how much to give. “I didn’t stop him,” you say finally, “because he didn’t register.”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. Just a fraction. “He didn’t register,” she repeats. “No,” you say. “I was working. He was background noise.”

Something quiet shifts in her face. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Something closer to disappointment easing but not disappearing. Her eyes drop for half a second. Then lift again.

“If you want to know something,” you say, “ask me.”

Alexia’s breath stutters. Barely there, but you see it. She hesitates, her eyes flicker

“Are you okay,” she finally asks. It sounds small and unsure. And like she means something different.

You stare at her. Then you nod once. Slow. “I’m fine,” you say. “But don’t manage me.” Alexia’s gaze sharpens. “I wasn’t.” “You were,” you say calmly. “You just did it gently.” She exhales. A small sound through her nose. “You didn’t hate it.”

It’s not a question. It’s her testing the edge.

You step half a pace closer. “Don’t,” you say. “Don’t do that.” Alexia holds still. Watches you. “Do what?” “Try to make me say it’s okay,” you reply. “I don’t need you to protect me from a man who flirts badly.”

Her eyes stay on yours. “And from what, then,” she asks. The question is quiet. Careful. Real. You don’t answer immediately. You could lie. You could keep it clean. But the way she asked makes it hard. So you give her the truth that’s safe to give in a gym full of people.

“I need you to stop checking out every time something gets close,” you say. 

“Either step in, or step back.”

Alexia’s throat moves when she swallows. She nods once. “Okay,” she says. “I have training,” she adds, like she has to.

You don’t move out of her way.

“I know.”

For a second, she seems like she expects something else from you.

An answer. An opening. It doesn’t come.

Then she turns and walks toward the weights.

Across the gym, Mapi is still watching.

———————

#4

The room quiets. You’re already on stage. The lectern in front of you, the audience arranged in neat rows beyond the lights. High ceilings. Warm glow. The kind of venue designed to make everything feel important.

You don’t rush the silence. You let it settle. Then you begin. You talk about injury prevention. Load management as lived reality rather than abstract concept. Recovery inside bodies that are pushed, celebrated, scrutinized in ways most people never consider.

Your voice is steady. Clear. You don’t soften the information. Don’t perform. You explain. The room full of experts listens. People lean forward. Movement stills. You catch a quiet laugh at something you said—not planned as humor, but landing that way. The sound ripples through the space, then fades.

Your gaze moves across the audience once. Briefly. Three rows back, off to the side, Alexia sits perfectly still. Arms resting on the chair beside her. Legs crossed. Her attention doesn’t waver.

You look away. Continue.

When you finish, the applause is immediate. Clean. Earned. You nod once, thank them, step away.

The room shifts back into motion, chairs scraping, voices rising, the social current resuming. You’re pulled into a small cluster almost immediately. Polite questions. Professional exchanges. You answer briefly, still half in work mode.

Emma appears at your side without announcement.

“Hey,” she smiles at you brightly.

“Emma!” Familiar. Warm. She closes the distance, pulls you into a quick hug. You return it easily.

When she steps back, she’s still smiling. “You were brilliant up there.”

“You made it,” you say, “I thought you were still in surgery.”

“Of course I did.” She laughs. “You told me you were speaking. And you survived,” she winks at you. “I wasn’t sure if you’d enjoy being on a stage again.” “I don’t,” you say. “I tolerate it.” She smiles at that. “It showed. In a good way.” Her hand touches your arm out of habit.

A server passes. She takes two glasses, hands you one without asking. 

She looks good. Rested. Her hair’s shorter than the last time you saw her. There’s a sharpness to her now, the same confidence she always had, but more settled.

“How was London?” you ask.

“Cold. Exhausting. Amazing.” She shakes her head. “But I missed this. Missed Barcelona. So... I’m officially back.”

“Back back?”

“Back back,” she confirms. “London’s done.”

You take a sip. “How long were you there?”

“Two years. Long enough to stop romanticizing it.” She exhales. “Great work. Brutal hours. Zero sunlight.”

“Sounds like London.”

“Exactly.” She glances around the room. Her gaze lingers on something just behind you for a second.  “Barcelona feels… familiar. In a good way,” she continues.

“You staying?” “For now.” She smiles. “Clínic offered me a position. Trauma. I said yes before I could overthink it.” “Emma, that’s incredible.” “It’s also terrifying,” she admits. “But yeah. Incredible.”

You’re about to answer when her gaze drifts past you again, a little more to the left this time, stays there for a moment.

“So yeah,” she continues lightly, “new job, old city. Feels strange being back though.” “I get that.”

She hums. Takes another sip. She studies you for a moment. “You look settled.” “Do I?”  “Yeah, more than you used to,” she says. “That’s all.” You smile at her and take a sip.

Again her eyes move past you, searching, then settling on something, staying longer this time. “You’re being watched,” Emma says, amused. “Left shoulder. By the tall table, near the back.“

You frown. “What?”

She leans in slightly, still smiling. “Tall. Brunette. Strong arms.” A pause. “Very promising.”

You turn.

Alexia stands near one of the tall tables, mid-conversation with two sponsors. Smiling. Engaged. Effortlessly at ease. Her body is unmistakably angled toward you.

When your eyes meet, she holds it, just long enough, then turns back as if nothing happened. Something in your chest tightens. Sharp and immediate.

You look away, shift your weight, take a sip of wine.

Emma watches it all happen. She’s quiet for a moment. You can see her processing.

“Oh,” she then says quietly. “Oh.” You turn back to her. Shake your head once, dismiss it. “It’s nothing.” She looks at you, eyebrows raised. “Sure,” she says, unconvinced. “That’s why you just stopped breathing.” “I didn’t.” “You did.” She grins, a little too delighted now. “And now you’re pretending you didn’t.” You exhale. “Emma.” She glances back over your shoulder again, eyes bright. Alexias gaze turns back to you. Your jaw tightens. Emma sees it.

Emma turns fully toward you now. “Okay,” she says quietly. “That’s not nothing.” “It’s—” “Don’t,” she cuts in gently. “You don’t flinch like that for ‘nothing.’” You shake your head. “You’re reading into it.” “Am I?” she asks lightly. “Because from where I’m standing, she’s very focused. And you’re very much trying not to be.” She bumps your shoulder, conspiratorial. “Relax. I’m not judging. I’m… intrigued.”

You open your mouth to reply.

Alexia says something that makes the sponsors laugh. She nods and then excuses herself. Emma tracks the movement. Her expression shifts, curiosity giving way to recognition. “Incoming,” she murmurs.

Your stomach tightens.

“Who is she?” Emma asks. You hesitate. “That’s Alexia.” Emma blinks. Then: “…Alexia Putellas?” “Yes.” She lets out a breath that’s half a laugh. Half disbelief. “Right,” she says. 

Alexia is stepping closer now.  “Does she know I‘m your ex?“ Emma whispers.  Before you can answer, Alexia is there.

“Hola,” she says. Her voice is calm, professional. She steps in beside you, close enough that the conversation has to rearrange itself around her.

You turn toward her. “Emma,” you say, “this is Alexia. Barça captain.” Alexia offers her hand, strong, confident. “Alexia Putellas.” Emma takes it. “Emma Reyes. Nice to meet you.” “Likewise.”

A brief pause. Controlled. Polite.

Alexia’s gaze shifts briefly to you, then back to Emma. “You’re a doctor?” she asks. “Surgeon,” Emma corrects. “Trauma. At Hospital Clínic.” “And you know Y/N from…?” “We studied together. Years ago.” Emma’s tone is light. Unbothered. “Kept in touch.”

Alexia nods slowly. Her attention stays on Emma a moment longer. Then turns to you.

“Can I steal you for a moment?” she asks. It’s phrased gently. It isn’t optional.

Emma reads it instantly. “Actually,” she says smoothly, “I should go say hi to a few people before I head out.” She looks at Alexia. “It was nice meeting you.”  “You too,” Alexia says. Emma steps back. Catches your eye, a small, knowing smile: “I’ll see you.” “Yeah.” She smiles and steps away.

You turn to Alexia. Her expression is unreadable. “Who was that?” she asks. Her voice is quiet. But there’s an edge to it. “A friend,” you say. “A friend?” “Yes.” Her jaw shifts. Barely. “We’ve known each other a long time.” “How long?” You hesitate. She sees it. “We dated,” you say. “Years ago. It ended. We’re friends now.”

Alexia goes very still.

“Your ex,” she says, almost careful, testing the word. But her body gives her away before her voice does. Her fingers twitch, her shoulders draw back, like she is preparing for impact. She looks at you. Not accusing. Not demanding. Just waiting.

The word sits between you, heavy in a room that suddenly feels too loud, too public, too full of people who don’t belong to it. You feel the wrongness of it settle in your chest, the sense that whatever comes next shouldn’t happen here.

You don’t answer her but step closer and close your hand around her wrist. It’s firm enough to be unmistakable, gentle enough to keep her with you. “Come with me,” you say.

It isn’t an order. But it isn’t a question either.

“What—” “Now.” You don’t wait for her to respond.

You pull her away from the crowd. Out of the main hall. Down the corridor. She follows, whether because you’re pulling her or because she chooses to, you’re not sure.

You pass the restrooms. Keep going. Find the door marked Staff Only. Push it open. Pull her inside. Close the door. Lock it. Turn to face her. The room is dimly lit, it’s too dark to really see her face. 

“You didn’t have to pull me out,” she says. Her voice is low. Careful. Like she’s testing the weight of every word before letting it go. “You were losing control,” you answer. Alexia huffs a breath. Not defensive. Almost tired. “No,” she says. “I was trying not to.” You step closer. “Then what was that out there?”

She looks past you for a second. At the door. At nothing. “I don’t know how to stand there,” she says. “And pretend it doesn’t matter.” “What doesn’t?” you ask.

Her jaw tightens. She takes a breath, like she’s choosing carefully. “You,” she says. Then, after a pause, quieter: “The way you were. With Emma.”

You nod once, slow. Processing. “You mean relaxed.” She doesn’t answer right away. “You laughed,” she says instead. “You didn’t watch yourself. You weren’t careful.”

You study her face. The tension she’s holding like muscle memory. The effort it takes for her to say even this much.

“That’s what this is about?” you ask. “Me laughing?”

Her eyes flick back to yours. “No,” she says. “It’s about the part of you that doesn’t brace.”

A beat.

“That part never shows up with me.”

You exhale, irritation tightening in your chest. “That’s not fair,” you say. “You know we don’t do that here. Not at work. Not in public.”

She nods once. Immediate. Like she expected that answer. “I know.”

“And with you,” you continue, calmer now, defaulting to familiar ground, “it’s different anyway. We keep it contained. That’s always been the agreement.”

Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Yes,” she says quietly. “It has.”

You take a step closer, trying to smooth it. Reframe it. Put it back where it’s always lived. “So don’t compare it,” you say. “It’s not the same thing.”

That’s when she goes still. She inhales sharply, closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she nods once, final. 

“Okay,” she says. You frown. “Okay?” “Yes.” She exhales slowly. “I didn’t mean—” “I know.” She cuts you off gently. Not defensive. Careful. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That stops you.

She looks away for a moment, jaw set like she’s choosing each word. “I think I kept mistaking proximity for something else,” she says, “that’s on me.”

You open your mouth. Close it again. She gives a small shrug, almost dismissive of herself.

“Alexia,” you say quietly.

Your hands come up. Hover near her waist.

“I should go,” she says. “What? No—” “I can’t do this.” She moves toward the door. “Not here. Not—” “Alexia, wait—”

But she’s already unlocking it. She pauses with her hand on the handle. Doesn’t look back when she leaves.

———————

+1

The match ends with a clean win. Three-nil. Dominant from start to finish. The kind of performance that makes it look easy even though you know it isn’t.

You’re on the sidelines through all of it. Watching. Monitoring. Ready if needed.

The final whistle blows. The team celebrates. Standard post-match routine begins with hydration checks, initial assessments. You move through it automatically, professional and focused.

Alexia catches your eye once across the pitch. She looks away as if your eyes are burning hers.

Things have felt different since the gala three weeks ago. Since she walked away from that storage room. Since she left you standing there trying to understand what just happened.

You’ve seen her since. Brief exchanges. Professional. Careful.

The team filters toward the tunnel. You’re gathering equipment when you hear voices near the mixed zone.

Media. Post-match interviews.

Alexia is there, standing in front of the cameras. Still in her kit, hair pulled back. Answering questions with that measured precision she has.

The interview ends. The camera light goes off.

The journalist, young, confident, dark hair, says something you can’t hear from this distance.

Alexia laughs. Actually laughs. Your hands still on the medical kit. The journalist touches her own hair, tucks it behind her ear. Nervous. Or calculated. Alexia leans in slightly. Says something back. The journalist smiles. She blinks, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Alexia’s posture is open. Engaged. Not the careful control she holds around you.

You watch her hand come up. Touch the journalist’s forearm. Light. Brief.

Your chest tightens.

This is nothing. Professional friendliness. Post-match pleasantries.

Except.

You know that lean. That smile. The way she tilts her head when she’s interested.

The journalist says something else. Alexia nods. Pulls out her phone. They’re exchanging numbers.

You turn away before you see more. Pack the equipment with hands that aren’t quite steady. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

You don’t have a claim on her. You’ve made that clear. You keep the boundaries, maintain the distance. This is what you wanted. 

Except it’s not.

And you hate that you’re only realizing it now, watching her smile at someone else.

You finish packing. Head to your car. Drive home on autopilot.

Once there, you drop your bag by the door. Stand in your kitchen. Stare at nothing.

You should eat. Shower. Sleep.

You can’t stop seeing it: Her hand on that woman’s arm. The ease between them. The way Alexia looked… lighter. Less burdened. Like maybe she’s already moving on from whatever this was between you.

Your hands clench.

This is ridiculous.

You don’t do this. Don’t get jealous. Don’t chase.

You’ve never had to.

But you can’t stop thinking about it. About her. About the way she held you in that alley. The way she kissed the mark on your neck like she was apologizing for something she couldn’t name.

The way she almost said something in the storage room. Then didn’t.

Then left.

You grab your keys. You’re in your car before you’ve decided to be. Driving before you’ve thought it through.

The drive is short. Too short to change your mind. You park outside her building. Sit there for a moment.

This is stupid.

You get out anyway. Take the elevator. Find her door. Knock before you can stop yourself.

Footsteps inside. The door opens.

Alexia stands in the door, completely unguarded. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, slightly wavy. She’s wearing joggers low on her hips, not the ones from her training gear, these ones are softer, worn a hundred times. An oversized shirt, under which you can still see her shape: shoulders, chest, the line of her arms when she shifts her weight.

You notice stupid details. The way her toes curl slightly against the floor. The faint mark on her ankle from tape earlier, the small nick on her hand, already healing, the line of her jaw when she swallows

She catches you looking and tilts her head, watching you with that calm that always gets under your skin.

“Y/N.”

Not a question. Just your name. Surprised.

“Can I come in?” you ask.

She steps back without a word. You walk inside. She closes the door behind you. Her apartment is warm, photos on the wall, a kitchen barely used. The living room holds a sofa that’s low, wide, and unmistakably expensive.

You turn to face her.

She’s already watching you. Careful. Open in a way that irritates you more than distance would.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. The question sounds neutral. It isn’t.

You shrug once. Too sharp to be casual. “I don’t know.”

She watches you for a moment. Like she’s deciding whether to accept that. „You don’t usually come without knowing what you want.“ “Maybe I didn’t plan this one.”

Alexia watches you for a moment.  “You’re bad at improvising,” she says with a flat voice.

You huff and turn away, then stop. There’s nowhere to go without leaving. “So—” you challenge. “You going to tell me why you’ve been so distant?”

Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t answer immediately. “I haven’t,” she says finally. You turn back to her. “You have.” She crosses her arms. Defensive now. “I’ve been careful.” “Same thing,” you reply.

A beat.

She shifts her weight. The movement is subtle, but it breaks her stillness. “I thought you liked things uncomplicated,” she says. “That’s rich,” you answer. “Coming from you.” Her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “You didn’t seem bothered.” “That’s because I didn’t know I was supposed to be.” You say it sharper than you mean to. That gets her attention. She studies you now. Closer than before, without moving. “And now?” she asks.

You hesitate. Then say it anyway:  “Now it feels like you decided something,” you say. “Without me.”

Her eyes flick away. Back. “I didn’t decide anything.” “You changed something.”

Another pause.

She exhales, slow. Measured. “I noticed it was getting… louder,” she says. “Louder?” Your eyebrow ticks up before you stop it. “Yes.”

You wait. She doesn’t elaborate.

“So you stepped back,” you say. She nods. “And you thought I wouldn’t notice.”

A pause.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind.” The words sit wrong in your chest. You let out a short breath. It almost sounds like a laugh. “You don’t get to decide that,” you say.

Her shoulders drop. Just a little.

Silence stretches.

You take a step closer. Testing. “Do you do this often?” you ask. “Pull away when something starts to feel… like more work?” Her gaze sharpens. “Is that what you think this is?” “I don’t know what it is,” you say. “That’s the problem.” She steps closer too. Now the distance between you has narrowed without either of you choosing it. “I didn’t want it to turn into something we’d have to name,” she says. You swallow. “And you thought stepping back would stop that.” “I thought it would slow it down.” “For you,” you say. She doesn’t deny it.

The air between you feels tight now. Unsettled.

“You look annoyed,” she says. “I am.” “Why?” You open your mouth. Close it again. “You don’t look convinced,” you say. “Of what?” “That this didn’t matter.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze drops - not away from you, just down, like she’s replaying the moment you mean. When she looks up again, her voice is quieter. “I tried to make it not matter.”

You nod once. Slow. “And?”

Her jaw tightens. She exhales. “I couldn’t.”

The words sit between you. Solid. Unavoidable.

“Then say it,” you challenge. “Say what you wanted to say all these times.“

She shakes her head. Just once. “I can’t.” She swallows hard but doesn’t look away. 

“Alexia, I need you to talk to me.“

Her eyes shine. She doesn’t blink.

You swallow, see everything in her eyes and her still holding it back.

You hold out your hand slowly. “Then show me.” 

She looks at you for a very long moment. Then she steps forward and takes it.

Her grip is warm. Certain. Her thumb brushes once across your knuckles. She steps close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to hold her gaze.

Her free hand comes up. Slowly. Touches your jaw. Feather-light. Traces down. Along your neck. Your collarbone.

She leans in an kisses you the same way she has touched you. Her breath leaving goosebumps where it lands on your skin. She takes her time, kissing every inch of your face, like it’s the first time.

Her fingers find the collar of your shirt. She looks at you. A question in her eyes. You nod.

