summary: For the past ten years, youâve played it safe: same small town, same predictable routines, same long-term boyfriend. But when your boyfriend asks for a break, calling your relationship âtoo boring,â something inside you snaps. Determined to prove him wrong, you book a spontaneous flight to Spain, flood your socials with thirst traps, and kiss a stranger you just met at a club in Ibiza.
But that stranger? It turned out to be Alexia Putellas â global football star, your brotherâs best friend, and the last person you should be kissing. Sheâs stunning, confident, and completely off-limits. Suddenly, your plans of revenge and proving a point start to unravel as you find yourself slowly falling for her.
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âËâĄâĄ âSurprise,â Matt said.
His hair was slightly longer and he even looked tanner. He dressed better, swapping out the typical polo shirts and khakis for a beachy linen shorts and a matching button-up with a tank top underneath. He looked the best he has looked in ages and yet⌠nothing about him tugged at your heart anymore.
Xavi patted Matt on the back. âHe was in Ibiza and messaged me that he still wanted to attend the wedding.â Your brother said brightly. âSo I figured, why not? Might help fix the situation between you two sooner, right?â
You froze, throat tightening and fists clenching a bit. Your eyes flicked to InĂŠs who was already giving you a warning look. Quick on her feet, she slipped her arm through your brotherâs and tugged him. âCariĂąo, we need to talk about something. Please, maybe your sister and Matt can catch up later.â She said, trying to do something about it.
âNo, letâs let them be. They should catch up.â Xavier said.
InĂŠs pouted. âBut⌠uh, we need to discuss where to seat Matt and Iâd really appreciate his input.â
Xavier looked at her confused. âUh, I think thatâs best if we do it alone, yeah?â He turned back to you then to Matt. âIâll leave you two at it?â
InĂŠs gave you an apologetic look as Xav took her back into the villa, leaving you and Matt. Before Matt could even get a word in, you grabbed his wrists, firmer than you meant to, pulling off the path toward a small cluster of bamboo a few meters away. Close enough to be seen by Xavier, just in case he peeked, but far enough to be unheard.
The second you let go of him, you said, voice sharp but hushed. âWhat the hell are you doing here?â
Mattâs eyes widened and he looked taken aback. Even when you two had arguments, he never heard your voice sound this pointed. He also somewhat expected you to seem delighted to see him.
 âWell, you didnât cancel my ticket.â He tried saying in a jestful tone, trying to lighten up the mood.
You stared at him blankly, eyebrows furrowed.
âI mean, we booked this trip together already,â he shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. âAnd I know you RSVPâd for me. So I figured⌠why not come?â
You stared at him, feeling your frustration grow. âBecause weâre broken up, Matt.â You reminded him. âIn fact, you ended things first.â
He raised a hand. âHoo, calm down, first of all, I asked for a break, not a break-up.â He said, looking a bit irritated. âAnd I tried to call you and text you but you didnât answer. If you just read my messages, you would have known that I was coming.â
You groaned, unable to stop yourself from angrily stomping your foot. âYou didnât even think that me ignoring you was a clue. That this,â you poked at his chest then at yourself. âThis is over.â
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. âYeah, but I thought you just needed space. So I gave you space. Now Iâm here, and I think itâs time we talk.â
You folded your arms tightly across your chest, bracing yourself. âThereâs nothing to talk about. Iâm done.â
He frowned. âThatâs unfair.â He said. âI only ever wanted a break. I didnât agree to this.â
âWell, you didnât give me a choice when you told me we were going on a break. So, I think itâs just fair that I donât give you a choice either.â You said, seething at the way he was responding to you.
He shook his head stubbornly. âNo. I said we need to go on a break, just a small reset. And it worked. It gave me time to figure myself out, to think about what I really want.â
Your stomach twisted. You already knew where this was heading.
âAnd what I want,â he said, voice dropping lower, âis us. Back together, and for real this time. Iâm ready now, ready for all of it. I even ââ
He reached into his pocket. You physically stepped back, panic tightening your chest, already knowing what it was going to be as soon as you saw him take it out slightly. âNo, absolutely not. Donât even bring it out.âÂ
Matt looked up, startled, finally able to fish out the engagement ring box from his pocket. âNo?â
âWhy does it always have to be on your terms?â your voice cracked, sharper than you meant it to. âYou leave me, you âfind yourself,â and you expect me to just sit there, take it, and wait for you once youâre ready? You donât even care if Iâve changed. If Iâve â â you stopped, struggling for words, anger and hurt tangling together. âIf Iâve outgrown this. And, I have⌠Iâve outgrown you.â
His face fell, confusion and disbelief written all over it. âOutgrown? What are you even saying? But you love me?â
âI canât even believe the words that are coming out of your mouth right now,â you stared at him, annoyed. âI donât want this.â
âËâĄâĄ Alexia wiped the sweat off of her forehead with the shirt she had taken off. She had just finished an intensive workout, the first actual workout she had in a while. While she did enjoy being with you all the time, she didnât want to let herself go so she had to get herself to the gym.
She took a swig from her water bottle, stepping out of the resort gym feeling satisfied and excited to see you, hoping youâd notice her muscles looking extra tight today. As she made her way back to her room, she heard the sound of muffled arguing.
She walked a little faster toward the sound, looking over to the small, round open area surrounded by bamboo trees. A girl and a guy seemed to be arguing. The girl had her back turned away from her but from the sight of it, it looked like the girl was irritated with the guy.Â
âI donât want this.âÂ
She paused, instantly recognizing your voice. She stepped closer cautiously. You spun to walk off but Matt had grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him. âYou canât just give up completely and walk away.â
Alexia was alerted and immediately rushed into the scene, not liking the sight of this random guy grabbing you. âHey!â She called sharply, striding faster without hesitation.
She didnât think; her adrenaline took over as she quickly grabbed you from him, sliding in between the two of you, arm a subtle barrier as she shielded you with her body.Â
She furrowed her eyebrows and gave the guy a dirty look. He was taller than she was but judging by his build, she knew she could take him in a fight just in case things got out of hand. âWhat the fuck do you think youâre doing?â
Matt stepped back, thrown off. âHuh? What are you doing?â
Alexia ignored the question, peeking behind her to look at you. âAre you okay?â
Your throat tightened and you nodded. âAlexia, itâs fine. I can handle it.â
Her jaw tensed. âI saw him. He just grabbed you.â
âItâs notââ You shook your head quickly. âI know him. Just⌠go, okay?â
But Alexia didnât move. Her gaze flicked to Matt then back to you.
Matt, oblivious to the tension, suddenly lit up in recognition. âOh, wait, I shouldâve introduced myself.â He stuck his hand out toward her. âIâm Matt. Youâre Alexia, right? Youâre Xavâs best friend? The soccer player?â
Alexia hesitated, confused. She didnât take his hand. âYeah? Matt, what are you doing manhandling her like that?â
He chuckled and shook her head. âOh, I get how that might be confusing. Sorry, I should have introduced myself better.â He said, sighing then looking at you. âIâm Y/Nâs boyfriend.â
The silence was deafening. You saw it happening in real time: Alexia dropped her protective hand and her entire expression changed. She went still, eyes confused and filled with thought, jaw tight and lips pressed into a flat line.Â
âOh,â she said finally, her voice flat.
Now that Alexia resigned from protecting you, Matt stepped beside you. âYeah, what you were seeing was just a little fight, and I thought Iâd surprise herâŚâ He explained and babbled on but you barely heard anything he was saying. All you could see was the pained look in Alexiaâs eyes.Â
âGood to know,â Alexia responded, cutting Matt short before stepping back. âSorry I interrupted this⌠moment with your boyfriend.â
She said the word like a curse. You watched her hurry off, stride heavy. âAlexiaââ you started, desperate, but Mattâs hand closed firmly around your arm before you could follow.Â
âWhat are you doing? Iâm still talking to you.â Matt said, confused by the scene that just unfolded.
You turned around, tears now pouring uncontrollably out of your eyes. Matt was shocked by the sudden outburst of emotions from you. You violently pulled your hand from his grip. âJust fuck off, Matt.â You spat it out before running after Alexia.
Alexia was far ahead, briskly walking away from you. When you ran up to her, she wouldnât even look at you, her gaze fixed ahead, almost blank.
âAlexia, please,â you pleaded. âJust hear me out. I swear I can explain.â
Alexiaâs jaw clenched but she didnât say anything.
âI donât like Matt anymore. Heâs nothing to me.â You said, voice kind of raw and desperate. âI swear, Alexia.â
Finally, Alexia stopped in her tracks, looking down at her shoes before breathing deeply.Â
She paused before looking at you. âI thought it was weird that you were so scared that your brother might freak out but now⌠I guess I know why you were so scared.â
âNo, Alexia, itâs not like that. Matt and I are over, I promise.â You pleaded.
She looked at you with a pained expression, face tight with hurt. âSo this⌠this is why you wanted this hidden?â She asked, voice controlled, sharp but not cruel. âYou didnât want to tell Xavi or your cousins or anyone else because you had a boyfriend.â
âWe were on a break when I met you. It was practically over..â You tried to defend yourself.
âHow could I possibly believe that?â Her mouth quirked up but she didnât look amused. She just looked like she was in disbelief of what you were saying, shaking her head. âHere I was thinking it was worth the wait, that you were just worried about startling your brotherâŚ. but no, it was all because you already had someone. You were just scared of getting caught cheating.â
âAlexia, please, please believe meââ
âYou really fooled me.â She smiled but her face was tight, voice strained.
âBunny?â You turned to see your brother running after you and Alexia, Matt trailing just behind him. âWhatâs going on?â
Alexia shook her head, looking down before looking straight at Matt. âI donât know, Xavi. Maybe itâs just that your sister forgot to tell me that she was in a relationship while she was dating me and leading me on.â
Xavi looked stunned, blinking, eyes flickering to you then to Alexia. He looked like he was at a loss of words, unable to process fast enough to form a coherent reaction.
âBut donât worry, Xav. Itâs over between us.â She said, nodding. âYour sister made sure of that.â
With that, Alexia walked away and you stood there, unsure of whether to chase after her or to defend yourself to your brother. At that point, all you could do was let your tears fall, feeling yourself fall apart.
âËâĄâĄ âIâm sorry that you had to see that.â You told InĂŠs after you had finally calmed down, letting her soothingly hold your hand.
After the whole blow-up with Matt and Alexia, InĂŠs stepped in to comfort you, taking you into their bedroom at their villa. Xavi stayed outside, looking a bit lost, probably unsure of whether or not to run after his best friend or to sit and talk to Matt.
You sighed, looking InĂŠs in the eyes. âI really didnât want to give you or Xavi anything to worry about so close to your wedding. I hope I didnât ruin anything for you two.â
âChiqui, youâre acting like you wrecked our wedding.â She said, tucking a hair behind your ear. âXav and I are still getting married. The wedding is still going to be stunning. The flowers are still going to be arranged in the way Xav and I wanted. Nothing has changed. So, donât worry. Itâs all good.â
âWhat I am worried about,â she looked you in the eyes. â...is you.â
You nodded, sighing, unsure of what to even say.
âI wish I could have prevented the whole thing with Matt. I just didnât expect for you to be right outside our villa when Matt arrived and it all just happened so fast.â She said, shaking her head.Â
âNo, no, itâs really all on me.â You responded.
âAnd I guess this could have all been prevented had I just been more upfront and honest to everyone sooner,â you added. âEspecially to Alexia.â
InĂŠs just nodded, unsure of how to comfort you. She just held your hand as you both sat on the bed quietly.
Moments later, there was a knock on the door and in came your brother, looking a bit distressed. The couple exchanged knowing looks before InĂŠs nodded and gave you one last, tight hug then leaving you two in the room.
He stepped towards you, standing awkwardly closer to the bed but never approaching it.
âSo⌠I asked Matt to leave,â he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. âHeâs on the boat now back to the mainland and he⌠he isnât going to attend the wedding anymore.â
You gave a curt nod, staying silent, waiting for him to break the silence. Xavi sighed.
 âLook, Y/N,â he started. âI know I can be a bit intense and neurotic⌠I guess I just am not the chillest guy there is.â He grimaced. âIâm painfully aware.â
You didnât comment, just nodding silently in agreement.
âBut I donât want you to think,â he continued, voice low, âthat I would ever be against anything that makes you happy.â
He finally sat beside you, elbows on his knees. It was rare seeing him look so unsure of himself.
âLook, the only reason why I was worried about your break with Matt was becauseâŚâ He paused, struggling to piece together his thoughts. He sighed.
âI just⌠well, after dad died, I knew I shouldâve just stayed at home. I should have been there for you and for mom.â He said, nodding to himself. âBut I had a life in Barcelona. I had my work, my friends, InĂŠs. I couldnât leave all of that behind.â
âYou didnât have to.â You responded, furrowing your eyebrows together. âI can take care of myself, you know.â
He nodded. âI know. Logically, I knew that. But that doesn't mean that I didnât feel guilty leaving you and mom behind again immediately after dad died.â He said. âOne of the things that made me feel less guilty then was knowing you had Matt to take care of you.â
You looked down at your feet, awkwardly twiddling with your thumbs.
âMatt had become a good friend of mine; he was my best friend at one point. We practically were like brothers, practically growing up together. I knew him well. I knew his entire family. So, I knew he was going to take care of you.â Xavi explained before exhaling. âAnd you have to be fair to him because he has stuck with you all through those years. Just like I knew he would.â
You shook your head. âXav, you have got to stop treating me like a child.â You said, voice sounding exasperated. âI donât need anyone to protect me or take care of me. Not you, and certainly not Matt.â
You took a deep breath. âAnd Iâm not saying Matt is a bad person or that he didnât stick by me through all those years,â you paused. âBut he got tired of our relationship too and I eventually realized I never really loved him, at least not romantically.â
âWe were just comfortable, but not in love,â you continued. âI canât stay with him just because he treats me decently. I want to be in a relationship that is more than just companionship. I want something like what you and InĂŠs have, and what our parents had. And I was never getting that with Matt.â
âI know, I know.â He nodded, eyes filled with guilt. âAnd Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry for making you doubt yourself, even indirectly.â
You stayed quiet, crossing your arms.
âIf I had known that you were unhappy with Matt,â he continued. âI wouldnât have given you that whole speech about commitment after I found out that you two were on a break.â
âYou know thatâs a lie.â You said in a firm but quiet voice. âXav, I know you. Even if you knew I wanted to end things, you would have still tried to talk to me about trying again. Itâs why it was so hard for me to deal with my feelings for Alexia.â
He nodded. âWell, yes⌠but you should know that itâs just because I want the best for you. No brother would want his sister to be alone in life.â
âYeah but you should know too that being alone is something I can handle anyway.â You responded, feeling a bit defensive. âIâm old enough to take care of myself and to handle life. And Iâm certainly old enough to know what I want in life.Â
âYou mean my best friend.â He responded quickly with a flat tone. âAlexia.â
You paused, looking at him momentarily before looking away again. âNo, not really but also⌠in a way, I guess, yes⌠I donât know. Itâs complicated.â
âSoâŚâ he started. âWhat happened there?â
You hesitated, taking a deep breath before saying in a small voice: âI met her, we dated and it was just⌠different,â you answered, sparing him the details. âI know it might be too early to say butâŚI seriously think I have feelings for her. Like I want something more than just a summer fling.â
Xavi blinked, stunned.
âAnd Xav. itâs not just about me liking her,â you continued before he could react. âItâs deeper than that; itâs what she made me feel. When I was with her, it was like⌠living for the first time. I felt things I never felt before. I realized that there were things that existed for me outside of what everyone expected of me, even outside of what I expected for myself. And she was the one who made me realize all that.â
Xavi sat there quietly, absorbing everything, nodding silently. You could see it must have come as a shock to him especially since he never really knew you even liked women. Especially not a woman who was his best friend.Â
But as he thought about it, it made sense. You and Alexia did seem to make sense. You were alike in things that mattered but also different enough to keep things interesting. He could certainly see you fitting well into Alexiaâs life, and how someone like Alexia could be good for you.
He sighed, nodding to himself.
After a pause, he chuckled, nudging you slightly with his shoulder. It seemed like a simple gesture but it calmed you down. You two chuckled.
âIf I had known athletic and Catalan was your type, I would have set you two up sooner.â He joked and you just playfully swatted him. âI wouldâve forced you to come visit me had I known.â
You sighed, feeling a sense of relief suddenly, feeling the air between you lighten up. âYeah?â
He nodded. âI never liked Alexiaâs ex anyway,â he said. âYou two would make a better couple than they did.â
You smiled, feeling warmer.Â
âI guess I really have to make it up to you, huh,â he said. âI feel like this could have all been prevented if I didnât have such a reputation for being⌠intense.â
You shook your head. âDonât worry about it. Your wedding is in a couple days. Just focus on that.â You swallowed hard. âBesides, I canât pin all blame on you or expect you to fix the mess I caused. I gotta handle it myself.â
Xavi nodded once, serious. âOkay. But after the wedding, I'll still find a way to make it up to you.â He put a firm hand on your shoulder, patting you. âI promise.â
âËâĄâĄ The days leading up to the wedding passed without any real complications. There were no major issues or drama. Everything seemed to just fall into place.
After your talk with Xavi, he seemed to loosen up, not panicking over the smallest inconveniences, focusing more on just enjoying his time with InĂŠs before their wedding. It just felt like everything moved forward exactly the way it was supposed to.
Except for your situation with Alexia.
She avoided you with a precision that was almost impressive. Not obvious enough to call out, and not cruel enough to justify confrontation.
When you ended up in the same room, she was civil. She offered small half-smiles when she had to. She nodded when someone addressed the both of you.Â
But she never lingered around you, always leaving as soon as she no longer needed to be in the same room as you. And when you talked in a group, her eyes would slide past you as if your voice were just another sound in the background.
On the rare occasions when your eyes met, there was just⌠nothing there. There was no anger, no accusation⌠just distance. The kind that made you feel as though you had imagined everything, as though you were just another stranger passing briefly through her life.
But then again, even if she wasnât avoiding you, you wouldnât have known what to say to her anyway. All you had done was look at her longingly, thinking about every single scenario that could possibly play out. Your cousins tried helping you out but none of their advice seemed sound or doable.
And time moved faster than you wanted it to. Before you could even decide on how you would approach her or how you would fix things, it was already the morning of the wedding.
You were getting ready with other bridesmaids. Your dress was a soft pastel blue that hugged your figure well. Your hair was styled in a way you never quite managed to do on your own, and your makeup was done carefully, professionally, better than you could ever do your own make-up.
And yet, the empty look behind your eyes was undeniable. Anyone who looked at you for more than a few seconds could probably tell that you were sleepless and upset with just the way your eyes looked. There was no amount of eyeshadow or false lashes that could disguise it or cover it up.
The pre-ceremony rehearsal was held on the beach; it was a quick run-through to make sure everyone knew where to stand and when to move.
You squinted against the sunlight as you walked toward the setup, the sand warm beneath your feet. White chairs were arranged in neat rows facing the water, soft fabric tied to back of each chair. You hummed, admiring the artistic choices your brother had discussed over the first family lunch here in the resort. You could recall Xavier talking about how he talked InĂŠs out of a floral arch, wanting lower floral displays instead. In his words: âAn arch would distract you from the ocean and the sun; I want it to complement it, not take away from it.â He got teased a bit by the uncles for obsessing over floral arrangements but now you could see that it worked well.Â
Everything seemed precise without looking too mechanical, which you were sure was InĂŠsâ touch. She knew how to balance your brotherâs obsession with having everything be pristine and perfect. She added the whimsical touches â the unconventional floral choices mixed into the arrangements, the handwritten letters that the staff were placing on everyoneâs seat for them to open later, the mismatched pastel colored dresses for the bridesmaids, the fact that each bridesmaid was to hold different bouquets that matched their dresses and vibes.Â
The two of them complemented each other so well and it was evident even in how the wedding looked.
Your eyes scanned the area again, admiring each detail. Your gaze stopped when you realized that Alexia was also already there.
Her dress matched the groomsmenâs sand-colored suits, the color glowing against her skin in the afternoon light. Her hair was in a delicate bun with some loose strands to frame her face, softly curled at the ends. She looked rested, even almost luminous. Like she was completely unaffected by what happened.
For a brief moment, your eyes met. Your breath caught, your lips parting instinctively as if you were about to say something. Your heart jumped hard enough that you felt it in your throat.
Alexia looked away immediately.
It was not sharp or dramatic. There was no visible reaction at all. Just a quiet withdrawal that made you feel like someone she did not know well enough to acknowledge.
She did not look at you again for the rest of the rehearsal.
When the first run-through ended, you found yourself standing alone near the water, pretending to watch the waves. The other bridesmaids were chatting behind you, their laughter light and unburdened. You wished you could join but your mind was filled with noise.
Your mother approached you quietly and rested a hand on your arm.
âHow are you holding up?â she asked gently. âSheâs still giving you the cold shoulder?â
You gave her a tired smile and nodded. She sighed softly and pulled you into a hug, warm and familiar. âItâll be alright,â she said. âOkay?â
You shook your head a little, not pulling away but not exactly convinced either.
âIâm not so sure about that,â you said quietly.
Your mom smoothed your hair and kissed the side of your head the way she used to when you were younger. âJust get through today. Smile and be happy for your brother,â she said, nodding. âThe rest⌠well, itâll sort itself out eventually.â
You nodded, even though you did not fully believe it. Your gaze drifted back toward Alexia in the distance, where she was facing away from you, talking to someone else.
âYeah.â You sighed. âI hope so.â
âËâĄâĄ The wedding ceremony was beautiful. So beautiful that you were practically reduced to tears.
InĂŠs and your brother stood barefoot at the altar, the ocean behind them calm and impossibly blue, the sky already beginning to soften into sunset. Their vows were earnest in a way that felt unguarded, carefully written but clearly meant. It wasnât performative or too scripted. It was just honest. There were moments where InĂŠsâ voice wavered, moments where your brother laughed quietly through his words like he could not believe he was allowed to be this happy. You donât even think youâve seen this side of your brother before. It felt so real and raw.
You were practically crying at the end of the weddings, carried by your emotions. Everyone in your row shared that feeling too, sniffling as the vows ended.
After the wedding ended, everyone stood, throwing handfuls of flower petals into the air as they walked back down the aisle together, the sunset behind them illuminating the scene.
You glanced to your right without really thinking about it.
Alexia was clapping, smiling warmly as she watched them walk past. The expression on her face was open, genuine; she had a bit of a red nose, obviously emotional after the beautiful vows as well. It made something in your chest ache sharply. For a fleeting moment, you imagined her looking at you like that instead, across an aisle, that quiet fondness reserved for you.Â
But she didnât look your way.
She watched the couple walk down the aisle then looked to her friends who were cheering and hounding the newlyweds to kiss again. Then to sunset. It seemed like she looked everywhere but your direction.
You exhaled slowly and tried to focus on the moment â on your brother, InĂŠs, and the fact that this day was not about you. You were happy for them, truly, but the happiness did not come without its weight. You could not help wondering if you would ever have something that steady, something that felt that right.
Matt had never been that. There had been comfort, familiarity, history⌠but clearly, passion had been missing, and you had both known it, even if neither of you had said it out loud for a long time.
With Alexia, it had been different. There had been intensity, curiosity, something alive between you. And now it felt like you had ruined your chance to ever find out what it might have grown into.
You forced yourself back into the present as guests began moving toward the carts lined up along the path. The open-sided vehicles that vaguely resembled large golf carts were parked in neat rows, ready to take everyone to the reception area on the other side of the island.
You climbed into one with your mother, your aunt, Cam, and Daisy.
As the cart lurched forward, Daisy leaned out slightly, staring out the vehicle. âGod, this island is insane,â she gushed. âAm I evil if I say that I never would have expected that Xavier is the one in this family who got to marry into a billionaire situation? Heâs literally the most boring one among the cousins.â
âDaisy,â her mother warned, not even looking at her. âWith an attitude like that, you are going to stay single forever.â
Cam laughed, nudging Daisy with her elbow. Daisy shot her a glare but did not deny it.
Your aunt sighed, shaking her head fondly. âYou two donât give your cousin enough credit. Winning over InĂŠsâ family is not exactly easy. Those kinds of families are very⌠selective. Xavier must have impressed them in ways that had nothing to do with money.â
Your mother smiled softly. âThat, and InĂŠs loves him fiercely,â she said. Her voice wavered just a little. âDid you hear her vows? The way she talked about him, about their loveâŚ.â
She blinked a few times, clearly still emotional over the most beautiful vows all of you have ever heard.
âWell, theyâre both lucky,â your aunt said quietly. âNot everyone finds something like that.â
Your mother nodded, turning to look at you for a moment. âI just wish your father could have seen it.â
You leaned forward and squeezed her shoulder gently. She reached up and patted your hand without turning around.
Your aunt cleared her throat, sensing the shift, and brightened her tone. âAlright,â she said, turning to you. âEnough sentiment. You, dear, should mingle later. InĂŠs has plenty of interesting friends. Since you and Matt are officially done, maybe we aim for two-for-two in this family. See if you can bag yourself a billionaire too.â
Camâs eyes widened as she looked at you, clearly trying not to laugh.
You stared back at her, equally wide-eyed.
Your mother huffed softly. âIgnore her. I donât care who you end up with,â she said, glancing back at you. âI just want you to find someone who knows how to love you properly. And how to forgive. That matters more than people think.â
You swallowed, understanding the weight of that statement even though she had said it casually.
âYeah, forgiveness is important,â your aunt added, a lilt to her voice. âIt didnât save my marriage but it did save my blood pressure.â
You chuckled, taking a deep breath, watching the reception venue come into view as you approached it.
âËâĄâĄ The reception was better than you expected, the kind of evening that felt carefully thought through without feeling stiff. Instead of a traditional plated menu, each course came from a recipe that meant something to someone; it was either something either Xavi or InĂŠs liked to make or a family recipe. It made the dinner feel personal, like you were being let in on a shared history rather than just being served food.
As an appetizer, InĂŠsâ special empanadas were passed around in baskets still warm from the kitchen and probably one of the best things youâve eaten this trip. After, there was a soup served, which was apparently InĂŠsâ motherâs recipe. It was light and comforting, served in small bowls with bread on the side for dipping. The main course surprisingly was made following your motherâs recipe, a meal she had cooked for holidays and birthdays for as long as you could remember. It was plated nicer and more professionally but it still looked and tasted like home.
Between courses, people drifted around. There were live painters set up near the edge of the space, quietly working on paintings of the couple from the wedding. A vintage photo booth sat near the bar, guests lining up for their turn. It all felt so personal to the couple but also made everyone feel included.Â
Alexia sat at the table just beside yours, surrounded by your brotherâs friends from work. You tried not to look at her. But of course, you failed repeatedly.
She seemed relaxed, laughing easily, leaning into conversations the way she always did when she felt comfortable. A few times, you caught yourself watching her longer than you should have, following the way her smile softened when she laughed, the way she tilted her head when she listened. Cam noticed before you did and pinched your arm under the table.
You hissed softly and shot her a look. She raised her eyebrows in warning and reached for her drink, shaking her head in disapproval.
After dinner, the lights dimmed slightly and the music softened as people settled in for the speeches. InĂŠsâ parents went first. Her father spoke in Spanish, her mother in a mix of both Spanish and French, each taking their time. You did not understand every single word, but you didnât need to. You could feel the emotion even if you couldnât understand the entire speech. They looked incredibly happy and proud of InĂŠs, and welcoming of your brother.
After her parents, it was your motherâs turn.