Her fingers work the first button. Slow. Deliberate. She holds your gaze. The button opens. She moves to the next one. Your breathing has changed already. Second button. Third. She’s taking her time. Like she has all night. Like there’s nowhere else she needs to be. Fourth button. Your shirt falls open. She doesn’t push it off yet. She lets her fingers trace the skin she’s revealed. Down your sternum. Across your ribs. You shiver. Her eyes track the movement. Then return to your face. Still silent. She slides the shirt off your shoulders. Lets it fall. Her gaze drops. Takes you in. Then back up to your eyes.

Her hand moves to your waist. Finds the button of your pants. Pauses there. You reach down. Cover her hand with yours. Guide her. Together, you undo the button. Lower the zipper. She slides your pants down slowly.

Her eyes travel over you. Slow. Thorough. Like you’re something precious.

Her hand finds yours again. She leads you across the living room to the sofa. For a moment, you’re both just standing there, looking at each other.

“Hi,” she says softly. It’s so simple it makes you laugh. Just a little. “Hi.”

Her hand comes up. Fingers trace your jaw and cheekbones. She leans in. Presses her forehead to yours.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers. “In my apartment.” “I am. Standing in front of your very expensive sofa,” you smile.  Her mouth curves. “It is expensive.” “Mhh, I noticed,” you hum.

You both just breathe for a moment. Then her hand slides to the back of your neck. Gentle. Grounding. She kisses you. Soft at first. Tender. Like she has all the time in the world. You melt into it. Your hands find her waist. She deepens the kiss slowly. Her tongue traces your lower lip. You open for her. The kiss turns heated. But not rushed. Her hands move to your shoulders. Slide down your arms. Back up. Like she’s learning you all over again.

You pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are dark. Soft. “What?” she asks. “Nothing. Just… looking.” She smiles. Really smiles. Then she leans in again. Kisses your cheek. Your jaw. Your neck. Soft, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch. “Alexia—” “Shh. Let me.”

She unlocks your bra, lets the straps gently fall off your shoulders. Her eyes travel over you. Taking in what she’s uncovered. Then her mouth is on your collarbone. Your shoulder. The top of your chest. Kissing. Tasting.

Her hands slide up your sides. Warm. Sure.  “You’re beautiful,” she breathes.

Then her mouth is on your breast. You gasp. Your hands tangle in her hair.

She takes her time.

“Alexia, please—” “I know. I’ve got you.”

Her hand slides down your stomach. Fingers trace the waistband of your slip.

“Can I?” “Yes.”

She pulls it down. Slowly. Like she’s unwrapping something precious. You’re bare before her. Completely. You feel exposed. Vulnerable. You resist the urge to cover yourself.

“You’re staring,” you say smiling. “I am.” “Alexia—” “I want to remember this,” she says softly. “You. Here. Like this.” Something in your chest tightens. You lean back in. Kiss her deeply.

Then she’s shifting. Guiding you to lie back on the sofa. It’s soft beneath you. Your head falls back. She settles beside you. Half over you.

Her hand traces patterns on your stomach. Your hip. Your thigh. “You’re going slow on purpose,” you say. She looks at you. Her eyes are serious now. “Because I want to do this right,” she says. “I want you to know—” She stops. Swallows. “Know what?” “That this matters. That you matter.” Your breath catches.

She leans down. Kisses you again, softly.

Then her hand finally moves lower.

She’s watching your face. Learning you. Your breath stutters with every move she makes.

When her fingers finally slide inside, you both moan. You reach for her. Pull her down for a kiss. She swallows your sounds as her rhythm builds. “You’re so beautiful like this,” she whispers.

It washes over you. Slow and deep and endless.

She just holds you, watches you come down, waits until your breathing slowly evens out. Her eyes soft. Full of something you’re afraid to name. Then she settles against you. Her weight warm and grounding. You just hold each other for a long moment.

Her hand draws lazy patterns on your skin like she has nowhere else to put it. Like she needs the proof of you under her fingers. She kisses your hair gently, once, twice, the way you’d kiss something you don’t want to startle.

“Stay,” she whispers into your hair.

The word is quiet. But her arm tightens immediately after she says it, like she regrets letting it out.

You don’t answer right away. Not because you don’t want to. Because you do. So much that it feels like admitting something you’ve been holding back for far too long. Because you feel how much she means it.

You shift just enough to look at her. Her eyes are open. Watching you. Not demanding, just waiting, like she already expects you to leave and wants to be wrong this time.

You lean in and press your mouth to her temple, slow and deliberate, grounding both of you. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say. Your hand slides up her back as you say it, fingers spreading wider, holding her closer in a way that gives you away. Like you’re anchoring her because you can feel her slipping. Alexia’s breath stutters. Just once. You lift your head just enough to look at her. Close. Too close to lie. “Look at me,” you murmur. She does. Her eyes are dark, searching like she still doesn’t believe she gets to have this without paying for it. You run your thumb along her cheekbone, gentle but certain, and then you lean in and kiss her.

“I want to stay,” you add, quieter. Honest. Bare. Alexia’s arms tighten around you immediately, like her body reacts before her mind can get scared. She holds you like she’s trying to make sure you don’t disappear again.

And you let her. You settle in closer, your knee sliding between hers, your hand splayed firm at her back, anchoring her. She exhales against your neck, slow, like she’s forcing her lungs to work normally again.

For a few seconds, she’s still. Then her fingers curl in your shirt, a small, stubborn grip. Like if she loosens it, you’ll disappear. You brush your thumb once along her spine.

“Hey,” you murmur. She hums, barely there. You tilt your head, lips against her hair again. “You can breathe,” you say softly.

Another long second.

Her shoulders drop a fraction. Not fully. But enough. She stays wrapped around you anyway. As if she’s decided she won’t be embarrassed about needing this. You stay close, breathing each other in like you’re trying to reset.

At some point, she takes a small breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to know what this is.”

You lift your head just enough to look at her. You hold her gaze for a moment. You’ve never been more sure about anything in your life.

“This is us, Alexia,” you say, a small smile forming on your lips. “It’s always been us.”

She looks at you, confused—like she’s waiting for you to explain what you mean.

“Just us,” you add, quieter. “And we’ll figure out the rest.” You close your eyes briefly. “No explaining. No pressure. No… performance.”

She looks at you, her shoulders drop a fraction. Something in her face softens.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Just us.”

You lean in and press your mouth to her hairline, lingering.

“And we don’t run,” you murmur. Alexia’s breath catches. She nods once, small and sure. “I won’t,” she says. “Not if you don’t.”

You don’t answer with words.

You pull her closer instead, and she lets herself sink into it.

You don’t move.

Not even a little.

–––––––

a/n: I’m softer with them than I planned to be. Haven’t decided if this is an ending or a pause.

[youknowlb]

Hands, Not Hearts

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

Chapter 7: The Breaking Point

Monday morning arrived with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face. Y/N had barely slept—every time she closed her eyes, she felt Lucy's lips on her cheek, heard her drunken rambling about Y/N being beautiful, saw that searching look in her eyes before she'd left the car.

She'd given up on sleep around 5 AM and gone for a run instead, Bueno trotting beside her through the empty London streets. The physical exertion helped clear her head slightly, but by the time she opened the practice at 7:30, she was exhausted and wired in equal measure.

Her phone buzzed before her first client even arrived.

Lucy: I'm alive. Barely. My head is trying to escape my skull

Despite everything, Y/N smiled.

Y/N: Told you to drink water

Lucy: I did drink water. It didn't help. Nothing helps. I'm dying

Y/N: You're not dying. You're hungover. There's a difference

Lucy: Is there though

Y/N: Yes. Dying is permanent. Hangovers just feel permanent

Lucy: That's not comforting

Y/N: I'm not here to comfort you. I'm here to say I told you so

Lucy: You're mean

Y/N: You love it

Y/N sent the text before she could think better of it, and immediately wanted to take it back. Too close to Friday night, too close to things that couldn't be said.

But Lucy just responded with a string of laughing emojis, and Y/N breathed a sigh of relief.

Her first client arrived—Jamie, the teenager with the football injury—and Y/N forced herself to focus. But her phone kept buzzing throughout the session, Lucy sending a steady stream of messages about her hangover, training, Narla's latest crimes against humanity.

Lucy: She ate my favorite trainers

Y/N: Which ones?

Lucy: The blue Nikes

Y/N: The ones that cost more than my monthly rent?

Lucy: Those would be the ones

Y/N: She has expensive taste

Lucy: She's a menace

Y/N: She's a dog. It's literally her job to be a menace

Between clients, Y/N would check her phone and find three or four new messages from Lucy. Random observations, terrible jokes, photos of Narla looking unrepentant. It was constant and distracting and Y/N loved it and hated it in equal measure because it made concentrating on work nearly impossible.

Lucy: What are you doing right now

Y/N: Working. You know, that thing people do to earn money

Lucy: Rude. I'm working too

Y/N: Texting me constantly is working?

Lucy: I'm multi-tasking

Y/N: Is that what we're calling it

Lucy: I'm very talented at multi-tasking

Y/N: I'm sure you are

Mrs. Patterson commented on Y/N's constant phone-checking during their afternoon session.

"Popular today, dear?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"Just a friend who won't leave me alone," Y/N said, silencing her phone for the fourth time.

"A special friend?"

"Just a friend, Mrs. Patterson."

"Mm-hmm. That's what my daughter said about her 'friend' Sarah. They've been married for three years now."

Y/N didn't know what to say to that, so she just redirected Mrs. Patterson to her exercises and tried very hard not to think about Lucy and marriage in the same sentence.

The afternoon dragged on, each client blurring into the next. Y/N was running on caffeine and anxiety, her mind unable to settle, constantly drifting back to Friday night. To Lucy's hands on her, Lucy's words, Lucy's lips on her cheek.

By the time her last client left at 6 PM, Y/N was exhausted. She started tidying up the treatment room—wiping down the table, restocking supplies, trying to create some semblance of order in the chaos of her practice and her mind.

Her phone buzzed again.

Lucy: Miss you

Y/N stared at those two words, her heart doing complicated things in her chest. Before she could respond, before she could even process what that meant, the door to her treatment room burst open.

Y/N spun around, startled, and found Lucy standing there.

She looked... intense. Her hair was down, slightly disheveled, still in training gear like she'd come straight from the pitch. Her eyes were dark, focused entirely on Y/N with an expression that made Y/N's breath catch.

"Lucy?" Y/N's voice came out rougher than intended. "Do we have an appointment today? I don't think I have you in my—"

She didn't get to finish the sentence.

Lucy slammed the door behind her without looking, crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Y/N's face in both hands, and kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was desperate and hungry and everything Y/N had been dreaming about for weeks but never thought would actually happen.

For a second, Y/N's brain completely short-circuited. This was Lucy. Lucy Bronze. Kissing her. Actually kissing her.

Then her body caught up with her brain, and she was kissing back, her hands finding Lucy's waist, pulling her closer. Lucy made a small noise in the back of her throat—something between a gasp and a moan—and Y/N felt it all the way down to her toes.

Lucy's hands slid from Y/N's face into her hair, tugging slightly, and Y/N's knees actually went weak. She backed up until she hit the treatment table, using it for support, Lucy following, pressing against her.

Then, as suddenly as it started, Lucy pulled away.

They stared at each other, both breathing hard, and Y/N watched Lucy's expression shift from desire to panic.

"Fuck," Lucy said. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I just—fuck."

"Lucy—"

"I'm sorry. That was completely inappropriate. You're my physio and I just—I couldn't stop thinking about Friday and what I said and how you looked at me and I just—" She was backing toward the door now. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I'm so sorry."

Y/N's brain finally kicked back into gear. She lunged forward, grabbing Lucy's hand before she could reach the door, and pulled her back.

"Y/N, what are you—"

Y/N kissed her again.

This time it was Y/N who was in control, Y/N who was pressing Lucy against the now-closed door, Y/N who was making Lucy gasp. Lucy's hands came up to Y/N's shoulders, gripping tight, and Y/N felt her melt into the kiss.

It started soft—Y/N was trying to be gentle, trying to communicate everything she couldn't say with words—but Lucy wasn't having it. She pulled Y/N closer, her tongue sliding against Y/N's, and the kiss went from soft to desperate in about three seconds.

Y/N's hands were in Lucy's hair now, Lucy's were sliding under the hem of Y/N's t-shirt, and they were moving, stumbling backward toward the small sofa in the corner. The back of Y/N's knees hit the sofa and she sat down heavily, Lucy immediately following, straddling her lap without breaking the kiss.

"Fuck," Y/N breathed against Lucy's mouth.

"Is this okay?" Lucy pulled back slightly, her pupils blown wide, lips already swollen. "Tell me this is okay."

"This is so far beyond okay I don't even have words."

Lucy grinned—that beautiful, devastating grin—and kissed her again. Her hands were everywhere—in Y/N's hair, on her shoulders, sliding down her arms to squeeze her biceps.

"I've wanted to do this for weeks," Lucy murmured against Y/N's lips. "Wanted to touch you, wanted to—"

"Then do it," Y/N said, her voice coming out rougher than intended. "Touch me."

Lucy made a noise that was almost a growl and kissed her harder. Her hands slid to Y/N's shoulders, pushing her back against the sofa, and then her lips were leaving Y/N's mouth, trailing down her jaw to her neck.

"Oh fuck," Y/N's head fell back, giving Lucy better access. "Lucy—"

Lucy's mouth was hot against her throat, kissing and sucking, finding that spot just below Y/N's ear that made her entire body arch. Y/N's hands found Lucy's hips, gripping hard, trying to ground herself, but Lucy was relentless.

"You have no idea," Lucy breathed against her neck, "how hard it's been. Watching you, wanting you, thinking I couldn't have you."

Y/N tried to respond, tried to say something coherent, but Lucy sucked hard on that spot on her neck and all that came out was, "Fuck—I—you—"

"Eloquent," Lucy said with a laugh, pulling back to look at Y/N's face.

"Shut up," Y/N managed. "You're—your mouth is—I can't think when you—"

"Good." Lucy kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. "I don't want you thinking. I want you feeling."

Y/N was definitely feeling. She was feeling everything—Lucy's weight in her lap, Lucy's hands in her hair, Lucy's mouth on hers, the heat building between them. Her hands slid under Lucy's training top, feeling the smooth skin of her back, the muscles shifting under her touch.

Lucy gasped against her mouth and rocked her hips, and Y/N nearly lost her mind.

"We're in your practice," Lucy said, but she didn't stop moving. "This is—we shouldn't—"

"I don't care." Y/N pulled her closer. "Do you care?"

"Not even a little bit."

They kissed until Y/N lost track of time, until her lips were swollen and her neck was definitely marked and Lucy's hair was a complete mess from Y/N's hands. At some point, Lucy's hands had slid under Y/N's t-shirt, fingers tracing the defined muscles of her abs, and Y/N had to physically stop herself from doing something truly inappropriate in her place of business.

"Lucy," Y/N said, catching Lucy's wrist. "We need to—we should probably—"

"Talk?" Lucy finished, her voice breathless. "Yeah. We should probably talk."

But neither of them moved. Lucy was still straddling Y/N's lap, both of them breathing hard, staring at each other.

"That was..." Y/N started.

"Yeah."

"So we just..."

"Yep."

"And you..."

"Uh-huh."

Y/N laughed, slightly hysterical. "We're very articulate right now."

"Your fault. You're very distracting." Lucy shifted slightly, and Y/N's hands automatically tightened on her hips. "We should move. This can't be comfortable."

"I'm very comfortable."

"You're going to get a crick in your neck."

"Worth it."

Lucy grinned and finally climbed off Y/N's lap, settling beside her on the sofa instead. They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

"So," Lucy said finally. "That happened."

"It definitely happened. I have the marks on my neck to prove it."

Lucy winced. "Sorry about that."

"I'm not."

"No?"

"No." Y/N turned to face her properly. "Lucy, I've wanted to do that since the first time you walked into my practice."

"Really?" Lucy's eyes widened. "But you never—you always seemed so professional and distant and I thought you just saw me as a client."

"I'm very good at hiding things. Comes from years of disappointing my parents—you learn to keep your feelings under lock and key." Y/N took a breath. "But I've been going insane trying to maintain professional boundaries when all I wanted was to—"

"Kiss me?"

"Among other things."

Lucy's smile was slow, dangerous. "What other things?"

"Things we're definitely not doing in my practice."

"Spoilsport."

"I'm professional. There's a difference."

"You weren't very professional five minutes ago when you had your hands under my shirt."

"That was a momentary lapse in judgment."

"A very enjoyable lapse in judgment."

"The best kind."

They fell into silence again, but it was comfortable now, the tension that had been building between them for weeks finally released.

"I need to tell you something," Lucy said quietly.

Y/N's stomach dropped. "Okay."

"That thing I said on Friday. About you being beautiful. I meant it. I meant all of it." Lucy was looking at her hands now, clearly nervous. "When I saw Keira, I realized something. I realized that I didn't feel anything for her anymore. Nothing. But when I looked at you, when I saw the expression on your face, I felt... everything."

"Lucy—"

"Let me finish. Please." Lucy took a breath. "I've been trying to convince myself that we're just friends. That what I feel is just friendship. But it's not. It's never been just friendship. From the moment I walked into your practice and you didn't know who I was, didn't treat me like I was someone special or important, just treated me like a person..." She looked up, meeting Y/N's eyes. "I fell for you. Hard. And I've been terrified to say anything because you're my physio and there are professional boundaries and I'm eleven years older than you and—"

"Breathe," Y/N interrupted gently. "You're spiraling."

"I know. I'm good at spiraling." Lucy laughed shakily. "What I'm trying to say is... I want this. Whatever this is. If you want it too."

Y/N's heart was hammering in her chest. "I want it. I want you. I've wanted you for so long I was starting to think I'd imagined the whole thing."

"You didn't imagine it."

"Good. Because that would be embarrassing."

Lucy laughed, and the sound was light, relieved. "So what now?"

"Now we..." Y/N paused. "I have no idea. I've never done this before."

"What, kissed someone in your practice?"

"That too. But I meant... this. Whatever this is. Dating someone who's my client. Dating someone who's—" Y/N caught herself. She still couldn't say it. Couldn't reveal that she knew exactly who Lucy was.

"Someone who's what?" Lucy asked.

"Someone I actually care about," Y/N finished, which was true enough.

Lucy's expression softened. "I care about you too. So much it's actually kind of terrifying."

"Same."

"So we're doing this?"

"I think we are."

"We should probably set some ground rules."

"Like what?"

"Like..." Lucy thought for a moment. "No making out during actual physio appointments?"

"That seems reasonable."