She took a breath before she began, steadying herself. âXavier,â she said, shaking her head fondly. âFrom the time he was a child, he was always so serious, always focused and always trying to get everything right.â A few people laughed knowingly. âNo one was surprised when he became a doctor.â
She glanced at InĂŠs and smiled. âThen along came InĂŠs, who somehow managed to show him that life is not only about getting things right, not always getting stuck on getting every single detail right.â
âShe showed him that in life, sometimes you have to take a step back.â She smiled warmly at the couple, before briefly looking at the folded piece of paper she was holding. âBecause life is like a painting. You canât always fixate on the details, focusing only on each brush stroke and shape. You have to take a step back to admire the full picture, to see the beauty of it all. And InĂŠs, she taught him how to step back, to breathe and admire life without trying to get everything to be perfect or precise.â
Her voice wavered then. She cleared her throat, blinking quickly. âI wish his father were here to see Xavier right now.â She looked down to pause. Your chest tightened at the mention of your father.
âHe would have loved this,â she continued quietly. âHe would have loved seeing Xavier relaxed, laughing, choosing happiness without guilt. He worried about Xavier sometimes, about how hard he was on himself. And if he were here, he would be so proud to see Xavi look so carefree and happy.â
She smiled sadly. âIf he were here, he would have written this speech days in advance, practiced it, and rewritten it at least twice. He was a perfectionist too, just like Xavi.â A soft laugh rippled through the room. âAnd somehow, it would have been exactly right. He would probably move everyone to tears but also make them laugh.â
Her eyes returned to InĂŠs. âAnd I know he would have loved InĂŠs deeply.â She nodded. âHe would have told her how grateful we are, and how lucky we are that she chose our family.â
Your mother lifted her glass, her hand steady despite the emotion in her voice. âI donât know exactly how he would have ended his speech. But I imagine he would have smiled, raised his glass, and said, âWelcome to the family.ââ
She raised it higher. âSo on behalf of my husband, with all the love he would have had for you both, I ask everyone to raise their glass and toast to Xavier and InĂŠs.â
As you raised your glass, somehow, you could feel someoneâs gaze on you. You turned subconsciously to see Alexia, actually looking at you for the first time in days. This time, her gaze wasnât cold or empty. It felt warm, like she was⌠seeing you again. She looked a bit worried, seeing you tear up like that.Â
Overwhelmed, you looked away, dabbing at your eyes with the edge of your napkin. Daisy noticed immediately, leaning over to pull you into a brief hug, rubbing your back in slow, steady circles.Â
âHey,â she murmured, holding you tight.Â
You nodded, whispered a thank you, and kept your eyes on your lap. You did not trust yourself to look toward Alexia again. You were a bit too emotional to look at her and deal with all of that right now.
After the parentsâ speeches, it was time for the entourage. InĂŠsâ maid of honor went first, animated and warm, slipping easily between jokes and memories in a mix of English and Spanish that had the room laughing and feeling lighter.
Then after her speech, it was Alexiaâs turn.
She stood from her table, smoothing her dress briefly before making her way to the front. You felt your stomach drop as she took the microphone.
You have heard her voice the past few days but it was just in passing conversations, laughter from across the room â basically, words never meant to address you. Just something for you to overhear.
But this time, it felt different. For the first time in days, you felt like you were part of the audience she was speaking to, even if she did not look at you.
Alexia smiled at the crowd, visibly nervous. Someone from her table called out, âLa Reina,â and a few people echoed it, laughing. She shook her head immediately, lifting her hands in protest.
âYa, ya, vale, vale,â she said, laughing. âPor favor.â
She paused, taking a deep breath. She started. âI, uh, am not very good at speeches,â she said honestly. âNormally, for my speeches, I would ask help from my best friend⌠but today, my speech is for my best friendâs wedding. So, how could I ask him?â
Everyone chuckled.Â
âI met Xavi when he came over from the menâs medical team,â she continued. âWhen we met, I was not in a great mood. Actually, I was unbearable.â She paused, glancing at him. âYou can say it.â
Xavi laughed, nodding.
âI was in recovery from my ACL tear,â Alexia shared. âEveryone kept trying to comfort me. It was the other doctors, the staff, my teammates. They were telling me Iâd be okay, that things would work out and that it wasnât anything too bad. None of it helped because I felt like I was getting tricked or that they were just saying the things they thought I wanted to hear.â
She looked back at Xavi. âThen Xavi came in and did what he always does. He talked to me the only way he can.â
She smiled at him. âHe was very calm, very direct and scientific. He explained the injury, the recovery, the work it would take. He told me plainly that it was serious, and that we were going to treat it as such. He didnât promise anything. He told me there were risks. But he also told me that with time, and effort, there was roughly a seventy-five percent chance Iâd play again at the same level,â she shared.Â
Alexia nodded. âThat was the first time I genuinely felt comforted because Xavi was being realistic and honest, and well,â she smiled at him as she said. âHe turned out to be right.â
She glanced down at her notes. âIâm not a science nerd like Xavier,â she said, âbut I did learn a thing or two about probabilities from him.â
Xavi playfully raised an eyebrow at her.Â
Alexia laughed. âLike, when I first met InĂŠs, I was about 83 percent sure she was too pretty for you.â Laughter broke out immediately, InĂŠs waving her hand and laughing as she protested. Xavi just gave a proud look and shrugged.Â
âAnd after the first dinner at her place,â Alexia continued, smiling, âI was 94 percent sure her cooking was better than yours.â
Now, it was Xaviâs turn to shake his head as the room laughed. He looked more offended now. You chuckled, knowing how defensive Xavi could get about his cooking.
âAnd even though, as your best friend, I never admitted this whenever you asked me for my advice or my opinion,â Alexia added, her tone lighter, âInĂŠs was right roughly sixty-eight percent of the time you two argued.â
Everyone chuckled. She laughed, a little nervously, glancing back down. You smiled, not expecting a funny speech from Alexia.Â
Alexia paused before continuing. âI also remember you telling me that in life, there is almost no such thing as a hundred percent certainty in nature.â She tilted her head. âSomething about probabilities and margins of error.â
She paused. âBut I donât necessarily think thatâs true,â she said. âBecause there are quite a few things Iâm one hundred percent sure of.â
She looked down on her notes, a small smile on her face. âLike I was a hundred percent certain that you never looked at someone like you looked at InĂŠs.â She looked over to the couple, smiling at them. âIâve seen you date girls before but there was just something different about your eyes after you met her.â
She paused as the couple smiled at each other, eyes sparkling as they looked at each other lovingly.Â
âIâm also a hundred percent sure that InĂŠs has made you a better person,â Alexia added. âInĂŠs, you might not know this but the week after your first month as a couple, Xavier went to my house and looked absolutely distressed about your relationship.â
Alexia smiled, almost fondly, at your brother. âNot because he doubted what he felt for you or because he wasnât happy. Rather, it was because he was afraid of failing you.â Alexia said with a softness to her tone. âHe asked me to be honest, to tell him where he fell short, what he needed to unlearn, what he still had to work on. He said that if he wanted you to have the best life, the best love, then he had to become the best version of himself â the version of himself that is worthy of your love and for your hand in marriage.â
The room grew quiet; everyone was moved by the story Alexia shared. She looked back down at her notes, giving everyone a moment to breathe, letting it hang in the air for a beat longer.
âMind you,â she added, exhaling with a small laugh, âthis was one month into dating. And he was already talking about marriage.â
Everyone now laughed. Xavier ducked his head, cheeks flushed, but he didnât deny it.Â
You swallowed, a bit surprised. It was not that your brother was incapable of love â you knew he was very much a lover â but rather, you were quite surprised by the depth of it, the seriousness with which he held it.Â
You looked at Xavi and Ines, watching them look at each other with such warmth and care. And you realized then just how consumed by your own relationship drama you were the entire trip that you had completely neglected to really look at them. Not just as the couple being celebrated tonight but as two people who had clearly chosen each other long before any speeches or flowers or vows. Nothing about their gestures was performative. (Besides, your brother had never known how to perform.) What you were witnessing wasnât romance for an audience; It was just genuine and mutual admiration.
After what happened with Matt, you had convinced yourself that you had to prove to him and to everyone else that you could be spontaneous and unpredictable, as if that was some sort of way to measure your worthiness to be loved and committed to.Â
And, it wasnât wrong of you to try new things, to seek new experiences and to widen your perspective. It wasnât even wrong to try and be more adventurous. It was just wrong that you were trying to change out of fear of being left.
Xavier did not try to become better just because he was afraid that InĂŠs would leave him or choose not to commit to him. He changed because he already loved her, and loving her made him want to be a better man.
The thought lingered just long enough to settle before Alexiaâs voice cut gently through it.
âAnd looking at you two now,â she said, turning fully toward the couple, âI can say with a hundred percent certainty that what you two have is rare.â
âItâs the kind of love thatâs quiet but certain, deep without being loud. Itâs the kind that doesnât need proving because it shows up naturally: in the way you look at each other, in the ease between you, in the tenderness.â Her expression warmed. âAnd if I ever get to have a love even half as sure as yours, Iâd consider myself incredibly lucky.â
And briefly but unmistakably, Alexiaâs gaze flickered toward you.Â
She blinked and looked away just as quickly, lifting her glass with an easy smile. âAlright,â she said, tone lightening. âLetâs raise a glass to the couple who Iâm a hundred percent sure would like me to stop talking now so they can go back to staring at each other with heart eyes.â
Laughter rippled through the room as glasses were raised.
âTo Xavi and InĂŠs!â
Cheers followed, crystal clinking against crystal. You smiled at your brother and sister-in-law as they gestured their thanks.Â
You exhaled and then, without meaning to, your eyes drifted back to Alexia, whose eyes were already on you, looking away once you met her gaze.
âËâĄâĄ The night carried on the way weddings always went. There were a few more toasts, each blurrier than the last, and then the music took over. As soon as an ABBA song came on, the dance floor was full with both families jumping and dancing with some drunken enthusiasm. Cam and Daisy were roped into dancing a couple songs ago too but now they seemed more fascinated with the tequila fountain on the drink table.Â
You grabbed a glass of wine and pretty much stayed where you were.
From your seat, you could see Alexia standing with a small cluster of Xaviâs coworkers, one hand wrapped around a drink she didnât seem to be touching much. She laughed at something one of them said, head tilting back just slightly, and the sound carried even over the music. It shouldnât have meant anything, but it did, and you hated how easily your attention kept drifting back to her no matter how hard you tried to focus elsewhere.
You swirled the wine in your glass, watching it climb the sides before sliding back down, over and over again. You wondered how much longer you could sit there pretending you were simply tired, pretending you werenât replaying her speech in your head, pretending you werenât yearning to be there with her right now.Â
Suddenly. you felt hands settle on your back, firm and familiar, and you nearly jumped out of your seat.
âJesus, Xav,â you said as you turned around, seeing your brother, looking a bit less put-together than when the wedding started. âYou scared the hell out of me.â
He grinned unapologetically. âSorry, bunny. Forgot how jumpy you get.â
He was clearly tipsy, his movements a little looser than usual, his balance just slightly off as he dragged a chair over and sat in front of you, knees angled toward yours. He leaned back, exhaled deeply, and shook his head in disbelief.
âSo,â he said, smiling. âIâm a married man now.â
You raised an eyebrow. âOh, really? Thatâs what this whole thing was for?â You gestured vaguely toward the dance floor. âWouldnât have guessed.â
He laughed and reached out to pinch your cheek, not nearly as gently as he probably intended. âYouâre so annoying,â he said fondly. âYouâre lucky I still see you as my cutie bunny sister.â
You chuckled, rolling your eyes.
He smiled and suddenly, his expression softened, eyes warm and glassy and not just because he probably drank more alcohol than he shouldâve. âYou know, Iâm probably the second happiest man in the world right now,â he hummed.
You frowned, tilting your head. âSecond? Thatâs it? Why not first?â
âWell,â he said thoughtfully, âfirst place obviously goes to my buddy Santi.â He pointed at his friend who was now being lifted in the air by some other guys while he was pouring an unknown bottle of alcohol into his mouth. âI think he edged me out by just a bit though.â
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. âAndâŚIâd be the happiest man alive if I could stop thinking about the fact that my baby sister is sitting here, pretending sheâs fine, while clearly being hopelessly heartbroken over my best friend.â
You groaned softly and leaned back in your chair. âXav,â you said, tired but affectionate. âIâm okay. I really am. Just go back and have some fun. You should be the one being lifted up in the air like that, not Santi.â
He gave you a look that said he didnât buy it for a second.
âIâm sorry,â you added after a moment. âI promise Iâm not trying to be a downer on your wedding day. I swear, Iâll try to seem less gloomy. Want me to join you and your buddy Santi?â
He waved it off. âYou donât have to do that.â He chuckled.
You hesitated, then sighed. âStill. How do I make it up to you?â
His smile returned, slow and slightly mischievous. âActually, I do need help with something.â
You straightened a little. âWith what?â
He stood and held out a hand, nodding his head towards the exit. âIâll show you.â
âËâĄâĄ You and your brother slipped out of the reception quietly, music getting muffled as you walked further away from the place. The venue sat high on the island, and the path sloped gently downward toward a smaller lounge area tucked closer to the cliffside. Hammocks swayed lazily between wooden posts, and low lounge chairs were arranged to face the open sea. It was close enough that walking there felt effortless even in heels, yet far enough that the music muffled.
You shivered a bit as the cool night air nipped against your skin, air carrying the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. You breathed in, feeling a bit relaxed now that you were far from the noise.
âIs your favor secretly just a clever way of getting me to breathe in some fresh air?â You asked, smiling at your brother.
âWellâŚâ He trailed off, urging you to look closer at the lounge area as you moved towards it.
You looked back to the area as you drew closer, noticing two figures sitting on one of the low lounge chairs. InĂŠs turned first, her face breaking into a smile the moment she saw you. There was something knowing in her expression, gentle but unmistakable, and it made your throat tighten as you swallowed.
âI did tell you Iâd find a way to make it up to you, didnât I?â Xavier gave you a crooked smile.
You looked back to the lounge area, taking a deep breath. Alexia didnât have to turn for you to know who it was but when she did, your heart still raced inside your chest.Â
Alexia looked absolutely beautiful. The moonlight and the string of warm fairy lights that were wrapped around the wooden posts and nearby trees illuminated her features, making her look ethereal. You did not even realize that she left the dance floor a while ago while you were chatting with your brother. The sight of her standing there, quiet and still against the open horizon, made it painfully clear that this was not an accident. Xavi and InĂŠs had clearly orchestrated this.
Her face tensed when she saw you. Just slightly, but enough that you noticed. You looked down instinctively, unsure how to read it or how to feel.
Xavi slowed a few steps away from them and stopped. He turned to you with a grin, a bit tight and forced, obviously feeling the tension. âAlright,â he said lightly, clapping his hands together. âNow, just do me a favor and tell me what you two talk about later, yeah?â
Before you could respond, he pulled you into a brief hug, squeezing you tight. Then he extended his arm toward InĂŠs, who stepped forward without hesitation. She smiled at you warmly, eyes soft, as she took his hand, before the two of them turned back toward the reception.
You watched them go until they were out of sight, then dropped your gaze to the ground, unsure of what to say or do.
You took a slow breath before lifting your head again. Alexia was looking out toward the sea now, her posture rigid, her arms crossed over her chest. You stepped closer but still kept a careful distance between the two of you.
âI never got to tell you,â you said quietly. âBut you look really beautiful today.â
She let out a small breath through her nose, a hint of a forced smile touching her lips, but she didnât turn to you. Her gaze stayed fixed on the dark water ahead.
You fidgeted with the fabric of your dress, smoothing it between your fingers before taking another breath. âAlexia, I reallyââ
âY/N,â she cut in, her voice low but firm. âIâm only talking to you right now as a favor to your brother and InĂŠs. You know that, right?â
You nodded, even though she wasnât looking. âYeah,â you said softly. âI know.â
An awkward silence settled, filled only by the sound of the wind, the waves crashing in the distance, and the muffled music. You took a deep breath.
âIâm still glad youâre here,â you added after a moment. âEven if you donât want to be.â
She didnât respond, but she didnât walk away either.
You took in a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever could happen.Â
âLook, Alexia⌠Iâm sorry I lied to you,â you said, forcing yourself not to rush the words. âIt was wrong to tell you my last relationship ended a year ago when it hadnât. And, it was wrong to hide you and our relationship from my brother. And Iâm sorry for making you think I was ashamed of you.â
You breathed deeply. â Iâm so sorry that I let my fear and my anxiety make decisions for me when I shouldâve been honest and grown up about it.â Your voice wavered and you felt yourself shiver as a gust of biting cold wind passed by the two of you but you kept going.
âIâm sorry about a lot of things and I wish I could make it all better,â your voice broke at the end. You cleared your throat, pulling yourself together for just a few more minutes.Â
âBut one thing I wonât apologize for⌠is being with you. I wonât apologize for this summer..â You paused, trying to watch her reaction, trying to find an opening of some sort.
âAlexia, Iâm not sorry about the time we spent together, or the times we nearly got sunburnt for staying too long out at the beach, or the kisses we exchanged,â you continued, voice getting a bit louder. âI donât want to apologize for something I genuinely cherished.â
You breathed, sniffling as you tried to stop your tears from falling âAnd if someone asked me if Iâd do it all over again, I would.â
You looked down, feeling your lower mouth quiver as your emotions started getting the best of you. âI would do it all over again,â you repeated.
âI would still take that bet from my cousins and I would still choose to kiss you that night at the club,â you exclaimed, voice shaky and raw, but you tried to keep it steady. âI would still go on that date with you, jump off those cliffs even if I was fucking scared, and I would still choose to spend all summer with you, exactly as it was, because it meant something to me.â
At this point you could feel tears sting your eyes as you let all of it out, feeling absolutely vulnerable as you let your heart out.
You paused, then added more quietly, âYes, I was dishonest about my situation, about why I didnât want my brother to know. I was an asshole for that and I wonât downplay it,â you said with a nod. âBut I can tell you that not once was I dishonest about how I felt about you.â
Alexia finally turned to face you now.
Her expression had softened, the tightness easing from her features, though her arms remained crossed, a bit protective still. âHow am I supposed to trust you after all that?â she asked, voice low but firm. âHow can I be sure what youâre saying now is real?â
You blinked, breathing in as you swallowed.Â
âT-Thereâs no such thing as a hundred percent certainty,â you said, repeating her words from her speech, pausing again to keep your composure. âYou mentioned that in your speech. Something about what Xav said about how thereâs absolutely nothing that is a hundred percentin nature.â
You breathed, trying to gather your thoughts. âAnd what Iâm trying to say is.. I donât need you to trust me a hundred percent,â you added. âI just need you to give me enough room to prove myself. I just need one percent. Just one percent and I will do everything I can to work my way up.â
You stared at Alexia, tears running down your face, feeling absolutely vulnerable. You did mess up, possibly ruined your chance with her, but that didnât mean that it didnât hurt you too. It didnât make it any easier to stand there, saying everything you should have said earlier, while Alexia listened in silence, unreadable and distant.
âPlease,â you begged, voice shaking. âSay something.â
Alexia looked at you for a moment before quickly averting her gaze again, eyes wandering down to the ground as she awkwardly fidgeted by kicking against the grass beneath her. She took a deep breath before looking up at you again, still not saying anything.Â
You took that as permission, stepping closer and reaching for her hand. You held it firmly, like you were afraid it might slip away. âPlease,â you said, your voice barely holding together.
Your breath came shallow.
Without fully thinking it through, you closed your eyes, lifting your skirt up with your free hand before you slowly got onto your knees to plead with her. You were just driven by nothing but the need to show her how serious you were, how much this mattered to you.
Alexia was startled, eyes widening. âHey â no,â she said, her voice urgent as she reached for you, hands gripping your forearm and pulling you back up.Â
âDonât do that.â She shook her head, softer now. âYou donât⌠you donât have to do that.â
You straightened slowly, heart pounding, embarrassment and emotion crashing together. You were still holding her hand, fingers tight, grounding yourself in the warmth of her touch as you met her eyes again.
Alexia took a deep breath, looking up to the sky as if trying to stop her own tears from falling before lowering her gaze to meet your eyes. You bit your lip, finally being able to stare into her beautiful hazel eyes again, silently wishing this wouldnât be the last time.
âIf I give you another chance,â she started. âIf I give you that one percent⌠will you promise that you would be honest with me? No more lies. Just the truth.â
You nodded. âYes,â you answered without hesitation.
She took a deep breath. âAnd the thing with your boyfriendâŚâ
âItâs over,â you responded immediately as she trailed off.
Alexia studied your face, as if looking for cracks. âOver as in finished,â she pressed, âor over as in paused?â
âFinished,â you said. You swallowed, forcing yourself not to soften it. âWe were already on a break before I even went here. But, I honestly thought that maybe there was a chance for us to get back together, to mend things with him⌠but then I met you and I just forgot about him. But suddenly he was here andâŚâ
You inhaled deeply. âBasically, itâs done. There is absolutely no more space in my heart â in my life â for him.â
She looked away briefly, jaw tightening, then back at you. âAnd youâre not saying this just because youâre standing here with me?â
âNo,â you replied quietly. âIâm saying it because itâs true⌠because I promised to be honest with you.â
Alexia exhaled, long and shaky, as if letting go of something sheâd been holding in for days. Then finally, she reached for your hand.
She didnât just take it this time. She enclosed it between both of hers, warm and grounding, her thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles. âCan I be honest too?â She said, voice quieter, closer.
You nodded.
Alexia stepped closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you, causing your breath to hitch and your heart to beat faster inside your chest. âI.. I missed you.â She admitted, a small smile flickering on her lips. âAnd Iâve been dying to tell you all day that you look like the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.â
You smiled and chuckled nervously, taking your hand to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, sniffling as you did. âSo, does this⌠does this mean ââ
Alexia exhaled, breathing deeply as she wiped your cheeks with the pads of her thumbs, before nodding. âYes,â she said. âIâm giving you that one percent.â
She pulled you closer, hands cupping your face. She hesitated for a moment, eyes searching yours for one last time before leaning in, capturing your lips with hers. You exhaled as you finally felt her lips against yours, feeling relief wash over you as you did, grabbing onto her arms tightly.
Alexia took that as a sign to deepen the kiss, lip locking as she wrapped a hand around your waist and the other behind your head, keeping you close. You kissed her passionately, never wanting this moment to end.
But soon, in between all the kisses and the tears, you two had to come back for air, pulling away just to breathe. But Alexia still kept you close, hands wrapped around your waist, pressing her forehead against yours.Â
You breathed deeply, smiling as you looked at her face, feeling deep in your heart that you were willing to do everything to keep seeing that face and to eventually call her yours.
âËâĄâĄ  âI donât want to see your face again unless itâs telling me I have a grandchild,â your mom told your brother as she hugged him tightly.
Xavi laughed into her shoulder. âThanks, mom,â he said with a sarcastic tone.
InĂŠs overheard as she walked back down the dock, still in the middle of directing staff about their luggage. She shook her head, smiling to herself. The two of them were leaving earlier than all the guests, just a day after their wedding, too impatient to wait another day before starting their honeymoon.Â
InĂŠs came straight to you and wrapped her arms around you. âIâll miss you a lot, chiqui,â she said, squeezing tightly.
When she pulled back, she looked at you with that knowing smile of hers. âSo,â she said lightly, âam I going to start seeing you around Barcelona more often?â
You laughed, glancing down before looking back up, biting your lip as you nodded. InĂŠsâ face lit up immediately.
âBut donât get ahead of yourself,â you added quickly. âWeâre not⌠there yet. I still have to work for it. Yâknow⌠gotta prove myself.â
InĂŠs chuckled and reached up to pinch your cheek. âPlease. Alexia is not that hard to get through,â she said. âPlus, she really likes you. Youâll be fine.â
You smiled, the reassurance settling well in your chest.
Xavi stepped forward next, opening his arms wide. You leaned into him without thinking, pressing your cheek against his chest, wrapping your arms around him tightly just like you did when you two were kids.
âIâll miss you too, Bunny,â he said understandingly, patting the back of your head.
You pulled away and sighed. âI never actually thanked you, you know,â you said. âFor what you did.â
He shrugged, smiling like it was nothing. âMaybe I did it for selfish reasons,â he said. âBecause now⌠you have a reason to visit me more in Barcelona.â
You laughed softly. âYou wonât even be there for the next few months.â
âThereâs a chance that Iâll be back a couple months after the season starts,â he said, smirking. âWhich Iâm guessing you know the exact date of now.â
You rolled your eyes but chuckled, pleased that your brother was being so nonchalant about you being into his best friend.
He squeezed your shoulder. âTake care of yourself, okay?â
âI will,â you said, nodding.
They boarded the boat moments later, waving as it pulled away from the dock. You stood beside your mom, watching the boat drive away.
She sighed, smiling fondly. âLook at them,â she said. âEspecially my handsome boy.â Then she glanced at you, eyes soft. âI make gorgeous children, donât I?â
You laughed, shaking your head at your mother.
âSo,â she continued, âwhen does your semester start?â
âA couple of weeks,â you responded. âEnrollmentâs coming up soon but⌠I got a few things I gotta figure out before I go.â
She nodded thoughtfully, then tilted her head slightly. âWell,â she said, gesturing with her head. âIs that what you gotta figure out?â
You followed her gaze.
Alexia stood near the beachside restaurant, the light of the setting sun catching her face, her hair lifting slightly in the breeze. She wasnât doing anything in particular, just waiting, hands tucked into her pockets, eyes scanning the dock until they found you.
You smiled. âWell⌠yeah, thatâs exactly what I have to figure out.â
Your mom smiled and patted you lightly on the arm. âGo,â your mom said gently. âFigure that out.â
You chuckled before you excused yourself, walking towards Alexia, feeling your hands grow clammy as you walked towards her.
âHey,â you said when you reached her.
âHey,â she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
You hesitated, then exhaled. âSo⌠summerâs ending soon, huh?â you said, unsure of how to start this conversation. âEveryone from the club heading back already?â
She bit her lip and nodded, eyes a bit distracted. âYeah. Everyoneâs leaving in the morning,â Alexia answered. âSeasonâs starting soon so gotta get back into shape after drinking all summer.â
You hummed softly and nodded, pressing your lips together into a tight line. There was so much sitting just beneath the surface. Last night replayed itself in your mind: the wedding, the way you had finally kissed after you practically begged for a chance, then it was the interruption: Daisy, tequila-drunk and laughing too hard, lifted by Xaviâs friends until she was so sick that she barfed all over a chair.Â
You had to carry Daisy off, saying apologies over your shoulder as to why you had to run off, while Alexia was also pulled into some sort of congo line by your intoxicated brother, drunkenly demanding her for âbestie time.â
Needless to say, the romantic moment had to go on pause.
You didnât have alone time to speak to Alexia since. You had to make sure Daisy woke up living and well, not choking over her own vomit. Then, there was the farewell lunch with your brother and your side of the family, before sending them off to the docks with your mother.
With everything going on and with Alexia leaving tomorrow, it felt like all you had left was this moment.
 âYouâre leaving in a couple of days, right?â Alexia asked, glancing at you.
You shook your head. âNext week. InĂŠs offered for my mom and me to stay a few extra days. Her parents are staying too.â
She smiled faintly. âThat family really is generous.â She chuckled. âPays to be rich.â
âYeah,â you said. âTheyâve been incredibly gracious.â
Silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy⌠almost loaded. You could feel yourself hovering at the edge of something important, unsure of how to start without saying the wrong thing.
âSo,â you said. âDo you have plans before you leave? Aside from packing?â
You tried to sound casual, but your heart was already racing. You wanted to ask her out properly, to tell her you were serious about her. You wanted to tell her that you were willing to make some sacrifices and that you had already spoken to one of your mentor professors in law school about taking a semester off if that was what it took.Â
Basically, you wanted to tell her that you were not scared of rearranging your life if it meant working towards gaining back her trust and showing her you meant everything you said.
âMaybe we could have dinner later?â you added, softer.
Alexia tilted her head, amused. âIf I didnât know better, Iâd say you were asking me out.â
You chuckled at her tone. âI am.â
She smiled then hesitated. âThe teamâs having one last dinner together tonight. Kind of a last hurrah before the season starts.â
The disappointment flickered across your face before you could stop it. You nodded anyway. âYeah. Of course, that makes sense.â
You were already bracing yourself to say everything now, just let it all out there.Â
âButâŚâ she added, âIâm free tomorrow.â
You looked up. âTomorrow?â
She smirked slightly. âI was supposed to leave in the morning with the club, but Xavi⌠extended my stay.â
Your eyebrows shot up. âHe did?â
âYeah,â she said, rolling her eyes fondly. âSaid he needed a favor. Which feels just fair of me to do considering all I got them was a food processor and they gave me this entire trip.â
You laughed softly. âWhat kind of favor?â
Alexia stepped a little closer. âApparently thereâs a restaurant here in this resort that he never got to try,â she said. âHe wanted me to test it out, give feedback so that InĂŠs could rework the menu.â
You smiled slowly. âThat favor sounds suspiciously specificâŚ. and made-up.â
âOh, it gets better,â she said. âHe also suggested I invite his sister. He said something about her having a rough summer and having her heart broken.â
You laughed, shaking your head at her teasing. âDid he tell you what sheâs like?â
She leaned in slightly, eyes warm. âHe said sheâs smart, kind⌠and that she got the better genes in the family.â She chuckled. âAnd apparently she looks like a bunny, which Iâm still not sure about⌠like, is that a good thing or a bad thing?â
You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. âGive that bunny girl a chance.â You said. âShe might surprise you⌠cause sheâs a bunny. Like, a bunny in a magicianâs hat.â
Alexiaâs gaze softened at your terrible analogy. âApparently, she also tells terrible jokes.â
âHey,â you said defensively.Â
She chuckled. âWell, even if she does seem corny and looks like a bunnyâŚâ she said, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering as her hazel eyes gazed into yours. âI think thereâs a pretty good chance Iâd fall for her.â
You swallowed, biting your lip as you could feel her inch closer. âIâd say thereâs at least a one percent chance,â you responded, referencing your conversation from last night.
She smiled knowingly, immediately catching on to it. âFunny. I think those chances just went up.â
She cupped your face gently and leaned in, kissing you slowly, deliberately. Her lips were warm and firm but not imposing, just passionate as they kissed yours. You melted into the kiss, hands finding her arms, grounding yourself in the moment. When she pulled back, her lips curled into a small smile, eyes scanning your face as if to admire it.
âNow, itâs at two percent,â she murmured.
You smiled, hand finding the back of her head, ready to pull her in for another kiss. âLetâs make it three.â
a/n: tumblr deleted all changes i made so i had to rework it. hence, why it took so long hhh anyway, i hope u guys like it. please lmk ur thoughts, like, and reblog! ur feedback always motivated me. itâs why i keep posting!
thank u to everyone else who has supported my works in the past. i appreciate it. especially to the ppl who left such kind words in the last part.
thinking abt a follow-up smau but no promises on that. i hope u all stay tuned for my other future works as well đ¤
summary: after listening to another story about your dates from hell eli decides to play matchmaker between you, her new neighbor that runs a fashion empire and her daughter, alexia
notes: i tried something new dialogue wise and i canât tell if i hate it or not đŤŠ
The bright Barcelona sun pierced through your curtains, dragging you awake in a golden haze that made you regret every last glass of wine from last night.
âI should not have drunk that much,â you groaned, pulling on your favorite sweatpants and a matching zip-up hoodie, both stitched with the tiniest embroidery of your brandâs monogram, SL, on the hem. You slid on oversized sunglasses, gold lettering of your brand glinting faintly on the temple, and padded barefoot toward the door.
The air outside was warm already, scented faintly with the jasmine crawling over the garden walls. Barcelona was supposed to be a short-term escape. Just a place to breathe, to create again, to stop feeling like Paris and your brand were swallowing you whole. You had rented this little house on impulse, enchanted by its courtyard garden. What you hadnât expected was Eli Putellas next door, waiting with her teapot and smile that could shame the sun.
Eli had welcomed you into her orbit like you were a long-lost niece. Morning tea, shared watering cans, gossip traded over hydrangeas. She told you stories about her daughters with maternal pride and exasperation, and in turn listened as you rambled about disastrous dates, sleepless nights, and half-baked baking experiments.
The best part? She had no idea who you were. To Eli, you werenât the woman behind Solenne, a brand that graced billboards in New York, Milan, London, Paris. You werenât a âgeniusâ that glossy magazines liked to profile. You were simply the young neighbor who showed up in sweats with mismatched socks, laughed too loud, and burned toast more often than not. And you loved it.
Today was no different. You found her already on her patio, cup of steaming tea in hand, the stray cat she always fed sprawled lazily on a chair beside her.
âOh, carinyo, you canât be serious,â Eli said, shaking her head, dark eyes sparkling as you stood with the hose poised over her rose bush.
âEli. I swear,â you said, one hand clutching your stomach as you laughed at the memory. âShe ordered three raw eggsâof the menu, cracked them into a glass, and justââ you mimed throwing your head back, swallowing. âLike she was in a Rocky montage. At dinner! Our poor waitress was so weirded out.â
Eli nearly spit out her tea. âAi, DĂŠu meu!â She pressed a hand to her chest, scandalized. âIn front of you? In a restaurant? This is barbaric, nena. Not a date.â [Oh, my God]
âIt was performance art,â you deadpanned, turning off the hose and sinking into the chair across from her. âI took one look at that protein cocktail and knew I was leaving early. Paid the bill, wished her the best of luck with her cholesterol, and went to a bar with a friend instead.â
Eli leaned forward, eyes wide in horror. âNena⌠where are you meeting these women? Honestly. Are you⌠are you picking them up off the street?â
You burst out laughing. âNot off the street! Just⌠friends of friends, mostly.â You shrugged, sipping from your mug of herbal tea. Which wasnât technically a lie. The problem was most of your âfriends of friendsâ existed in circles of money and monotony, the kind of people who thought raw eggs counted as a personality trait.
Eli sighed like a martyr and patted your knee. âI worry about you. Too beautiful, too smart, too funny, and yet you sit across from me telling me stories about egg-guzzling gym rats.â
You groaned dramatically, hiding your face behind your mug. âIâm starting to think Barcelona is cursed.â
âBarcelona is not cursed. Your taste in women is cursed,â Eli corrected primly, before softening with a chuckle.
The conversation lulled for a moment, the sound of cicadas buzzing lazily between you. Eli set her mug down and gave you that motherly tilt of her head.
âHowâs work, nena?â she asked warmly.
Your lips curved into a small smile. For once, the answer was easy. Back in Paris, youâd felt smothered by your own success, drained dry of creativity. But here in Barcelona? Here you woke up with sketches dancing behind your eyelids, with a need to touch fabric and sew until your fingers ached.
âItâs been⌠wonderful,â you admitted softly. âI sent some sketches to the company for feedback before I start sewing.â
Eli beamed. âSee? You are happiest when you are creating.â
She didnât know, of course, that the âcompanyâ was yours. That the sketches she thought were shuffled off to some faceless superior were instead passed down to your atelier, your team waiting for your word like scripture. You let her think you were just one of many designers. You downplayed it easily. âOh, nothing glamorous. I just stitch a few things here and there, send them along, and hope they donât look like trash bags.â
Eli swatted your arm, scandalized. âTrash bags? Ai, dona, donât speak about your work like that! If it comes from you, it cannot be ugly.â
Her faith in you made your throat tighten. She really had no idea.
âIf you ever need help, nena, I am right here,â she added earnestly.
You smiled into your mug. âIâll keep that in mind, Eli. Maybe you can help me wrestle a sewing machine when it misbehaves.â
Eli suddenly grew quiet, staring at you over her tea. You felt the weight of the mom-stare and shifted nervously in your chair.
ââŚWhat?â you asked warily.
âHow old are you, nena?â she asked, squinting slightly like she was lining up puzzle pieces.
âTwenty-seven,â you answered slowly, suspicious. âWhy?â
Eli looked up toward the sky as if calculating something, then back at you with a triumphant nod. âThat will work.â
âWhat will work?â
She ignored you, speaking more to herself. âYes, yes⌠that will be fine.â
âEli,â you warned.
She set her mug down with a decisive clink. âAlright. Enough of this nonsense. You have been on a multitude of dates since you arrived in Barcelona and they have all failedââ
âGeez, thanks for sugarcoating it,â you muttered.
âSo,â she continued briskly, âI am taking matters into my own hands. My daughter Alexiaââ
âEliâŚâ
âNo, no, no, no, no.â She wagged a finger at you. âLet me finish before you say yes.â
âThat doesnât even make sense.â
âShe is only three years older than you. You like them older, donât deny it. She is beautiful, strong, successful. She plays for Barça. You should come to a game with me, nena. Itâs in a couple of weeks. Donât you know someone on the team?â
You hesitated. âHm⌠yes. The company sponsors a few players on the womenâs side, and some on the menâs.â You tried to make it sound casual, though it wasnât exactly easy to hide a sponsorship portfolio the size of yours.
âPerfect.â Eli clapped her hands, delighted. âI know Alexia is free next Saturday. You are also free next Saturday. The two of you will go on a date, and then we will go to the game later that week. Perfecto.â
âEliâŚâ You started, but faltered when she held up her hand like a queen commanding silence.
âNot taking no for an answer,â she said firmly. âYou think about it. You have a business trip, no? After you return from your business trip, you give me your answer.â
You bit back a laugh at her sheer determination. ââŚFine. But only because itâs you.â
âThatâs what I like to hear,â she said smugly, rising to her feet. Then, as if matchmaking her daughter was just a warm-up, she called back over her shoulder: âNow. What bread did you make yesterday?â
You followed her inside, chuckling. âFresh baguettes. With honey and jam from that market you showed me.â
Eli clasped her hands to her chest like you had just announced world peace. âAh! This I must try. Move over, I am taking over your kitchen.â
And just like that, your terrifying new reality, going on yet another blind date, was eclipsed by Eli raiding your bread basket.
âHola, Mami.â
Alexia kissed Eli on the cheek before sliding her gym bag against the wall. Her hair was still damp with sweat from practice, sticking to her temples, and all she wanted was to shower in Eliâs guest bathroom and then devour whatever was simmering on the stove.
âHi, vida,â Eli said slyly, not turning from the cutting board. Her knife worked in a steady rhythm, onions piling in neat crescents beside her. The smell of sautĂŠing garlic and tomatoes filled the kitchen, warm and inviting.
Alexia narrowed her eyes at the tone immediately. âWhat are you plotting?â
âMe?â Eli raised her brows, slicing into a clove of garlic with exaggerated innocence. âNothing. Just⌠good news.â
From the couch, Alba cackled like a crow. âOh no. Youâre in trouble.â
But Alba was already pushing herself up, abandoning her reality show. She jogged barefoot to the kitchen, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. âI need front row seats for this.â
âAlba, calla,â Eli scolded, pointing the knife at her like a conductorâs baton. Then she turned back to the pan, sweeping the onions into the sauce with a flourish. âSo. I know you said no more dating, Alexiaââ
âAy, MamiâŚâ Alexia leaned heavily against the counter, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.
âAlexia,â Eli said sharply, knife still in hand. âListen to me. She is lovely. My neighbor, the one I told you about? From Paris. But her Spanish and Catalan, perfect. How rare is that?â
âMamaâŚâ
âTwenty-seven years old,â Eli continued, plowing straight over her daughterâs groans. She began stirring the sauce with gusto, like she was narrating a recipe. âWorks for a small fashion brand in France, but she came here for inspiration. Such a sweet girl. Very modest, very polite. Too humble, honestly. Her sketches are beautiful. And the clothes she sewsâÂĄun arte!â [itâs art]
Alexia frowned despite herself, curiosity slipping in. âFashion?â
âYes, fashion!â Eli waved the wooden spoon dramatically, nearly splattering sauce across the counter. âClothes, bags, shoes, you know everything. And she is single.â Eliâs voice dropped conspiratorially, eyes flicking toward Alba as if this was top secret gossip. âShe tells me about her disaster dates. The last on ordered raw eggs. In a glass and drank them!â
Alba clutched her chest like sheâd been shot. âPerdona? What kind of Rocky Balboa nightmare is that?â
âExactly!â Eli smacked the spoon against the pot for emphasis.
Alexia covered her mouth, but a laugh still broke through. She shook her head, fighting it down. âThatâs⌠disgusting.â
Eli leaned across the counter, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. âSo, you will take her out Saturday. I know her favorite restaurant, the French one downtown. It reminds her of home.â
âWhat?â Alexia blinked. âNo. No way.â
âYes way.â Eli was already bustling to the oven, sliding out a tray of salmon like she hadnât just detonated a bomb. âAnd I made the reservation for you.â
Alba clapped her hands together. âOh, this is better than reality TV.â
âMama!â Alexia shoved her hands through her hair, pacing now. âYouâre setting me up on a blind date without even asking me?â
Eli smiled sweetly, setting the salmon on the counter. âFinally, she understands. Besides, I am your mother. I have the power.â
Alba leaned across the table, stage whispering to Alexia, âYouâre doomed.â
âShut up, Alba.â
Eli carried on as if she hadnât heard. âShe would be here tonight but she is traveling. Business trip in Madrid, I think.â
Alexia squinted. âMadrid?â
You werenât in Madrid. You had told Eli you were in Milan for meetings with an upcoming brand you wanted to buy. But Eli had latched onto Madrid and, once again, you hadnât corrected her.
Alexia groaned. âMami, Iâm not interested in dating. I told you. Iâm focusing on football right now.â
âFootball, football, football!â Eli threw her hands up toward the ceiling. âIs that all you think about? You will shrivel into an old woman with only a ball for company. Live a little!â
Alba snorted, already stealing a piece of bread from the counter. âImagine her tombstone: Here lies Alexia. Married to football. Boring at parties.â
Alexia smacked her arm. âAlba!â
Eli, unfazed, plated the salmon like a general preparing her troops. âSaturday. No tracksuits. She will probably want to drive herself, so be on timeâno, be early. And you will dress nicely, entiendes?â
Alexia groaned, dropping her head into her hands like the world was ending.
Alba patted her back with mock sympathy. âPoor thing. Forced to have dinner with a beautiful, talented woman. What a tragedy.â
Alexia lifted her head just enough to glare at her sister. âI hate you.â
Alba grinned, already buttering her stolen bread. âLove you too.â
And for all her groaning, Alexia couldnât help the tiniest flicker of intrigue at the edges of her mind. Paris, fashion, sketches, humble, pretty, disaster dates with raw eggs. She shoved the thought down quickly, telling herself it didnât matter. She was done with datingâŚ.Right?
Your Milan apartment was the kind of place people in magazines tried to imagine into existence. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the skyline, the faintest shimmer of sunset draping the Duomo in gold. The air inside smelled faintly of peonies and vanilla, your signature diffuser, and beneath it, the sharper tang of leather and varnish from the prototypes strewn across your glass coffee table.
You stood over them like a curator at a museum, your silk blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted trousers, hair twisted up to keep it off your face. One bag in particular caught your eye with thin sheets of recycled marble dust pressed into supple panels, the surface cool under your fingertips.
âMagnifique,â you whispered before switching into Italian for the pair of twenty-something Milanese sisters perched nervously on the edge of your cream sofa. Your voice carried awe, not performance. You lifted the bag, cradling it like fragile porcelain. âThisâthis is not accessory. This is a conversation. People will stop in their tracks. They will want to know the story.â
The sisters exchanged a look, one biting her lip, the other blinking fast. Pride warred with disbelief on their faces.
âWe⌠we were not sure anyone would see it that way,â the elder confessed, her Italian lilt strong. âMost people told us it was⌠troppo strano. Too strange.â
âThat is why I am here.â You set the bag back on the table as if it were a relic from another era, reverent. âFashion without risk is death and being safe is boring. What you two are doing? This is resurrection. This is⌠future.â
A spark of hope lit their faces. The younger sister leaned forward. âYou mean you would use our designs?â
âI donât just want your designs.â You leaned in, the dim light catching the sheen of your blouse, your tone deliberate. âI want you. Both of you. Your hands, your imaginations, your madness. I donât buy talent to cage it, I give it a stage. Solenne should not only whisper luxury. It should scream daring. And youââ you gestured to the marble bag, then to the shimmering woven-metal prototypeâ âyou two are daring.â
Silence, thick and weighty, hung for a moment. The sisters sat stunned. Then the younger burst into a shaky laugh, covering her mouth. âIs this real? We thought you were only coming to⌠look. To be polite.â
Your smile was faint but sharp with certainty, the kind that had charmed venture capitalists and terrified rivals. âI never just look.â
By the time they left, their eyes were bright and their hands trembled as though they were carrying invisible contracts already signed. You could see it, the marble dust and the metal threads woven seamlessly into Solenneâs fall/winter line. The kind of risk that didnât just make waves, it made history.
Hours later, you stepped out of a taxi into the cool Milan night, the hum of scooters and chatter in the streets below rising like music. Desiree, your assistant, best friend, and unofficial keeper of your sanity, walked beside you in her oversized blazer, phone in hand as always. She was already typing up the outline of the contracts, thumbs flying.
âDes, youâve been typing since they left,â you said as you tugged your coat tighter.
âThatâs because unlike you, I donât trust lawyers to capture the poetry of âmarble dust handbags,ââ she replied without looking up.
You laughed softly, shaking your head. Desiree had been with you since you were eighteen, two wide-eyed girls sharing a cramped dorm room at FIT in New York. You had a sketchbook full of dreams, she had a major in Cosmetic and Fragrance Marketing she wasnât sure she even liked. Somewhere between 3 a.m. study sessions and scarfing down 7 dollar pizza from the sketchy corner store, she had become your family. When your brand exploded in the middle of your freshman year, Desiree hadnât hesitated, she jumped ship to join you. âAssistant,â she called herself, though the truth was she ran half of Solenne when you were too exhausted to blink.
As you both entered your Milan headquarters, Desiree finally shoved her phone into her bag and smirked. âSo. You were saying Eli set you up?â
You groaned so dramatically it echoed in the marble lobby. âYes. Oh, she thinks Iâm in Madrid, which⌠I never said. I told her Milan. But she decided Madrid, so now I am apparently in Madrid. Oh how I love that woman.â
Desiree snorted. âHonestly? As she should. I love her. She makes sure you eat, she bosses you around, she calls you nena. Sheâs like, Mediterranean me and itâs amazing.â
âShe also made a reservation at that French place for a blind date,â you muttered, pressing the elevator button. âI told her I wasnât sure, but she just smiled at me and waved a spoon in my face. It was⌠terrifying.â
Desiree stopped mid-step, her eyes wide with glee. âWait. Hold on. Let me guess.â She snapped her fingers. âAlexia Putellas.â
You froze, hand hovering over the elevator panel. ââŚShe did not say the name.â
âShe didnât have to. Who else is she setting you up with? Eli said her eldest daughter, plays for Barça, of course the last name Putellas. Do the math, genius.â
You blinked. âDating is messy. Especially when itâs with someone else in the public eye. You know how I feel about that.â
The elevator dinged. Desiree shoved you inside and leaned against the rail, arms crossed, eyes glittering. âBabe. Youâre telling me youâre too busy to have dinner with one of the hottest, most eligible women in Spain? And Eli already likes you? You realize you already got the Mom approval before the date and you want to blow that up?â
You pressed your palms to your face. âYou are supposed to be my assistant. Youâre supposed to support me in these situations.â
âI am supporting you. Supporting you to finally get some.â Desiree grinned wickedly. âAt least go for the food. Worst case? You eat steak frites and text me an SOS halfway through.â
By the time you sank into your desk chair upstairs, you were half-smiling despite yourself. You scrolled through emails until Desiree plopped onto your office couch, kicked off her heels, and tucked her legs under her.
âIâm just not sure, Des,â you admitted. âFall/Winter Fashion Weeks are approaching and for some reason weâre doing all four. Who even approved that schedule?â
âYou did,â she said flatly, picking at the hem of her blazer.
You groaned. âWhy do I hate myself?â
âBecause youâre a control freak.â She leaned forward, her tone suddenly softer. âBut listen. Youâve been at this since you were fifteen. Designing, grinding, raising your sister, taking care of your cousins, supporting your grandmother. Youâve been responsible your whole damn life. Youâve never been allowed to just⌠be twenty-seven. To do stupid things like date. Or fall in love.â
Her words sank into you, quiet but heavy. You stilled, fingers hovering over your desktop keys.
âBabe,â Desiree continued, now standing to take your hands. âYou keep going on dates with bums because you know theyâre bums. Itâs safe. Theyâll never stick. Eli didnât raise a bum. So youâre scared, because what if itâs different this time? What if itâs real?â
Silence stretched, the city humming outside your windows.
Finally, you groaned, letting your forehead drop to the back of your chair. âFine. Maybe Iâm scared of a real relationship.â
Desiree beamed. âAnd thatâs progress.â She smacked your arm. âSo go on the damn date. Whatâs the worst that could happen? You eat good food, flirt a little, and if itâs a disaster, you send me memes about it after. Done.â
You peeked up at her with a reluctant smile. âYou are insufferable.â
âAnd you love me.â She flopped back onto the couch with the dramatic sigh of a woman who had just won a war. âNow, letâs order pasta. Milan men are useless, but their chicken is actually bomb.â
When your plane touched down in Barcelona that Saturday morning, exhaustion tugged at your bones, but you didnât head home. Instead, you drove straight to Eliâs⌠which was next door but you get the point. The original two day in Madrid had been longer than expected, endless meetings stacked on top of one another, but somehow your mind was already buzzing with the next project. Still, when it came to Barcelona, Eli was your first stop as always.
You knocked on her door, and within seconds, it swung open.
âÂĄNena!â Eli beamed, pulling you into her arms before pressing a kiss to each of your cheeks. Her perfume smelled faintly floral, and her lipstick left the faintest smudge on your cheek.
You laughed, letting her pull you inside. âBuenos dĂas, Eli.â
âHow was Madrid?â she asked immediately, guiding you toward the kitchen like you lived there. She set a steaming cup of coffee in front of you before even taking her seat, fussing over the sugar jar and sliding a plate of toast your way. âCome, sit, tell me everything.â
You stirred the coffee, the spoon clinking softly. âIt was good. The company absorbed a Milanese small business and then hired the creators to work as designers. Then we are starting the process to launch a fragrance line. So thatâs another thing I have to think about. You know, the scent combinations, packaging, mood boards, all of it.â
Eli waved a hand as if dismissing your empire sized worries. âAi, carinyo, just smell around the garden and something will come to you. The roses, the jasmine, all the herbs, it is all there. You designers make things complicated when it is simple.â
You chuckled, shaking your head. âIf only the investors thought that way.â
Her lips curved into a sly little smile, one youâd grown to recognize over these past months. Mischief lived in that smile.
You set down your cup slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. âWhy are you smiling like that?â
âLike what?â she asked, feigning innocence far too dramatically to be believable.
You leaned back, crossing your arms. âLike youâve just successfully trapped me in one of your schemes.â
Eli pressed her fingers together in mock contemplation before breaking into a grin.
âTonight at eight, right?â you said before she could open her mouth, already laughing.
She clapped her hands together like a little girl. âÂĄSĂ, nena! At the French restaurant you like. What is the name again?â
âLa Vigne CachĂŠe,â you supplied with a sigh.
âÂĄEso! Yes, yes,â Eli nodded enthusiastically, shooing you with her hands. âTake the whole day, eh? Get your nails done, buy new makeup, wear that black dressâthe one that shows off your cul.â [Ass]
âEli!â you gasped, your hand flying to your chest before you dissolved into laughter. âYou cannot just say that!â
âÂżPor quĂŠ no? It is true,â she shrugged, sipping her own coffee with perfect composure. âIf I had that dress and that cul, I would wear it every day. Even to the bakery.â
You buried your face in your hands, laughing so hard your shoulders shook. âYou are outrageous.â
âI am honest,â she corrected, patting your arm like she was offering sage wisdom. Then she stood suddenly, tugging you up with her. âGo, go, go. No wasting time. This is important!â
âImportant?â you echoed, dragged halfway to the door with a piece of toast still in your hand.
âYes!â she insisted, waving her free hand in the air like a conductor. âDo your hair, paint your nails, spray some of that fancy perfume. Make sure she cannot look away.â
âShe?â you repeated, voice tight with amusement.
Eli only smiled knowingly, kissed you on the cheek again, and quite literally shoved you out the door.
As you stumbled onto the front step, still laughing, you called back, âIf this goes badly, Eli, Iâm blaming you!â
Her voice followed you down the walk, triumphant and teasing. âIf it goes badly, it is because you didnât wear the black dress!â
La Vigne CachĂŠe was the kind of place that whispered exclusivity with its dim golden light, velvet drapes, and tables spread far enough apart that privacy felt like part of the service. The air carried the soft hum of French jazz, the scent of butter and garlic weaving through candle smoke.
Alexia had arrived absurdly early like too early. She had told herself it was because she hated being late, but really, it was because Eli had been insistent, mysterious, even and Alexia hadnât been on a real date in years. She sat there, fidgeting with the edge of her napkin, shifting her water glass, checking her phone. She had played numerous high stakes games and never felt such anxiety as she did in that moment.
And when those doors open and you walked in, her world stopped and her anxiety flared.
You stepped into the restaurant with an elegance that made heads turn. Your French curl braids flowed over your shoulders, catching the light like threads of silk. The black gown clung to you in the right places, the thigh-high slit daring yet effortless. The fabric looked impossibly smooth, like liquid under the chandeliers, but it was something you had made yourself. It was a prototype spun from hemp, disguised as luxury silk, something you had been working on for quite some time.
Your smile was radiant, the kind that warmed the room instantly, and for Alexia, it felt like someone had just cut the power to everything else. The noise of the restaurant dimmed, the servers blurred, and her chest tightened like sheâd just sprinted up the pitch.
You caught sight of her immediately, sitting at a corner table, stiff but striking in her blazer, her hair falling in soft waves. Her eyes were locked on you, wide and unguarded, and it made you bite back a knowing smile. She didnât recognize you and quite frankly you liked that.
âAlexia?â you said softly as you reached the table.
She stood so quickly her chair almost scraped the floor. âSĂâuh, yes. Hi.â
Your laugh was low, playful, your accent wrapping around the word. âHi.â
She pulled out your chair, still looking as if she couldnât believe you were real. You slid into it gracefully, the slit of your gown revealing just enough to make her look away quickly, ears pink.
âSo,â you began once she sat back down, tilting your head. âYou like to arrive⌠how do you say? Extremely early?â
Her lips quirked. âIâwell, I didnât want to be late.â
âMm,â you teased, leaning on your hand. âOr maybe you were nervous.â
Alexia gave a short laugh, looking down at the table as if it could save her. âMaybe.â
âDonât worry,â you said, your tone gentle, mischievous. âI donât bite. Unless you ask nicely.â
Her head snapped up at that, eyes widening, and you laughed, enjoying the flush spreading across her cheeks.