"And we keep this private for a bit? Just until we figure out what we're doing?"

Y/N's chest tightened slightly, but she understood. Lucy was private about her personal life, always had been. "Yeah. That makes sense."

"And we're honest with each other. About everything. No hiding things, no pretending we're fine when we're not."

"Deal." Y/N held out her hand, and Lucy shook it with mock seriousness.

"Very professional," Lucy observed.

"I'm a professional person."

"You had your tongue in my mouth five minutes ago."

"Again, a momentary lapse in judgment."

"You're impossible."

"You like it."

"I really do." Lucy's smile was soft, genuine. "I really, really do."

They sat there for another few minutes, just looking at each other, both of them grinning like idiots.

"I should probably go," Lucy said finally. "Before I completely lose my self-control and we do something truly inappropriate."

"Probably wise."

But neither of them moved.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you again? Just once more before I go?"

"I think that can be arranged."

This kiss was different from the others—slower, softer, less desperate. It was the kind of kiss that promised more, that said this wasn't just a one-time thing born of weeks of tension. It was the kind of kiss that meant something.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were smiling.

"Okay," Lucy said, standing up. "Now I'm actually leaving before I change my mind."

"Good idea."

Lucy made it to the door before turning back. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really happy. Like, stupidly happy. Just so you know."

"Me too."

"Good." Lucy's grin was blinding. "See you tomorrow for your regularly scheduled physio appointment where we will be completely professional and appropriate?"

"Absolutely. Very professional. I'll barely even look at you."

"Liar."

"You love it."

"I do."

Lucy left, and Y/N collapsed back onto the sofa, her hand coming up to touch her lips. They were swollen from kissing, and her neck was definitely going to have marks, and she didn't care even a little bit.

Bueno emerged from wherever he'd been hiding during the make-out session—probably traumatized—and jumped up beside her, resting his head on her lap.

"Don't judge me," Y/N told him. "I know I said I wasn't going to do anything about my feelings, but then she kissed me and I stopped being able to think."

Bueno's tail wagged, which she chose to interpret as approval.

Her phone buzzed.

Lucy: Just got to my car and realized I have no memory of the drive over. I was too busy thinking about kissing you

Y/N: Very responsible. Definitely safe driving

Lucy: Worth it though

Y/N: Was it?

Lucy: Best decision I've made in years

Y/N: Just years?

Lucy: Ever. Best decision ever

Y/N: That's better

Lucy: You're very demanding

Y/N: You love it

Lucy: I really do

Y/N stared at that text for a long moment. Lucy hadn't said she loved Y/N—neither of them had said that word yet—but there was something in the easy way she said "I really do" that made Y/N's chest feel too tight.

Y/N: Go home. Feed your dog. Get some rest

Lucy: Yes ma'am

Y/N: Don't call me ma'am

Lucy: Yes boss

Y/N: Better

Lucy: See you tomorrow, beautiful

Y/N read that last text about seventeen times before finally putting her phone down.

She needed to tell Ella. She needed to process what had just happened. She needed to figure out what the hell she was doing.

But first, she needed to sit on this sofa and grin like an idiot for a while longer.

Because Lucy Bronze had kissed her. Lucy Bronze wanted her. Lucy Bronze had called her beautiful.

Y/N was so completely, utterly fucked.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn't mind at all.

She made it home eventually, though she had no memory of the walk. Her mind was too busy replaying every moment of the kiss, Lucy's hands on her, Lucy's mouth on her neck, the way Lucy had looked at her like she was something precious.

The moment she closed her flat door, she called Ella.

"Y/N? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's right. Everything's so right it's actually kind of terrifying."

There was a pause. "Did something happen with Lucy?"

"She kissed me."

"WHAT?"

"She burst into my practice and kissed me and then I kissed her back and then we made out on my sofa and she told me she's been falling for me and—"

"WAIT. BACK UP. SHE KISSED YOU?"

"Yes! Just showed up out of nowhere and—" Y/N fell onto her bed, Bueno jumping up beside her. "Els, I don't know what I'm doing. I've never felt like this about anyone."

"Y/N." Ella's voice was soft now. "Tell me everything. Every single detail."

So Y/N did. She told her about the kiss, about the conversation, about the things Lucy had said. By the time she finished, she was grinning so wide her face hurt.

"You're in love with her," Ella said simply.

"I—" Y/N paused. "I don't know if it's love yet. But it's definitely something big and terrifying and wonderful."

"That's what love feels like."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've seen you pretend to feel things for people before. You've never sounded like this. You sound... happy. Genuinely happy."

Y/N thought about that. "Yeah. I am."

"Good. You deserve to be happy."

"Even if it's with someone who's my client and famous and eleven years older than me?"

"Especially then. Y/N, you've spent your whole life playing it safe, doing what other people expected. Maybe it's time to do something just for you."

"When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. You just don't listen."

They talked for another hour—Ella demanding more details, Y/N providing them, both of them giggling like teenagers. By the time they hung up, Y/N felt lighter than she had in months.

Her phone buzzed again.

Lucy: Can't sleep. Keep thinking about you

Y/N: Same

Lucy: What are you thinking about?

Y/N: How you taste. How you feel. How I want to do that again immediately

There was a longer pause this time.

Lucy: You're going to kill me

Y/N: That's the plan

Lucy: Evil. You're evil

Y/N: You love it

Lucy: I really do. Tomorrow can't come fast enough

Y/N: Agreed. Now go to sleep

Lucy: Yes boss

Y/N: Much better

Lucy: Sweet dreams, Y/N

Y/N: Sweet dreams, Lucy

Y/N fell asleep with her phone still in her hand, a smile on her face, and the ghost of Lucy's kiss still on her lips.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

She couldn't wait.

[perfectlybriefangel]

I need people to write more fanfictions about them!!!! Pleaseee 🫣 I want them together!

[imverits]

[wosospacegirl]

MVP - reader x alexia x leila

Summary: lesbian sex between reader, Leila, and Alexia- that's all I have to say.

Warnings: SMUT (+18); threesome; strap (r receiving) oral (r giving and receiving); fingering (r receiving).

A/n: guys, I'm not very good at writing smut with more than two characters, but I hope this is ok. sorry for any typos, I literally haven't had a glass of water since I began writing this two hours ago.

..

When Alexia sat you down and told you she wanted to make your sex life more enticing, you hesitated for a moment. 

No one had touched you before Alexia; she was the only one to have her mouth on your cunt, the only one to make you cum in less than five minutes, the only one allowed to see you naked and worship you.

Alexia was proud of that, too. Cocky, even to be the only one for you, to be the only fingers that had ever touched your body.

That's why you were rather surprised when Alexia was the one who brought up Leila Ouahabi.

Alexia and Leila were teammates on the Spanish national team. You didn't know much about her, except that she was also Alexia's friend.

What was supposed to be a casual thing turned into something else entirely.

Before any of you could notice, the three of you had created this intoxicating relationship. It wasn't planned or premeditated, it just…happened.

Maybe it was the tender way Leila treated you after you came down from your climaxes in bed. Perhaps it was how she always brushed Alexia's hair after matches. It could be a lot of things, small details, and moments that led to this one.

The team had just beaten Belgium, and your two girlfriends were riding that post-match high. And even though you were feeling it, you were just watching from the stands.

You knew it was going to be a long night, mostly because of how wet you got when you saw Alexia wrapping her arms around Leila.

How she kissed Leila's shoulder and how Leila pressed her lips against Alexia's temple in such an intimate way that made you feel a little bit jealous not to be there on the pitch as well.

You knew you needed both of them. Needed them like they were a physiological demand of your body.

You were used to waiting for them after games, but it seemed like the post-match showers and media were taking way longer than necessary. 

So much so that you decided to wait for them in the hotel room, the one Alexia had booked specifically for the three of you to share.

It was on a separate floor from the rest of the team. Alexia chose it because of privacy. You didn't want prying eyes or prying ears.

You had already showered and were now waiting for them in nothing but one of Leila's shirts, it was the same one that she had tossed on the bedroom floor that morning when Alexia woke her up with her mouth on her.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for them to walk in.

They looked tired, but the second they saw your bare thighs and hard nipples poking through the thin fabric of the shirt, their faces shifted, almost instantly.

You could only describe their expression as that of predators hunting for their next prey.

Alexia got to you first; her feet were heavy on the wood floor.

She wrapped her arms around your waist, bringing you close until your lower abdomen was pressed against her.

"Hola, mi amor," she said, pecking your lips as her hands boldly groped your ass. "Proud of us?"

"Uh huh," you nodded, your eyes closing as she began kissing your neck, leaving a wet trail on your jaw as well.ç

Leila was quickly behind Alexia now. She wrapped her arms around the captain's waist and moved her hair to the side to kiss the tattoo on the back of her neck.

"Did you see Alexia's goal, cariño?" Leila asked, her voice raspy, probably from being in the rain during the match. "She's our MVP."

"I did. I was screaming a lot for her," you replied.

Alexia lifted the hem of your shirt, tossing it aside and leaving you completely bare in front of them while Leila kept kissing Alexia's neck; by the way she was shivering, it was obvious she was struggling to focus on you, and not on Leila's mouth.

"I wonder if we can make you scream in here, too, no?" Alexia twisted your nipples, towering over you.

The only reason she wasn't completely on top of you already was because of Leila's firm hand holding her in place.

"Of course, we can," Leila chuckled rather sarcastically. "We can do whatever we want with her, Ale. Right, cariño?"

"Yes," you answered quickly as Alexia's lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking so slowly it made you moan.

"Look at me," Leila said in that voice, the one that meant business.

You did as you were told. You were very good at following orders.

"You'll let me and Alexia take care of you?" Leila asked, her fingers tilting your chin up. Alexia's mouth never leaving your tits.

"We're still very high on adrenaline," she continued, with a grin. "We need our little doll."

"Your tits taste so good," Alexia murmured, now leaving what felt like three hickeys on each breast. "Can only imagine how your cunt tastes right now."

You weren't exactly sure how you ended up on the bed on all fours.

But Alexia was eating you out from behind, her tongue rubbing your clit raw while your face was buried right in front of Leila's cunt, she was sitting pretty on the bed, her back against the headboard, slowly pleasuring herself with her fingers as you stared.

Just stared.

Turns out, Leila thought you had to earn her cunt, so she left you there, watching her wet pussy, smelling her, while Alexia so slowly penetrated you with two fingers, her tongue making eight-figurrs on your clit.

You couldn't think straight, not with the way your walls were welcoming Alexia's fingers, not with how deep they were.

Alexia always had long fingers, but it never stopped surprising you how easily she could reach your G-spot.

You wanted to lean over and lick Leila's pussy clean. It had been so long since she had let you have a taste.

Normally, she preferred to be more on the giving side, but still, you were so good to them today, you deserved it.

You wore the personalised shirt with both their names on it. You waited patiently for them, never once complaining about how much time they spent training. You just wanted to taste Leila…just that.

"Tell me about your view, amor, "Alexia said, pulling her mouth off you, making you whine. You didn't like it when she stopped. "Tell me, and I'll keep eating you out."

You looked up at Leila, giving her your biggest puppy eyes, but she only looked at you like she had you wrapped around her finger, which she did. Your eyes dropped again, back to her core.

"Leila's rubbing her clit with her index finger," you managed to say, your breath growing more shallow as Alexia added a third finger, her tongue spreading your wetness across your folds. "And–"

"And what?" Leila asked, raising an eyebrow. The hand she wasn't using came to your face, cupping your cheek. "What do you want me to do next?"

It seemed like you had forgotten how to speak. But Leila was staring you down, clearly impatient, and you knew Alexia would take her mouth off you again if you didn't answer soon.

"I–I want you to put a finger inside," you said, eyes rolling back as Alexia sucked on your clit.

"You want me to finger myself, cariño?" Leila's condescending tone only made you wetter, pulling you closer to the edge.

"Y-yes, please?" 

"You're so polite, aren't you?" Leila stopped touching herself, only to bring her hand to your mouth, tapping your lips so you would open them.

Her fingers tasted like her cunt, and you welcomed them eagerly, sucking them in, getting them nice and wet, ready for her.

"Our good girl," Leila praised, watching you as she twisted her fingers inside your mouth before pulling them out, with a thin string of saliva connecting you both. "You got me nice and ready."

Without wasting another second, Leila slipped a finger inside herself, then another.

She began thrusting, almost in sync with the way Alexia was fucking you. 

The wicked sounds filled the room, obfuscating the rain that poured over Switzerland.

"You look so good on all four, baby," Leila said. "All spread open for Alexia to do whatever she wants with you."

"I-'im close," you whined. "Please, please…can I?"

Leila added a third finger inside herself, her mouth agape as she kept thrusting. "Fuck, yeah, baby, cum with me. Alexia's gonna make you cum, sí?"

Alexia was probably paying attention to what Leila said, because she curled her fingers in that way, making you cum on the spot.

You felt that all-too-familiar wave rush through you, the ecstasy, the warmth, all at once.

Your arms and knees were too tired to hold you up, so you let yourself collapse onto the mattress, head still facing Leila's cunt. 

Her fingers were still working her close to the edge. Alexia had taken her fingers out of you and was now kissing the inside of your thighs, gentle pecks were being scattered across your body as you looked up and watched Leila on the edge.

You watched in pure devotion as Leila parted her lips, her eyebrows furrowing, her hips shaking as she came.

She wasn't a moaner. She nor Alexia really were, but you still caught the soft noises she made as she rode her high.

She leaned her head against the headboard, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.

But Leila was the only one who got a break.

Because it didn't take long before you felt a different pressure on your back.

Alexia was on top of you, lying fully against your back as she cupped Leila's face, pulled her closer, and kissed her deeply.

And that's when you felt it, something pressing at your cunt.

Somehow…somewhere, Alexia had gotten the strap. When had she even put the harness on? You didn't know. You weren't sure of anything in your current state of mind.

Alexia didn't ask, she didn't give any warning when she worked her hips into you, filling you up completely with the strap.

"So fucking tight," Alexia murmured against Leila's lips.

"Ugh–" You moaned, your face squished into the pillow as Alexia and Leila kept kissing, slow and deep. 

It was as if you weren't even there, like their whole focus was on each other, and you were just their toy to use however they wanted.

When they finally broke the kiss (probably from lack of air), Leila spread her legs wider and shifted closer to your face. She cupped your cheek and guided your head right next to her cunt.

"You can eat me out now," Leila purred. "Go on, make me cum, doll."

You were more than happy to obey.

You ate Leila out messily and slowly, desperate to taste her in every centimetre of your tongue while Alexia kept thrusting into you from behind. 

Alexia held your hips down, pressing your body flat against the mattress, grinding into you deeply as she and Leila shared more kisses than you could count.

Hours later, you were lying right in the middle of them. Leila was out; she had fallen asleep almost immediately after you gave her an orgasm with your mouth.

But that didn't mean things had stopped between you and Alexia.

She had fucked you with her strap until you had drenched the sheets; she didn't stop until you begged her to. 

You were laid curled into Leila's side, your face tucked closer to her chest as Alexia spread your legs again and cleaned your cunt with her tongue.

But Alexia couldn't help herself.

She caught your clit in her mouth and sucked it until you came all over again. You nearly woke poor Leila in the process.

When Alexia finally laid down to rest, her face had that cocky little grin that you knew well enough.

She kissed Leila's forehead, then pressed a softer kiss to your cheek.

"I fucking love the euros," Alexia grinned, wrapping her arms around both you and Leila.

"Of course you do," You mumbled in a small voice, eyes already closing. "Miss MVP."

"Your MVP," she said cheekily. "Yours and Leila's." 

..

A/n: I hope u guys liked it!

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics @riyaexee

[wosospacegirl]

Sunburnt - Alexia Putellas

Summary: The perfect vacation ends with you being spanked and sunburnt, all in the same day.

Word count: 10.2k

Warnings: (+18), spanking, d/s dynamics, use of dildo (r receiving), mention of skin burn (r is in pain, etc)

A/n: This fic has a little bit of everything! spanking, some smut, angst, also hurt comfort and sick!fic (r has sunpoison too)

Your vacation wasn't going as planned.

Well, it wasn't even a vacation, actually. You were in Switzerland with Alexia and the rest of the Spanish team.

You thought that Alexia's schedule wasn't going to be as busy as it was; that she would still be able to act as a proper human being after hours and hours of training, just like it was in Barcelona, where she got home tired most evenings, but still had energy to be with you, to go out, to hang out with friends and family.

But not here.

The Euros were a completely different competition from the League in Spain. The games' schedule, although fewer compared to the ones back at home, was more intense, both physically and mentally.

Alexia had booked a private room just for the two of you at the same hotel where the Spanish Confederation was staying.

That way, she could be with you and still participate in any extra activities the girls from the team might do, which included official tasks like a last-minute meeting while everyone was in their pyjamas, or a quick middle-of-the-night movie session organised by Patri.

The Euros had been hard and tiring, both for you and Alexia, but obviously more for her. But Alexia at least had things to do, work responsibilities that she had to attend to when she wasn't at the gym or on the pitch.

You, however, had nothing to do. Well, not anymore. 

You had visited every single restaurant, coffee shop and bakery around Lausanne (twice). You even visited the Olympic Museum, Lausanne's cathedral and the Tribunal arbitral du sport.

It's like you knew the city like the back of your hand after spending two weeks walking through its streets, waiting for Alexia to be done with whatever it was that she was doing.

You, as a very nice (very polite, patient) wife, hadn't complained to Alexia about it, but oh, were you getting bored of watching matches and training sessions for the last couple of days.

You had even taken days off from your work to be here with Alexia, so you couldn't even busy your mind with boring work stuff.

Time went on fast, and it wasn't thanks to the hours you had spent wandering the streets purposelessly. When you least expected it, the third week of the Euros had arrived. That meant the Spanish team (you included) were heading to Basel, another pretty city in Switzerland.

You took your time exploring the new city, which had a ridiculous amount of museums; not that you were complaining, especially as you made your way through the Kunstmuseum.

After one of your outings, you returned to the hotel room you were sharing with Alexia and noticed she was already there, probably released earlier from training.

You also noticed her agenda lying open on the mattress. You, of course, snooped through it while she was in the shower. The word 'México' was written across fourteen little squares, each one representing a day, in bright, bold letters that were impossible to ignore.

Blinded by foolishness (and way too many rom-coms), you immediately thought Alexia was planning a couples getaway - a short, romantic holiday.

You kept the 'Mexico' information tucked deep in your brain. You didn't want to ask Alexia about it, didn't want her to feel like her surprise was ruined just because you hadn't found better things to do than snoop through her things.

So you waited, and waited, and waited.