From there, the conversation flowed with shocking ease. You didnât talk about work, neither of you asked the expected questions about careers or accomplishments. Instead, you talked about little things.
Her favorite spots in Barcelona. Your favorite bakeries in Paris. How she preferred the beach at sunrise, while you swore sunsets were superior. The worst dates youâd both been on. Your reenactment of the story of the man who tried to split the bill after ordering three bottles of wine had her wheezing.
The flirting came naturally, slipping into the spaces between laughter.
When the waiter asked if you wanted another glass of wine, Alexia said yes without hesitation, just to stretch the night longer.
When your hand brushed hers reaching for the breadbasket, neither of you moved right away.
When you leaned in to tell her a story, she leaned in too, like she couldnât bear the thought of space between you.
By the time dessert arrived, Alexia had forgotten every reason sheâd sworn off dating. All she knew was that she didnât want this night to end. And by the way she caught you smiling at herâplayful, knowing, and utterly captivating, she suspected you didnât either.
The dinner stretched on until the candles at your table had burned low, wax pooling at their bases. Neither of you noticed the time until the waiter gently cleared his throat and dropped the bill.
Outside, Barcelonaâs night air was warm but crisp, the kind that hummed with weekend energy. The city lights reflected off the cobblestones, laughter spilling from nearby bars. You and Alexia lingered on the steps of La Vigne CachĂŠe, neither moving to leave.
Alexia shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders rolling like she was preparing for a post-match interview. âSoâŚâ
âSo,â you echoed, smiling. âYou survived, didnât you? My company isnât that bad?â
Her laugh was soft, genuine, and it made your chest flutter. âBetter than I expected.â
You arched a brow. âExpected? You were expecting bad?â
âNo,â she said quickly, shaking her head, eyes wide. âNot bad. I just⌠I didnât expect this.â Her voice dipped at the last word, like she wasnât sure she should admit it.
For a moment, you simply looked at her. The way the streetlamp hit her hair. The sharp angles of her jaw softened by the hesitant smile tugging at her lips. You had a rule, always. No kissing on the first date. that ways you were able to keep things clean, controlled, at your pace. But standing here, watching Alexia fight to keep her composure when you could practically feel the gravity pulling the two of you together⌠it made you reckless.
You stepped closer, close enough that she inhaled sharply. Your fingers brushed her arm, just a whisper of contact, and her eyes flicked to your lips before darting back up.
âDo you always look like youâre thinking too much?â you teased, voice low.
Her throat bobbed. âProbably.â
That was all it took. You leaned in and kissed her, soft but sure, your hand finding the edge of her jaw. Her lips parted in surprise before she melted into it, her body angling instinctively toward yours and her hands finding your waist. It wasnât long, but it was enough to make the world tilt, the hum of traffic, the chatter from the bar across the street, all of it dimmed until there was only the warmth of her mouth and the rush of your pulse.
You pulled back just slightly, close enough that your breath still mingled with hers. âI donât usually do that,â you admitted, a playful glint in your eyes.
Alexiaâs lips curved slowly, a little dazed, a little triumphant. âNeither do I.â
You laughed, brushing your thumb against her sleeve before stepping back. âWell⌠maybe rules are meant to be broken.â
She was still watching you like youâd just rewritten the laws of physics, her smile lingering even as you waved, slid into your car, and disappeared into the night.
And for the first time in a long time, Alexia Putellas didnât think about football.
To say you and Alexia had hit it off was an understatement. It wasnât fireworks or some chaotic crash of chemistry, but it was something softer, something that hummed underneath your skin like a rhythm you already knew. You truly just⌠clicked.
Both of you the eldest siblings, both of you carrying the weight of responsibility for younger sisters, both of you working so hard your family could finally breathe. Alexia bought her mom a home and gave Alba a safety net. You worked yourself ragged so your grandmother could retire and your younger sister could dream without limits. It was a bond that required no explanation, you simply understood each other.
Alexia knew you worked in fashion now, of course. But she didnât recognize you. She thought Solenne was some small but promising label, and you didnât correct her. She wasnât the type to scroll endlessly through Instagram or devour fashion magazines, and she couldnât care less about trends. She posted on social media when her sponsors required it and that was the extent of it.
Oddly enough, you liked that. Because with Alexia, you werenât the girl who was Karl Lagerfeldâs apprentice at the ripe age of sixteen (he discovered you after a video of the amateur fashion show when viral.) Not the twenty one year old who inherited Chanelâs creative director seat only to be torn apart by critics when you stepped down. Not the woman who built her own multi-million empire before the age of thirty. With Alexia, you werenât even the genius behind Solenne.
You were just you. The you who drew silly sketches and shoved them under Alexiaâs nose, demanding opinions she didnât know how to give. The you who dragged her unwillingly to Pilates, laughing at her grimaces. The you who stopped to feed every stray cat on your morning walks with Eli. The you who drove like the Formula 1 was your day job, forcing Alexia to clutch the passenger seat like her life depended on it. But Alexia loved every messy, unpolished piece of that you.
No one was happier about the two of you than Eli. Which is how you ended up getting kidnapped into Sunday dinner.
âNena, enough is enough.â Eli planted herself in the doorway of your sewing room, hands on her hips. Her sharp eyes swept across the organized chaos of fabrics draped over chairs, sketches pinned to the glass board, and journals stacked like teetering towers. âYou finally have the day off, Alexia is already at my house, and you can finally meet Alba.â
You didnât even look up from the machine as you guided a seam through the needle. âEli, Iâm almost finishedââ
Eli gasped dramatically and marched right up to you, plucking the thread from between your lips. âDonât you dare talk with needles in your mouth, and donât think I didnât notice.â
You gave a nervous laugh. âNotice what?â
âDid you even eat today?â
You froze and the whir of the machine died as you sheepishly turned to face her, guilty
as a schoolchild.
Eli narrowed her eyes, then sighed, muttering in Catalan. âAi, these artists. Starving yourselves for âthe vision.ââ She looped her arm through yours and started pulling you away from the table like a misbehaving teenager.
âEli, Iâm still in my these clothesââ
âThey are black leggings, nena. Nobody will care. Letâs go.â
You allowed yourself to be dragged through the backyard, the two of you slipping through the little garden gate into her house like you had a hundred times before.
âThe next time you do this,â Eli warned, wagging her spatula as you stepped inside, âyou donât want to know what I will do. Entesa?â [Understand?]
âYes, mademoiselle,â you mumbled, head down like a child caught sneaking sweets.
âBonita!â Alexiaâs voice came from the living room as she immediately got up and wrapped you in a hug, lifting you slightly off the ground. âWhat are you doing here? I thought youâd be buried under sketches.â
Before you could answer, Eli whacked the back of Alexiaâs head with the spatula.
âOwâMama!â Alexia ducked, glaring at her mother.
âAnd what is wrong with you? You knew she was in that sewing dungeon all day and didnât drag her out?â Eli whacked her again, making you snort.
âMama!â Alexia yelped, dancing out of reach.
You clutched your stomach as you laughed harder than you had in weeks, watching Eli chase her grown daughter around the kitchen with a spatula.
âWhat the fuck?â
The new voice made you turn. A woman stood in the doorway, jaw practically on the floor. You recognized her instantly from Eliâs framed photos, Alba.
Her eyes bulged. âYouâreâyouâreâyouâreââ
âAlba!â Eli smacked her youngest with the spatula now. âLanguage, niĂąa! Mouth like a sailor.â
Alba stumbled back, pointing at you like sheâd seen a ghost. âMama, do you know who this is? This is the creator of Solenne. The one I dragged you to in Paris. Lagerfeldâs prodigy. Chanelâs golden child. The reason my bank account cried for six months after that handbag.â
You tried to hold back, but laughter exploded out of you again, especially when Alexia tightened her grip on your waist, looking baffled.
âUgh, you two are impossible,â Alba groaned at her mother and sisterâs dumbfounded expression, digging her phone out of her pocket. âFine. Look. Wikipedia. Here. Read.â She shoved her phone between them.
Alexia leaned over her shoulder. âWait, what?â
Eli squinted at the screen. âNena!â She whirled back to you, scandalized. âWhy didnât you tell me this?â
You wiped tears of laughter from your eyes. âEli, I did tell you. I told you about my company, my designs, my reasons for movingââ
âYou made it sound like you were knitting sweaters for Etsy!â Eli smacked you lightly with the spatula, too.
âOwâEli!â
âYou need to give yourself more credit. This is incredible. You should be proud.â
Your smile softened. âI am proud. Itâs my baby. But sometimesâŚâ You shrugged. âSometimes it feels safer to keep it small.â
Eli softened, cupping your cheek for just a second before turning back to the stove like nothing had happened. âBah. Enough. Dinner!â
Dinner was a warm, chaotic blur. Eli served roast chicken with lentil salad, proudly remade from your accidental invention last week. Conversations flowed, effortlessly as you and Alba fell into easy banter. Yes, she fangirled at first, she even snapped a sneaky photo to send to her friends in a group chat, but after five minutes she was roasting you like a sister.
âYouâre cooler in person,â she admitted between bites of salad. âLike, not as scary. I thought youâd be⌠I donât know. Untouchable.â
âUntouchable?â you laughed. âAlba, youâve seen me choke on tea at your motherâs table.â
âSheâs right,â Eli agreed dryly. âNot untouchable. A disaster.â
Everyone laughed, even Alexia, though she slipped her hand over yours under the table.
Later, when Eli asked about your sister, pride bubbled up in your chest as you told them about Olympe and her basketball dreams, about little Ătienne and his big heart.
âNena, where is your sister? I never asked. Sheâs in university, right?â Eli handed you the bread basin she had, filled with cut up sliced of the sourdough loaf you gave to her.
You smiled at the thought of your sister. âOlympe? Sheâs in her first year of uni. She goes to university in America, and she plays for the womanâs basketball team at her school. She wants to go into the WNBA,â you explained with pride.
Eli smiled as well, âThatâs very good! When she joins we will all go watch her games.â
You laugh at Eliâs ambition, she was already planning this far ahead.
By the time you and Alexia slipped out into the night, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
âDĂŠjĂ vu,â you teased as Alexia walked you home, the moonlight catching in her hair.
She grinned. âWhat do you mean?â
âStanding outside like this. First date all over again.â
Her laughter was soft, full. She pulled you into her arms the second you unlocked your front door, tumbling onto your couch in a heap of limbs and quiet giggles.
âWhy didnât you tell me about Solenne?â she pouted, tugging playfully at your leggings.
âChĂŠrie, I did tell you,â you laughed, brushing a curl from your face. âYou just werenât listening.â
Her lips brushed your shoulder. âMamaâs right. You donât give yourself enough credit. I didnât think âtoo humbleâ was a thing until you.â
You exhaled, voice softer. âSometimes the attention is overwhelming. âI know. I just enjoy the quiet, Iâm not sure. Sometimes the attention can be⌠Comment dit-on cela en espagnol?â [How do you say this in Spanish?]
âOverwhelming?â Alexia offered.
âYes. Exactly, itâs overwhelming. Like when I stepped down as creative director at Chanel to put my full attention on Solenne after I graduated, and the whole thing was blown out of proportion. All these reporters saying it was the worst decision of my career and my brand would never take off. It got so bad some teachers at my little cousinâs school talked bad about me near him and had him in hysterics. My poor Ătienne, he had to change schools which is the last thing he needs. Since then, I guess I realized itâs safer to keep it small, even when it isnât small at all.â
Alexia only hummed, her hand sliding under your shirt, rubbing circles at your waist. âWell⌠small or not, Iâm proud of you.â
You blinked back a sudden rush of emotion, whispering, âThank you, mon amour.â
Alexia let the silence sit, but the warmth of her hands dragging up and down across your skin was a reminder she was still here.
âWhy did you choose Solenne?â Alexia asked.
âMy grandmotherâs name. Sheâs always supported me and when I started it was the only thing I could give to her really, I was only fifteen,â you whispered, the reputation of Alexiaâs hands lulling you to sleep. âBesides it sounds elegant and classy, which was all I wanted.â
âHow old is your sister and cousin? I donât think youâve told me.â
âOlympe is actually seventeen. She graduated a year early so she could go play early. She plays for the University of Connecticut. Ătienne is eight going on nine. Heâs my baby, I love him so much. He has the sweetest heart, and heâs really into football right now. Olympe is trying to turn him onto basketball. He lives with our mamĂŠ because both of his parents travel for work,â you let out a loud yawn. [Grandma]
Alexia kissed your temple, her voice gentle. âGo to sleep, guapa. Iâll be here in the morning.â
And you did wrapped up in her warmth, lulled by the simple, unfamiliar peace of being loved without expectation.
The box felt like it was shrinking around you the longer the match went on. The cheers from the crowd below were deafening, the claps of drums and chants of culers vibrating through the glass. Yet your nerves buzzed louder. You fiddled with your stacked rings, gold, platinum, brushed silver, sliding them up and down your fingers until Eli reached over and gently stilled your hand.
âNena, what is wrong?â Eli asked when you suddenly folded yourself in half in your seat, hair falling like a curtain around your face. âThe game is almost over and you spent most of it worrying and staring at Alexia.â
âI canât do this,â you whispered against your knees, then lifted your head to groan. It wasnât your first football game, you knew Jules KoundĂŠ and went to many of his games. âThis isnât like cheering for Jules or AurĂŠlien or the French team. This is⌠different. This is me wearing her jersey. This is me sitting in the family box. This is Alexia.â
âAww,â Alba cut in with a teasing smirk, her eyes never leaving the pitch as the final whistle blew. âYou already got the WAG routine down. Cute outfit, nervous energy, cheering for your girl like the world is ending.â
You sat up straighter and looked at her, scandalized. âItâs technically Alexia and Iâs first public outing where people might connect dots. I was already spotted at concessions and you know how I value my privacy, so if oneââ
âYouâre rambling again,â Alba sing-songed, resting her chin on her fist. âHuge ball of anxiety, but youâll live. Stop overthinking.â
You blinked at her. Eli blinked at her. The two of you turned in tandem, shocked.
âWhat?â Alba asked, defensive under your twin gazes.
âThatâs actually⌠good advice,â you said slowly, as if testing the words.
Eli clutched her chest like sheâd been shot. âItâs a miracle.â
Alba tossed her hair dramatically. âWhat can I say? Genius strikes when you least expect it.â
âI can say you finally had a good thought,â Eli muttered into her coffee cup.
âMama!â Alba gasped.
You laughed so hard you clutched your stomach, rings clinking together, just when the door opened.
âWhat are we laughing at?â Alexiaâs voice floated in, warm and amused. She looked radiant with her sweat slick hair tied up, cheeks flushed, and her jersey clinging to her still burning skin.
âGood game, vida,â Eli said, rising to kiss her daughterâs cheek.
âYeah, good game, I guess,â Alba mumbled, before Eli smacked her arm and physically nudged her toward the door.
âWe are going to the family room,â Eli announced far too quickly, dragging Alba out despite her whining.
âSubtle,â you whispered with a grin.
Alexia stepped closer, and without thinking you were already out of your chair, wrapping your arms around her neck. Her hands immediately found your waist, pulling you flush against her. You gave her a quick peck, murmuring, âGood game, chĂŠrie. So proud of you.â
Alexiaâs lips curved before she tightened her hold and captured your mouth again, this time slower, lingering, kissing you like sheâd been waiting the whole ninety minutes for this exact moment.
âCapi will you make the TikTokâ
âWhat the fuââ
âCapi?â
You both jolted apart, Alexia spinning halfway toward the door where Jana, Bruna, Esmee, and Salma stood in a messy clump. Janaâs jaw had practically hit the floor. Brunaâs eyes were comically wide. Even Esmee, usually reserved, had her mouth parted in shock. Salma, however, was smirking.
âOh, my God,â Bruna whispered. âYouâre kissing someone.â
âNot just someone,â Jana pointed, eyes narrowing as if solving a puzzle. âThatâsâwait. Thatâsââ
âHi,â you said smoothly, switching into your practiced but genuine smile that you used for investors, journalists, the rare public appearance. You extended your hand like you hadnât just been caught making out with their captain.
âUhâŚâ Esmee blinked, still processing.
Bruna elbowed her. âSay something!â
You chuckled lightly, then turned toward Salma, who was already stepping forward. âSalma,â you greeted warmly, pulling her into a hug. âCongratulations again on the contract. Iâm so glad weâre working together.â
Salma grinned knowingly. âGracias. I had a feeling this was coming.â
Alexia stood frozen, her ears red. âAm I⌠am I the only one who didnât know about Solenne?â she muttered under her breath.
Janaâs eyes shot open wider. âWait. Solenne? Youâre Solenne?â
âLike⌠the fashion Solenne?â Brunaâs voice cracked on the word. âThe one on Vogue last month?â
âWell, I created it.â You smoothed the skirt of your dress under your Alexia jersey and shrugged delicately. âBut tonight Iâm just here as Alexiaâs date.â
That sent the three of them into a fresh wave of whispering chaos. Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose.
âOkay, enough,â she said firmly, shepherding them toward the hall. âGo. Make your TikToks. Leave us alone.â
The four scurried off, still whispering loudly.
When they disappeared, Alexia groaned. âTheyâre never going to let me live that down.â
âTheyâll survive,â you teased, linking your arm through hers as you walked out together.
Outside, your freshly detailed black G-Wagon gleamed under the stadium lights, windows tinted dark enough to bounce back the reflection of the floodlights. Eli and Alba had texted that theyâd gone ahead to the restaurant, giving the two of you space.
Alexia opened the passenger door, hand sweeping theatrically. âGet in.â
You shook your head immediately. âAbsolutely not. You just played ninety minutes. Youâre exhausted. Iâll drive.â
âCarinyo.â Her voice softened, her hand still braced on the door. âPlease. Let me spoil you. Besides, you drive like a lunatic.â
Your lips twitched, torn between practicality and the warmth in her eyes. Finally, with a mock sigh, you slid inside.
Alexia shut the door, jogged around, and climbed into the driverâs seat. The car purred to life.
âYou better drive safe,â you teased, buckling in.
Alexia smirked, shifting into gear. âBonita, as long as I donât drive like you we will be safe.â
The G-Wagon peeled smoothly out of the lot, the two of you laughing as the city lights blurred around you, hearts beating just a little too fast.
summary: the dinner your girlfriend invited you to didnt go exactly as you planned, but you were more interested in the afterparty anyway
warnings: mommy kink (obv), slight jealousy, strap on (r!receiving) + mentioned as cock so, agatha harkness makes a fun cameo, possessive sex, clothed sex, lingerie kink, establishing a breeding kink, slight housewife kink (IM SORRY), praise kink, overstimulation, marking, slight dacryphilia, porn with plot (just stay with me please muahahaha)
wordcount: 5.6K almost
you had been with wanda for maybe about a whole year and a half. but when she invited you as her plus one for her companyâs annual shareholder dinner, you were still surprised. it happened over lunch at a really nice italian place, she was wearing a grey suit that looked amazing on her, you couldnât stop your eyes from raking over her figure again and again. but when she gave you a dashing smile that made her eyes crinkle, your heart couldnât help but melt.Â
you had instantly said yes, her response being a tight squeeze on your hand before she pressed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. and thatâs why you were standing there, in a room filled with people whose net-worths were probably a 100 times more than yours.Â
wanda couldnât personally pick you up herself because she had been handling everything about the dinner herself, down to the food menu and the table cloths. she was particular about her choices like that. and the dinner was a way to show off to the shareholders and her competitors both.Â
you donât know a lot of details because honestly they bore you, and you really didn't care about what 50 year old men had to say about your gorgeously sexy, hot, middle aged girlfriend.Â
but she was still thoughtful like always, she had her driver pick you up. he brought a beautifully long black dress with a cut in the leg along with him, courtesy of wanda, he had told you. you had felt darling in it when you first wore it but now, standing under the chandelier as you look around all the men in boring suits and women in cocktail dresses, you felt a bit overdressed
you had just arrived and as you were looking around to see a familiar face, wandaâs assistant came right in front of you. she smiled but it turned out to be more of a grimace and she ended up waving at you awkwardly, âhello, mrs. maximoff.â
kate was younger than you, different but reminded you of yourself in so many ways, so you smiled back comfortingly and held her hands in yours, giving a reassuring squeeze âkate, itâs lovely to see you again. how are you?â you had asked softly.Â
there was no need to shout, the live band playing jazz was comfortingly quiet. âiâm okay, thank you so much for asking-â she said with a smile, visibly relaxing and you realise today must be a big day for her as well, as wandaâs only assistant.Â
âms maximoff said to seat you at the private bar. and she also told me to tell you that she will come and get you soonâ she mumbles quick, fingers running over the tablet in her hand and you nod, your smile dropping slightly but you're glad kate didnât notice. it was a bit upsetting, you hadnât seen wanda properly in a week but itâs fine, you told yourself.Â
she makes up for it by always staying in bed with you longer in the mornings, you thought. Â
but still you were grateful wanda never forced you to mingle with her peers. not that you were insecure but because you had no will to talk to men whose major life achievements were their vintage car collections. they acted like wall-street was the only good thing that happened in this world and that irked you. so you chose to not have your paths meet.Â
you let kate guide you to the private bar, where you smiled politely at the bartender and placed your drinkâs order. this was the best part, you thought to yourself as you took a sip of your drink and leaned back against the bar.Â
the people watching, where you observe every stupid thing someone did just so you could giggle about it later with wanda. and that thought alone brings a smile to your face. wanda making jokes along with you always made you happy.Â
you're so deep in your thought that you don't even notice when the woman ends up sitting next to you but you're broken out of your spell when you hear her order her drink, knuckles tapping the counter.Â
âwhiskey, neat please.â her voice is raspy, commanding in a way that instantly makes you straighten your back. you glance towards her, racking your mind to see if you know her but you come up blank.Â
her hair is long, cascading down her back and there is a white streak, very prominent in her brown hair. but you can still see the silver roots. sheâs wearing a very loose brown colored suit, that is too big on her but she somehow manages to make it work.Â
in the process of you sizing the woman up, sheâs staring right back at you and she's the one who ends up breaking the silence.Â
âshirley temple?â
âcosmopolitan.â you reply politely and the woman regards you with a small grin and then asks, in the sweetest voice âyou old enough to drink, sweetheart?â
âexcuse me?â you reply, baffled, blinking at her. but the heat that runs up your spine make your fingers tingle. the other woman chooses to ignore you, just waves her hand dismissively before turning fully towards you on the bar stool.Â
you quickly establish that you donât like her.Â
she tilts her head to the side, and if possible, her eyes brighten into a deeper shade of blue, you stiffen even more. âive seen you around the office with wanda.âÂ
âwell, i have never seen you.â is all you say, your voice curt, your shoulders tight and youre sure your cheeks are red. but the woman ends up smiling again, taking a small sip of her drink. her eyes still on you.Â
the woman places her drink back on the counter and regards you with what you would've called a sheepish grin if you didn't clearly notice the mischief in her eyes. âi like to work from home mostly, itâs more fun and i can drink on the clo-âÂ
you donât mean to be dramatic, but you literally notice the temperature of the room drop, and you feel her before you even hear her voice.Â
âagatha, i see you have met my wife.â you hear from behind and the grip you had on your glass loosens instantly. you feel wandaâs warm hand press against your shoulder blade and you lean back easily into her touch.
you can let her do all the thinking now.Â
âwife?â the woman, agatha, chuckles, eyes shimmering as they quickly glance towards your hands. specifically, over your fingers and you subconsciously clench them into tight fists.
âwell, i didn't know about that.â is all she ends up saying, eyes now fixed on wanda with an easy grin.Â
âyou wouldn't know. with those failed marriages and all.â wandaâs voice isn't loud, but itâs firm enough. her hand is still on your shoulder as she moves to stand besides you, and you finally get to see what sheâs wearing. and your mouth dries up.Â
âiâve been married once, wanda. at least show a tiny bit of interest in my life.â agatha pouts at your girlfriend but you don't see it.Â
youre focused on her, on wanda, dressed in an ivory turtleneck, her suit is again a black loose fit. her sleeves are pushed up, and the hand that's not on your shoulder, is tucked inside her pocket.Â
âi dont want to.â is all wanda says, her head tilted to the side. her voice is low, her tone flat and agatha just hums, taking another sip of her drink.Â
agathaâs eyes were back on you, over the rim of her glass and you can literally see her grin over it. âthis oneâs pretty cute-â
âno.â wanda replies, as she steps up in front of you. you don't see her facial expressions but agatha ends up giving wanda another pout before she stands up with her drink.Â
she settles right in front of wanda, taking a deliberately slow sip of her drink, voice quiet but you still hear her, âyou wound me, darling but-â she looks at you over wandaâs shoulder.Â
she is taller than wanda, you blink. she winks at you, you blink again.
âuntil we meet again, sweetheart. te veoâ she smiles at you then, a smug yet genuine grin and sheâs gone.Â
wanda is immediately in front of you, hands reaching to hold yours âhi, darling. i apologize for leaving you alone for so long.â and then sheâs leaning down to press two kisses to the back of your hands. âdid agatha give you a hard time?â
âhey, no- wanda itâs fine. please dont apologize and no she was fine, she didn-â you reply hastily, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. and when you look up at her, she takes no time to press her lips against yours. once, twice and on the third time, her tongue comes to lick along the seams of your lips before she pulls away.Â
you're dazed, and it takes a while for your vision to clear up again before you look back up at her. and she looks wicked. her eyebrows are furrowed but you're not sure if in anger or frustration. her pupils are blown and her lipstick is smudged and shes looking at you like she wants to devour you whole.Â
you clench your legs together, quickly becoming aware of the seeping wetness between your thighs. and wandaâs eyes seem to follow your movements, focused on your exposed thigh and her jaw clenches.Â
oh.Â
oh, sheâs very turned on.Â
though, when she looks back at you, her eyes soften around the corners, and she manages to give you a gentle smile. âone hour, and then we can leave, is that fine?â
and when you answer with a meek âyeahâ, she helps you stand up, albeit on slightly shaky legs and she lets you fix her lipstick. she doesn't parade you around like that, still being mindful of your preferences but instead settles you with people you know enough to be comfortable with.Â
so when dinner finally rolls up, you thank carol or maria with a gentle smile before taking your seats. the dinner is a quiet affair, though wandaâs left hand settles easily over your thigh under the table and doesn't leave its place for a long time.Â
after that, everything was rushed, wanda makes one more round, before entrusting everything to carol. she grabs your hand, doesnt even stop to let you look back or say your goodbyeâs before you are almost dragged towards the parking. and when you tripped over your six-inch heels for the second time, all wanda did was pick you up and walk to the valet, ignoring your squeals.Â
when the car is here, she easily helps you in the passenger's side, buckling your seatbelt for you before jogging to the driver's side. and then she is zooming out the basement and into the highway in no time. the ride is quiet, the air filled with a tension you arent sure what to label but wandaâs hand rubbing circles on your thigh was comforting enough.Â
you don't know how it happened or why you even said it but the words came out of your mouth before you could even second guess them, âi have never met agatha before. sheâs new.âÂ
wandaâs fingers stop their ministrations for a brief moment and if you were hyperfocused on her touch, you wouldn't even have noticed. you tense up just slightly, wondering if you said something wrong. curiosity killed the cat.
she takes a minute to respond, eyes flickering over the windshield before she finally hums out, her ministrations continuing âyeah, she has been overseeing the uk office for a few years, came back just this week.â
but satisfaction brought it back, you suppose.
that's all the conversation you two have for a short while before wanda glances at you, and then starts with an âim sure she probably liked youâÂ
what?
no, sheâs got it all wrong. you turn to look at wanda, eyes widening slightly before you mumble âwanda, no- thatâs not why i was say-â
âmy darling girl, i know. i know.â she replies, eyes flickering to you briefly before they end up back on the road.
she squeezes your thigh comfortingly, and when she finally pulls up in her driveway, she turns to look at you. âi know, my love. i was just stating the obvious. everyone adores you.âÂ
and then she cups your cheek. you lean easily into her touch with a quiet sigh, relaxing instantly, eyes closing. the older woman coos and brushes her thumb over your cheekbone, touch gentle.