When the Euros were over, with that tragic ending (okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic, but Alexia was hurt, alright?), you didn't have the courage to bring up Mexico, not when Alexia was so devastated.

Alexia spent three full days stuck inside the hotel room, cuddled up to you, her face tucked into the curve of your neck.

She swore up and down that she wasn't sad or upset. Whenever you begged her to open up and talk to you, she claimed she was just un poquito disappointed.

You knew your wife, so you let her believe she wasn't completely wrecked; you let her deal with it in her own way, which meant ignoring her emotions and pretending to be fine.

You didn't talk about football for three whole days; only when Alexia brought it up did you mention the sport. You were playing your part in her act, pretending alongside her that she was fine.

But then it happened.

As you two were having dinner in the hotel room, she just started crying - something that absolutely wasn't common for Alexia. She didn't like to cry, not in front of others, and certainly not in front of you, not even after six years together.

You let her cry, holding her tight against your chest, kissing the top of her head and promising it would all get better soon, that the pain wouldn't hurt for much longer.

She fell asleep like that, her warm breath on your neck, soothing you into your own sleep.

When you woke up the next day, Alexia was more distant, as if the weight of the loss was really settling in.

She wasn't as clingy as she had been and didn't want to explore the city with you; in fact, she didn't want to do anything that didn't involve rotting in bed or having dinner with her mom.

But again, you were a very good and patient wife, so you gave her space and time.

You gave her exactly what she needed: silent support and comforting - but not overwhelming - company.

After those days of grief passed, you slowly started getting your lovely wife back. You couldn't be happier to see Alexia smile again, to see her enjoy the rest of your days in Switzerland together with her by your side.

Alexia was being more physical again: kissing you in the mornings, murmuring sweet nothings against your temple before getting up to start the day. She (unfortunately) started her workout routine again, which meant you were woken up at 8 am every day just to go to the gym with her.

Not that you minded so much; Alexia always wore the tiniest shorts, so you had a hell of a good view while running on the treadmill.

Her hands were back on you again, more commanding than they had been before the tournament.

There was always a firm grip on your waist whenever you took too long getting ready; her fingers would lazily tug at your ponytail when you weren't paying attention to her.

She would give you a look when you were being too whiny for her liking - like she needed to remind you what type of behaviour was acceptable and what wasn't.

Alexia started doing that thing again, where she would stand behind you while you both brushed your teeth, hands on your hips, watching you in the mirror with an intensity that made it look like she was trying to memorise every detail of your face.

And at restaurants, she would order for you without asking, her hand finding your thigh under the table whenever you began to protest or when a pout formed on your face.

Even though Alexia's vulnerable side was endearing, you had also missed dominant Alexia. A lot

But still, after weeks, no Mexico was mentioned. No 'romantic trip' was spoken of either.

You were starting to get anxious and restless. Alexia noticed - she could read right through you.

You were in a small café, still in Switzerland, trying to enjoy the last few days before returning to Barcelona.

The coffee was hot in your hands, comforting given the cold weather. It was technically summer, but Switzerland's summer felt like Barcelona's autumn. You didn't like it - you were a sun child.

"Qué te pasa?" Alexia asked while still reading her menu, thinking about what to order.

Alexia was methodical, a little too much.

She had to consider all her options and weigh them before making a decision. You, on the other hand, were quick to order if you saw anything with the word 'chocolate' in it. Much easier, much simpler.

"Nothing," you said, your eyes peeking over the rim of the mug, the hot liquid making your glasses foggy. For a moment, you couldn't see Alexia, though she quickly grabbed a napkin and cleaned the visible portion of your glasses.

"You're a bad liar, mi vida," she smirked, glancing at you quickly before letting her eyes fall back to the menu. "I've already told you that."

You gulped.

You had learned the hard way that Alexia could spot your lies from a mile away; she didn't appreciate them. The way her jaw would tighten, how she would get that look in her eyes that meant you were in for it later.

You had gotten yourself in trouble more times than you could count, saying you were fine when you weren't, promising you had eaten properly while she was away when you had survived on coffee and whatever was in the hotel minibar.

She expected honesty from you, always. You, however, had a bad habit of telling her what you thought she wanted to hear, especially when the truth felt inconvenient.

She knew you had this habit, so she enjoyed the challenge of seeing whether you were being honest or not. It was like a little game of cat and mouse between you two.

It was hot, felt dangerous, depending on Alexia's mood. But right now, you weren't in the mood for lying, so you gave her the truth.

"Well," you began, taking another sip of your hot chocolate, your glasses fogging up again. "I was snooping through—"

"Snooping?" Alexia hummed, not looking at you, but you saw (barely through the fog) a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Snooping," you nodded confidently. Nothing wrong with looking through your wife's agenda, right? "And I saw a possible trip…"

She didn't let your words hang for long. "Mexico?" she said, lifting her fingers to call a waitress over.

"Sí," you said. She was holding your gaze now, making you feel exposed, even though you knew her eyes held nothing but love.

She looked at you, then waved her hand, waiting for you to continue.

"Mmm," you said, looking at your drink. "Is it like a work trip or…"

"Vacation," she said, interrupting you. "Us."

"Us?" you asked. Your mouth was open, ready to keep speaking, but then the waitress came, and Alexia held up her palm.

"I want a straight black coffee, por favor," she told the woman before turning her attention back to you.

You tilted your head. "Did you spend ten minutes looking at the menu just to get a straight black coffee?"

She shrugged. "Did you look at yours for thirteen seconds before asking for hot chocolate with chocolate chips added?"

You narrowed your eyes at her, slightly annoyed. "It wasn't thirteen seconds," you mumbled.

"It was," she said, leaning back into her seat, radiating confidence. You missed confident Alexia, too.

"No," you said, lifting your chin, "more like thirty seconds."

"Cabezona…" she said, with a sly smile. "You won't get to go on the Mexico vacation if you keep up this attitude."

The threat was playful, but you could see something shift in her expression, something warmer, something that had been missing between you two for some time.

"And then what would happen?" you said petulantly, leaning forward slightly. "You would go on vacation alone? Two weeks without me?"

"Sí," she nodded.

You placed your elbows on the table, getting closer to her. "You wouldn't survive two weeks without me."

You expected her to tease you back, maybe give you that look that meant you were pushing your luck. But instead, her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin, and her eyes went soft, just like her voice.

"You're right," she said, barely above a whisper. "I would miss mi niña bonita."

One week later, and you were in paradise.

The flight to Mexico was smooth, and you spent most of it stealing glances at Alexia, still not quite believing this was actually happening. The first few days, you accompanied her to Mexico City to an More Than Eleven event, and then you two made your way to Los Cabos.

You two were staying in one of the most expensive hotels in the region, and everything was perfect, almost too perfect.

You and Alexia had sex more times than you could count, and there was something about the Mexican air that made Alexia more relaxed. 

She barely used her authoritarian voice; she let you get away with things she normally wouldn't, and you were surely making the most of it.

There was something about being away from Barcelona, away from football and schedules that made Alexia different. Softer, somehow, (she didn't like it when you used that word with her, though).

Alexia would wake up and kiss your shoulder before checking her phone; usually, it was the other way around. The stress of being a captain would take over her whole routine.

Alexia also let you choose restaurants without reading every single review first or trying to find the menu online, so she could have an idea of what to order.

She even let you take forever deciding what bikini to wear without that little impatient sigh she usually gave you, choosing to step aside and just watch you trying different pieces over and over. (For the first few days, anyway).

But now, on day five, you could see her patience starting to wear thin with how long you were taking to get ready. You saw it in the way she kept looking at her watch, her feet stomping on the hardwood floor of the hotel, creating an annoying pattern of thud thud thud.

"Vamos," Alexia said impatiently, her voice carrying that tone that made you tremble a little, a voice that made it clear that she wasn't asking.

You were in front of the bathroom mirror, the open door giving you a clear view of Alexia. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and fuck, she looked good.

She was wearing the smallest bikini you had ever seen. It was black, and the bottom of it was only covered by a pair of see-through white shorts that were, also, very small - illegally small - and that was rich coming from you, someone who loved to show a bit more skin than necessary.

You couldn't read her face properly. She was wearing her sunglasses, which was annoying; you were still inside, so technically, there was no need for that, but Alexia liked to keep you on edge, have the upper hand on the smallest things.

"Wait a little bit, Ale," you said, but your voice came out smaller than intended when you caught her reflection in the mirror. "I'm just getting my hair ready."

You couldn't see her pupils, but you knew she was looking right back at your reflection, as if already seeing how the day was going to turn out, realising that you were going to be more difficult than you had been since you two checked into the resort.

"It's a beach, mi amor," Alexia said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping behind you. Her hands found your waist, her thumbs stroking over your hip bones. "You look perfecta."

The way she said it, low and warm against your ear, made you forget that you were even worried about your hair, like she would worship you no matter how you looked.

"The beach won't move from where it is, Alexia," you managed, but your voice was breathier now, especially when her fingers started playing with the ties of your bikini bottom.

"No--" she agreed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, the sunscreen she used leaving a trail on your skin. "—but I might change my mind about being patient."

The threat in her voice was gentle, but you knew Alexia well enough to know she meant it.

When she wanted something, she got it. And right now, she wanted you on that beach. Fast.

Alexia was all about taking control, and you got off on giving it to her, although the whole beach situation was just another little piece of your rather peculiar dynamic.

"Okay, okay," you said, turning in her arms, feeling her lips on your forehead. "We can go now."

She smiled, seeming pleased. "Buena niña."

The praise made your cheeks warm, and Alexia noticed, of course, she did, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip before she stepped back.

"But first," she said, reaching for the sunscreen on the counter and pressing it into your hands. "This."

You looked down at the bottle, then back at her. "Right, yes."

"All of it," Alexia said, her eyes serious now, and fuck, you loved when she got all protective like this. "Today is going to be very hot, and you burn easily, mi vida. I don't want you hurt, especially because I have lots of ideas of what we can do tonight."

The way she said it, like your well-being was her personal responsibility, made something warm settle in your chest. But also - and this was the problem - you were already running late, and you really didn't want to get all greasy right now.

Your body looked so incredibly beautiful at this moment, the morning light was hitting your skin just right, and you knew the thick sunscreen Alexia insisted on using was going to mess up the pictures you were planning to take later.

You could put it on at the beach, right? Once you were there and had taken the photos, once you had gotten settled under the umbrella. It would be fine.

You had done it before - well, maybe not in Mexico, but still, you had done the exact same thing in Ibiza, and you didn't even burn. Okay, maybe Los Cabos was closer to the Equator line than Spain was, but that didn't matter now.

"Of course, amor," you said, giving her your brightest smile. "I'll do it in a second."

Alexia studied your face for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But don't forget, por favor."

"I won't forget," you said, smiling and pecking her on the lips before putting the sunscreen back on the counter, watching as Alexia turned around to pack whatever you two would need in one of your eco bags.

You took the last few seconds to just fix one little strand of hair that was out of place. Just this one strand, and then you would grab the sunscreen and put it in the bag for later.

You would apply it at the beach, obviously.

You weren't stupid. You would put it on once Alexia made her way to the sea to check the water temperature. You'd apply it quickly so she wouldn't even know you hadn't done it when she asked.

You intended to pack the goddamn suncream. You really did.

But then Alexia was calling 'Vamos, now' from the other room, and your hair still wasn't quite right, and before you knew it, you were grabbing your sunglasses and following her out the door.

The sunscreen bottle sat abandoned on the bathroom counter. You hadn't even realised you had left it behind.

Twenty minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of the rental car, watching Alexia adjust the mirrors, completely focused.

Alexia was trying to hide it, but you could see how eager she was to go to the secluded beach that she had read about in one of the hotel flyers. You didn't know anyone (besides Alexia) who still actually read those things.

"Excited?" Alexia asked, reaching over to squeeze your knee before starting the engine.

"Very," you said, and you meant it.

Today was supposed to be different.

You and Alexia had spent the first days of the vacation mostly at the resort beach, and while you had gotten very familiar with every inch of your hotel room (and each other), there was something exciting about exploring somewhere new, somewhere that was so isolated that it wasn't even considered a tourist spot.

Alexia looked gorgeous behind the wheel.

Her sunglasses were reflecting the morning sun, one of her hands was on the steering wheel, while the other found its way back to your thigh, almost possessively.

You were being a good passenger princess, feeding her pieces of the mango you had grabbed from the breakfast buffet and playing with her fingers when they weren't needed for driving.

The GPS was telling you to turn left in one kilometre, but you were too busy watching the way Alexia's lips curved around the fruit and how some of its juice was dripping down her chin to pay much attention.

"Left here?" Alexia asked, slowing down.

You glanced at your phone. "Um, next one, I think."

She raised an eyebrow but took the next turn, now feeding herself with the last bits of fruit. Five minutes later, when you passed the same place for the second time, she pulled over.

"Mi amor," Alexia said, and there was that patient but warning tone again. "Are you looking at the GPS or are you watching me eat?"

"Hmm, both?" you tried, giving her your most innocent smile.

"Mmm," she hummed, not entirely convinced. "Focus, por favor. I want to get there while it's still early."

You nodded, actually looking at the GPS this time, but your mind kept wandering.

There was something you were supposed to remember, something important, but Alexia's thumb was doing that thing on your leg, and your mind just wasn't working properly anymore,

Since she had pulled over, Alexia decided to finish eating her snack and clean her face before she started the engine again.

"Ok, so do I turn right or left now?" she asked, trusting that, now that you weren't as distracted, you would be of good help.

"Right," you said, looking down at the phone. Definitely right.

"Are you sure?" she gave you a side eye.

"Pretty sure," you said, checking the GPS one more time.

"Okay…" she said, taking the right. When she saw the road sign that said 'Playa', she finally relaxed. You were on the right path.

You were quiet for a moment, distracted by the way her thumb was stroking over your leg. Comfortable silence filled the car, with only soft music playing on the radio.

You watched the landscape as Alexia drove; everything was so beautiful here, the plants, the different kinds of birds and—

"Hey," Alexia said suddenly, and something in her tone made you look at her, leaving the pretty flowers and animals only in your memory. "You put on the sunscreen this morning, right?"

Your stomach dropped.

Shit. Shit. shit. shit.

The sunscreen…the fucking bottle on the bathroom counter.

The thing you were definitely going to remember to grab on your way out, except you had been too busy fixing that one stupid strand of hair that wouldn't cooperate, and then Alexia was calling for you, and it was getting late and-

"Hm, yes, I did," you lied, not looking at her, suddenly very interested in examining the air vent.

But of course, Alexia wasn't going to let it go that easily. She was methodical. She noticed everything, especially when it came to you.

"I didn't see you applying it," she said, and her voice was different now, a bit sharper.

"But I did," you said, trying to keep your voice steady even though your heart was racing.

"How come I didn't see it?" The radio volume went down. Fuck.

"You aren't omnipresent," you said, trying to sound playful, but it came out a little too defensive.

"I am omnipresent while on this vacation," Alexia said, and the way she said it made you feel warmth spreading through your body; that authoritative tone was back. "We are together 24/7."

"Don't exaggerate." You finally looked at her, giving her one of your dopey smiles she usually loved. "We are not as together as you think."

Alexia hummed (but it wasn't the good kind of hum).

"There's no sunscreen in the bag," she said, voice controlled in a way that made your thighs press together. How come her voice could get you wet?  "But I can turn around right now and go back to get it. If you didn't use it."

She was giving you an out. One last chance to tell the truth. But you could see how much she wanted to get to this beach, could see how she had been looking forward to it.

You didn't want to ruin her day over something so stupid.

Besides, it was just a few hours. You would stay under the umbrella or in the water. It would be fine.

You wouldn't get too burnt…maybe a little red, just enough for it to pass as a tan.

"Alexia, I already said I put the sunscreen on", you said impatiently, as if you had any reason to be annoyed.

Alexia was quiet for a long moment.

She didn't acknowledge your answer right away; she just drove. You could see her take in a deep breath, both her hands gripping the steering with with a bit more force than necessary.

It was like you could see the neurons in her brain working. She was torn between stopping the car in the middle of nowhere to: 1. Check if you really had applied the sunscreen, and 2. Give you a punishment for being short with her.

You didn't comprehend what kind of neuron path she chose, because the only thing she did was slide her hand higher up your thigh, her fingers pressing down just hard enough to make you really feel her.

"Okay then, mi vida," she said, her voice soft. "I know you wouldn't lie to me."

The squeeze she gave your thigh left no room for misinterpretation.

You were in trouble already, and you both knew it.

..

The sun was hot on your back, and the sand burned your feet. You were sweaty already (and so thirsty). Alexia wasn't playing when she told you today was going to be one of the hottest days of the season.

She was walking in front of you, holding the umbrella, the beach loungers, the bags with your belongings and snacks while you were just walking behind her.

If you weren't burning alive, you would have tried to get on her nerves with the 'why aren't you holding my hand?' prank, but it seemed like all your playfulness was left in the (cool, air-conditioned) rental car.

You liked the beach, you loved summer, but oh god... summers in Spain were completely different from whatever hell you were experiencing in Mexico (affectionately).

You felt as if your body was melting into the sand, a trail of your cells being left on every single grain of the arid beach.

But that was fine, totally fine. You were just being dramatic, right? (You were absolutely not being dramatic).

When Alexia said the beach was secluded, she meant it.

It took two hours to get there, and there wasn't a single soul you could see. There weren't any seagulls or crabs, as if they knew better than to be out in the sun during such a hot day.

The beach was so far from everything that the last gas station or store was hours behind you, meaning that you couldn't sneak off to buy sunscreen without Alexia noticing.

Which meant that you would either stay protected from the sun, or you would get burnt.

It was so hot and the UV rays were so powerful that, even under the umbrella Alexia had set up, you could feel your skin burning by the minute. You weren't getting red just yet, but fuck, you could feel it coming.

Alexia knew something was wrong. She always did.

You usually liked to go for a swim first thing after getting to the beach, then you would beg her to take a million pictures with you before settling on the lounger under the sun, working on your tan.

It was like your beach routine, and Alexia knew it by heart.

None of that was happening. You were lying down on the lounger, sure, but with how heavy the umbrella's shade was, you would never get a tan, something that you loved to do.

It was like you had turned into a vampire who couldn't handle any sunlight.

When Alexia asked you to go to the shore with her to pick up some seashells, you shook your head (way too quickly) and smiled.

"I think I will rather just chill here--" you said, trying to sound casual instead of like someone who was feeling like her epidermis was going to dissolve within the next couple of hours.

"--I read somewhere we aren't even supposed to pick up seashells …bad for the environment or something like that."

Alexia narrowed her eyes at your figure, looking at your body up and down. You could feel the intensity of her stare even though she was wearing her sunglasses.

Your skin looked perfect, beautiful, like it always did, but it didn't have the usual shimmer from sunscreen.

You also didn't smell like sunscreen. You could tell Alexia noticed when she came over to kiss your cheek - the way she lingered just a second too long, breathing you in.

When she offered you a back massage, her hands had paused on your shoulders, probably expecting to feel that familiar slick texture, but nothing came.

"Mi amor," Alexia said, settling into the lounger next to you, but her voice was so careful that it screamed suspicious. "Are you feeling okay? You're acting...different."

"Different how?" You asked, looking at her, feeling your heart skip a beat. Great, you were getting burnt alive, and your circulatory system was about to give out.

"You didn't go swimming, you won't leave the shade, you're being very quiet..." She tilted her head, studying you. "Are you sure you put sunscreen on this morning?"

And there it was. The question you had been dreading since you got out of the car.

"Alexia," you said, trying to sound exasperated instead of panicked, "I already told you I did." But your voice came out just a little too tight, and that's when Alexia took off her sunglasses.

You tried to look the other way, tried to seem interested in the wave patterns, but Alexia's hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you to face her.

Her eyes were burning into you, just like the sun rays were blazing against your skin. 

Suddenly, the world felt hotter, as if there was a conflagration happening somewhere near you, and by the way Alexia was looking at you, you were sure her gaze was the match that lit it.

"Are you allowed to lie?" Alexia asked, very calmly, her face completely blank. You could not read what she was thinking, what she was planning to do with you.

You wanted to shake your head, but her fingers were holding your face so tightly you knew it would leave marks.

You had to use your words.

"No," you said, voice low and guilty, embarrassed by how long you had tried to hide the truth.. "I'm not allowed to lie."

You hadn't expected the slap to come so fast - but it did. Alexia's palm landed on the side of your thigh, right over the knot of your biking bottom.

It stung immensely.

Partly because of the force of it, partly because your sensitive skin was already burning on its own. You couldn't help but wince when another smack came right after.

If Alexia seemed bothered by how uncomfortable the spanking was, she didn't show it.

There was no soothing touch to your bruised skin, no comforting words leaving her mouth. Alexia was furious, absolutely furious.

Her face was cold, her lips pressed tightly, a frown appearing on her forehead as she looked at you closely.

"Then why did you lie to me about the sunscreen?" she asked, hitting your thigh again, harder this time.

"I-I didn't want to make you go back an-and I just realised I forgot the suncream when we were already closer to the beach and--"

Tears started to pool in your eyes, and that's when Alexia's demeanour shifted to something softer, but not necessarily forgiving. 

You didn't even notice how she did it, but in a swift motion, you found yourself straddling her, her back pressed against the lounger.

She didn't say anything as tears streamed down your face, but she kept a thumb on your cheek, wiping each one away, while her other hand found its place on your thigh, right over the mark she had left adorning your skin. 

"You didn't apply the sunscreen like I told you to," Alexia reprimanded, moving her thumb from your cheek to grip your chin, making you look at her.

"I forgot—"

"No," she shook her head, jaw locked tight. "You didn't forget. You ignored me."

You didn't say anything, just swallowed.

"How many times did I ask you to use it?" Alexia asked again. Her eyes stayed on you,  and her hand was resting on your sore thigh

"A lot," you replied.

"A lot," she repeated, as if she couldn't believe this argument was happening. "And now look at you. You are already turning red, and that's even before I laid a hand on you.

Silence.

She shifted you on her lap so she could bring her torso closer to yours, her mouth dangerously close to your ear. 

"I should have spanked you more," she hissed. "Just to see if a punishment would finally make you listen."

You didn't argue. You were looking down, avoiding her gaze. You felt stupid now, dumb for thinking that you could get away with it, guilty for ruining Alexia's vacation.

Her lips brushed against your ear as she spoke quietly.

"Tomorrow, you won't step a single foot in the sun without me. You're going to stay inside the hotel room until your skin is healed properly. Do you understand me?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Words," Alexia said, pulling back to look at your face. "I want to hear you say it."

"I understand," you whispered, and your voice came out all shaky and small.

Alexia studied your face for a moment; her expression was unreadable, but when she finally spoke, her voice was still firm.

"Good. Here's what's going to happen," she brushed her thumb on your thigh again "We're going to pack up and head back to the hotel. Your skin is already burning, and I'm not letting it get worse."

You wanted to protest, to say that you had just gotten here, that she had been looking forward to this beach all morning. But one look at her face told you that arguing wasn't an option.

"What about your beach day?" you murmured, feeling the guilt eating you alive. "You were so excited about it."

"Do you really think I care about some beach?" Alexia asked, jaw tightening even more. "Sí, I wanted to stay, but your skin is already irritated. I should have made sure you had applied the sunscreen before leaving the hotel," she murmured the last part, but it was enough for you to hear it.

"But I'm the one who lied—"

"Sí," she said, thumbs stroking your cheeks. "You disobeyed, you lied, and now you're paying the price. And we will talk about that later, but right now, you are more important."

She said it like you were the most important thing in her world (even when you had fucked up). It made you want to cry all over again.

"I'm sorry, Ale," you said, and you meant it. "I'm really sorry. I just... I didn't want to disappoint you by making us go back, and then I made everything worse—"

Her thumb pressed lightly against your sore skin, a warning more than a comfort, making you keep quiet.

"I don't want to hear a word from you the whole way back to the hotel," she ordered. "Got it? This is your punishment, since a more physical one isn't an option."

You had to fight the urge to talk back to beg her to let you speak, to let you mumble over and over how sorry you were, but you also didn't want to make Alexia more angry, so you just nodded.

She let her hand on your face linger for a bit longer; you leaned into her touch.

"You have to trust me to take care of you, even when it's inconvenient." Was the last thing she said before she gripped your hip, guiding you off her lap, back to your lounger.

Then she stood up and gathered your belongings.

You watched, feeling the place where she smacked you sting just like every other part of your body.

Your cheeks were starting to burn, your nose too. You were feeling hot, so fucking hot, you just wanted to feel cool again

"Okay, get up," Alexia said without looking at you, shoving the last of your things into the eco bag. "We're leaving."

Her voice was sharp, and her attitude cold, but even then, she managed to gather everything in one hand just so she could reach her other hand out to you, a small and temporary peace offering.

You took her hand, letting her pull you through the sand back to the car.

You let Alexia lead, following close behind. The sting on your thigh was hurting with each step, but it didn't hurt more than the guilt of ruining Alexia's day because of your stubbornness.

"I'm not going in there," you said, stomping your feet to the ground, taking a few steps behind until your back was pressed against the bathroom wall, and for a few seconds, you felt relief from the contact with its cold tiles

You knew you were being difficult.

You knew Alexia was really trying to control the urge to just bend you over her lap and spank you. But there was no way in hell you were getting into the shower, not with the way your back was burning.

You had a fair share of sunburns throughout your life (maybe not as severe as this one), but it was enough for you to know how much showering while sunburned hurt.

"I'm not asking, Y/n," Alexia said impatiently, your towel already in her hand. "Get in there. There's sand everywhere. I don't want our room to turn into a desert."

"But it will hurt," you pouted, looking at her with the biggest doe eye you could pull, trying to soften her up…but of course, it didn't work."

She didn't have to say anything; not a single word left her lips, but the way she was looking at you was enough to make you walk towards her, head down.

It was the kind of look that screamed how close she was to losing it, how close she was to punishing you, to putting you in your place.

If your skin wasn't scarlet red, you knew she would have you knelt in a corner of the room by now, or even used the belt on you. But she was being compassionate; you, however, were being very bratty, even though you didn't intend to act like one.

"I don't care if it hurts," Alexia said as you stood in front of her; she turned you around with a hand on your hip before untying the knot to your top, letting it fall to the floor.

"You are in this situation because you didn't listen to me," she continued, her mouth on your ear as her index finger pulled your bikini bottom down, leaving you naked. "—and now you are making it all harder because, guess what? You still aren't listening."

The sound of the slap echoed through the bathroom before you could even feel it.

Your body instinctively tried to create some distance between you and Alexia, but her hand was firm on your waist, keeping you in place.

"It's like you want to get on my nerves today," Alexia said, caressing the place she just smacked. "You are hurt. I know your skin is burning, but you still want to be a brat and do whatever you want to do? That's not how it works."

"But I just don't want—"

Another smack, to the other side of your ass now.

The pain rushed through your body; there was usually pleasure that came any time Alexia spanked you, but your skin was so unbearably sore that no endorphins were released into your bloodstream.

"Are you going to behave now, or do I have to keep on being mean and hurt you more than you already have?" She asked, her voice sharp. "Because if you don't care about your own body, I won't care either."

You knew she wasn't playing around.

That if you so much as disobeyed her form now on, she would treat you as if it were just another day that you were misbehaving; she wasn't going to be soft.

You didn't want that, especially since your burnt skin was hurting more and more by the second.

"I'm going to behave," you said quietly, looking down. "I'm sorry."

There was silence; you couldn't feel Alexia's presence at your back anymore. Still, you knew better than to turn around. You heard the shower turn on, followed by the sound of wet clothing hitting the floor.

You weren't expecting warm lips on your skin, but that's exactly what Alexia gave you.

Her mouth was gentle, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your back, right over the first thoracic vertebra.

"Buena niña," she murmured, her tone completely different from just a few seconds ago.

She took your hand and turned you around. That's when you realised she was also naked, though your gaze didn't linger, she quickly guided both of you beneath the freezing water of the shower.

"Fuck," you hissed, trying to move away, but Alexia locked her arms around you, her chin resting lightly on your head.

The drops of water felt like knives against your raw skin. It was so cold you were sure you would get hypothermia.

"It'll feel better soon," Alexia promised, her soft hand stroking your back so delicately it felt like the touch of a ghost.

"But it hurts-" you whispered into her chest, letting your head rest against her chest ",-A lot, Ale."

"I know, bebé," she said, leaning back to look at you properly, a sad smile on her lips. "But we need to hydrate your skin. You are going to be good and let me take care of you now, right? I don't want to spank you more than I already did."

Her words carried so much honesty that it hit you…Alexia hadn't enjoyed punishing you. 

She had done it because it was the only way you would understand how serious things were, how badly your skin had been damaged from the amount of time you spent out in the sun without protection.

"I want you to take care of me," you admitted softly.

And for the first time that day, Alexia looked pleased.

She took the soap and began rubbing it over your body, trying to remove the grains of sand that had found home in your body; you winced the entire time.

Each time the soap touched you, it felt like fire to your skin.

The pain didn't fade when Alexia kissed your forehead, nor did it ease when she shut off the water and wrapped you in a fluffy towel that, although it was made of silk, felt like sandpaper scraping across your skin.

But Alexia wasn't the only one who could read body language.

You saw the way she straightened her posture, you saw the redness on her cheeks; she was still angry, but more at herself than at you.

And it seemed like she believed she had every right to be.

Yes, you were an adult, responsible and all that, but Alexia should have noticed you hadn't applied sunscreen. She should have checked the beach bag. Or that's what she thought.

You could be inattentive sometimes, and she knew it. She was supposed to look out for you. Always.

Alexia guided you to the bedroom; she left you standing at the foot of the bed while she spread the softest blanket she could find across the mattress.

"Lie down," Alexia said. Her voice was cold, but the gentle pat to your lower back showed she still cared.

You obeyed and positioned yourself on the bed with the towel still tight around you, trying to ignore how much it hurt each time you shifted even an inch.

You looked at her with wide eyes. She looked back, a shy smile was tugging at her lips before it vanished when you frowned…the pain was growing unbearable again.

Alexia walked over to the suitcase on the floor, kneeling beside it while digging through it until she found the Babosa cream she always carried on trips.

She didn't speak as she stepped closer to you; she didn't say a word when she took the towel away from your body.

Relief washed through you as Alexia turned on the air conditioner; your raw skin thanked her instantly. Your skin thanked her even more when she crawled into bed beside you and began spreading Aloe Vera over it tenderly.

The silence that followed was comforting, but it didn't feel right.

You noticed how Alexia's breathing was uneven; you grew tired of staring at her, trying to read her thoughts and finding nothing.

Alexia rubbed along your thigh, purposely ignoring your core.

You caught her wrist lightly; she could have pulled free if she wanted to, but she didn't. Alexia stayed still as if your grip were made of steel (it absolutely wasn't).

"You're upset," you whispered, brushing your thumb over the back of her hand. "I know it's my fault. I'm sorry."

Her eyes were fixed on your hands.

"You should listen when I tell you to do something," she said finally.

You studied her face and then nodded. "I should."

"But you didn't." She pulled free now, not so gently. She held your hips before flipping you onto your stomach.

Her cool (and cream-covered) hands found your ass quickly, gripping, massaging over the marks she had left earlier. A print of all five of her fingers staring back at her.

"That won't happen again," she said. The phrasing should have been a question, but her tone made it a command.

"It won't," you mumbled into the blanket, as if it even needed an answer.

She smoothed Aloe Vera over every inch of skin she could touch. You felt instant alleviation.

Her lips also offered some sort of allayment. She kissed your neck, your equally burned shoulder, your back, and finally, she pressed her mouth to the faint hand prints on your ass.

Alexia placed her hands on each side of your body, trapping you in, but not pressuring you into the mattress.

"How are you feeling, bebé?" she murmured, brushing her nose against your temple.

"Good," you answered hesitantly, but not because it wasn't true, but because her tone was dangerous.

"If I gave you a punishment right now," she said slowly, "would you take it?"

Suddenly, it felt like your ribcage was trapping your lungs; no air was getting in, and your breath caught as her breath met your ear.

"I would take anything you give me," you whispered, giving her the only answer she wanted. The right answer.

That earned you a kiss on the top of your head.

"Anything?" she asked, her lips moving down your back, leaving cool, wet trails over the Aloe Vera cream.

"Uhum," you replied, eager.

"Alright." She said it like the matter was settled and the conversation was over.

You didn't lift your face from the mattress; you didn't dare to look at what she was doing.

Maybe your punishment was being left alone in the bedroom, naked, burning and trembling with need.

You weren't far off.

You heard her cross the room, the suitcase zipper being opened again. The mattress dipped as Alexia returned, straddling you with her knees.

The snap of a cap reached your ears, and for a second, your triggered brain thought back to the sunscreen, but the sweet strawberry scent quickly told you otherwise.

You quickly realised what it really was - the purpose of the bottle she had just opened.

Alexia didn't ask permission as she spread your legs; she didn't make a sound as cool drops of lube slid down your opening, making you shiver from how cold it was.

She wasn't chivalrous when she parted your folds open and dragged the head of the dildo against you. She wasn't courteous when she pushed it inside in one swift thrust.

Alexia was gracious enough to place a comforting hand on your back.

She was considerate enough to give you a few shallow thrusts and let your body adjust to the dildo as she brushed your hips with her thumb.

You didn't speak, you didn't dare open your mouth. You just closed your eyes, focusing on the sensation of being full, of having Alexia near, of the cold air brushing your tender skin perfectly.

The burn was still there, but the Aloe Vera was working.

The dildo buried inside your warm walls made you dizzy, relaxed and full, enough that the pain of your raw skin didn't feel as overwhelming as before.

"You're going to stay like this for one hour," Alexia whispered against your neck. "That's how long the Aloe Vera needs to work, sí?"

"S-sí," you stammered, trusting whatever Alexia had planned.

"Perfecta." She kissed your neck gently. "While you cool down, I'll keep myself busy. Without you, unfortunately."

She said 'unfortunately', but her tone was far too pleased.

At first, you thought that this whole situation didn't feel much like a punishment; the sting from her spanking wasn't too bad, the dildo felt incredible inside you - but oh, you were soon to realise it was all torture.

Alexia didn't let you move.

She didn't let you rock your hips for more, trying to get some friction on your clit or get the dildo to move.

She didn't let you see what she was doing behind you as her soft moans filled the room.

You didn't even know how she was touching herself… was she using the other dildo? The bullet vibrator? Her fingers? You had no idea.

And Alexia - cruel, cruel Alexia - wasn't going to tell you.

She came twice.

At least, that's what she told you when the hour was up.

She slid the dildo from you, admiring how slick it was, how wet you were, before gently holding your hips and turning you over to face her.

You hated yourself for disobeying, for being careless.

Alexia had that look, the one she always had after orgasming. Her lips were flushed pink (almost scarlet), her face was soft, as if all the muscles in her body had relaxed. Her pupils were wide. 

You didn't get to see her climax. You hadn't seen her lips part in an 'o', hadn't seen her legs shaking; you only heard the muffled sounds of her moans.

Alexia leaned down and pressed her mouth to your dry lips, pressing her tongue to your bottom lip, asking for entry. You let her in, your hand were resting on her back, tracing the tattoos you knew were there.

Everything felt light, like you were wrapped in a soft haze of warmth. Alexia's body felt so hot against you, even though she was holding herself up on her elbows.

Your eyes were closed as you enjoyed the soft kisses she was giving you, though you did wonder why she had turned the air conditioning to such a low temperature. But it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered when Alexia was on top of you. It was like you couldn't think or worry about anything, as if your mind didn't need to work properly.

Not when Alexia was next to you.

Alexia's hand moved to your waist, brushing the top of your ribcage. Your skin wasn't bothering you as much anymore - the cream had worked - but you felt weird.

Not a good type of weird. You were starting to feel confused, too tired, too..

Alexia pecked your cheeks, and that's when she stilled.

She held herself up and looked down at you worriedly. You opened your eyes to look back at her, but your eyelids were heavy.

You wanted to take a nap. A really good nap.

Alexia placed the palm of her hand on your cheek, then on your forehead. You wanted to trace the frown between her eyebrows, but you felt too weary all of a sudden.

"You're hot," Alexia said under her breath, more to herself. She placed her lips on your forehead for a quick second before getting up from your body.

You instantly shivered from the cold. You wanted to pull her back, but you didn't have any strength.

"No 'm not," you mumbled, bringing the towel that was scattered on the bed around your body. "I'm cold. I want my clothes."

Alexia looked more concerned now.

"I think you have sun poisoning," she said, looking down at your figure on the bed before quickly going to the suitcase to take out a change of clothes for you.

She helped you sit up on the bed, carefully dressing you. A patient hand stayed on your back, holding you upright whenever you murmured about wanting to lie down.

Once you were dressed, Alexia helped you under the blankets and carried the towel to the bathroom. She turned the air conditioner off and then turned to you, standing (comically) still at the foot of the bed.

"What?" you managed to say, opening one (only one) eye to look at her, saving up some energy.

"I- I don't know what to do," Alexia confessed, looking so utterly confused, something you didn't see on her face often.