âshe, however. she doesn't get to adore you, because you are mine, yes? are you not mommyâs girl?â
your eyes open at her words, at her tone, just how sickly sweet it is, but also because of the possession dripping from her words. and when your eyes flicker to her face, your breath ends up hitching.Â
you can hardly see the green in her eyes, even with the lights in the driveway, because they were consumed by her pupils. and yet, she was still looking at you with such softness, that was so uniquely hers, her hand still pressed against your cheek.
you shift in the passengerâs seat and shit, you're wet. you just canât help it, you nod, once, twice before you reach to press a kiss to her palm. âiâm mommyâs girl. only yours.âÂ
and that seems to please wanda enough because she grants you a beautiful smile, her dimple prominent.Â
âgood girl, dolly. now, please would you please be a dear for me and go strip down in the bedroom? i want you on your hands and knees. could my pretty girl do that for me?â
fuck. you shift again in the seat, your panties sticking to your wet sex. you nod again, she merely tilts her head and you correct your wrong, âyes, mommy. i can.â
she gives you another smile, and when her hand leaves your cheek to unbuckle your seatbelt, you're out of the car. you enter the pin to the main door, take your heels off near the shoe rack and then you're walking upstairs.
it takes no time for you to find wandaâs bedroom and then you start to take of your dress. itâs a bit hard having to unzip the dress but you make do. and when you're finally just in the maroon lingerie you chose for wanda, you bite your lip. the bralette, sheer with its lacey floral patterns and the thong, sinful.
you're not sure if you should take it off as well, because you want wanda to see, you know how the lace drives her insane. but she also said to strip down.
so you take a calculated risk. you keep the lingerie on and settle on your hands and knees on wandaâs bed. and then you wait, five minutes, then ten.
when youâve been waiting for fifteen minutes, you grow restless. your thighs are pressed together and you're sure your slick is dripping down your inner thighs. and when you finally feel like you wouldnât be able to hold on any longer, the bedroom door clicks open.
your back straightens immediately, and other than wandaâs sharp inhale, she doesnât give you anything. you donât even hear her heels clicking and you're almost sure she had taken them off until you actually hear them clatter on the hardwood floors.
âoh, you're so pretty like this, darling. is this all for me?â she asks softly as she settles on her knees behind you, pressing her hips flush against you and you choke out a whimper. you can feel the strap-on she's packing and your thighs quiver.
you let out a quiet mewl, and you have to fist the thousand-thread cotton sheets to stop yourself from grinding back against her. youre sure wanda could notice your struggle because she ends up resting both of her hands on your hips, thumbs caressing your flesh slowly, as if to soothe you.
âit looks like a pretty color, baby, i wanna see it more clearly.â her voice is breathless and it sounds raw but you hear the demand clearly. you roll over on your back in an instant, back flush against the mattress and you hear wanda let out a soft sigh as she settles in between your legs.
âoh, you're so gorgeous, sweetling. what a stunning color indeed.â wanda mumbles softly, but you hear the tremor in her voice, you see the way she licks her lips and you see the way her fingers tremble as they touch the expensive lace of your bralette. and you bite back the grin that is threatening your lips.
âwore it for you, mommy.â you mumble and actually smile at the way wanda swallows thickly.
her fingers lose their restraint at your words, now shamelessly tracing the lace, her eyes running down your navel and down to where the thong covers your soaking folds. and she lets out a quiet groan when you spread your legs wider, the gusset a darker shade as you soak it even more with your slick.
and you notice in real time when her eyes zero on the small bow on the gusset, right over your clit. and her fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, travel down your stomach to press onto the bow, your back arches.
âoh.â is all she mumbles out and when her eyes meet yours once again, they're crazed. your breath hitches and you gush out more slick. wanda wastes no time, her thumb presses tiny circles on your clit over your panties, while her other hand unbuttons her slacks and lowers the fly.
she is still fully dressed but she doesnât seem to mind as she takes out the strap she had kept hidden from you all night and you moan out loud, finally and itâs your favorite. âyou wanna be helpful, darling?â
it takes you a while to focus on anything other than her touch on your clit and the strap she has in her hand but when you finally mumble out a âyes, mommy.â she rewards you by pulling your thong to the side to finally expose your pussy.
you clench around nothing as your sex is exposed to the cold air of the room, and you hear wanda spit in her hand. she uses the same hand to stroke the dildo attached to the harness you can't see.
âmommy had such a long week, exhausting it was. and now she wants to unwind, destress if you will,â her tone is borderline mocking, but you know sheâs holding back âbut for that, she needs her pretty princessâs help.â
and then sheâs pressing the tip of her strap just against your entrance, collecting your slick and you're panting, your mind completely blank, hips twitching for more. âyou wanna help mommy? yeah? wanna be useful, baby?â
you're nodding, hands gripping onto wandaâs shoulders, her biceps, anything, just to pull her closer, to have her take you but she just bumps the tip against your clit and you're mewling âuse your words like a big girl, princess.â
âyes! god, please yes mommy, please use me! i wanna help.â you donât see the grin plastered on her face but you do feel her press her strap inside you inch by inch, deliberate, all-consuming and hot. and your cunt flutters around her cock, slowly getting used to the stretch, while your mouth falls slack.
you donât have time to breath until she has pressed her strap inside to the hilt, maybe just a minute of rest. she's the, again pulling out of you and slamming right back inside you, over and over again, hard and fast, making your thighs quiver.
you're a gasping mess, eyes screwed shut as you nails dig in her suit jacket but wandaâs movements only fastened. âgod, what a perfect pussy, she takes me so good. she missed me, yeah? she did?â
sheâs changes her position, using her knees to spread your thighs wider so she can push her strap even deeper inside. she, then hovers her face above yours to see your expressions, the flush of your cheeks, the parting of your lips and she growls. you have never heard her growl. âthis is exactly what mommy needed, princess.â
she puts one of her hands next to your head, the other in between your legs to torture your already pulsing clit as she rubs small digit eightâs on it. and your hips jolt âm-mommy-â
âshh, baby, i know mommyâs so deep inside you, but you take it so good, yeah? you love mommyâs cock?â sheâs cooing and her voice is so soft, like a symphony in your ears but her pace is animalistic. youâre soaking her slacks and the thong is a mess thatâs barely holding on, but she refuses to take it off.
âgosh princess, mommy doesnât give your pussy attention for a week and you go to the next older woman you see? thatâs unfair.â sheâs panting and her lips are bitten red, her voice is still gentle but now sheâs resorted to pinching your clit. you yelp, shaking your head as you feel tears welling up your eyes. jesus, you're close already.
âoh, my poor baby, it's alright, shh- you just canât help it when people look at you. you love the attention; youâre just like that.â her thumb presses hard on your clit, you choke on a whine.
you guess sheâs pissed, slightly even jealous and you donât want to say anything out of line. but sheâs not even letting you say anything at all with just how sheâs ramming into you, âno- n-no mommy, iâm only yours, fuck.â
âim sorry, darling, what was that?â she coaxes, her thrusts softening to the point sheâs grinding into you, the tip of her strap pressed just right against that spongey spot inside you. and you sputter out a moan, âim yours only mommy, pâease, fuck only yours! let me come.â
âyoure mine only? yeah?â and when you're nodding breathlessly, she presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. and you realise sheâs probably getting off, the strap mustve been giving her clit the right amount of pressure. so you wrap your legs around her hips and pull her even closer against you. she huffs out a moan.
âyeah, youâre mine baby. im the only one filling you up, f-fuck iâll make you mine properly. iâll put a shiny diamond ring on your finger and fuck you full of my cock every day. youâd like that? you want that?â your walls clench tight around her strap and she groans when she canât move.
your head spins at her words. your body is trembling and you feel yourself dripping down the mattress. you want that. you want her.
she notices your reaction because her lips are pressed against your neck, and sheâs nipping and sucking on your skin, âyeah, you do baby. of course you do. you wanna be mine always, you want me to keep you tucked inside my room all the time so i can fill you full of myself whenever?â
and when you moan out, she chuckles against your jugular, âoh what a good girl, my good girl. fuck, youâll be such a perfect wife, youre already so obedient. youâll be at my beck and call.â and when you nod, lips parted to let out a silent groan, she nods along with you.
âperfect girl. my perfect girl.â she starts her thrusts again, her strap bottoms out and then she pulls out until the tip remains, just to slam back inside you. itâs enough to reignite that fire in the pit of your tummy. âm-mommy, closeâ and wanda traps your clit between her thumb and index, jerking it off slowly. you gasp, walls clenching tighter around her strap.
âyou gonna cum around mommyâs cock princess?â and when you nod again, she leans to press a kiss against your lips, mumbling a âgood girlâ against your lips.
she pulls away to rest on her knees again, putting your thighs on top of hers as she continues to give you deep, mind-numbing thrusts, her fingers still on your clit. your vision shatters.
your thighs are trembling on top of hers in no time and you donât even have the time to warn her before your release is washing over you, racking your body with tremors.
she lets you come down from your high slowly, pressing her hands against your thighs as she plants small kisses on your tummy. and when the aftershocks finish, she meets you gaze with a grin, âthere she is, oh thereâs my girl.â
your cheeks flush more, and wanda, while still nestled inside of you, sheds her suit jacket and her shirt. ânow, that ive given you your fun, itâs mommyâs turn.â
she smiles when you let out a whimper, not yet denying her and she slowly pulls out the strap. she hushes you quietly when you whine and very easily stands up to take off her slacks as well. and only then does your mind work enough to realise that she wasnât wearing any panties or even a bra. because her breasts are in front of you, and your mouth waters.
wanda notices, of course she does because her smile brightens, and sheâs climbing back on the bed on top of you. and you pull her closer, running your fingers through her long hair before pulling her in for the first deep, real kiss of the night.Â
she hums against your lips, head tilting to the side before her tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and you grant her easy access. she wastes no time exploring your mouth, your tongue brushing against hers.
her tongue traces the roof of your mouth, the sharpness of your teeths, making you release a shaky breath against her mouth. she ends up biting your bottom lip, real enough to make it ache before she slowly pulls away.
her hand holds the base of her strap, and she wastes no time before sheâs pressing into you again. you let out a quiet huff, your walls still not used to the stretch but the arousal you gushed out makes slipping inside you easier. and she pants against your ear, âoh baby, you are still dripping for me.â
sheâs ravenous with her kisses afterwards because she's pressing wet, open-mouthed ones against any skin her mouth could come across. behind your ear, underneath your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. when she finally reaches your breasts after neglecting them the entire night, she doesnât take your bra off.Â
she just simply pulls the cups down to expose them before she has a nipple in her mouth, which instantly hardens more against her tongue. all while she's inside and not moving an inch.
itâs laughable, how pliant you are underneath her touch. she lets go of your nipple after giving it a tiny bite and then immediately moves onto the other while her hand reaches out to knead your breast slowly. as if she was relishing the feel of them in her hands.Â
but a loud gasp leaves your mouth when she starts her thrusts again, shallowly, more controlled this time, knowing how sensitive you were. your eyes roll in the back of your head.Â
âdonât think iâll ever get enough, sweetheart.â she mumbles quietly, one hand on your waist while the other settles on your lower tummy, just over the slight bulge of her strap.Â
âyou feel that? thatâs me-â and as if sheâs proving a point, she presses down on the bulge, just enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. âim the one fucking you so deep, love. itâs your mommy.âÂ
she changes her position then, grabs the back of your knees to fold your legs against your chest and that seems to push her even deeper inside of you, because now the sound of skin slapping is so prominent, itâs the only ringing in your ears. youâre gone. âmommy, câose-â
you think you hear wandaâs whispers, something along the lines of âyou feel so good around me, i swear you were made for me.â but you can't be too sure. because her pace quickens again, she's holding both of your legs by one arm as her hand moves to slide between your legs again. and then she fucking taps your clit, the pressure of her fingers heavy.Â
you let out a high pitched moan, fingers tangling in the sheets one more and youre soaking wandaâs strap with your cum for the second time tonight. but wanda doesnt stop, she doesnt slow down. no, she just uses the arm she was holding your legs with to push you on the side. and then she slips right behind you, chest flush against your back.Â
you love this position, because it forces wanda deeper inside you, and the angle kisses that spot inside you just right with every thrust. âf-fuck..â your voice is rough butÂ
your head tilts to rest against wandaâs shoulder and she presses fervent kisses to any skin she can come across, sucking another mark just underneath your ear. it drives you insane. her hand is back on your tits to play with your nipples. and theyâre oversensitive now because a rough pinch on them makes your back arch. âyoure so, hah- fuck- come inside me, pleaseâ
wandaâs hips snap forward at your words, and you both moan in unison. âfuck, baby.â her voice is strained and gosh, itâs such a beautiful sound.
she likes that, you realise. and your hand mindlessly reaches back to tangle in her hair. âwant you to fuck me full of your cum.â and wandaâs insane, sheâs pushing you a little more on your stomach, and her thrusts are sharper now, harder. and you can't control your moans
âfuck, love. you're so sweet foâme. iâll breed you full, you'll feel me inside you for days.â and wandaâs rhythm starts to break, her voice becomes whiner and sheâs almost grinding against your ass, chasing her own pleasure.Â
âeveryoneâll know you're mine, everyone will know- hah- fuck baby.â sheâs babbling now, and you smile against the sheets, cute, you think. you can't help it, so snicker through your own groans.
âyou gonna cum, just from the thought of fucking me full of your cum? you think itâll stick the first time? or will we have to-to go a few roundsâ and wanda whimpers, her hips gaining their strength back to give you answering thrusts, and they're brutal, your eyes leak tears down your cheeks.Â
but wanda licks them up, licks your tears to pant against you ear again, licking your earlobe. âyou don't know what you're talking about, little girlâ and you moan, pushing your hips back against hers to match her pace. your insides are burning and your walls are holding onto her strap so tight, it's making it hard for her to move.Â
but wanda licks them up, she takes back her control. she licks your tears to pant against you ear again, biting on your earlobe. âyou don't know what you're talking about, little girlâ and you moan, pushing your hips back against hers to match her pace. your insides are burning and your walls are holding onto her strap so tight, it's making it hard for her to move.Â
but she grips your hips with a hand and forces you to meet her thrusts, and your vision goes hazy. âyou think you could take it, doll? iâd keep you on my cock for days, jesus- youre still so tight?â
her breath is warm against the back of your neck, and she sounds almost pained. she licks up a broad swipe of the sweat dripping and you shudder, your hand reaching back to rest against her thigh, the knot inside you tightening once more.
âyouâve gone quiet now, gonna cum again, princess?â of course she notices, she chuckles against your skin, but it comes out more of an exhale âcmon, love. work for itâ
thatâs all the permission you need because your other hand reaches between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit and your legs are spasming. but wanda plays dirty because her voice is sinful when she mumbles a âcant wait to fuck my cum back inside you over and over, until it does stick.â
and your vision goes white.
wanda slows her thrusts but doesnât stop, her hips still moving as her arm wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against her chest. âgood, my good girl. youre so perfectâ
when you feel like you can breathe again, finally after a few moments. when your fingers have stopped trembling, you lay slack against wanda who just presses soft kisses to your shoulder before pressing a kiss to your earlobe again.
ânow, hands and knees, dear. ive heard it usually does the trickâ
a/n: is it the best thing i have ever written? absolutely not? will i be embarrassed that its not the best thing i have ever written? also absolutely not. CIAO
This is just smut - from an idea by @a-cat-on-titan
The thud of Wandaâs fists against the punching bag are the only sound in the Avengers gym.
She controls her breathing, remembering everything her teammates have taught her about hand-to-hand combat. Even if Wandaâs already very powerful, her fighting skills need some improvement.
You enter the gym, admiring the way she looks in those tight workout clothes, sweat making her skin glisten with the physical strain.
âHey, loveâ you say, walking up to her. Since she doesnât turn around, you place your hand on her shoulder.
Wandaâs first instinct is to throw a punch. But her footing is off and you avoid it easily, throwing her over your shoulder and straddling her lap as she lands on the floor.
âHey!â
âHiâ you say, laughing. âGotchaâ
âI was not preparedâ
âRight. What are you doing here, anyway?â you stand up, offering your hand to help her up.
âClint was going to help me train but he had to leave for an urgent missionâ
âWanna train with me, then?â you offer, but frown when you notice she hesitates. âWhat?â
âItâs just that⌠you pull your puches when we sparâ
âI do not!â
âYou kinda doâ she tilts her head, scrunching up her nose in that way you find so adorable.
âI had you on your back and pinned to the floor just five seconds agoâ
âYes, and I quite enjoyed itâ she teases, pulling you against her. You kiss her lips, but she can tell youâre moping a bit at her rejection. âWe can train but you wonât pull your punchesâ
âOk, fine. I didnât know my girl liked it roughâ you whisper teasingly, walking up to the mat.
Thatâs how you miss Wandaâs blush, not even registering the effect your words had on her.
Before you prepare your stance, you stand behind her, moving her elbows a little bit lower.
âThis is betterâ you whisper against her ear and she lets you move her around. âGood girlâ
âStopâ
âMmmâ you laugh, placing a kiss below her ear. âReady?â
Now you stand in front of her, analyzing her for a second before throwing a punch. Wanda barely avoids it, her eyes widening at your speed.
âYou told me not toâŚâ
âI know. Iâm readyâ she says, more to herself than to you.
For a few minutes, you throw punches that Wanda manages to avoid, if only just barely. Thatâs the issue with her fighting style; she can avoid getting hit, but sheâs always pulling deffensive moves, rather than playing offensive to get the upper hand.
Which is fine, she has powers. But she asked you to not hold back, after all.
After managing to make contact, you place her in a headlock, your arms not even making pressure on her. Wanda wrestles with your grip, but doesnât doble tap you to let her go, so you just stay there, hoping she remembers how to get off it.
âEasyâ you whisper when she begins to lose focus. Without thinking, you squeeze her throat a little too harsh.
Wanda lets out a moan at that.
Not as if sheâs in pain, or complaining.
Itâs a lot like the sounds she makes when youâre fucking her and sheâs coming.
Your brain can barely catch up with the fact, though, because sheâs throwing you with her powers across the room.
âThatâs cheatingâ you say, out of breath.
Wandaâs out of the gym before you can stand up, and you decide to give her a minute.
After going to get some water and walking around the Compound, you go back to your room. Wandaâs hair is wet. She probably jumped in the shower to cool off; and though you try to stop the thoughts, the image of Wanda fucking herself while water runs down her back comes to you.
That makes her look up, and you falter at the intensity of her gaze.
âWe should probablyâŚâ
âNoâ
âWandaâ
âItâs stupidâ she says, standing up to walk around you. Even if she could move you with her magic, you stay on your spot, searching her eyes.
âItâs not stupid. Just⌠talk to me? Pleaseâ
With a defeated sigh, Wanda turns to sit down at the edge of the bed. You kneel to be able to look at her, your hands on her thighs.
âI⌠wouldnât mind if sometimes, you were a little bit roughâ
âDuring trainingâ
âDuring sexâ she clarifies, but catches up to the fact you were teasing her. âYou said you wanted to talk, and now youâre making fun of meâ
âNo, hey, sorry. Iâm an idiot. If you want me to be rough, we can try. But we should probably discuss some things ahead. Like, what kind of things youâd enjoy. Maybe a safe word. This only works if we communicate, babyâ
âYouâve done this beforeâ Wanda tilts her head, and you know youâre in dangerous territory.
You still have PTSD from the time Sam taught her what body count meant. Wanda insisted she wanted to know yours, and then gave you a hickey for every one of the girls you fucked before her.
âWell⌠I have experimented a bit. I just didnât bring it up before because I was under the impression you were fine with what we have, Wandsâ
Your sex life wasnât boring, but not exactly daring either. The best word to describe it would be vanilla. And there was nothing wrong with that, because Wanda was not only the hottest girl in the world, she was also kind, caring, funny and smart.
âWhy didnât you say something?â
âWell, first of all. Your pleasure is mine. So I was perfectly happy with fucking you in every possible way or eating you out, baby. Didnât think it was something you wanted to explore. But now that I doâŚâ you lean forward to kiss her softly, smiling at her. âLetâs just make sure that soundproof spell of yours actually worksâ
â
Itâs been one of those weeks, where the weight of being an Avengers is almost too much to handle.
Youâve been in and out of briefing rooms, and by the time youâre back, Wandaâs already gone to another mission.
This also means that you canât have a proper date night, or a conversation about the things sheâs open to trying in the bedroom.
After your latest mission and a quick trip to the Medbay, you plop down in bed and pass out, hoping this rough patch is over soon and you can see your girlfriend.
It takes another twelve hours but your wish is granted. Wanda comes back from an intel mission with Pietro and Steve and you get word that they need to analyze everything before proceeding with more missions.
âI missed youâ you say once she returns to your room, climbing in bed to cuddle.
âMe tooâ
âWant to get some sleep?â you offer, though itâs barely past seven. Wanda stays silent and you lift your head to look at her, concerned. âBaby?â
âAre you tired?â
Her tone makes you hesitate for a second. Honestly? Youâre exhausted. But judging by the way sheâs playing with the hem of your shirt, you know what sheâs thinking.
âTell me what you wantâ you say, kissing the column of her neck, until you reach her ear.
âI want to stop thinking. I just want to feel you⌠I want you to use meâ
âFuck, Wandaâ you say against her skin, biting down and knowing thatâs going to leave a mark. But she seems thrilled at the idea, moaning when she feels the rough contact of your teeth on her. âOut of these clothes before I rip them offâ
While Wanda strips naked, you stay in your underwear and t-shirt, enjoying the show she puts on as she throws every item of clothing to the floor.
âOn your hands and kneesâ you say, and sheâs shaking with excitement as she settles in bed.
âStay uprightâ you command, stepping closer and placing your hands on her ass. Wanda shivers at the contact. But before you start, you give her one last set of instructions.
âGreen, yellow, red. Green is good, yellowâŚâ
âGot itâ she cuts you off. You chuckle, pinching her thigh and making her squirm.
âSmartassâ
Even if you want to give her shit, your mouth is watering at the prospect of eating her out, so your hands return to her ass, spreading her cheeks and moaning at the amount of arousal thatâs dripping from Wandaâs core.
âEager, are we?â you say, kissing her leg and going little by little, until your tongue darts out to lick a strip up her cunt.
âFuckâ she sighs, trying to push herself back, to get more contact.
As you keep eating her out, Wanda pants and moans, wanting more of you. Youâre so busy that it takes a minute to notice a hand that snaked down Wandaâs body. Sheâs playing with her clit while your tongue laps at her folds.
âNo one said you could touch yourselfâ you tsk, pushing her hand away. Adjusting your position, you pull both of her hands behind her back, grabbing her by the wrists. As a result, her face stays pressed against the pillow, back arched and ass in the air.
Wanda feels exposed, but also incredibly turned on.
âWhat was that?â you say when she mumbles something. âWandaâ
âSpank meâ she pleads, and youâre pretty sure your brain stops working at that point.
âWant me to teach you some manners?â you tease, your hand going to her ass, touching her softly.
âFuck. Yesâ
âWhat a dirty mouth. Will have to fuck that out of youâ you say, still touching her. Without warning, your hand comes down against her right butt cheek. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, but Wanda gets too quiet, and you worry this is too much.
âHarder. Please, harderâ
At her request, you falter. You really donât want to hurt her and youâre worried about overstepping, since this is the first time youâre trying something different.
âI can take it, detka, pleaseâ she says again, and you snap out of it.
You climb into bed, settling behind her. Your fingers trace patterns on her pale skin, and without warning your hand spanks her ass. Wanda arches her back, moaning louder.
You deliver blow after blow, her sounds of pleasure making you more confident. Once her skin is red, you decide to take a break from the spanking, a finger prodding her entrance to check how wet she is.
âFuck, you like this a little too much, donât you?â
âMmhâ
âMy little slutâ the words leave your mouth before you can think it twice.
âAll yoursâ she agrees, too far gone to even catch up to what sheâs saying.
âYouâre so wet, I think youâll finally get to try my big cock. You want that?â
âPleaseâ
âPlease, what?â
âFuck me with your big cockâ she answers with surprising clarity.
âGood girl, asking so nicelyâ you kiss her cheek, leaving her in the middle of bed to discard your clothes and put on the strap.
Wanda stays in the middle of bed, her breathing labored as you prepare for whatâs next.
Sheâs expecting you to fuck her missionary, the way youâve done countless times, but instead you kneel behind her, lifting her easily until she settles in your lap, her back pressed against your front.
Wanda leans against you, feeling the toy against the back of her legs. Itâs certainly one of the biggest you own.
âDo you remember the spell?â you say against her temple.
âT-the silencing spell?â
âNo. The other oneâ
Oh.
She had tried it once. But it required all her focus, and the way you fucked her with the strap made it impossible to keep it going for longer than a few minutes.
âI donât think I can do itâ she says, tensing as one of your hands goes down, playing with her clit.
âYou better. Otherwise you donât get to comeâ you say, the other hand going to pinch her nipple harshly.
Wanda moans. She pleads, and all you do is tease her, until sheâs desperate enough to try. The red glow around the strap is the only indication that something might have changed.
But you know it worked, because the second you run the tip of the strap against her cunt, you feel her slickness.
âFuck, babyâ you say, hand wrapped around her throat as you push her down, bottoming out in one motion.
Wanda sees stars, as you keep choking her while moving inside. Sheâs so warm and tight, you forget you were scared of being rough. Now, all you can think about is your own pleasure as you fuck her, her ass getting redder as you slam your hips against her.
âFuck, youâre so perfect. So tight and warm. You like being my toy?â
âYesâ she moans, searching for your other hand, until she places it around her throat.
It seems like no matter how rough you are, itâs not enough for Wanda. So, both of your hands wrap around her neck, squeezing hard as you thrust up. Her tits bounce with the strenght of your movement, and you know she's close by the way she clenches around you.
It feels perfect, and you know you won't last long either. You push Wanda to lay on her front, caging her with your own weight as you thrust faster, breathing heavily against her ear.
"Detka, fuckfuckshit" she says as her walls squeeze you, and you come with a loud moan, teeth sinking in the crook of her neck as you slow down.
When you finally snap out of it, you roll to the side, discarding the strap and tossing it to the floor. Wanda's still face down, out of breath.
"You ok?" you ask, worried that you might have hurt her.
All you get as response is an incoherent string of words spoken in Sokovian. Fuck, did you break her.
"Wanda? In English?"
"Give me... one minute" she says, smiling as she comes down from her high. "That was the best... I need... more"
"Ok. Once you go back to full sentences, maybe?" you tease, pulling her until she lays on your chest.
For a few minutes, all you can hear is her breathing, your bodies pressed together as you stay in bed.
"What if next time you tie me up?" Wanda says and you sink your nails in her flesh.