She was always so sure, always knew everything, always had the upper hand in any given situation. But not now.

Who would have thought sun poisoning would be the downfall of Alexia Putellas?

"You've never had sun poisoning before," she continued, finally moving and sitting on the mattress beside you, cupping your jaw tenderly. "Do you feel any pain? Do you need anything or—"

"My head hurts," you interrupted, a pout on your face that Alexia was quick to brush with her thumb. "My skin doesn't. I think the cream was good."

Alexia hummed, but the way her lips were pressed together told you she wasn't so relieved. She took the blanket that was over your body, tucking you in even more, as if she didn't know what to do with her restless hands.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Mhm," you nodded, closing your eyes.

She poked your forehead. "Keep them open."

"No."

"Sí."

"Why?" You looked at her.

She shrugged. "I don't know what the protocol for sun poisoning is."

"I don't think the protocol involves me keeping my eyes open," you murmured.

"It helps me know you didn't die," she argued, poking you again. "Open. Don't make me say it again."

You lazily slapped her hand away, but she was quick and caught your wrist, putting it down on the mattress.

"I'm serious," she said, rolling her eyes before going to the telephone on the nightstand.

"What are you doing?" you asked, sitting up on the bed so fast you felt dizzy.

"Calling the hotel's infirmary," she said.

"Why?" you asked, brow furrowing.

"To ask what the protocol for sun poisoning is!" she said as if it were obvious.

"Not everything has a protocol, Alexia!" you said in the same tone.

"Then they should make one! You look horrible already! I think you have a rash on your cheek and—"

"Horrible?" you said in a low voice, looking at her, but barely able to see her figure properly because your eyes were already filling with tears. "I look horrible?"

If Alexia was completely confused before, now she was fearing for her life.

"No, no, no, mi amor," she said, dropping the phone as she rushed to you, waving her hands as if she could banish the words she had just said from the air. "I didn't mean it like that."

You dodged her arms as they tried to wrap around you.

Sure, your face was completely scarlet, and some places were already starting to peel. Maybe you had a few rash spots… but horrible?

Maybe Alexia was right. Or maybe it was your fever.

You did look horrible. Actually, you looked monstrous.

You hid your face in your hands, ignoring the way your skin burned from the contact. You let yourself cry. sob.

This vacation was a stupid idea.

You should have stayed in Barcelona and let Alexia go on vacation alone.

Maybe that way she would have been able to enjoy a beach day without her dumb wife forgetting the sunscreen and having a rash-covered face.

"Mi vida…" Alexia said helplessly, very carefully hugging you, putting her hand on your shoulder. "No, don't cry."

"I ruined your vacation," you sobbed. "You get like three weeks off all year, and I ruined them all."

"That's not true," Alexia shook her head, shifting you so you were straddling her lap, your hands still covering your face.

"It is true," you argued. "Everything is ruined and my head hurts and my skin's burning and I'm so fucking cold and—"

Alexia held both your wrists in one hand as she placed the other on your back and brought your body closer to her, so you were resting your face against her chest.

"Don't say that," she murmured, moving her body so she was rocking you. "I love you. I would never in a billion years want to go on a vacation without you."

"Even if my skin is filled with blisters?" you asked against her chest.

"Sí," she said solemnly. "I don't care about blisters."

"You're lying."

"I'm not." She kissed the top of your head. "I don't lie. Not to you."

Alexia held you until you stopped crying, and then she laid you down on the bed, kissing your forehead before going to the suitcase (again), looking for some fever medicine.

She fed you a protein bar she had in her bag before giving you some ibuprofen and water. She was very insistent that you needed to drink the whole bottle, so you did.

The medicine made you drowsy almost immediately. Your eyelids grew heavy as Alexia tucked the blankets around you again.

"Sleep, mi amor," she whispered, lying down beside you. "I'll be right here."

You wanted to tell her she didn't need to stay up, that she should get some rest too, but the words felt too heavy on your tongue. Instead, you let yourself fall asleep.

When you woke up, there was sunlight peeking through the curtains, and your head felt a bit clearer.

The fever had broken sometime during the night, leaving you feeling weak and sweaty, but a little more like your usual self.

You turned to find Alexia curled up beside you on top of the covers. Her jaw was tight, as if, even in her sleep, she wasn't able to relax completely.

It was like Alexia knew you had opened your eyes, because she quickly sat back against the headboard, waking up.

"You're awake," Alexia's voice was groggy as she stirred, immediately reaching over to feel your forehead. "How do you feel? How's the fever?"

"Better," you said honestly, though your skin still felt very raw, it would probably feel like that for some days. "Did you sleep well?"

She rubbed her eyes.

"Well… yeah. I kept checking on you every hour to make sure you weren't getting worse." She gestured at the phone you didn't realise was at her side. "I may have also become an expert on sun poisoning. Did you know acetaminophen is better for fevers?"

"I definitely didn't know that," you smiled lazily. "What else did you find, Dr. Putellas?"

"Hmm" she said, straight up as if she was talking business. "You should feel better in three days, but your skin might peel for a week or two-" She looked at you up and down, as if you were a patient she was examining. "-probably two. And we need to keep you hydrated and out of the sun."

"So no beach today?"

"No beach for you for the rest of the trip," she said firmly, but then her expression softened. "But that's okay. We can do other things."

Guilty settled in your chest again. "Ale, we came here to relax and enjoy the beaches and—"

"I came here to be with you," Alexia interrupted. "Beach or no beach, sun or no sun. Besides," she smiled mischievously.

"-I've already planned the itinerary for our vacation. We'll order room service for lunch, then we'll watch some films, and then we'll go to the hotel spa, and at night we can go out, like vampires."

You pecked her lips and chucked. "So that means we are staying inside the hotel for the rest of our trip, during the daytime?"

"We can go outside during the day," she said after a few seconds of thinking about it. "But when we do, I'm personally applying sunscreen to every inch of your body."

"Every inch?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Every. Inch." She leaned down to kiss your forehead.

A/n: There are two more scenes I wanted to add (smut), but I didn't have the energy to do so.

Hope u guys enjoyed it! I've been writing this for so many hours, and I don't have Alexia to take care of me and my poor back.

Part 2 here

Tag list: @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics @riyaexee @miaereen@kiwidreamersstuff @valuyhh

[mapengen-com]

You're Not My Wife

For some reason, drunk Ingrid is made out of equal parts of 'i love my wife' and 'you're not my wife.'

Ingrid loved to party.

It wasn’t something Mapi fully understood, even years into their relationship. But it was a fact as undeniable as the freckles on Ingrid’s nose or the stubborn way she refused to cut her hair short no matter how much Mapi teased her about it.

Ingrid loved going out.

She loved getting ready, standing in front of their mirror, trying on outfit after outfit until she finally settled on something with a low back and maybe just a hint of glitter. She loved the ritual of it, putting on her favorite gloss, the spritz of perfume, the boots that made her taller than Frido. She loved walking into the club and feeling the bass in her chest before she even saw the DJ. She loved the press of bodies, the freedom, the wildness of it all.

And she really loved dancing.

Mapi… Did not.

For Mapi, going out meant stress. It meant squeezing into clothes that never felt quite right, standing awkwardly in groups where people shouted over music just to ask how your week was going. It meant sore feet, sticky drinks, too much smoke, and way too many people touching her. The idea of being out until four in the morning when she could be at home, curled up with Bagheera, watching some dumb show? No contest.

Ingrid and Mapi were very different in that way.

It hadn’t been a problem when they first started dating. Back then, Mapi would go out just to be near Ingrid. She’d show up to clubs in clothes that weren’t really her style, nursing a drink she didn’t really like, just so she could watch Ingrid laughing, her head thrown back, arms above her head as she danced. It was impossible not to get pulled in by her energy. And sometimes, when Ingrid spotted her standing on the side of the dance floor, she’d walk right over, take Mapi’s hand, and whisper, “dance with me.”

And Mapi always did. Because back then, being with Ingrid was still new, still an adventure.

But years passed. Their relationship deepened. They moved in together, got married, built a life filled with routines and comfort. And somewhere along the way, Mapi stopped pretending she liked parties.

At first, Ingrid didn’t mind.

“I’m going out with the girls,” she’d say, brushing lip gloss on in the hallway mirror.

“Have fun,” Mapi would reply from the couch, already half-asleep in her sweats, Bagheera stretched out beside her.

But the more Ingrid went out, the more Mapi stayed home, and slowly, the distance between their nights widened.

It all came to a head one Friday night.

Ingrid was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, wearing a tight black dress that Mapi had never seen before. Her hair was pinned up, exposing the slope of her neck. She looked stunning. And also like she was already half out the door.

“Frido, Aita, and Esmee are going to Pulse tonight,” Ingrid said, zipping up her boots. “You should come.”

“Nah. You go. Have fun,” Mapi barely looked up from the book she was reading.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You love that place.”

“But I love you more,” the Norwegian said quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s okay,” she smiled, but there was something a little tired in it. “I’m not gonna ruin your night by standing in the corner looking like I want to go home.”

“You wouldn’t ruin it.”

“Come on,” Mapi gave her a look.

“It’s just…” Ingrid sighed. “You never want to go out anymore.”

“Because I don’t like it,” the Spaniard closed the book and set it on the nightstand to give Ingrid all of her attention.

“You used to.”

“I used to do a lot of things I don’t do anymore,” she said, her voice calm but steady. “Not because I liked them, but because I liked you. I still do, but now I’m thirty and with more injuries, and I know you’ll come back home to me either way. So there’s no need to play pretend anymore.”

Ingrid flinched a little, like that landed harder than Mapi had intended.

“Okay,” she murmured, folding her arms. “So what, now I’m selfish for still liking it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re implying it.”

“No. I’m saying…” Mapi sighed and rubbed her eyes. “It’s exhausting to keep pretending I enjoy something I don’t.”

The Norwegian leaned her head back against the doorframe, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

“I just miss you out there,” she said softly.

Mapi looked up at her, at the little crease in Ingrid’s brow, at the vulnerability in her voice.

“I’m still here,” she tried gently. “Just… Not in clubs. Not until 3 a.m.”

“I know,” Ingrid swallowed. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

But neither of them knew quite what to say next.

So Ingrid left either way, but not before she pressed her lips to Mapi’s cheek for a second longer than usual and murmured a sweet “I’ll always come home to you, okay?” before pecking at her lips and walking out.

And Mapi wasn’t worried. She really wasn’t.

She knew Ingrid could hold her liquor pretty well, but that didn't mean she was immune to getting drunk – especially when she was drinking with Frido, Esmee, and Aitana, three of the worst (or best, depending on how you looked at it) drinking partners.

And Mapi didn’t know they had become friends with the owner, who was a big Barcelona fan, and that they had decided the girls should get free drinks that night.

Without that knowledge, she went to bed like every other day. She left the hallway light turned on for when Ingrid arrived and made sure to already leave her water bottle by the nightstand.

But when her phone rang at 2 a.m., she immediately had a feeling she would have to pick someone up.

“Yeah?” She answered, already sighing.

“You should come get your wife,” Aitana's voice came through, sounding half-drunk herself but still coherent enough.

“Is she okay?”

“Oh yeah, she's fine,” the Catalan snorted. “Just, uh… Very in love with you. And very against… Everyone else.”

“What?” Mapi frowned.

“Just come. You'll see.”

With a half-hearted groan, the Spaniard got up more quickly than she would’ve in any other scenario, changing out of the sleeping clothes she stole from Ingrid’s drawer earlier that night. Bagheera meowed when she turned on the lights, but all Mapi did was scratch behind her ears and whisper, “Let’s go save your mama, yeah?” before she put on her sneakers.

By the time she arrived at the club, she spotted Ingrid without much effort – mostly because her wife was standing on a chair, dramatically announcing something to the group.

“So, yeah, I do love my wife!” Ingrid declared, swaying a little.

Frido and Aitana were in tears laughing, Esmee was recording, and Mapi could already feel a headache forming.

“Alright, princesa,” Mapi said, walking up and putting her hands on Ingrid’s waist. “Let's get you home.”

Ingrid looked down at her, eyes wide and scandalized. The Spaniard looked even smaller like that, and if Ingrid were just a little less drunk, she’d totally tease her about it.

But she wasn’t, so she only put both hands on Mapi’s shoulders and pushed her away.

“No.”

“No?” Mapi blinked while Ingrid shook her head, wobbling slightly.

“I’m married!” She argued when Frido tried to stabilize her.

“Oh my God,” Esmee wheezed.

“Ingrid, I know,” the Spaniard said slowly, reaching for her again. “You're married to me. I'm your wife.”

“How do you know that?” Ingrid gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

Mapi stared at her for a second, as if weighing her possibilities.

“Because we had a wedding, Ingrid.”

The Norwegian squinted at her like she was trying to decide whether or not that was true. Then, in a dramatic whisper, she leaned toward Aitana.

“Is she telling the truth?”

“Yeah, she is,” the midfielder nodded solemnly.

But Ingrid frowned again, still suspicious for a moment before she seemed to let it go as she finally stepped down from the chair, only to immediately lean against Frido for support.

Mapi sighed and moved to take Ingrid's arm, but Ingrid yanked it away.

“No!”

“What now?” She rubbed her temples.

“I love my wife,” Ingrid said seriously.

“I know, amor,” the Spaniard murmured, a stubborn smile tugging on her lips.

“No, you don’t understand,” she insisted, poking Mapi’s chest. “I love her so much. And she’s so hot.” Behind them, Frido was absolutely losing it. “And I,” Ingrid continued, enunciating very clearly. “I am a faithful wife.”

“I…” Mapi exhaled through her nose. “That’s great, Ingrid, but I am your wife.”

“No,” she shook her head. “My wife is at home. With our daughter. Our black cat daughter. Being beautiful and amazing and,” she hiccuped, “...And very sexy.”

“She has a point,” Esmee said, still recording.

“Shut up,” the center-back muttered.

“Anyway,” Ingrid waved her off. “I can't go with you.”

“You can,” Mapi corrected, stepping closer.

“No,” Ingrid pouted. “Because I don't cheat. And you,” she poked Mapi’s forehead now. “Are trying to seduce me.”

After a full second of just staring at each other, the Spaniard sighed and decided to just go for it. She grabbed Ingrid’s face between her hands and kissed her – soft but firm, making sure the Norwegian felt it.

It didn’t last more than two seconds, but Mapi felt Ingrid melt into it, and – beginner mistake – thought that was enough.

When she pulled back, Ingrid blinked at her, eyes wide with wonder. Then, in the quietest voice possible, she whispered, “Oh my God, my wife is gonna kill me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mapi groaned.

Frido had fully collapsed against the table, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

“This is the best thing I've ever seen,” Esmee stopped recording just to make sure she had the file on the cloud before she started another video.

“Alright, princesa,” Mapi sighed and took Ingrid's hand. “Let's go home before you convince yourself you’ve actually cheated.”

To the Spaniard’s surprise, Ingrid actually followed her outside the club, not even bothering to finish her drink that still sat half-finished on the booth. Still, she went the whole way out looking around nervously.

“You won’t tell my wife, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mapi muttered, helping her out of the place. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As soon as they got outside, Ingrid suddenly slowed down, her grip on Mapi’s hand going limp.

Mapi turned, immediately wary.

“Now what?”

Ingrid had gone from looking very sure of herself to looking absolutely devastated. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes were glassy with tears that were about to fall if Mapi said something wrong.

“I cheated on my wife,” she whispered.

“Ingrid, we just….” Mapi closed her eyes for a second, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose.

"She’s going to be so sad," Ingrid interrupted, her voice breaking. She stopped walking completely, pressing a hand over her mouth like she had just realized the depth of her betrayal. “She loves me so much, and I…” She sniffled. “I ruined everything.”

“Amor, listen to me, please,” she bit her lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

“I can’t believe I did this,” she went on, shaking her head in self-loathing. “And for what? A hot stranger?”

“Okay, first of all, thank you,” the Spaniard grinned. “Second, Ingrid, I am your wife.”

“No, you’re not,” she narrowed her eyes at her.

“Yes, I am.”

“No,” Ingrid said, stepping away. “You want me to think that, but I know my wife is at home, being perfect and probably missing me.”

“She is literally right here,” Mapi groaned.

“No, she’s not!” The Norwegian shook her head, her eyes welling up again. She started walking faster toward the car, her expression shifting from sadness to full heartbreak. “Oh no," she mumbled, stopping short. “She’s not even here to pick me up.”

“Ingrid,” Mapi took a deep breath, willing herself to be patient at two in the morning.

“This is my fault,” she choked out, her voice full of guilt. “She’s mad at me. She knows what I did. She…” Ingrid covered her face. “She doesn’t love me anymore.”

That did it. Mapi let out a short laugh, unable to hold it back anymore.

Ingrid gasped, eyes wide and betrayed.

“Are you laughing?”

“Yes,” she admitted, wiping at her eyes. “Because you’re being ridiculous.”

“I lost everything,” she whispered while shaking her head, looking utterly broken.

"Come on,” Mapi murmured with a roll of her eyes before tugging on Ingrid’s hand toward the car. “Let’s get you home to your very real wife, then.”

But of course that wouldn’t be easy.

At first, Ingrid refused to let Mapi hold her hand, so the Spaniard decided to just let go instead of fighting. Then, she went back to crying the second Mapi reached for the door, murmuring something about how sad her wife would’ve been if she knew she was letting a homewrecker take her home.

Mapi could only hold back her laugh.

But the real problem came when Mapi reached across Ingrid’s lap to buckle the seatbelt in, and the moment the belt clicked in, Ingrid’s hands shot up and pushed weakly at Mapi’s shoulders.

“Stop it,” she whispered in horror. “You’re really trying to seduce me. In my wife’s car!”

Mapi froze, forehead falling against the car with a thud as she tried not to burst out laughing.

“Ingrid, it’s my car.”

“It’s hers,” Ingrid insisted, her eyes glassy with both alcohol and heartbreak. “Everything is hers. I don’t deserve to be in it after what I did.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” She lifted her head slowly, giving her a long look.

But Ingrid wasn’t finished. She leaned back dramatically against the seat, one hand pressed to her chest like she’d been mortally wounded.

“She’s so beautiful, María. My wife. And kind. And she smells so good. And she always remembers to bring me my water bottle before we leave for training,” she sniffled. “And now she’s going to leave me because I was weak.”

That was it — Mapi completely lost it. She doubled over as soon as she slid into the driver’s seat, laughing so hard she had to cover her face with her hands.

“You think this is funny?” Ingrid gasped, betrayed. “I ruined our marriage!”

“Amor, listen to me, please,” Mapi finally managed to catch her breath, wiping tears from her eyes. “You didn’t ruin anything. You kissed me. I am your wife. This whole drama is just…” She gestured wildly at Ingrid’s devastated expression. “…Happening inside your head.”

“…No,” Ingrid squinted at her, lips wobbling.

“Yes!” The Spaniard groaned, starting the car.

“No,” she repeated stubbornly, shaking her head. “You’re a beautiful stranger. A temptress. A...”

“Don’t say mistress, Ingrid.”

“Homewrecker,” Ingrid finished, almost proudly.

~

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Ingrid had gone quiet, staring sadly out the window like a character in a soap opera. When Mapi parked, Ingrid turned her big, heartbroken eyes on her.

“…I can’t go inside.”

“Why not?”

“Because my wife is in there. And I can’t look at her knowing what I’ve done.”

Mapi dropped her head back against the headrest and muttered, “I married a dramatic Norwegian, this is my life now.”

Then, with infinite patience, she leaned over, unbuckled Ingrid’s belt, and tugged gently at her hand.

“Come on, princesa. Let’s go inside so you can apologize to your wife. She’s waiting for you in bed.”

“She knows?” Ingrid gasped, horrified. 

“Oh, she knows everything," Mapi smirked, opening her own door. 

It took them just one elevator ride until Ingrid had fully spiraled. She barely looked around as Mapi helped her inside, her shoulders slumped in absolute defeat.

As soon as she stepped into their bed with no wife in it, she let out a tiny, pained noise.

Mapi, who had been about to guide her toward the bathroom, froze completely.

“What now?”

“She’s not here,” Ingrid clutched at the front of her dress.

“Oh my God,” Mapi dragged a hand down her face. “Ingrid, who do you think drove you here?”

Ingrid didn’t answer. She was looking around the room, lower lip wobbling.

“She didn’t wait for me,” she whispered. “She didn’t… She didn’t even leave a note.”

“Amor,” the Spaniard tried, her voice half-exasperated, half-affectionate. “I am your wife.”

But Ingrid didn’t seem to hear her. She turned, taking a few wobbly steps toward the bed before stopping.

“I don’t even deserve to sleep here,” she mumbled. “I should sleep on the couch. No. The floor.”

Mapi sighed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her gently but firmly toward the bed.

“Sit.”

Ingrid barely put up a fight. She sat at the edge of the bed, still looking completely heartbroken.

Mapi stepped between her legs and ran her fingers through Ingrid’s hair for a few seconds, just letting her cry quietly for a moment before she spoke again.

“Okay, princesa , listen to me very carefully,” she said, cupping her face. “I’m your wife. You did not cheat. You just got very drunk and forgot who I was for a second.”

“You promise?” Ingrid blinked up at her.

“I promise,” Mapi smiled softly.

Still, Ingrid didn’t seem fully convinced. Her face crumpled, and before she could react, she buried her face into Mapi’s stomach, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.

“I love her so much,” she mumbled into Mapi’s shirt.

“I know, mi amor,” she placed one hand on Ingrid’s head, the other rubbing gentle circles on her back. “I know. She loves you too.”

“I don’t want to lose her,” Ingrid tightened her grip.

“You won’t,” Mapi said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Ingrid just hummed, already starting to doze off against Mapi’s stomach while the Spaniard smiled, shaking her head. Married woman behavior.

But as much as she just wanted to crawl into bed with Ingrid, she knew the Norwegian was in no state for that yet. So Mapi held Ingrid close for a little longer, letting her nuzzle into her stomach, before finally sighing.

“Alright, princesa, time for bed,” she murmured, gently pulling Ingrid back.

Ingrid made a small whimper of protest but let Mapi help her sit up straight. Her eyes were droopy, her face flushed from alcohol and tears and love.

“You okay?” Mapi asked, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Ingrid nodded, but then frowned.

“Wait. Do I have to sleep alone?”

“No, you don’t,” she bit back a smile.

“Okay, then,” Ingrid sighed in relief and slumped forward into Mapi again, pressing her forehead against her stomach.

“Come on, let's get you changed.”

Getting Ingrid ready for bed was a process.

First, the dress.

“I love this dress,” Ingrid mumbled, looking down at herself as Mapi worked to unzip it.

“I know, amor.”

“It’s so pretty,” she swayed a little. “Do you think my wife liked it?"

“She loved it,” she reassured, slipping it off Ingrid’s shoulders.

“Good,” Ingrid sighed dreamily. “I want her to think I’m pretty.”

Mapi had to physically bite her lip to stop from grinning again.

Next, the makeup.

Ingrid sat on the closed toilet lid in their bathroom, eyes half-lidded, as Mapi carefully wiped her face with a makeup remover wipe.

“You’re so gentle,” she murmured when she felt Mapi’s fingers holding her chin up.

“Well, yeah, I love you,” Mapi hummed.

“You do?” Ingrid blinked up at her, suddenly glassy-eyed again.

“I do, Ingrid,” she sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead that made Ingrid melt, her arms wrapping lazily around Mapi’s waist.

“You’re so good to me,” she mumbled into her stomach again.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Mapi chuckled, rubbing her back.

By the time Mapi got them both into bed, Ingrid was extremely clingy.

She had wrapped herself around Mapi before the Spaniard even got fully under the covers, her face pressed into Mapi’s neck, arms tight around her waist.

But Mapi only huffed, adjusting until they were both comfortable.

“Alright, you good now?”

Ingrid nodded against her.

“Mmhm.”

They lay there in comfortable silence for a moment. For that long moment, Mapi was finally thinking the war was over, that Ingrid would pass out in a second, and that her only problem from now on would be to deal with a hangover and a moody Ingrid, but that was considerably easier than a “I cheated on my wife” Ingrid.

So she closed her eyes, already half asleep…

“I missed you,” Ingrid mumbled suddenly.

“You were literally out for like five hours,” Mapi peeked one eye open.

“Too long,” she hugged her tighter.

“I’m here now, princesa,” she smiled, kissing the top of her head again.

Ingrid sighed in relief, snuggling even closer.

“I love my wife,” she mumbled sleepily.

“She loves you too,” Mapi grinned, holding her impossibly closer.

~

It was about an hour later when Mapi woke up again, but this time it wasn’t because Ingrid had said something or because she had moved too much.

It was because Ingrid was not in their bed.

The bathroom door was open and the lights were off, so she wasn’t peeing or vomiting. The glass door that led to the balcony was closed too.

Before Mapi could even get up properly to think about where Ingrid could be, she heard a tiny, muffled sound coming from down the hall. So, with a sigh and a look at the clock on the nightstand – 4:23 a.m. –, she padded quietly to the living room.

And there she was.

Curled up on the couch like a punished cat, in one of Mapi’s hoodies that nearly swallowed her whole, knees tucked up to her chest, and eyes red and glossy. She was holding a throw pillow so tightly it looked like it had just confessed to something unspeakable.

“Hey,” Mapi said softly, suddenly very worried. “What’s wrong?”

Ingrid lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were red, and the moment she saw Mapi, fresh guilt seemed to flash across her face. She sat up straighter, wiping at her cheeks in a panic, but her voice came out wrecked.

“María, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She blinked, her brain still fogged with sleep.

“I…” Ingrid swallowed hard, fingers twisting into the hem of her shirt. “I cheated on you.”

Mapi stared at her, utterly dumbfounded.

“I kissed someone,” Ingrid’s voice cracked. “And I knew I shouldn’t, but I was drunk, and I tried to stop it, but I didn’t stop fast enough, and now I can’t even remember her name and…” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “I love you so much and I ruined everything.”

The Spaniard just stood there in the dark, staring at her crying wife who had apparently cheated on her...

With her.

She pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. She did. She really tried. But it bubbled up anyway, sharp and incredulous and absolutely out of place in the middle of Ingrid’s existential spiral.

“You’re laughing?” Ingrid’s eyes widened. “I cheated on you and you think it’s funny?”

“Amor,” Mapi finally stepped forward and crouched in front of her. “You didn’t cheat.”

“I did!” She insisted, voice cracking. “I kissed someone else!”

“You kissed me, Ingrid,” she smiled so softly it almost hurt.

Ingrid froze.

“I was the woman at the bar,” Mapi explained gently, brushing a tear from Ingrid’s cheek. “You were trying to push me away the moment I got there because you were so determined not to cheat on me... Even though I am your wife.”

There was a long, silent pause.

Then Ingrid whispered, “No.”

“Yes.”

“No, I remember the woman,” she said desperately. “She had brown eyes, a sharp jawline, tattoos, and this stupid little smile…”

“That’s me, amor.”

Ingrid blinked at her. Then again.

“No.”

“You’re describing me, Ingrid,” Mapi’s grin widened.

The realization hit her like a truck. Ingrid made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob, grabbed a throw pillow, and screamed into it.

Mapi burst out laughing, not caring about the neighbors.

“I hate you,” Ingrid mumbled from inside the pillow.

“You love me,” Mapi replied, tugging the pillow away and sitting beside her. “And I love you, even when you accuse me of trying to seduce my own wife.”

Ingrid let her bury her face in Mapi’s side again, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist like a child clinging to a stuffed animal after a nightmare.

“I really thought I lost you,” she whispered. “I woke up and I remembered the kiss and I thought... I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, mi amor,” Mapi kissed the top of her head, holding her close.

They sat there like that for a while, Mapi rubbing circles into Ingrid’s back, Ingrid sniffling quietly into Mapi’s shirt, until the tension slowly bled out of her.

Finally, Mapi stood, tugging gently at Ingrid’s hand.

“Come on, faithful wife. Let’s get back to bed.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Ingrid muttered, but she got up anyway.

“You said that last time.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You always mean it,” she just smiled and kissed her temple again.

Back in bed, once she’d helped Ingrid out of the hoodie and tucked the blanket around her, Ingrid immediately curled up against her again, even clingier now than before, arms around Mapi’s waist, face pressed into her chest like she needed the reassurance of skin and breath and heartbeat.

“Don’t leave,” she mumbled.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Mapi tightened her arms around her and whispered into her hair, “I promise, mi esposa fiel.”

That earned her a pinch in the sides, but she smiled either way.

~

The next morning, Ingrid woke up slowly, her head pounding, her body still tangled with Mapi’s. She let out a groggy sigh, burying her face deeper into Mapi’s chest.

“Bon día, princesa,” Mapi murmured, her voice warm with amusement.

“Too loud,” Ingrid groaned.

“Poor thing. Hangover kicking in?” The Spaniard laughed, running her fingers through Ingrid’s hair.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, pressing herself closer.

“Oh, so now you wanna be close to me? That’s interesting,” Mapi smirked.

“What?” Ingrid frowned but didn’t move.

“Oh, nothing,” she sighed dramatically, stretching beneath her. “Just funny how last night you didn’t even wanna look at me.”

“What do you mean?” The Norwegian furrowed her brows, still too sleepy to fully process what Mapi was saying.

That’s when Mapi realized Ingrid didn’t remember a thing.

Not the bar. Not the way home. Not the tears on the couch at four in the morning.

So she knew to use that in her favour, just so she’d have a little bit of fun.

"You know,” she grinned. “I showed up to take care of you, like the perfect wife I am, and you," she poked Ingrid’s ribs. “Kept pushing me away. Because, and I quote, ‘I love my wife very much.’”

She felt Ingrid’s entire body tense in a matter of a second, and she could tell the moment the memories came rushing back.

“Oh my God,” she lifted her head slightly, eyes still half-closed, lips parted.

“Oh yes, amor. Oh my God indeed,” the Spaniard beamed.

“Tell me I didn’t,” Ingrid groaned, pressing her forehead into Mapi’s chest.

“Oh, you did,” she laughed, rubbing her back.

"How bad was it?" she asked hesitantly, knowing Mapi was going to milk this for the rest of the day, maybe of their lives.

“Well, let’s see…” Mapi hummed. “You refused to leave the bar with me because you were married and a faithful woman.”

“Fuck,” she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Oh, it gets better,” Mapi continued cheerfully. “When I kissed you to prove I was your wife, you gasped and whispered, ‘Oh my God, my wife is gonna kill me.’”

“Please stop,” Ingrid let out a muffled groan against Mapi’s skin.

“Nope,” she said, grinning. “You also got really sad when we got home because, and I quote again, ‘She’s not even here to pick me up.’ ”

“María,” the Norwegian whined, gripping her waist in protest.

“And!” Mapi ignored her, voice absolutely gleeful now. “You dramatically said you didn’t deserve to sleep in our bed because you cheated. And then you woke up in the middle of the night crying because you actually believed you cheated on me with me.”

“I hate myself,” Ingrid groaned louder, hiding her face completely against Mapi’s chest.

“I don’t. I think you’re adorable,” she was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.

“I’ll never drink with Frido again.”

“Oh, I hope you do,” Mapi snorted. “I need more content like this.”

Ingrid sighed again, tilting her head just enough to peek up at her.

“Are you ever gonna let this go?”

“Never,” she smiled sweetly.

“I hate you,” Ingrid groaned and collapsed back onto her.

“I love you too, my very, very loyal wife,” Mapi kissed the top of her head, still grinning.

They stayed in bed for a little longer before Mapi got up to get them something to eat and helped Ingrid to the couch. But between the pounding in her head, the dry mouth, and Mapi’s never-ending teasing, she was beginning to consider exile as a valid option. Maybe she'd move to a remote cabin in Norway and never return.

“Amor,” Mapi called sweetly from the kitchen.

“What now?” Ingrid, curled up on the couch with a blanket over her head, groaned.

“I made you coffee,” she sauntered over with a mischievous grin.

“...That’s suspicious,” she peeked from under the blanket.

“What? I can’t be a loving wife?” The Spaniard gasped dramatically.

“You have an agenda.”

“I always have an agenda,” Mapi placed the coffee in front of her before sitting down beside her, elbow resting on the back of the couch. “So, tell me, mi amor, at what point last night did you start thinking I was a stranger trying to seduce you?”

“I knew you were my wife,” Ingrid let her head fall back against the couch.

“Did you?” She smirked. “Because I remember you in the car looking at me all wide-eyed and whispering, ‘Please, I love my wife, don’t do this to me.’”

“I knew you’d never let this go,” the Norwegian groaned, face hidden on her hands.

“You cheated on your wife, Ingrid,” she leaned in, voice teasing. “This is serious.”

“I kissed you.”

“That’s what all cheaters say,” Mapi clicked her tongue.

With very much effort, Ingrid picked up a pillow and launched it at her. Mapi caught it with a laugh, barely fazed.

“I hate you,” she grumbled.

“And I love you, my very dramatic, very drunken, very in love wife,” Mapi, still grinning, reached out to tug Ingrid closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“...I’m never drinking again,” she sighed heavily, letting herself be held.

“Oh, you will,” she snorted. “And I’ll be right there, ready to remind you how you almost divorced me in a bar because you loved me too much. And I have proof on video. Esmee recorded it.”

“ESMEE DID WHAT?”

[perfectlybriefangel]

😆😆😆

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

birth. renewal. rebirth: the three ages of alexia 🎩

[vicposter]

I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH I CANT BREATHE

gif creds to @wrongspacetime

[camerahaterlittle]

Our girl | A. Putellas I. Engen & M. Leon

Summary: You may be Alexia's daughter but your Mapi and Ingrid's girl

Warnings: bad writing grammar and Mapi is apart of this if you don't like that then leave mentions of pain and more from a car crash

Notes: apparently I wrote 2k words yet it doesn't feel or look like it anyways once again an incredibly short fic but enjoy

Previous part

You hadn't noticed the car that was driving at you while you crossed the street because of the heavy rainfall and the darkness of the night but the moment you had noticed the car and the person driving noticed you it was far too late.

You couldn't move out of the way you were frozen and the driver slammed on the brakes yet it still wasn't enough due to the slippery roads the car still rammed into you.

Your scream echoed throughout the street and you felt pain coming from everywhere possible. You heard a car door opening and then shutting. After a minute of you laying there you heard the person's rapid Spanish as they called the police trying to get them out here.

You laid there motionless, your heart racing as the woman you soon noticed was the person who hit you and tried to keep you awake like the dispatcher had told her to.

Eventually when the ambulance got there they immediately rushed to grab you and put you on the stretcher and into the back of their truck as they put an oxygen mask over your nose and mouth.

And in this moment, all that was running through your head before you lost consciousness was Mapi and Ingrid, the two people who really cared for you and loved you without any expectations.

At the hospital, you underwent multiple surgeries on your legs and shoulder from when you crumbled to the floor after being hit by the car.

Alexia rushed into the hospital running up to the front desk trying to catch her breath before speaking to the front desk associate. “My daughter Y/n Y/n Putellas where is she? Is she okay?.” Alexia asked, rushing through her words much like how she rushed inside the hospital.

The front desk associate looked up at Alexia quickly looking up your name in the system seeing that you were currently in surgery and couldn’t be seen by anyone at the moment. “Your daughter is currently in surgery Ms. Putellas you cannot see her, you'll have to wait until she’s out of surgery and possibly more after that her doctor will let you know when it’s safe.” 

The midfielder sighed, shaking her head at the man’s words, not pleased to hear that she wouldn’t be able to see her kid before walking away from the front desk starting to pace in the waiting room, her mind racing about what could possibly happen to you while you were in surgery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexia sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair, her leg bouncing while she picked at her fingers her head lifted immediately when she heard a doctor clearing their throat to get the people’s attention. “Y/n Putellas.” The doctor glanced around the room watching as Alexia rushed up and out of the chair and towards her. 

“Yes, is she okay, I'm her mother.” The Spaniard said looking down at the doctor hoping she’d have some good news about how you were doing.

The doctor nodded looking down at her clipboard for a second trying to figure out how she’d break this to Alexia about how you fully were. “Yes, she's stable right now. She just had to have emergency surgery on her legs, shoulder, and her ribs are bruised. I’m surprised that’s all she needed really given the speed she was hit at.” Your doctor responded. 

Alexia stood there in shock at the doctor's words, unsure of what to say after that. “C… Can I see her?” Alexia asked after a moment of standing there, her voice surprisingly quiet and weak sounding for once. 

The woman sighed thinking about Alexia’s question before shaking her head. She knew it wouldn’t be the best for the taller women to see her daughter at the moment since you looked pretty banged up. “I’m sorry Ms. Putellas but you can’t see her right now. I think you should come back tomorrow if you really want to see her.” Your doctor responded slightly scared to hear Alexia’s response to this. 

The Spanish star rubbed her face trying to control her emotions. She finally moved, shaking her head as she left the hospital not trusting herself to drive when she was so upset over everything that has happened in the last couple of hours so she just waved down a cab getting inside giving the man her address.