Summary: Natasha Romanoff has always been trained to notice the smallest detailsâthe ones that reveal what people want, what they fear, what they hide. But when it comes to you, thereâs one detail she canât seem to uncover.
Warnings: fluff
Words: 5338
You stab a piece of food with your fork and gesture casually toward the cafeteria line with your chin.
âWhat about Jenn from HR? She seems nice. Always says hi whenever she sees you.â
Beside you, Natasha doesnât even glance up. She spears a bite neatly from her tray and answers flatly.
âSheâs already seeing someone.â
You pause mid-chew, blinking at her in disbelief.Â
âSeriously? Who?â
Natasha lifts her fork, tilting it just enough to indicate across the room without drawing attention.
âCarmen. From the front desk. Theyâve been dating since last month.â
You follow the direction of her gesture, eyebrows rising when you notice Carmen sitting in the corner. Tablet in hand, sure, but her eyes keep flicking upwardâstraight toward Jenn in the line. When their gazes meet, thereâs a secret smile, a tiny wave, something almost invisible unless you were looking for it.
ââŚHuh,â you murmur, reluctantly impressed.
Natasha only nods, as if itâs obvious. She resumes eating, believing that the subject of this particular conversation is over after her words.
You notice a tiny smear of sauce clinging near her lip, and without thinking, you lean in and dab it away with a napkin.
âYou got a little something,â you say softly.
Natasha doesnât even react in surprise at your touch. She just takes the napkin from you with a distracted âThanks,â eyes still on her plate.
You lean back, resting your chin on your hand, studying her with something between admiration and exasperation.
âSo howâd you figure that out?â
She shrugs like itâs nothing, slicing into her food with precise care.
âJennâs lunch routine changed. She used to eat in her office, now she shows up whenever Carmenâs here. Plus, Jennâs been wearing that silver bracelet Carmen wore every day until about three weeks ago. And whenever Carmenâs shift ends early, Jenn conveniently leaves a couple minutes laterâeven though she usually stays late.â
You blink, almost dropping your fork at the overload of detail.
âAnd you just happen to notice all of that?â
âItâs part of being a spy,â Natasha says, looking up with a faint smirk. âPeople tell you things without realizing it. All you have to do is watch.â
Before you can retort, a new group enters the cafeteria. You nudge her arm, pointing at someone in the middle.
âOkay, what aboutââ
âCrushing on Jeremy from IT,â she interrupts smoothly, not even bothering to turn her head.
Your jaw drops. âYou didnât even look.â
âI donât need to,â she replies coolly, taking a sip of her drink. âShe rearranged her gym schedule to match his. Switched brands to that chalky protein powder he drinks. And she nearly concussed herself last week trying to follow him around a corner.â
You gape, then narrow your eyes at her.
âYou say youâre not into romance,â you accuse, jabbing your fork toward her, âbut youâre basically tuned into everyoneâs relationship at SHIELD.â
Her smirk deepens just enough to be infuriating.Â
âI donât have to be into it to recognize it. Tells are tells. Thatâs all it isâpatterns, shifts, little details.â
You hum, a grin tugging at your lips as something mischievous sparks in your chest. You lean forward, voice lowering with challenge.
âAlright then. Since youâre so confidentâŚdo me.â
Her brows rise. âExcuse me?â
You rest your chin in your palm, grinning excitedly.Â
âFigure out my crush.â
For the first time, Natasha falters. Just a flickerâbut you catch it. Surprise. Maybe confusion. Definitely something unsettled before she schools her features back into cool indifference.
âYou have someone you like?â
You shrug, your smile turning smug.Â
âMmhmm. Guess youâre not as sharp with the little details as you thought.â
Her eyes narrow on you, and you donât miss the way her grip tightens subtly on her fork.
âGive me until the end of the week,â she says finally, standing to gather her tray.
You smirk at her teasingly.
âYou need that long?â
Her look turns flat.Â
âWe leave on mission tomorrow. With actual gunfire and people trying to kill us. You want me to prioritize your love life over keeping us alive?â
You tip your head in mock consideration.Â
âMultitask, Romanoff.â
Her huff is half amusement, half irritation as she adjusts her tray and tablet before attempting to grab her bag.Â
âFine,â she grunts, conceding the challenge.
You sweep the bag from her overloaded hands before she can manage it.Â
âEnd of the week,â you call as you stroll away, flashing her a playful grin. âLetâs see how good the Black Widow really isâŚat noticing the little details.â
Natasha watches you go, eyes narrowing just slightly.Â
You donât spare a single glance toward anyone else in the room. No tells. No obvious trails. For someone she spends so much time with, she realizes she never noticed there was someone you liked.
That thought alone bothers her more than anything.
~~~~~~~ â§ ~~~~~~~
Natashaâs boots click quietly against the floor as she moves down the long row of lockers, her mind already sorting through mission details. She slows when she spots you in the next row, bent over the middle bench, lacing your boots.
She stops short, retreating a step back around the corner when she realizes youâre not alone. A weapons support tech she recognizes stands beside you, chatting animatedly while you respond with the same bright energy.Â
Natashaâs eyes narrow when the other womanâs hand lands briefly on your shoulder before she departs with a smile. The touch is friendly, fleeting even, and yet irritating all the same.Â
âYou know sheâs still tangled up in that on-again, off-again thing with Tess from legal,â Natasha blurts as she finally approaches.
You turn, one brow raised, clearly amused.
âEven I know that tidbit,â you tease, tugging your boots tight and rising to your feet. Hands settle on your hips as you tilt your head at her. âWhat are you suggesting, that sheâs my crush?âÂ
Natasha considers, tilting her head. For a split second, she weighs the possibility before dismissing it, shaking her head as she strides to her locker.
âNo. Sheâs not your type.âÂ
You chuckle, leaning your shoulder against the lockers beside hers, arms folded loosely across your chest.Â
âAnd what exactly do you think my type is?â
Her hand freezes halfway into her locker. The question digs in deeper than she expected. For all her observation skills, she realizes she has no answer. You flirt often, but always lightly, never with any real heat. Not once could she recall you showing actual romantic interest in anyone.Â
Irritation stirs in her chest at the gap in her knowledge. Her lips press thin before she finally mutters, âJustâŚnot her.â
You hum thoughtfully at her clipped tone, pushing off the locker.Â
âWell, youâre right again, Romanoff. She was just dropping something off for me.â
Natasha answers with a noncommittal noise, keeping her face buried in the depths of her locker as she gathers her gear. The sound of rummaging nearly masks your footsteps when, suddenly, a tug at her arm pulls her around.
âWhatââ she starts, but the words catch in her throat when you step into her space, close enough that she freezes.
For one breathless second, her pulse spikes as you lean in.
But at the last instant, you angle past her face, fingers working deftly at her waist. Natashaâs breath stills as she feels the brush of your hand close the clasp of her utility belt.
Then you lean back, patting the red hourglass buckle at her front.Â
âGot them to finish the repairs just in time,â you announce proudly, turning away toward your own locker.
Natasha releases the air sheâd been holding in a slow rush, her hands curling at her sides as she fights to steady the pounding of her heart. The warmth on her cheek feels out of place and unexpected. She brushes at it with the back of her hand, annoyed with herself. Why did her body react like that?
Her gaze drifts back to you.
You hum absently while you pack your duffel, tossing items in without care. Same as always. Nothing new, nothing different.Â
Nothing to explain her reaction. Â
Something slips from your locker with the next careless toss.Â
Natasha stoops and picks it upâa photo, edges worn. Itâs the group shot at the shawarma shop after the battle in New York. She remembers the moment, remembers the exhaustion in her bones as she sits between Steve and Clint.
But what catches her eye now is you. You arenât looking at the camera. Your gaze is angled toward the three of them instead.
âHave you heard from any of them recently?â you ask casually, drawing her attention.
Natasha blinks, processing your question for a beat before handing the photo back.Â
âUh, no. Clintâs on vacation. And last I heard Starkâs still rebuilding.âÂ
You hum softly, sliding the picture back onto the inside of your locker door.Â
âWhat about Rogers?â
Her brows draw together. She glances at the photo again, as if she could trace the direction of your gaze, pinpoint whether it lingered on the Captain. Her tone cools.Â
âWhat about him?â
âI donât know,â you shrug, zipping up your duffel. âIt must be tough, adjusting to the modern world all alone.â
The spark of irritation comes so suddenly that it makes her jaw clench. Natasha slams her locker closed harder than she means to.Â
âHeâll manage,â she says curtly before adding. âWe should focus on our own jobs.â
You only laugh, throwing your duffel strap over one shoulder andâbefore she could reactâsnatching hers as well.Â
âWhatever you say, Romanoff,â you say, walking towards the hangar bay.
Natasha lingers for a moment longer, her gaze sliding back to your locker. The group photo sits just inside. She exhales through her nose, trying to banish the nagging thoughts.
Steve Rogers probably isnât your type either.
So why does just the possibility of it leave such a bitter taste in her mouth?
With a sigh, she follows after you, irritation simmering low in her chest and growing harder to explain.
~~~~~~~ â§ ~~~~~~~
Natasha lounges on the lush couch in the grand hotel lobby, ankle crossed neatly over her knee, a glossy magazine balanced in her lap.Â
To the casual eye, sheâs absorbed in the pages, but in reality, her gaze darts over the rim of the paperâtracking staff as they carry trays of glassware into the ballroom, noting security placement, measuring the rhythm of movement in and out of the gilded doors.
The comm device crackles faintly in her ear, and your voice filters through, light and curious.
âDo you see our target yet?â
Natasha exhales a soft breath, flipping the page like sheâs genuinely invested in the article.Â
âStill no,â she murmurs. âNothing has changed since you asked me five minutes ago.â
Your sigh hums over the line, a note of boredom. Then your voice drops lower, the ghost of a teasing smile audible across the frequency.
âMaybe I just wanted to hear your voice.â
Her hand stalls mid-turn, the page hanging half-folded in her fingers. Natasha blinks once, forcing herself to return to her sharp and focused composure, but her chest betrays her with the faintest hitch.
Usually, she has no trouble brushing off your teasing, filing it under friendly banter and harmless distraction.Â
But latelyâŚlately the simple sound of your voice makes her pulse skip for some reason.
She clears her throat quietly, forcing her attention outward.Â
Across the marble floor, movement catches her eye. A cluster of security streams through the doors, and in the center, exactly as expected, is the target.
âI see him,â she says, her voice cracking slightly, which she quickly covers with a soft cough.
On the comms, you shift, the rustle of fabric telling her youâre straightening in your seat.
âAnd the package?â
Her eyes flick between the security bodies and spot a slim metal case in the targetâs hand. One of the guards moves to the front desk, and the targetâs grip on the case shifts into perfect view.Â
Natasha palms her phone and pretends to scroll before tilting it just enough to capture an image. She sends it over with a practiced ease.
âNice work,â you say, approval warm in your tone. âIt looks like that model requires a fingerprint scan to open.âÂ
Natasha lifts her phone to her ear, feigning a call as she considers the problem.Â
Her gaze drifts toward the ballroom doors, where the staff are still bustling about.
At the threshold stands the event plannerâclipboard hugged close, lips moving as she ticks off notes. When she glances up and her eyes catch sight of Natasha, her composure stumbles. She ducks her head, her cheeks flushing faintly as she pretends to fuss with her clipboard.
âSo we lift the prints at the party,â Natasha says calmly, already slotting pieces of a plan into place.
Your soft laugh filters through with a hint of skepticism.
âAnd how exactly do you suppose we get inside?â
Natashaâs eyes flick back to the planner, who sneaks another look at her before quickly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.Â
Natasha feels the corner of her mouth curve. She tips her head, gifting the woman a small, disarming smile and a subtle wave. The shy grin she earns in return confirms itâan opening.
Natasha lowers her magazine just enough to murmur, âIâm working on it.âÂ
Before you can reply, she rises smoothly from the couch and crosses the lobby, her stride confident but unhurried. She stops just beside the planner, her posture easy and her smile warm.
âYouâve done a beautiful job with the room,â Natasha says, voice low and sincere.
The compliment lands instantly. The woman beams, shoulders straightening.
âOh! Thank youâitâs been exhausting, but I think itâs finally coming together. Are youâŚa guest?â
Natasha shakes her head lightly.Â
âHelping a friend who is. Their luggage got lost during the flight, so I came to make sure they had what they needed.â She lets the pause linger a beat, then adds smoothly, âThough I may be pressing my luck asking if thereâs any chance of being a plus-one.â
The plannerâs brows lift, interest sparking exactly where Natasha expects it.
âWe might have last-minute passes,â she says quickly, flipping through her clipboard. âI could add a note to add you if youâd still like to come.âÂ
âThat sounds lovely,â Natasha replies, resting a hand lightly on the womanâs arm, her smile just this side of intimate. âI hope that means Iâll see you there too.â
The woman chuckles, biting back a grin, before one of the staff calls her name. She starts to go, but glances back.
âWhatâs your name? For the list.â
Natasha gives the alias assigned to her mission. The woman scribbles it onto her notes, then flashes her a quick wave.Â
âIt was nice meeting you.â
âYou too,â Natasha answers smoothly, watching as she disappears into the organized chaos of final preparations.
Once sheâs gone, Natasha raises her phone again, pretending to resume her call.
âAnd now we have a way in,â she says softly, satisfaction threading her tone.
Silence answers. The accomplished warmth in her chest cools into tight concern.
âHello? Is everything okay?â she asks, turning toward the exit, ready to head back to you if needed.
Finally, your voice filters back through the comm.
âAll good. Just some connection problems. Iâm back now.â
Natasha frowns faintly. Something in your tone is off. Itâs no longer playful, but clipped. Before she can press, you clear your throat, steering the moment away.
âCan you figure out what room heâs staying in? Iâll sneak in and take the case while you lift his prints at the party.â
The frown deepens. She doesnât like the sharp pivot or the stiffness in your voice.
âAre you sure youâreââ
âNatasha.â
The curt way you say her name stills her instantly.
âFocus on our own jobs, remember?â you add with a teasing lilt, though the note rings hollow compared to earlier.
Natasha swallows, turning back into the lobby, her expression once again carefully neutral.
ââŚYeah. Sure,â she mutters, though the word sits heavy in her chest.
~~~~~~~ â§ ~~~~~~~
Natasha sits cross-legged on the narrow bed, eyes tracking you as you pace the length of the safehouse. The single room feels even smaller with your restless movement, your gaze fixed on the tablet in your hands as you scroll through hotel blueprints.
You mutter to yourself occasionally, weighing entry points and fallback routes, but when she tries to interject, all she gets are clipped one-word answers or noncommittal hums.
She narrows her eyes. Something is offâit has been off since the hotel lobby. She just canât put her finger on what.
A sharp knock breaks the tense quiet. Both of you freeze for half a beat, instincts snapping in. You exchange a look, then move in a practiced tandem.
Natasha slips from the bed, gun in hand from beneath the nightstand, while you draw one hidden by the doorframe.
âOi! Open up already! I havenât got all day!â
Natasha exhales sharply at the familiar voice. You relax too, though your weapon stays in your hand until you swing the door open.
Mason leans casually against the frame, suitcase in hand. His brow arches at the sight of your guns.
âAlways a warm welcome with the two of you,â he deadpans, brushing past you into the room.
Natasha huffs, tucking her weapon away.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â
âI called him,â you say, shutting the door and turning to Mason expectantly. âDid you get it?â
He presents the case with mock ceremony.Â
âHere you are. Now weâre square, yeah?â
You take the case and tilt your head in consideration.Â
âIs one favor really enough after what you put me through at that last safehouse?â
âHey,â Mason protests with a hand raised, grinning, âI was trapped there with you, too.â
Natasha frowns, her gaze darting between you and him. Thereâs an ease in your banter with Masonâinside jokes, stories she isnât part of. The space between you two is minimal also, too casual for her liking. She tells herself itâs nothing, but irritation prickles anyway.
The irritation grows as she realizes youâve spoken more words to Mason in these few minutes than you have to her in the past hours. Before she can think better of it, sheâs already stepping forward, pressing Mason back toward the door with a polite but firm hand.
âAlright, we need to prep for tonight,â she says briskly, ushering him over the threshold. âThanks for the delivery. Until next time.â
His brows lift, but before he can argue, the door clicks shut and locks.
She turns to find you perched on the bed with the case, already working the clasps.
âThat was a little rude,â you comment, a grin tugging at your lips when you glance at her. The teasing tone doesnât match the way you immediately look back down, shutting her out again.
Natashaâs patience snaps.Â
âAlright, whatâs up with you?â she demands, folding her arms as she steps closer.
You stop fiddling with the lock, lift your eyes, and fix her with a steady look.Â
âThat woman at the hotel,â you say flatly.
Natasha blinks in confusion.Â
âWhat about her?â
âHow did you know she was interested in you?â Your shrug is casual, but the words are sharp. âThatâs why you went over, right? Because you already knew sheâd say yes.â
The question hangs heavier than it should. Natasha hesitates, suddenly cautious. She could give you a dozen technical answers, but instinct tells her the wrong one might make things worse. She taps her fingers against her arm, searching.
âI justâŚnoticed,â she admits finally. âThe little details. How someone looks, shifts, reacts. I can always tell when they like somethingâor someone.â
Your expression doesnât soften. If anything, the slight clench of your jaw tells her sheâs only made it worse. You hum, noncommittal, and turn back to the case.
Frustration knots in Natashaâs chest. She can feel you slipping back into silence, shutting her out again.
The locks pop open.
She leans forward instinctively, expecting some weapon or device.
Instead, you pull out a long red dress. Without a word, you rise and step in front of her, holding it up against her body.
âI knew it would look good on you,â you murmur, appraising her with softened eyes for a brief second. Then you drape the dress onto the bed and brush past her, back to your tablet. âNow you can notice all the people interested in you later at the party.â
This time, the edge in your voice is unmistakable.
Natashaâs mouth opens to respond, but she falters. She doesnât actually know what the issue is, only that sheâs missing something, and the fact that she canât see it bothers her more than she wants to admit.
You curl up on the sofa, tablet balanced on your knee, already scanning blueprints as if sheâs no longer in the room.
Natasha sighs, staring at the red dress lying stark against the drab blanket, before dragging a hand down her face. Confusion and annoyance churn together, and for once she has no read. No clear tells.
Just the unsettling certainty that sheâs failed to notice some detail that matters most.
~~~~~~~ â§ ~~~~~~~
Natasha smooths her palms down the dress, the fabric gliding beneath her fingers. You were rightâit fits perfectly. Too perfectly. She wonders, fleetingly, if Mason guessed her measurements or if you had given them.
When she finally exits the bathroom, she finds you already geared up in your black tactical suit, adjusting the straps across your shoulders, with your focus tight on your equipment.
âCan you help me with this?â Natasha asks quietly, turning her back to you and gathering her hair into one hand to bare the zipper.
âSure,â you reply. The nonchalance of your tone makes her want to sigh, but she keeps still, bowing her head slightly so you have easier access.
Your palm steadies her lower back as your other hand finds the zipper and tugs it slowly upward. The soft scrape of metal teeth closing echoes in her ears. At the top, your breath ghost against the nape of her neck.
âYou look beautiful, Natasha,â you whisper faintly, almost as if you didnât mean to say it aloud. Then, just as quickly, your touch and presence vanish as you step away.
Natasha stays rooted to the spot. She releases her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, and lifts her gaze to the mirror across the room. Her eyes widen at the sight of her reflection.
A flush blooms across her cheeks, one she canât write off as heat or adrenaline. She knows this expression. The flicker of awareness, the telltale glow in the eyes, the way her pulse jumpsâdetails sheâs read a hundred times in others, but never noticed in herself.
Her head snaps over her shoulder.Â
Youâre focused on your gear again, oblivious to the rush of thoughts in her mind as the memory of your whisper hums in her ears.
Unconsciously, her heart beats faster, and the urge to step back into your space nearly overwhelms her. Her hand flexes at her side, restless.
But then she remembers.Â
You already told her you like someone. The reminder settles like a stone in her chest. Natasha breathes deeply, pressing her feelings down beneath years of training.
As if sensing her stare, you glance up and offer her a small, reassuring smile.Â
âReady, Romanoff?â
Her throat tightens, and she forces herself to nod.
âYeah. Letâs go.â
The party is bright and loud, chandeliers scattering light across polished floors and velvet drapes.
Natasha slips through with ease, greeted warmly by the planner who ushers her inside. A few pleasantries exchanged, and the woman is called away, leaving Natasha free to focus on the mission.
The target is easy to find, seated with his cluster of guards.Â
Natasha approaches, glass of wine in hand.
One guard steps in her path, his palm pressing firmly against her shoulder. Natasha knocks his hand away, cold irritation flashing in her eyes, until the target waves him aside.
His leer is obvious, his gaze shameless.Â
Natasha fights the urge to roll her eyes, pasting on a coy smile instead as she takes the offered seat beside him. She crosses her legs slowly, the slit of the dress shifting to bare a line of skin. Predictably, his attention locks there.
A few flirtatious remarks and practiced laughs later, heâs pliant in her hands. She passes him her glass under the guise of sharing. When she takes it back, her âslipâ sends the last drops spilling onto him. Her apologies tumble out sweet and flustered, and he waves her off with a smile, completely unaware that his fingerprints are now captured on her scanner after she leaves his side.
âI got the prints,â she murmurs into the comm, moving swiftly toward the exit.
Static crackles before your voice cuts through, strained and layered with the sounds of impact and shattering glass.
âThatâs⌠great.â A grunt follows, then the crash of something breaking.
Natasha freezes, then picks up her pace.Â
âWhatâs happening?â
More noise filters inâgrunts, a muffled curse, the slam of bodies colliding. Your voice returns, breathless but firm.
âIâve got the case too. JustâŚfinishing up here.â
Natasha presses the elevator button repeatedly, muttering under her breath.Â
âYou could just admit you need help.â
Your laugh comes, dramatic and almost mocking, despite the strain.Â
âWhat? Everythingâs fine.â Another grunt follows, less convincing this time.
When the elevator doors slide open, she bolts down the hall toward the sound of chaos. One door hangs ajar.
Natasha bursts in, gun raisedâonly to see you drop the last guard with a final, clean strike.
You straighten, sweat-damp hair sticking to your forehead, chest rising and falling. Spotting her, you flash a crooked grin.
âSee? All good.â
You stoop to pick up the case and head past her, but Natasha steps into your path, hand pressing firmly to your shoulder. She tilts your chin with practiced precision, inspecting your face.
The moment her fingers brush your temple, you flinch. Her hand comes away slick with red. Natashaâs jaw tightens. She grips your chin again, forcing your eyes to hers.
âNext time, just ask for help.â Her tone is sharp and low.
You only stare back, wide-eyed, lips parting without words.Â
Thatâs when Natasha realizes just how close she is, her body angled into yours, her grip still holding you there.
Heat climbs her cheeks before she notices something else.Â
Your gaze flickersâdownward, just for a breath, to her mouthâbefore darting away, and the color deepening on your face clearly isnât just from exertion.
Her heart stutters. She recognizes this detail, too.
You pull back abruptly, her hand falling from your jaw.
âLetâs get moving before reinforcements show,â you mutter, brushing past without meeting her eyes.
Natasha turns and watches you go, pulse still racing, and suspicion coiling in her chest. Of all people, she knows these kinds of tells the best, and she knows exactly what they mean.
~~~~~~~ â§ ~~~~~~~
Natasha drops the last strip of gauze into the first-aid box and snaps the lid shut, but she doesnât move away from you. She stays planted in front of the bed, her knees brushing yours as you sit at the edge, head still tilted slightly from where she bandaged you.
You squirm under her gaze, eyes fixed anywhere but her faceâthe window, the wall, the worn carpet. She notices every flick of your eyes, every shift of your shoulders. Itâs not discomfort. Itâs just nerves.
You sigh finally, rubbing at your palms.Â
âAlright, Iâll call for back-up next time,â you mutter. âJustâŚstop whatever intimidation tactic this is.â
Natasha huffs, a low, amused sound.Â
âThis isnât intimidation.â
Before you can retreat further, she lifts her hand and cups your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. She tilts your face up toward hers, and the moment your eyes meet, she catches itâthe sudden flush rising under your skin, the slight hitch of your breath.
Her own lips curve, triumphant and almost disbelieving.
âI knew it,â she whispers, more to herself than to you.
Your brows furrow. âKnew what?â
Her smile deepens. She kneels onto the bed, closing the distance, until sheâs almost straddling your thighs.Â
You lean back instinctively, bracing yourself on your elbows as she hovers above you.
âThe person you like,â Natasha murmurs, voice low, teasing yet fragile at the edges. âIs it me?â
You blink in surprise, startled, your words stuttering in your throat.Â
âHowâŚ?â
Natashaâs grin softens into something warmer. Her fingers slide up from your jaw to cradle your face fully, thumbs resting at the corners of your mouth. She leans in until your noses brush, her breath fanning over your lips.
âI notice things. Always have,â she murmurs. âBut somehow I missed the one right in front of me.â
Before you can answer, she tilts your chin up and presses her mouth to yours in a soft, tentative kissâtesting, tasting, a question asked with her lips.
For a heartbeat, youâre frozen, caught between disbelief and the flood of warmth crashing through you. Then instinct takes over. Your hands rise almost on their own, sliding over the curve of her waist until your palms spread firmly against her hips, grounding both of you in the moment.
You kiss her back, slow at first, savoring the softness of her lips against yours. The tentative edge fades as you angle your head slightly, deepening the kiss, letting her feel in the press of your mouth what words never managed to say.
Natasha exhales against you, a shiver running through her that you feel in the flex of her body beneath your touch. The hand cradling your face tightens just a fraction, as though sheâs afraid youâll pull away.
Instead, you slip one hand up from her hip to her lower back, drawing her closer until thereâs no space left between you.
When she finally breaks the kiss, itâs only because she needs to breathe. She stays close, resting her forehead against yours, her lips brushing yours with every shallow inhale.
You can feel the rapid beat of her heart in the way her chest rises against yours.
Her eyes open, and this time, you donât look away. You keep her close, thumbs brushing soft circles over her waist, silently telling her the answer she already suspects.
âSorry it took me so long to notice that little detail,â she breathes, her voice breaking faintly on the words.
A laugh escapes you, shaky but relieved.Â
âWhat I feel for you is nothing little, Natasha Romanoff,â you murmur, brushing your lips against hers again.
This time, she doesnât hesitate. The next kiss is deeper, hungrierâno longer testing but answering.
Natasha shifts forward, pressing you back against the mattress, her hands sliding to your shoulders, anchoring herself as she kisses you harder.
Your fingers tighten on her waist, tracing the outline of her dress, feeling her shiver under your touch.
She parts her lips under yours, a soft sound escaping her throat, equal parts relief and want.
The safehouse fadesâthe hum of the heater, the smell of antiseptic, the muffled city sounds outsideâuntil thereâs only the warmth of her body and the weight of the moment, long overdue.
Natasha breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, her forehead still against yours, her lips grazing your mouth with each word.
âTell me if this is too much.â
You shake your head slightly, eyes locked with hers.
âNot even close.â
She smiles, a real, unguarded smile, before capturing your lips againâthis time slower, deeper, her hands sliding behind your neck as yours explore the curve of her back, both of you surrendering to this little detail that the two of you share.
Summary: Natasha and you grow closer as she helps you keep a little secret.
Natasha Romanoff x F!R
Thereâs never a dull moment in the Compound.
The sounds coming from your room are the only proof Natasha needs.