By the time Alexia got home it was well into the night and she immediately fell onto the couch, her eyes shutting as she finally got some much needed rest yet her sleep wasn't the most peaceful in the world. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Alexia was rudely woken up by rapid knocks on her door while also hearing muffled curse words in both Norwegian and Spanish she got up off the couch after a moment yawning already knowing who to expect on the other side of the door she opened the door she went to run a hand through her hair yet was stopped by the slightly taller Norwegian shoving her backwards Mapi immediately moving past both of them to try and find you. 

Ingrid looked at Alexia with a coldest glare that the midfielder has ever seen come from her. Alexia was over surprised that it was Ingrid giving her the glare instead of Mapi yet didn’t voice what she thought. “Where the hell is she, Putellas.” Ingrid spoke her tone filled with venom the moment she said Putellas. 

Alexia was once again taken aback by Ingrid’s harshness yet she also expected it based on the way Ingrid reacted during your fight when she had unexpectedly showed up to admittedly to maybe start a fight with you for almost no reason. “It’s none of your business where Y/n is, it's not like you two are her mother's, she is my daughter.” Your mother responded with her tone matching ingrid’s. 

The slightly taller woman’s anger grew as she listened to her teammates words she wants to say that she’s not really your mother given the fact that Alexia was never there for you to give you the love and care a real mother would have (much like her and Mapi have done ever since you guys have met). 

“You're not her mother and you never have been, you just birthed her and didn’t care about what happened to her afterwards.

Me and Mapi have been taking care of her ever since we have met her. She is more of our daughter than yours. Sometimes blood doesn’t always make DNA now tell us where our kid is.” Ingrid said her expression grew colder the longer Alexia didn’t tell her where you were. 

Alexia’s gaze hardened for a moment knowing the Norwegian had a very good point but before she could respond Mapi came out of your room breathing heavily after searching Alexia’s entire apartment. “She’s not here, I've looked everywhere possible.” Mapi said moving to stand next to Ingrid slightly confused as to why her girlfriend was glaring at Alexia like she was. 

The Spanish star turned her attention towards her ex best friend knowing she’d now for sure have to tell the couple where you currently were. “Y-Y/n she’s in the hospital.” Alexia finally said, looking away from the both of them. 

Without another word the couple left Alexia’s place going to try and figure out what hospital you were in. They were incredibly worried about you and what could’ve possibly happened to you for you to be in the hospital. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ingrid and Mapi rushed inside the hospital and up to the front desk making the worker look up at them, stopping his keyboard typing. “Hi yes are you here to visit someone or do you need to be seen.” The front desk worker spoke looking from them to his screen. 

“We’re here to see Y/n Putellas.” Mapi said speaking before Ingrid even could and Ingrid was glad for that since she wasn’t even sure that words would even leave her mouth. 

The man at the desk nodded looking something up on his computer before looking back up at the couple in front of him. “Who are you to the patient?” The guy asked, clearly tired of working. 

This time it was Ingrid who answered rushing through her words “We’re her mother’s.” Her Norwegian accent more apparent than normal. 

He pulled out two stickers for them while telling them your room number before letting them pass, not bothering to check them for ID just deciding to let them go, figuring that they were too worried to sit here and wait any longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mapi pushed open the door immediately once they got there they both entered the room seeing you laying on the bed hooked up to multiple machines that were filling the room with a somewhat quiet beeping noise. 

They both ahd to hold back their tears seeing you laying there pretty much life less affected them more than anything possible Ingrid made her way over to you sitting down on the edge of the bed gently grabbing your hand wondering how this could’ve happened to their kid. 

Mapi stood in the doorway for a moment watching her girlfriend before closing the door sitting down in the chair near the midfielder placing her hand on the Norwegian’s thigh trying to comfort her in this difficult moment. 

They didn’t say anything for a while yet along with the beeping filling the room so did their sniffles from crying while they stayed by your side wishing they would’ve never let you leave their place just to talk to Alexia. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mapi was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of your voice as you got adjusted to the noise around you once more she sat up opening her eyes seeing you looking between her and Mapi. 

“Maps, it hurts really bad.” You said once you noticed that she was awake your voice sounded like you smoked 10 packs a day.

Mapi was up in an instant making her way over to your hospital bed nodding as she grabbed your hand making sure to inflict anymore pain on you. “I know sol I know,” She reached over grabbing the remote looking thing calling a nurse so they could check you out and give you some pain meds.

You glanced around your hospital room trying to see if you could spot Ingrid in the almost pitch black room. “Where’s Ingrid, is she not here?” You asked looking back at the fellow Spaniard hoping the woman’s partner was also here. 

The defender nodded leaving your side for a moment walking over to where Ingrid was sleeping, gently shaking her girlfriend. Once Ingrid fully woke up she sat up listening to Mapi’s words before getting up her and Mapi going to sit on the sides of your bed just like you had wanted.

You were surprised the couple had actually shown up for you since Alexia or anyone in your family besides Jenni showed up when you were hurt in any way that caused you to be in the hospital. They always told you to walk it off or I didn’t know it was thst bad. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and shortly afterwards it opened a doctor and a nurse came in to check on you and make sure everything was still okay with you and to tell Mapi and Ingrid what happened and the surgeries you had.

You were zoned out the whole time they were checking everything out and giving you some more pain meds thinking about everything under the sun as the doctor’s did their thing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The couple had been distracted by talking to you and making jokes trying to keep your mind off of Alexia, what had just happened, and how you wouldn’t be able to box for quite some time, something that annoyed you since it was your escape from everything. 

But your guy’s conversation was interrupted by your birth giver entering your hospital room, her eyes immediately landing on Mapi and Ingrid who were still by your side. 

Ingrid got up the moment she saw Alexia standing in the doorway of your room she made her way over her teammate the Norwegian’s energy shifting as she glared at the Spaniard your’s and Mapi’s attention shifted the both of you ready to step in (though Mapi would be the only one getting up) if you absolutely needed to. 

“What are you doing here, Putellas?” The slightly taller woman asked her tone unwelcoming to the woman’s presence. 

Alexia’s expression hardened at the fellow midfielder’s glare yet still tried to stand her ground “I could ask you the same Engen she’s not your daughter no matter what you two may think.”

Ingrid tensed up trying her damned hardest to not do anything to the woman in front of her the unsaid anger she felt for what Alexia had done to you waiting to be taken out on her yet before she could say anything your voice stopped her.

“I am their daughter. You may feel guilty for what you’ve done to me but that doesn’t fix any of the cracks you’ve caused. They are my mother’s not you, you've chosen to take the title, just not the responsibility.” You took a moment to breathe and get your emotions under control. 

“They took on the responsibility for me, not you. They showed up from me when I needed them most. You were never too focused on your precious football for me even with them playing. They still made time for me; they never made me feel worse for having mental issues knowing I was only moments away from death.” 

“You made things worse, they made things better, they got me the help I needed, they did everything that you my so called mother was supposed to do and I could never thank them enough for that they actually love me unlike you.” Mapi gently squeezed your hand knowing that you needed this more than anyone in this room.”

“Y/n I-.” Alexia started going to speak now that she thought you were done.

“No, don't even know why you showed up here. I have Mapi and Ingrid. They have me. I'm fine I don't want you here, I don't even want to see you right now.” 

Your actual mom’s were secretly proud of you for stepping up to Alexia not once but twice they were more than happy that you were no longer holding back against your more than childish mother.

Alexia stood there in shock yet she felt the pain since she knew you were right she was never there only taking the title as your mother yet never doing anything a mother should be doing for their child she felt more than guilty for what she had done to you and she didn’t know how to fix it and help the bond between you two yet something deep inside her was telling her there was no way of fixing the bond and everything she put you through.

Alexia stood there for a while longer feeling slightly uncomfortable under all three of you's gazes trying to figure out if she should respect what you want for once in your life or protest on things and attempt to fix things. 

Yet before she could decide Ingrid stepped in much like she has been in the last few days clearing her throat before she spoke. “You heard it live from her yourself she doesn’t want you here so just leave she’ll come to you when she’s ready.” The Norwegian spoke leaving no room for argument. 

The Spanish star nodded after a moment leaving without a fight, her head hung low with her shoulders slumped forward as she left trying to get her head on straight after everything that had just happened. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexia pulled into the driveway parking her car as she sat in the seat staring ahead of her, her expression blank not a single emotion showing as she sat there.

She got out the car unlocking the door with her spare key immediately making her way towards the familiar bedroom, opening it seeing the one person that she needed most lying there reading whatever book that Alexia bought her.

Olga looked up watching as her girlfriend climbed into the bed looking quite defeated over things the woman put her book to the side welcoming the football player into her arms not mentioning the tears that started to soak through her shirt. 

Only holding the girl close whispering the softest of things to the woman laying on her chest. 

“Y/n she… she hates me my own daughter hates me.” Alexia whimpered against Olga’s chest, her heart breaking more than it ever could much like Olga’s did when she heard Alexia’s words.

[carlaconnors]

CORONATION STREET | June 18, 2025

[perfectlybriefangel]

😍

[couva0911]

hurricanes masterlist

overview: two barcelona femeni players come watch one of your rec games and you slowly start to form connections with them despite fighting against it

part 1

You wake up already bracing for a day of silence, anger, and survival. You’ve mastered pretending, at home, at school, on the pitch. But one day, when two strangers show up at your game and you can start to feel the shift coming.

part 2

You can feel it falling apart around and there’s not stopping it. One bad turns into a bad game and suddenly you start to lose control.

part 3

Everything is changing around you and you don’t know how to feel

[addysons-world]

Mapi’s instagram post

[addysons-world]

Ingrid’s instagram post

[woso-story]

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon

The Break Up

One Two Three Four Last Part

------------------------------------------------------------

Early Mornings

Hero

Uncertain Future

Puppy

The Next Step

The Wedding

Through The Toughest Times

The Breaking Point

The Scariest Moment

A Christmas To Remember

Start Of Something New

Lazy Days

Honeymoon

The Weight Of The Future

Follow Your Heart

Moving In

Messy

The Break Up

[camerahaterlittle]

Family | Ingrid Engen & Mapi León

Summary: Ingrid finally finds out after months of trying she's pregnant with Mapi's baby the family they always wanted is finally coming together

Warnings: Bad writing grammer and Mapi is a part of this fic if that makes you uncomfortable please don't read and mentions of throwing up because of morning sickness a bit of google translated spainsh and norwegian so sorry if it's not correct

Notes: There really isn't a timeline so sorry also part one to the guppy universe

The day Ingrid found out she was pregnant was a couple of weeks after she had a small minor injury her and Mapi had been talking about having kids months before this they always wanted to have a family together. Even from the start of their relationship, they knew that they'd have a mini them running around when the time was right.

Ingrid woke up early the sun was just finally rising when she got up out of bed in a rush when she felt like she was going to throw up and throw up she did. Mapi was awoken by the sound of Ingrid's gagging from the bathroom ever the worried girlfriend she was. She got up jogging in the direction of their shared bathroom, ignoring the sound of Bagheera's annoyed meow as she did so.

When she finally got to the bathroom she saw the sight of Ingrid's head resting on her arms over the toilet immediately Mapi was by her side one hand going to move Ingrid's hair out her face and the other going to rub her back. Ingrid wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater looking over at Mapi in defeat as she briefly wondered why she was feeling so sick this morning.

Mapi cooed bringing Ingrid into her arms Ingrid's head landing on her girlfriends chest as Mapi leaned back against the wall so they were both comfortable (as comfortable as they could get while sitting on the hard tile in the bathroom) Ingrid's thought's came to a holt as she heard Mapi's voice reach her ears "Are you getting sick amor do you have a fever do i have to call and get me out of training".

Ingrid's soft chuckle stopped Mapi from ranting any further as she shook her head answering her girlfriend before she continued on "Elskling I'm fine, no fever just feeling a bit ill go back to bed you still have an hour before training I'll be in bed in a second." Mapi hesitated before listening to Ingrid getting up off the hard tile and walking back into the bedroom laying down as she got comfortable once more.

Ingrid wasn't too far behind after she had brushed her teeth, wanting to get the taste of throw up out her mouth she slipped back into bed, Mapi immediately cuddling up to the Norwegian resting her head on Ingrid's chest right above her heartbeat the soft thumping of her heart comforting the woman.

The sound of Ingrid's heartbeat pulled Mapi back into that deep sleep relm which left Ingrid to her thoughts and thoughts alone as she tried thinking about if the IVF plan had actually worked but she didn't want to get too excited about things or get her hopes up so she decided to leave all of it alone till she got more sleep in her body.

By the time Ingrid woke up Mapi had left leaving a glass of water with a bit of medicine on the bed side table with a small note that had Mapi's handwriting that was clearly a bit rushed 'Hope you feel better cariño I'll try getting out of training early' without even realizing it Ingrid smiled softly as she took a sip from the glass touched by Mapi's gesture.

It was only when Ingrid called Frida a good friend of hers that she decided to finally check to see if she was actually pregnant with her and Mapi's baby after a bit more encouragement from both Frida and her girlfriend was it that Ingrid finally took the pregnancy test. After going through the five stages of grief, she could finally check the test to see if she was actually pregnant she tried taking deep breaths before re-entering the bathroom, speaking rapid Norwegian to Frida as she finally reached for the stick all that was heard on the other line was a gasp coming from Ingrid.

Ingrid couldn't believe her eyes when she saw the second line indicating that she actually was pregnant as much as she wanted to believe this test she decided to take another then another after that until she went through the entire box of tests all of them coming out the same with that second little line.

After going through that entire box, Frida tried so hard not to laugh at the fact her friend went through an entire box of pregnancy tests she knew that Ingrid would probably need a minute with her thoughts so she offered a quick goodbye while telling the fellow Norwegian that she could text her back if she needed to talk with that the call was over and Ingrid was left with her thoughts once more.

Ingrid slowly bent down, grabbing Bagheera off the floor, bringing the cat with her as she laid down on the bed she knew cats could tell if a woman was pregnant and with that she looked down at Bagheera who was now resting with her head on her stomach her front paws near her head as she purred Ingrid smiled down at Bagheera petting the black cat as she spoke "Did you know about this even before I did did you somehow know I was baring a small human".

The cat lifted her head, turning her head to look at Ingrid meowing in response before she went back to her original position, and Ingrid swore the cat most definitely did know and that's why Bagheera had been laying on Ingrid's none existent baby bump and why she would meow or hiss anytime Mapi got a bit to close to her stomach in any way.

Ingrid sighed as she turned on the tv, turning on a random Norwegian show as she got comfortable trying to figure out how she would tell Mapi she was finally pregnant. It was only when Mapi finally came home that Ingrid finally came up with how to tell her girlfriend she was pregnant for once the Norwegian was thankful for tiktok for giving her this small idea.

Mapi was welcomed into the house by the smell of one of her favorite dishes being made, and that was Mapi's tail sign that Ingrid was, in fact not sick, which she thanked everything possible for she quickly dropped her training bag by the door slipping off her shoes before she made her way into the kitchen.

She gave Bagheera a quick pet and a small 'hola', and then she made her way over to Ingrid, coming up behind the slightly taller woman wrapping her arms around Ingrid's torso laughing when Ingrid jumped a bit turning down the burner just to face her girlfriend pulling the Spaniard into a kiss pulling away not too long after leaving Mapi chasing her lips wanting to get another but Ingrid only clicked her tongue turning back around to get back to cooking the food.

Mapi pouted as the Norwegian turned back around but settled on resting her forehead on Ingrid's back, humming as she started to sway the both of them back and forth the montion soothing the both of them as they had their little moment in the kitchen while Ingrid cooked.

It didn't take much longer for Ingrid to be done given the fact that by the time Mapi got home, Ingrid was already a couple of steps from being done with dinner and with this came the plan she had set in montion hours before her girlfriend had gotten home she quickly slipped away leaving Mapi with the task of plating up their food while she grabbed the small little pregnant reveal that she had set up taking it with her as she walked back to the dinning room holding the small basket behind her back trying to hide it.

Mapi had already put the plates down on the table and had their usual drinks out as well. When she turned hearing Ingrid's footsteps, she looked at Ingrid, confused as to what she was hiding. Behind her back, she walked over to her girlfriend, her hands falling onto Ingrid's hips as she tried peering over her shoulder to see what Ingrid was hiding "Cariño what you got there" Ingrid smiled at Mapi's confusion shrugging as she hide the basket out of her sight "How about you to sit down then I'll show you".

Mapi listened now, eager to know what Ingrid Ingrid was hiding from her she sat down next to Bagheera, patting her hands on her thighs as she waited for the Norwegian to show her whatever this important thing could be since normally Ingrid would just tell her without making a big deal over things so she knew this was serious.

Ingrid walked over to the couch, moving the small basket out from behind her back, handing Mapi the basket smiling at Mapi's obvious confusion. "Just open it, love." The Spaniard immediately got to opening the wrapping around the basket when she finally got it open she let out a small gasp when she saw a small jersey inside with 'León' on the back with her number on it along with one of the pregnancy tests that Ingrid took.

She immediately put the basket to the side, feeling the tears build up as she stood immediately hugging the Norwegian, the tears falling freely. Ingrid immediately hugged her girlfriend back, crying along with the woman, both of them feeling even more complete than before as they both knew they were finally getting the baby they had always wanted.

It took the couple minutes to finally break apart, both of them wiping the others' tears. Mapi got onto her knees, putting her forehead on Ingrid's stomach as she spoke to the growing small human in the Norwegian's stomach. "You are gonna be the most beautiful niña in the world."

Ingrid ran her fingers through the Spaniard's hair as she spoke to their baby, chuckling at her words. "I don't think they can hear you yet, and how do you know their gonna be a girl she could be a boy, you know." Mapi shook her head, pressing a kiss to Ingrid's clothed stomach before getting up off the floor wrapping her arms around her "I just have a feeling she's gonna be a girl that's all and she's gonna be a mini you with a little bit of me mixed in there."

The Norwegian only smiled at her words, taking Mapi's hand, leading her into the dining room more than ready to finally dig into the food that she had spent a good hour or so making she sat down along with Mapi the both of them finally getting to their food after the heartfelt moment the both of them talking about their days before their conversation drifted to the baby and how their life would be with them.

The couple ended their night with a movie one they had watched multiple times before they finally left the living room the both of them doing equal work in the kitchen to clean up after themselves they finally called it a night when they were done they went to the bathroom brushing their teeth once they were done they made their way to their bed room Bagheera following close beind the the couple joing them in bed all three (four if you include the growing child) drifting off to a peace slumber together ready to see where this new life of theirs takes them.

(Sorry this took me so long to post i had to rewrite this entire fic since tumblr decided to delete my finished draft but I'll be back soon with more asks and fics hopefully)

[perfectlybriefangel]

😍😍