âEverything ok in there?â she says, knocking softly. Suddenly things get very quiet, and you only reply when she insists.
âAll good⌠ah, damn itâ
âIâm going in, Y/Nâ she says, worried.
âNo, Iâm naked!â
But the door is already opening and youâre clearly dressed. The only thing out of place is a small black kitten, clinging to your shirt like its life depends on it. Yellow eyes look at Natasha and then the creature decides sheâs not a threat, meowing innocently.
âShe likes you!â you say, prompting Natasha to close the door.
The redhead doesnât move, looking at you expectantly.
âSome dogs were chasing her, so I had to rescue her. Would an Avenger really turn the other side when someoneâs in need?â you say, adding a flair of drama to your story. It may actually have been a single dog, and he wasnât chasing the cat. Just looking at it while his owner held on to his leash.
Still, what if another dog came along?
âYou know Tony said no petsâ Natasha reminds you, though thereâs some amusement in her voice as the cat climbs you, purring against your neck.
âMmm, I know. Itâs only for a few days, until I find her a homeâ you say, placing a small kiss at the top of her head. âRight, kitty?â
âSo, am I an accessory now?â Natasha jokes, finally giving in and stepping closer. Sheâs never been good with animals. But as soon as she enters your orbit, the cat turns to her, meowing and preparing to leap into her arms.
âYou can be an ally. With you on my side, I know Iâll never get caughtâ
âFine. Just because sheâs cuteâ she concedes, petting the fur ball.
âI knew you liked her tooâ you say, similing.
â
Plan is set.
In, out. Simple and clean.
You place the kitten inside a bag with a small ball, hoping thatâs enough to distract her for the four minutes it will take to walk out of the Compound.
Natasha is by the kitchen, eyeing Steve and Sam as they argue over some mission report. She nods at you when you lock eyes, and youâre about to leave the kitchen when Wilson calls for you.
âHey, youâre finally out of your room. We thought you were sick, girlâ
âUh, no⌠just tired. I have to go run some errands, thoughâ you rush to say, walking backwards as you feel the cat jumping around in the bagpack.
Shit, shit, shit.
âHey, Sam, I forgot to tell you. Laura from accounting said you were cuteâ Natasha comments, sipping from her coffee. âMaybe you should ask her to Tonyâs partyâ
Thereâs no Laura from accounting, but thatâs enough to distract Sam.
Before he can turn his attention back to you, youâre running down the hallway and into the garage.
Natashaâs already in the driverâs seat of your car, smirking.
âHowâŚ?â
âThe ventsâ
You look up, but the chuckle that escapes Natashaâs lips is enough to tell you thatâs bullshit.
âOh, funnyâ
âCome on, letâs take your cat to the vetâ
As soon as you open the bag, the cat meows loudly, upset at being kept inside for so long.
âSorry! Iâm sorry. Look out the window, look at all the cute trees and the pigeonsâ you say, trying to distract her.
âNot sure cats like to look out the window like dogs doâ Natasha says, smiling as the thing settles in your neck, forgiving you for keeping it hidden. âNo name yet?â
âWell, no. I think that would make it harder to give her away. And Iâm not good with names eitherâ
âWeâll figure something outâ she says.
Natasha misses the way you smile. At most, you expected her to keep quiet about your little guest, but it seems like sheâs determined to help you out, even if itâs clear sheâs not a fan of pets in general.
A part of you also thinks itâs nice to share something with her, that no one else knows about.
The vet confirms everythingâs in order, preparing the first of her shots.
âI canât lookâ you say, turning your back and hiding in Natashaâs embrace. âTell me when itâs overâ
The Russian feels heat creeping up her cheeks at your proximity. It takes her a moment to speak, wanting to keep an even tone.
âItâs done, she was very braveâ
âPoor kittyâ you say, hugging her as soon as the doctorâs done with her. âItâs ok, mamaâs hereâ
âSo, youâre not naming her to avoid getting attached but youâre calling yourself mamaâ she points out when youâre on the way to the pet sore.
âYesâ you say. âThatâs exactly it, Natashaâ
âOk, just setting the record straightâ she smiles, pulling up the parking lot.
For the next half hour, you walk up and down the store, getting a cart full of kibble, bowls, a small bed, a scratcher and a very fancy sandbox that apparently cleans itself.
Youâre holding two different toys, while the cat is perched up on your shoulders. She meows when you squeeze the one shaped like a fish.
âOk, if youâre sureâ you answer, apparently now fluent in cat.
Natasha just shakes her head, finding it equally endearing and dangerous that youâre so attached to the animal already.
âYou going to Tonyâs party?â she asks on the way back and you shrug your shoulders.
âMaybe. If little miss codependent lets meâ
âOh, sure, sheâs the codependent oneâ Natasha smiles when you kiss all over her head.
âYou sound jealousâ you joke, though thatâs somewhat true.
A part of Natasha wants to have all your attention.
Still, sheâs surprised when you do show up for Tonyâs party.
âDo you know Laura? From accounting?â Sam asks every person at the party and you have to hold back a laugh.
âShould we tell him thereâs no Laura from accounting?â you say when Natasha approaches you. She shakes her head, amused.
âThat should keep him busy for the night. I thought youâd be skipping the partyâ
âI figured everyone would be here so it would be safe to leave her alone. Only for a bitâ
Still, Natashaâs not surprised when you claim to be tired and leave after just an hour. And truly, sheâd like to stay and keep teasing Sam about a girl that doesnât exist. But thereâs something so endearing about you and that damn cat, that makes her follow you a few minutes later, knocking at your door.
âEverything ok?â but before Natasha can answer, the cat is meowing and you laugh. âI guess sheâs saying please come in, Tashaâ
âOk, thatâs so not how the scratcher should look, Y/Nâ Natasha says, looking at the giant thing in the middle of the room. The catâs used it once and itâs already lose on many places.
âWell, she kept biting my fingers when I was trying to assemble it!â
âI guess Iâll fix itâ she sighs, as if itâs a very hard thing that she totally doesnât want to do.
Natasha works silently, reading the manual to assemble the thing properly, complaining under her breath. You smile, the kitten in your lap observing the woman.
The cat clearly likes her.
Well, that makes two of us.
â
Natashaâs honestly impressed. Itâs been a week and youâve managed to keep the cat from the rest of the team.
Sheâs been in and out of your room more frequently, and the only time she left and found someone else in the hallway (Steve), all it took was a glare for him to pretend he saw nothing.
One afternoon, sheâs knocking on your door, and what she sees makes her heart melt a little. Youâre in the middle of your bed, legs crossed, reading glasses perched up on your nose as you review some reports on your laptop.
The cutest part is the fact that the cat is curled up in the hood of your sweater, stretching lazily as Natasha enters the room.
âHey, whatâs up?â you say, looking up while the cat rubs herself against your cheek.
âJust checking up on you twoâ
âWell, sheâs finally getting the hang of her sandbox!â you say excitedly. âHopefully my mission wonât get in the way. I have to leave for a couple of days. And by the way⌠do you think you could look after her? If not, totally fine, I can take her to the clinic while Iâm goneâ
âAbsolutely not. Weâll be fine, right?â she takes her from your shoulders, scratching behind her ears and sitting next to you. âYou really should name herâ
âIâll think of somethingâ you promise.
â
Natasha figured it might be easier for her to sleep in your room than move the cat and her stuff to her room.
The first day, sheâs recording a video of the cat, jumping and trying to catch a little toy that Natasha attached to a stick. She manages to get the toy, but knocks down your remote, a book and some pens in the process, the items falling on top of her as she protests.
Thatâs unfortunate.
Then it hits Natasha.
âLihoâ she calls, the cat immediately turning to look at her. She meows when Natasha repeats the word, jumping on her lap and looking at her intently. âFine. You have a name now. Happy?â
Itâs very obvious youâve been spoiling the cat endlessly, because she insists on sleeping curled up next to Natasha. And when she sees the woman wearing a hoodie, she finds a way to sneak inside it and just peak her head a little bit, purring at the warmth of Natashaâs body.
Luckily, youâre not gone for more than two days and once your debriefing is complete, you head straight to your room.
âHey, youâ you smile, picking up the cat and kissing the top of her head. âMissed youâ
You also missed Natasha, but youâre not sure itâs a good idea to admit that out loud. And just when youâre about to go and find her, she walks inside, smiling as your eyes meet.
âWelcome backâ she says, and you return her smile, your heart beating a little faster. âEverything ok?â
âYeah, nothing out of the ordinary. And, on the way home, I was thinking about names. Donât hold back, I want your honest feedbackâŚâ
âOh. I⌠well, she likes Lihoâ
âYou already named her?â you say, trying really hard to sound annoyed.
âIt just happened!â
âFine. Lihoâ you hug the cat and she meows, as if confirming Natashaâs words. âWhat does it mean?â
Natashaâs smile disappears. Well, youâre not gonna like this.
âNatashaâ you glare and she clears her throat.
âMisfortuneâ
âNatasha!â you repeat, this time full on judging her. You lift Liho in the air, sighing. âCan you believe your mom? Naming you misfortune. And you, liking it. Whatever will I do with you two, huh?â
Youâre so busy with the cat, that you miss the way Natasha blushes.
â
Turns out, you were right. Naming the cat turned into a slippery slope. Because now Liho has a collar (though sheâs too small to wear it) and a small tag with your phone number and Natashaâs.
Her chaos has a name and a pattern that has shifted your life and the way you interact with Natasha. You both look at her, laugh when sheâs doing some mischief and share endless pictures whenever the other is away on a mission.
One time, youâre watching a movie while Liho plays with your feet, and you giggle at the ticklish contact. You turn your body in Natashaâs direction, smiling at her.
âSheâs the cutestâ you say and she looks at you a moment too long.
âYeahâ
You both are, she wants to say, but is afraid that it will be too much.
Natashaâs not good with pets and feelings. And right now sheâs drowning in a little bit of both.
Still, when the movieâs over and youâre snoozing, she makes a motion to stand up, but you pull her close.
âStay. We like it when you stay, Tashaâ you say softly.
Thatâs all she needs to settle next to you, falling asleep with Liho curled up between you two.
The next time she leaves for a mission, Natasha feels like she wants to hug you and never let go. And when itâs a close call, and she thinks she might not make it, she decides that sheâs going to tell you how she feels.
But as she returns to the Compound, and heads straight to your room, youâre in bed, back to the door. Liho looks over your shoulder, but then ignores Natasha.
âHey, kotenokâ
Natashaâs taken to calling you that, under the excuse that it means kitten and sheâs addressing Liho. She can be a coward like that sometimes.
âSheâs angry because you leftâ is all you say, scratching her head. âShe missed youâ
âI missed you tooâ she says, joining you in bed.
âStayâ you turn around, hoping that a single word is enough for Natasha to know what it is youâre asking. Not just for her to stay the night, but stay, when things are hard, when she wants to run away and never look back.
Stay with me, because everythingâs different when youâre gone.
âIâm not going anywhereâ she says, and you nod.
âGood. Because you belong hereâ you say, smiling.
Thatâs all you need for now.
â
Thereâs the outside world, and then your own private one, with Natasha and Liho. Youâre always looking at things for the cat, and Natasha insists that you spoil her too much.
As if she isnât the one buying most of the stuff when youâre still showing it to her.
Right now, youâre scrolling on your phone, Natasha looking over your shoulder and commenting on the color or size of the new bed you want to buy.
Unfortunately, Tonyâs stupid voice interrupts you. And then you notice, everyone, including Barnes, is looking at you two.
âIs there something you two want to share with the rest of the class?â Tony says.
You look over your shoulder, and Natasha just nods.
âOk, so⌠we just didnât want to break the rules, which is why we kept it a secret. And it was my idea, Natasha was not sure at first. Though sheâs the one thatâs totally whipped now, if you ask meâŚâ
âOh, I totally believe it, considering how she looks at youâ Steve says but you donât listen, still rambling. Natasha does, though, her head tilting to the side.
Is he calling her whipped? For you?
âAnd sheâs so cute, honestly! She loves it when I rub her little...â
âOk, not to kink shame you, but what?â Sam interrupts.
âKink⌠what? Iâm talking about the cat! Isnât that what youâre all referring to?â you look around the room.
âYou got a cat?â Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
âYeah. Liho, black cat, totally adorable, Natasha and I are coparentingâ
âRight. Getting ready for actual kids. I give it a year before you have tiny humans, with the way you act around each otherâ Barton says and you blush.
"I'm so lost" you say, frowning.
"We thought you two were dating. Romanoff sneaking into your room every night, all the whispering and giggling" Barnes says without beating around the bush.
âShut upâ Natasha says, taking your hand and leading you back to your room. âDonât listen to themâ
âNatâ you say when you step inside your room, still holding on to her hand. âI... I like the idea. Of us, datingâ
âDonât feel like you have to say that just because theyâŚâ she mumbles, always giving you a way out.
But thatâs the opposite of what you want, so you pull her close, stopping whatever it is she was about to say, your lips on hers for a sweet and tender kiss.
âLihoâs staringâ Natasha says against your mouth and you smile.
âMaybe sheâs happy for us. Or jealous that sheâs not the center of attentionâ you add when she meows loudly, sitting between you two. âHey, youâre still our number one girl. Right, Tasha?â
âYes, detka. You both are my favorite girlsâ she says, and you peck her lips once more.
Summary: Marrying your best friend sounded like a dream. You love him, he loves you, what could go wrong? Maybe the fact that none of you were straight or the fact that you were in love with his mother. And falling in love with a married woman, never sounded so⌠tempting.
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem! reader
Warnings(+18): smut (crappy but itâs there, leave me alone!), fluffy relationship, dom-ish Wanda Maximoff, age gap, angst, hurt/comfort, shenanigans with the Maximoff twins, mommy kink, each chapter has its own warnings, your author cries when she writes and makes jokes
you donât have permission to translate/repost my work anywhere. Please be respectful. Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated. MDNI â Regina.
A/N: I think it was time for a masterlist since it was getting crowded with the seventh part coming hehe. Once again, thank you all for the support! You keep me inspired and a forever Wanda simp. I support mother!
Summary: You woke up in a room that isnât yours, two beautiful women sleeping at your sides and a bunch of memories and promises make you realise love at first sight actually exists. For once, it was a good idea you listened to your friends, right?
you donât have permission to translate/repost my work anywhere. Please be respectful. Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated. MDNI â Regina
A/N: You guys wonât believe how the story started in my head- IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS. Also I tried to write porn without plot and failed. Here we are tho ⥠hope you like it. The middle pic is from my personal collection 𤪠I miss paradise. Also sassy is what my friends call me hehehe
Main Masterlist
The first thing you did when your mind started waking up was groan.
The room was a little chilly, your body was sore and your head was about to kill you. You kept your eyes closed, trying to decide if you should stay in bed that day or join your friends for breakfast.
You arrived to Cancun three days ago after the endless begging of your friends for you to join them on their little trip. And it was supposed to be healing as you found yourself again. But right then and there, you were regretting joining them for drinks at the hotelâs bar the night before.
You sighed. The headache wouldnât go if you didnât take anything. And when you tried to reach for your phone, instead of touching the nightstand, you touched a warm body.
That made you sat up immediately, making you aware of your naked state as the sheets fell into your lap. Your lips parted as you looked to your left.
A brunette was lying on her back, her arm over her head trying to block the sunlight and her other hand below your pillow and her chest covered with the sheets. You moved backwards, only to bump into another body and you gasped.
When you turned to your sight, you found a redhead lying on her chest, her back bare and marked. Her arm placed protectively over your lap.
Your head started spinning a little as the memories of the night before finally flooded your mind as your eyes scanned the room that clearly wasnât yours.
And your cheeks started burning.
(â)
The day before.
Wanda convinced her wife to have a little getaway. By little she meant a Caribbean paradise to forget about the not-so-little break up with their latest girlfriend.
They were running from their demons. Every inch of their house reminded them of the breakup and when Natasha started spending more time in the office than by her side, Wanda knew they had to leave as far away as they could.
And the redhead wasnât so sure at first but when her wife kissed her so seductively and whispered the filthiest things in her ear, Natasha couldnât resist anymore.
Everything was running smoothly. They tanned, read and swam at the pool like it was their second honeymoon. And they fucked like they could pound the memories out of each other. It was working, though.
Until, you walked in front of them at the pool. Wandaâs jaw almost dropped and she swore she heard Natasha growl under her breath but it couldâve been her. It was hard to say.
You looked stunning. A red bikini adorning your body, your hair pulled up, sunglasses resting at the top of your head and a beach bag hanging on your shoulder. And you stopped before them, turning around when someone called your name and Wandaâs hopes died when a tall blond man approached you.
He hugged you and your body relaxed under his touch. And Wanda couldnât help when she sighed and turned to look at Natasha. But her wife was still looking at you, and if it wasnât for her sunglasses, Wanda wouldâve noticed the way Natashaâs eyes darkened at your sight.
Then the redhead furrowed her brows, making Wanda look back at you. You were giggling and trying to push away the man, as he took away your bag and started fighting with you.
Wanda jumped on ready to help you but Natasha stopped her. You kept laughing, pushing him away as he kept threatening to push you to the pool.
âLuke, stop!â you laughed and your voice was like music to their ears.
Were your moans as sweet as your laughter? Or did your voice drop lower when you felt needy?
But Wandaâs trail of thoughts was interrupted with your scream and a splash, flinching a little when water reached her and she gasped when you werenât coming out of the water.
Natasha reacted first, jumping to the pool instantly and helping you out. You took a deep breath, your cheeks instantly flushed as Natasha held your hips protectively.
You brushed your hair back. Your eyes meeting a pair of unfamiliar green eyes looking at you worried. For a moment, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. And your lips parted to talk but you were sure you forgot your own name.
âAre you okay?â Natasha asked softly, not quite ready to let you go and unaware of your flustered state.
âCome on, sassy, stop pretending you donât know how to swimâ Luke interrupted the moment and you werenât sure who growled, you or the redhead.
You turned to glare at him and flipped him off, only making him laugh and then you looked back at the redhead.
âYeah, Iâm sorry. Didnât mean to scare youâ you said softly and Natasha nodded.
The redhead helped you out of the pool and you offered her your hand to help her out, ignoring the teasing tickles from your best friend.
Your breath faltered when you took in the redheadâs image. She was wearing a black bikini top and a pair of black shorts. But that wasnât what made you stop breathing, it was her toned abdomen and her strong arms that made you forget about everything else.
Luke pinched your side, offering you a teasing grin and you rolled your eyes and smacked his arm.
âHey! Donât be so meanâ he grunted, placing a hand over his burning skin where your punch landed and you smacked him again âStop!â
âThatâs for pushing me, vipesâ you huffed and he wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek âIâll deal with you laterâ you muttered and faced the redhead again, that was now drying herself.
In that moment you noticed the brunette that was lying next to her and your mouth watered at her sight. She was wearing a mustard bikini, long legs perfectly tanned and a collarbone that was challenging you to touch just to find out if it was as sharp as it looked. She smiled at you softly and your cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red.
âI- we are sorryâ you said softly, your eyes dancing in between them and you offered the redhead a grateful smile âThank you for saving me, that was really kindâ
âYeah, saving you from your own stupidityâ Luke teased but regretted it when both women glared at him as if they were trying to kill him on spot.
âYeah, that tooâ you chuckled, a little amused that they made Luke squirm a little âBut really, thank youâ
It was like you werenât ready to go, glued on your spot even when Luke was trying to make you keep walking. But you wouldâve done anything to hear the redheadâs voice again and wondering how the brunette sounded.
And as if they could hear your thoughts, both smiled softly at you.
âIt was nothing, justâŚâ Natasha glanced at Luke for a moment and her eyes softened when meeting yours âbe careful. It doesnât matter if you know how to swim, games like that could end up badlyâ
Luke huffed like a scolded child behind you and you nudged him with your elbow making him yelp as you smiled and nodded.
âTasha, donât be so hard on themâ Wanda scolded her wife softly and Natasha rolled her eyes playfully âGlad you are okay, sweetheartâ
Your breath hitched at the sound of the brunetteâs voice. It was sweet and alluring. You would even dare to say motherly in a way that electrified your skin and made your knees feel weak.
Luke noticed your state. He could almost see the moment your brain malfunction and he smirked. As much as both women made clear they didnât like him, his little game turned out better than he imagined. Still, he cleared his throat and you flinched.
âYeah, I- huh, thank you againâ you finally said, trying to remember how to breathe and waved at them âSorry for the trouble and I hope you keep having a good timeâ
You started walking but Luke stood still, watching you with an amused smirk and you rolled your eyes. You grabbed him by the wrist, trying to ignore the curious eyes of the women and fighting to make him move.
âVipes, I swear to god-â you grunted and he chuckled, starting to move as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
âCome on, sassy. I have a story to tellâ he laughed and you pushed him away.
Both women watched you leave as you bickered with him. And Natasha almost jumped again when you were close to falling but this time Luke grabbed you by the waist and you started smacking his arm but giggled.
âDo you think they-â Wanda started and Natasha looked at her wife.
âI donât think so, dorogayaâ Natasha sighed and laid down, putting her sunglasses back on âI hope notâ
âYou hope?â Wanda smirked and Natasha scoffed âDonât be like that, moya lyubovâ. We are on the same team hereâ the brunette smacked her wifeâs thigh playfully.
Natasha chuckled, wrapping her arms around her wife and pulling her over her lap. She kissed Wandaâs neck as Wanda tried to break free because Natasha was too cold for her hot skin.
âI know we are, but Iâm not so sure we should be thinking that wayâ Natasha said softly and Wanda turned to look at her, letting her body curl over Natashaâs and pecking her lips softly.
âMaybe thatâs what we need, Tashaâ
They both looked at you. You were now at the other end of the pool, lying down as the sun kissed your skin with your arms folded behind your head. Luke was standing before you and telling your two other friends about what happened, but their eyes were fixed on you.
âMaybe, but sheâs gone now, Wandsâ Natasha said softly. She kissed Wandaâs forehead and patted her side as she offered her wife a loving smile âBut I can get creative tonightâ
Wanda laughed and kissed Natasha. At the end of the day, the redhead was her true partner in crime. The rest of the world was just a fantasy.
(â)
âDo I really have to go? Iâm tiredâ you whined, letting yourself fall onto the mattress as Maddison threw you a dress âMadsâ
âNone of that, baby girl, itâs Friday nightâ she shrugged and looked at you âJust tonight, the rest of the week you can ignore our pleadsâ
You sat straight and snorted âYou always say that and for some reason, it keeps happeningâ
But you complied. Anything to keep your mind away from home or away from the women that saved your life that day. Mostly them.
They were extremely hot, even Luke made an effort to state that when he was telling the story to Noah and Maddison. And you felt their gazes more than once during the day at the pool, or maybe you just imagined that since you wished for them to keep noticing you.
You werenât sure, though. By the way they talked, at least the little you heard, they seemed to be married but it wouldnât be the first time you mistaken friends for lovers. You could never trust your gaydar.
So a night out to clear your mind sounded marvellous. It was that or staying at your room as your mind ran over and over again their faces like a prayer.
You started dressing yourself, ignoring Maddison when she called you a good girl and after doing your makeup, both of you left your room.
The boys were already waiting for you at the hotelâs bar since you werenât in the mood to go full nightclubbing and that was the best you could offer. And they agreed just because if they got you tipsy enough, maybe you would be the one wanting to change scenarios.
You greeted both and sat on a barstool next to Luke that was grinning at you mischievously. You squinted your eyes as he wiggled his brows and then decided it was better if you didnât know.
You asked the bartender for a piĂąa colada and Luke groaned.
âDude, you are going softâ he glared at you and changed your order for something stronger a Moscow Mule.
âNo, you are trying to kill meâ you scoffed and Luke laughed âVodka isnât my cup of tea, vipesâ
âTonight it isâ he shrugged and leaned over the counter âYour girlfriends are here, by the wayâ
At that, you straightened your back and Luke started laughing louder. You pushed him away when he tried to hug you and grunted.
âShut upâ your cheeks flushed and you thanked the bartender when he placed your drink before you and gave a long sip âThey are not my girlfriendsâ
âBut you wish they wereâ he teased, nudging your side playfully.
âShe wishes what?â Noah chimed in, his arms wrapped around Maddisonâs waist and you groaned, hiding your face in between your hands.
âThat the hot women from earlier were her girlfriends or at least one of them. Hard to tell if they are togetherâ Luke said tapping his chin in a thoughtful manner and you punched him.
âAre they here?â Mads asked, her eyes already scanning the place and you closed your eyes.
Ever since you broke up with your ex, your friends were firm believers that the only way out of your dark tunnel was a quick fuck. Noah and Luke were insufferable about it but when Maddison chimed in, it only got worse.
And you knew they were trying to cheer you up. After all, they were the ones collecting the pieces of your broken heart. But no one was interesting enough for you to really pay attention until that day.
You didnât even know their names and maybe it was for the best. But both women were extremely attractive, it wasnât even fair to be that hot. Physically should be impossible and yet, they were goddesses walking down on earth.
Luke told the story, emphasising on the fact that you were flustered when you talked to them and they pushed all day for you to talk to them. You stayed firm, though, even if on the inside you wanted to do it.
But it was like tossing a coin. They could be married or just friends or worst case scenario they were straight. Either way, you wouldâve ended up making a fool of yourself and you werenât ready for that hit.
âYeah, corner booth on your rightâ Luke smirked and Noah and Maddison turned their faces in the most obvious way they could.
You gulped the rest of your drink and ordered another one. They were as embarrassing as any parent could be. Well no, they were worse.
âDude, they are one hundred percent lesbiansâ Noah said looking at you and you side eyed him âMads is the only straight woman I believe is that beautiful, the rest are certainly lesbiansâ
âNice wording, babyâ Maddison kissed his cheek and he smiled proudly âBut he is right. And they make me wish I was into women, like damnâ
You sighed, loudly and dramatically. You were delusional but your friends always fuelled that side of you and this time you werenât falling for it.
âWell, then they are married. Cheers to thatâ you said raising your glass and Luke patted your shoulder âDo not hit on me, Lucasâ
He chuckled âI was gonna say, you could always try your shotâ
You gulped again your drink, leaving your glass half empty and shook your head as you laughed.
âLast time you told me that, I found my best friendâ Maddison laughed at that and cheered with you âAnd Iâm not replacing herâ
The three of them kept teasing you, trying to encourage you to go and talk to them but that only made you keep drinking. And maybe alcohol wasnât the best solution for your broken heart, the teasing or the need that was increasing between your legs every time you glanced at them, but the alcohol was making it bearable.
In the middle of your fourth drink, the bartender pushed a new drink and you looked at him confused. It was a different drink, the glass was garnished with lipstick and you raised a brow.
âThis cocktail is called âThe Flirtââ he explained with a soft smile, gaining the attention of your friends as they turned to look at him with curious eyes âTequila, brandy, cranberry juice and lime juiceâ he continued, focusing on you as you stared at the drink like it held all the answers in the world âFrom the ladies over thereâ
Your cheeks started burning as Noah and Luke high five and Maddison started laughing. The bartender offered you a friendly look but it didnât help to soothe your nerves and you tried to give it back.
âI donât think this is a good ideaâ you said shyly, finishing your drink and Luke wrapped his arm around your shoulder âDonâtâ
âSassy, itâs just a drink not a marriage proposalâ he said softly, restraining himself from teasing you. He sniffed the drink and looked at the bartender âI want one, smells nice. Pleaseâ
âTake mineâ you grunted and Luke ignored you, pleading silently to the bartender to go and he nodded âLucasâ
âNo, we are not doing thisâ he said firmly and you turned to look at him âI know we tease you a lot but this is a sign, (Y/N)â you groaned and started shaking your head âYes, it is. Take the drink and just go and thank them. If they were just being nice with you, you can come back and we all go to bedâ Noah smacked the back of his head but Luke remained unbothered, almond eyes only focused on you and smiling softly âAnd I will do whatever you want for a monthâ
âYou really want me to go over there, huh?â you giggled softly and his smile widened.
âItâs been six months, sassy girlâ he pecked your cheek âGo and if you donât like them, look at me and I will go and pretend Iâm your jealous boyfriendâ
You laughed and rolled your eyes playfully âYou always want to play that roleâ he shrugged and you sighed âFine, but I will make you suffer for a monthâ
You stood up and took the drink. Your hand slightly shaking as you took a deep breath. It felt like you even forgot how to flirt, you were rusty after five years of being in a relationship.
âGo, get âem tigerâ he patted your shoulder and you sighed.
(â)
Surprisingly, the drink was Natashaâs idea.
But she had to do something because it couldnât be a coincidence that they ran into you two times that day after not seeing you the whole week. And Wanda also kept throwing stealthy glances at you, although she wasnât as subtle as she think she was. Not for Natasha, at least.
And if it went wrong, Natasha could blame it on the alcohol later. Even when she knew how to handle her vodka. But the smile of her wife was priceless when she did the request to a waiter, so it really was worth the trouble.
But Wandaâs smile faded when she watched you struggle. Your blond friend was telling you something, the bartender was looking at you trying to decide what to do and your other two friends were immersed in their own world.
You looked conflicted.
âI think we over did it, moya lyubovââ Wanda looked at Natasha nervously, biting her lip and feeling her heart race.
The redhead extended her arm and Wanda took her hand seeking comfort. And there wasnât any other thing that could soothe her worries like Natashaâs reassuring smile.
âWell, in that case we tried and I keep my word on getting creative tonightâ Wanda giggled and Natashaâs smile widened âThere you are, dorogayaâ
âYeah, you are right. Maybe my gaydar is brokenâ Wanda sighed, shrugging and Natasha laughed.
âOr maybe sheâs not into us, Wandsâ Natasha teased and her wife offered her an offended look âWell, into me. My wife is extremely hotâ
âHey now! My wife is hotterâ Wanda grinned and Natasha rolled her eyes playfully âBut really, itâs okay. At least she got a free drink andâŚâ
Natashaâs eyes flicked your way and her heart skipped a beat. You were now walking towards them, stumbling a little but with the drink on your hand. And for a second, Natasha thought you were going to throw the drink to them. But when her eyes met yours, you smiled softly and she forgot how to breathe.
âDorogayaâ
âSo I think we could just close the tab andâŚâ
âWandsâ
âI really donât mind. In fact, I think Iâm feeling tired. Arenât youâŚâ
âWanda!â Natasha said louder and Wanda flinched, furrowing her brows a little hurt because her wife never raised her voice. At least not to Wanda âIâm sorry, my love, but lookâ
Wanda then looked your way. You were closer, walking too slow for Natashaâs liking but she was enjoying the view. And Wandaâs breath faltered as she squeezed Natashaâs hand tightly and ignored when her wife grunted.
Both looked at you in awe when you stood before them. The crimson dress that you were wearing made you look like an angel of death. Their deaths. Your hair was down, your collarbone adorned with a cute silver necklace and you were wearing rings.
âHeyâ you said shyly âThank you for the drink. Seems like I owe you big time nowâ you joked, trying to keep your nerves in check even when the alcohol was numbing you and still your skin was buzzing.
Natashaâs jaw was one movement away from dropping, you couldnât look hotter even if you wanted to. It should be illegal or something. And Wanda wasnât so sure about her own name, afraid of talking and making a fool of herself.
They were never shy around women. Not when they were single and specially not since they were married. Both were natural flirts, almost bordering arrogance when it came to their looks. They knew they were hot, they knew they were charming, they were overly-confident with their skills in specially in bed.
And yet, in that exact moment, they both forgot how to talk.
On your end, the silence stretched too quickly. It was barely two minutes, but your confidence shattered. What if they didnât mean to send you the drink? What if it was meant for someone else? What if they didnât even want you there?
You bit your lip nervously, taking a step back and looking over your shoulder. Luke nodded and said something to Noah and Maddison, and started to walk towards you.
And Wanda finally snapped out of her own thoughts.
âHey, sweetheartâ she smiled softly and her voice electrified your skin âDid you like the drink?â
Wanda kicked Natasha under the table, not daring to look away from you and her wife growled but it was enough for her to react.
âI- well I havenâtâŚâ your cheeks flushed and you shifted your weight nervously.
âWhy donât you join us for that drink?â Natasha said sliding over the round booth to sit closer to Wanda and gave you space âUnless you have somewhere else to be?â
There was a hopeful edge on Natashaâs voice and your legs almost failed you because she sounded so sweet. But before you could accept, Lukeâs arm wrapped around you protectively.
âWhat are you doing, baby?â
Wanda threw a âI told you soâ look to her wife. Natashaâs jaw clenched at the sight of the blond man. Your cheeks were burning and you were wishing for the earth to swallow you up. The only one that was grinning and in control was Luke; the one person that didnât belong there.
In his defence, you gave him the signal.
You took a deep breath and turned to look at him, trying to silently ask him to go but Luke was dumb when he wanted.
âWhy donât you go with Noah and Mads, hm?â you asked softly and he frowned.
âWhat? But youâŚâ
âYou heard me, vipesâ you cleared your throat, your eyes wide opened as you tried to signal him to get on track. But you could see how slowly the dots were connecting âLucas!â
You smacked his arm and he flinched. And finally, he reacted. Luke grinned and nodded, you could just wish he didnât look that obvious to the beautiful women behind you as much as he did to you.
âOh, yeah. Huhâ he scratched the back of his neck and looked over you âLadies, I think I never apologised. Sorry for the disturbance earlier and forâŚâ you pinched his arm subtly and he grimaced âYeah, for earlier. Iâll see you later, sassyâ he leaned and pecked your cheek.
Natasha watched him leave and she smiled triumphantly to her wife. The redhead loved being right, she loved even more proving her wife wrong even when that got her in trouble. It was always worth it.
And she told herself as much when Wanda nudged her forcefully with her elbow and smiled at you with innocent eyes when you turned to look at them.
Wanda Maximoff was the devil in disguise and no one but Natasha knew that.
âSorry about that, he just⌠well, it doesnât matterâ you bit your lip nervously, trying to gather your thoughts âSo may I sit or should I justâŚâ
âPlease, I promise we donât biteâ Wanda said cheerfully âUnless you are into that, in that case we very much biteâ
Natasha looked at her wife incredulously. Wanda only got that chatty when she was nervous, like it was her first time interacting with a woman and if they wanted a chance with you, Wanda needed to get it together.
But you chuckled and sat on the spot Natasha left you.
âI guess it depends on who is biting, so we will seeâ you smiled softly, gaining confidence from god knows where but it was working.
âSo sassy? Is that your name?â Natasha said casually, taking a sip of her drink and your cheeks flushed.
You were there already flirting with them and you didnât even know their names nor they knew yours. But the redhead was smooth, you gave her that.
âGod noâ you giggled and Natasha almost choked on her drink, could you get even cuter? âVipes calls me by my gamertag. I mean Luke, I also call him by his gamertagâ you babbled and Natasha held back an amused smirk.
You were just like her wife. Well, Wanda barely got that nervous so it was almost your fault that she was in that state. But that seemed to be your usual. And it made sense.
If Natasha had to guess, you probably were in your mid twenties. At least ten years younger than them. You seemed to come from a good family, nice manners and probably you had siblings based on the way you treated your friend. Long-term relationships were your thing, so a one night stand was barely an option and still, you were there with no expectations.
That was the redheadâs final assessment. And she was right. Natasha Romanoff was always right.
âGamertag?â Wanda tilted her head slightly and your cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red, making Wandaâs curiosity spike even more.
You probably sounded like a total nerd. Or thatâs what you believed while Wanda was genuinely curious. Natasha was the gamer, not her.
âYes, dorogaya. Gamertag, you know the name you use online when you play?â Natasha explained sweetly and Wanda raised a brow, clueless âLike mine? Black Widow?â
âOh, I seeâ she giggled and looked back at you âYouâll have to forgive me, perhaps Iâm oldâ her cheeks flushed and you wanted to tell her you probably looked like trash next to her, that there was no way she was that old. But you bit the inside of your cheek nervously âAnd sassy is yours?â
âSomething like that but my name is (Y/N)â you hummed and took a sip of your drink to soothe your nerves âAnd do you have names or should I just call you hottie one and hottie two?â your tongue ran before you could stop yourself and your eyes widened, coughing and not sure where to focus âI mean- god, Iâm so sorry. I take it back. No, I mean I donât take it back. You guys are hot but I say that respectfully and I didnât want toâŚâ
Natasha grabbed your hand and gave you a gentle squeeze, making you look at them. They were smiling a little amused but they werenât judging. You bit your lip nervously, embracing the warmth of Natashaâs touch as she rubbed tender circles on the back of your hand.
âThank you for the compliment, malyshkaâ Natasha started softly, as if she was trying to be careful of not scaring you away âIâm Natasha and this is my wife, Wandaâ
âAnd I gotta say, you have a very cute nameâ Wanda added, smiling at you and almost climbing Natashaâs lap just to be closer to you because her wife got to touch you first and the brunette was competitive.
âYou guys do tooâ you nodded, downing half the drink before you could keep talking and you made a bigger fool of yourself âYou also make a lovely coupleâ
And they did. They truly did. It shouldnât be fair that two women that hot were together but life was never fair. And they looked like a match made in heaven, like two pieces that belonged together perfectly. It was written all over them.
But knowing that didnât keep you from feeling a little disappointed because the chances of them looking for a third were very thin.
âOh, thank you. Thatâs really sweet, isnât it moya lyubovâ?â Wanda smiled at her wife and Natasha hummed, her eyes fixed on you even when her wife kissed her cheek.
âIs that⌠Russian or something?â you asked curiously and Natasha offered you a proud smile, one that made your heart flutter.
âIt is. Good job, malyshkaâ Natasha praised and your arousal pooled between your legs âWanda called my love and I just called you little oneâ she explained but you were half listening. You nodded but you were squeezing your legs thanks to the praise and the pet name, what was wrong with you?
âIâm not that littleâ you murmured and Wanda giggled âIâm twenty fiveâ
âItâs not like that, sweetheartâ Wanda explained with a soft smile âAlthough, for us you are little. In a cute way and maybe we are just olderâ your lips parted to ask but she tutted âItâs rude to ask a lady her ageâ
âSheâs thirty five, Iâm thirty sevenâ Natasha rolled her eyes playfully and Wanda smacked her arm. You giggled âYou act like you are eighty or something, Maximoffâ
âSays the woman that keeps complaining about her kneeâ Wanda scoffed and winked at you.
Their silly banter was refreshing. You werenât sure how long theyâve been together but the way they acted around each other was something you wished you would be able to find one day. Being around someone that long for them to be your best friend and your lover.
âSo, malyshka, what brings you here? To Cancun, I meanâ Natasha asked grinning at you.
âFor that, I think Iâll need another drinkâ you said shyly.
âAs you wishâ Natasha called a waiter over.
And you tried to collect your thoughts and feelings. It was a terrible idea to talk about your ex when you were trying to flirt with them. But they asked and you couldnât find in yourself to lie, not to them.
Their beauty made you nervous and made your whole body buzz with need. But both women also looked at you as if they could catch you when you fell, like they would never judge.
The real question was: could you trust them?
(â)
None of you were sure how long youâve been hanging in that booth. But the more you talked to them, the more comfortable you felt.
The moment you saw Wanda, you knew she was a sweet person. There was a light around her that was compelling, that called you without trying. But getting to know her was a full experience. The brunette was well educated, loved reading, she was the reason Natasha didnât get a dog because she was more of a plant person and she volunteered in a music center by giving piano lessons for children that couldnât afford them.
She was a true angel. Plus, you now were sure about her motherly energy.
Natasha, on the other hand, at first seemed like a little rigid. She teased, she flirted, but it was like Natasha was holding back. You saw the moment the redhead started easing up to you, how her body relaxed and her smile was more genuine.
She turned out to be hilarious, a goofy woman that loved pushing her wifeâs buttons even when that got her in trouble, a huge protective energy and incredibly intelligent.
Natasha read you like an open book, every question she asked was precise as if she already knew the answer and wanted to confirm it. But it made sense, she ran her own security company, she needed to know how to read people. It was impressive nevertheless, because she was a software engineer and you always pictured people like that having a little more trouble when mingling.
Both were amazing and you werenât sure if you wanted to be with them or be like them. Because together, they looked like a solid couple that knew each other better than they knew themselves.
Wanda would scrunch her nose when she didnât understand a small thing and Natasha would be there explaining patiently to her wife in words that were more familiar to her. Natasha would tense up when a question took her by surprise and Wanda would caress her arm and lock her fingers with her wifeâs.
And you wished you could be jealous, even if you didnât know of who or what, but it wasnât coming. Because they were also making sure to wrap you in their own bubble.
They listened to you when you talked about the real reason you were there and their eyes softened as if they were going through the same thing. Wanda asked about your work and listened carefully. Natasha asked about your goals and even offered to help if you were comfortable with.
You werenât sure how they kept pulling you closer. Maybe it was the way Natasha kept ordering for you, not before checking in and asking if you needed something else. Maybe it was the way Wanda smiled at you softly when she noticed you were getting nervous and called you sweet names.
Both wrapped you in comfort and security. Drawing lines around you that they kept asking silently if you were okay with them crossing. Not pushing, only patience. And you werenât sure where it was going, because they were taking their time, but you wouldnât mind if it ended up with them being just friends. As long as you got to keep them by your side, it seemed worthy.
Then, Wanda made it very clear for you. Maybe it was the alcohol running through her veins, maybe it was her eagerness or maybe it was her impatience. But she made the effort to be transparent with you. No more dancing around.
âHas anyone told you how pretty you are?â Wanda asked with a flirty smirk, her chin resting on her fist as her other hand played with the straw of her drink.
Your cheeks started to burn. It wasnât only the compliment, it was the way she was looking at you with hunger but mostly with genuine adoration.
They just met you. But just like you found them extremely alluring, they both were buzzing with need to have you in more ways they wanted to admit. Because the moment you sat down, it felt like a missing piece was found. The real one, not their fail attempts to fill the void.
You looked at Natasha, almost expecting her to scold her wife for being so bold. But the redhead was looking at you the same way as Wanda.
âI- well, I guess? Iâm not sureâ you stuttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and giving a sip to what seemed to be your tenth drink âbut thatâs fine. Not a big fan of feeding my egoâ
Wanda giggled, a sound that was enchanting like a siren voice and your heart skipped a beat.
âPretty and cute. I think you should feed that egoâ Wanda shrugged, leaning back and crossing her legs as she played with a lock of her hair âAfter all, itâs true. Donât you think, Tasha?â
Your eyes landed on Natasha. A little nervous because her wife was blunt with you and you were afraid of flirting back. Not when you werenât sure about their whole dynamic.
But Natasha hummed, green eyes twinkling with amusement and something you were afraid to name. The redhead leaned closer and her hand landed on your knee, her grin widened when you squeezed your legs together as her touch electrified your skin.
âWanda is right, malyshkaâ Natasha smiled and gave you a gentle squeeze before leaning back and placed her other hand on Wandaâs thigh âNot only is she always rightâ Wanda hummed proudly and you giggled âbut itâs true. You are really prettyâ her eyes danced over your face, stopping on your lips before they kept going down and your skin started burning âcuteâ the redhead bit her lip and looked back to your eyes âhot, I would dare to say. And incredibly smart. We like smart, donât we dorogaya?â
You looked at Wanda. The brunette was also checking you out, biting her index finger as her eyes roamed your body. They werenât even assessing you. No, they were enjoying the view. Like admiring a painting they were ready to buy and hang to look pretty at their house.
You almost whimpered. Arousal pooling between your legs and your fingers twitching with need. You wanted to blame the alcohol for your horny state, but it was all their doing. Everything about them was a turn on and they hadnât even touched you.
And your body buzz with excitement at the thought of they doing it because if they could do that much without their touch, what would happen when they did?
âVery much. Itâs why a fell in love with youâ Wanda looked at Natasha and they leaned closer. Closing the gap between them, lips locking in the steamiest kiss you had ever witnessed or had.
You bit your lip, moving your leg impatiently and tugging the hem of your dress. But then, everything stopped because a moan escaped your lips before you could even process it.
Natasha and Wanda broke the kiss, sharing a knowing look that you didnât see because now you were downing the rest of your drink and fighting with the ice cubes as if they could cool down your burning cheeks.
âEverything okay, malyshka?â Natasha smirked, watching you try to merge with your glass and when it didnât work you called over a waiter.
Your ears reddened, feeling the amused gazes of the women as you tried to order a drink. The waiter glanced at Natasha, as if he was asking permission since she had been ordering for you all night. The redhead nodded, her eyes barely leaving you and when you turned to look at them you started coughing.
âEasy there, sweetheartâ Wanda said with faux worry and leaned to grab your hand. You nodded, clearing your throat and trying to smile at them âWell, Natasha asked you a question. Wonât you answer? Itâs rude to ignoreâ
Wanda ignored the small pinch her wife gave her. The brunetteâs eyes darkened with more hunger as you squirmed on your seat. You werenât nervous. Well, not as much as you were turned on by her tone. It was deliberate and commanding. And when Natasha looked at you, she saw desire written all over your face.
âI- yes. Sorryâ you managed to say and looked at Natasha âEverything is okay, Natasha. Thank you for askingâ you glanced at Wanda for a moment, trying to see if she was pleased but when she didnât move or say anything you looked back to Natasha âand sorry for ignoring you when you askedâ
It shouldâve been humiliating or thatâs what you thought trying to make sense of the tingle in the pit of your stomach. You couldnât find in yourself to care about it. Not when your heart was seeking approval from them.
The redhead offered you a proud smile and nodded, but you almost moaned again when Wanda talked.
âGood girl. Such good mannersâ you held back a whimper as Wanda started playing with Natashaâs hair. You thanked the waiter for the drink and Wanda stopped him before he could leave âPerhaps we should close our tab, moya lyubovââ
But she wasnât looking at Natasha, Wanda was looking at you and you choked mid-drink. You started coughing again and Wanda smiled with amusement.
âYes, please. Itâs time for us to goâ Natasha said to the waiter and he nodded, excusing himself to get the receipt.
You took a deep breath and started to slide off the booth. Both women looked at you confused as you stood up and smiled at them, opening your small purse and searching for cash.
âI guess thatâs my queue to leave. Thank you both for the lovely nightâ you said softly, pulling out some money and offering it to Natasha that looked at you like you just insulted her âItâs not much but I canât let you pay for all my drinksâ you explained, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as your other hand trembled nervously as if the money felt heavy on your palm.
âThatâs not necessary, it was my pleasureâ Natasha smiled, her eyes now unreadable as she looked at you and you bit your lip.
You were too focused on her to notice when Wanda found her way out of the booth and stood next you. But the warmth of her hand startled you for a moment. You looked at her, her hand still tender over your arm as she caressed you and you eased up.
âWe are not ready to let you go just yetâ Wanda said softly, her eyes flicking for a second to your lips and she looked back at you when she caressed your cheek with the back of her fingers and you leaned into her touch without fully realising it âSuch a pretty girl. So reactingâ
Natasha appeared behind Wanda, arms instantly wrapped around her wifeâs waist as she rested her chin over her shoulder and smiled at you.
âWe were hoping for you to join us in our roomâ you looked at her in awe and for a moment, Natasha doubted herself but she forced herself to keep going âItâs okay if you donât want to or you are uncomfortable. Itâs just that booth is bad for my back and Iâm sick of these clothesâ
âI- I donât want to impose myselfâ you stuttered, stepping back and regretting it when you lost Wandaâs touch âIâm sure you have more interesting things to do than entertain meâ you forced a laugh but they both looked at you even more confused.
âYeah, we have more interesting things to do with youâ Wanda said closing the gap between you again and she grabbed your hand, giving you a gently squeeze and you relaxed âBut if you donât want to, we will understandâ
âJust donât leave because you think we donât like youâ Natasha added with a reassuring smile and you bit down your lip.
It was a bad idea. You started liking them way too much and that could only end badly. At least, thatâs what you were trying to convince yourself about. But your mind was already lost in both pair of green eyes that held all the promises in the world and were ready to give you the universe if you asked. For a night, but it sounded worthy.
âAre you guys sure? I really donât want toâŚâ
âDonât finish that sentence, malyshkaâ Natasha said a little more firmly, a tone that told you there was no room for argument âWe are sure. What about you?â
âYeah. Fine, letâs do itâ you sighed and both smiled proudly, like using your words was all they need âLet me go tell my friendsâ
Wanda stopped you before you could walk, her grip more firm as a silent command and you couldnât fully understand why your body kept reacting to every order they gave you. Their words told you were free, the commands were silent but not pushy but you werenât so sure now you wanted that freedom. Your body wanted to follow commands, would your mind like that too?
âIâm sure you can text them, right?â Wanda said softly and you tilted your head slightly âMy feet are killing me, sweetheartâ she explained and you smiled shyly.
âOh, yeah. Sure. Iâll text Lukeâ you said pulling out your phone and they smiled proudly again, making your heart fluttered with satisfaction.
âWell, I guess then we go nowâ Natasha said softly and hoisted Wanda in her arms and the brunette gasped âfor your feet, dorogayaâ
âAlways my heroâ Wanda pecked her lips and then winked at you âLead the way, pretty girlâ
Your breath hitched and your heart raced. But you started walking. If it ended in tears, you would gaslight yourself into thinking it was the alcoholâs fault.
(â)
Natasha and Wandaâs room was on the top floor. The one reserved for members. And when they opened the door to their suite, you wondered once again how rich they were.
They dressed, looked and talked expensive. Did they taste the same?
And maybe Natasha diminish her company, making it sound like it was a small business but standing at the entrance of that big room was telling you otherwise.
âOh, sweetheart, apologies for the messâ Wanda said softly next to you once Natasha put her down âNatasha forgets to clean after herselfâ
Natasha snorted, already standing next to bed and picking the phone âYeah, me. Because I wear theseâ she said amused, showing her wife a red thong and your cheeks flushed when Natasha winked at you âYeah, good night. I would like to order room service?â
Wanda approached her wife and smacked her arm as Natasha played around when Wanda tried to snatch the thong out of her hands. It was impressive the way her voice didnât waver while doing so, like nothing was going on even when her wife was threatening to kill her silently.
You giggled softly, not able to look away. And Wanda finally snatched the piece, although something told you Natasha let her win.
The brunette turned to look at you as her wife grinned behind her making you laugh a little, but Wandaâs stare made you stop and you pursed your lips. She approached you and your feet almost moved to close the gap, Wanda was faster though.
Her index finger curled beneath your chin and lifted it up. Your cheeks blushed as green eyes studied you carefully.
âWhatâs so funny, sweetheart?â her voice was dripping with sweetness. A trap wrapped in silk and you shook your head âNothing? Hm, interestingâ
You bit your lip nervously, playing with your fingers as you tried to look down but Wanda wasnât letting you. The brunette was enjoying every delicious second of you squirming under her gaze.
And maybe now the alcohol was doing the trick because you could swore Wanda was leaning closer to you, her breath colliding against your face with a mix of cherry and vodka. Or maybe it was you the one that was being pulled closer, you couldnât tell.
Your lips brushed against each otherâs, you closed your eyes as your body buzzed with excitement and then Natasha broke the spell.
âMaximoff, leave her aloneâ Natasha said wrapping her arms around Wanda from behind.
For a second you were scared but when your eyes met the redheadâs she was amused and her eyes were darkened. She whispered something in Wandaâs ear, her eyes not daring to leave you and then it was Wandaâs turn to blush and bite her lower lip.
âFine, Iâll behaveâ Wanda sighed finally and broke the embrace.
She started cleaning a little. It was true, the mess was hers but Natasha was the one to blame for that because she made it almost impossible for her wife to pick something when the redhead kept threatening her to rip it off her body.
The reason they were out was to get you out of their minds, to focus on each other and not the need of having you. And when you walked in, it was like a divine sign. Or at least thatâs what Wanda said.
Natasha placed a tender hand over your hip and your breath hitched with the firmness of her touch. You wondered if she was always so gentle or if she was holding back to not scare you away.
âI hope you donât mindâ she started as her other hand cradled your jaw and you leaned into her touch. She offered you a soft smile even when you saw a flash of fear in her eyes for a moment âI ordered some drinks and food, you canât have an empty stomach with all the alcohol youâve been drinkingâ your cheeks were burning, you werenât sure that was going away anytime soon. And you tried to look away but Natasha tutted âNone of that, malyshka. Donât hide from me, pleaseâ
Your heart melted. The softness of her voice made you want to hug her but you werenât so sure. And your mind started running crazy, being flooded with unnecessary thoughts.
Why were they so sweet with you? Why putting this much effort into someone they just met? They had the perfect life, the perfect marriage and yet, they were showering with attention and care.
âWhy me?â you whispered, your tongue betraying your mind and Natasha furrowed her brows as her eyes clouded with confusion âWhy are you guys being so nice to me? We just metâ
Natasha opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock on the door and she sighed, like the interruption really bothered her. You offered her half a smile and she looked at you with apologetic eyes when she had to let you go.
âCome sit, sweetheartâ Wanda called you from behind and you walked towards the sofa, swallowing nervously as you sat down âYou okay? Did Natasha say something? Romanoff!â
Natasha was walking behind a man as he pushed the small cart with food and drinks.
âWhat I do, dorogaya? I swear it wasnât meâ Natasha said softly, grinning at her wife that was glaring at her âThank you, we will leave it outside when we are doneâ
The redhead tipped him and he left, but her wife was still watching her with her hands over her hips and Natasha chuckled nervously. Wanda was ready to lecture her.
âShe didnât- Natasha didnât say anything wrongâ you rushed to say when Wanda opened her mouth and both looked at you.
The brunette approached you and crouched before you, taking your hand in between hers and looked at you with soft eyes.
âAre you being honest, sweetheart?â Wanda asked trying to read your face and you nodded âWords, pretty girlâ
âYes, Wandaâ you whispered, lost in her gaze and Wanda smiled.
She stood up and looked at Natasha, that just grinned triumphantly and Wanda rolled her eyes playfully.
âSaved by the cute girlâ Wanda teased her wife and Natasha shrugged.
âWhat can I say? Iâm a saint!â
Wanda hummed and Natasha sat in the sofa in front of you as her wife placed a glass before you and some snacks over the coffee table. Then she joined the redhead, curling beside her and resting her right elbow over the back of the sofa.
They went back to assess you, seeking any sign of discomfort as if they already knew your body language. And at that point you were almost sure. Both seemed to be able to read you so easily.
Natasha leaned forward, taking a sip of her drink and then resting her arms over her thighs. You swallowed and bit your lip.
âYou asked whyâ Natasha said softly and Wanda tensed slightly. Without having to look at her wife, Natasha leaned back to place her hand over Wandaâs knee âWanda and I have been together since what? High school, my love?â
âOfficially, since college. But yeahâ Wanda smiled softly at Natasha and looked back at you again, her smile still on her lips.
âWe were best friends, then lovers. We got marriedâ Natashaâs gaze was soft, like she was trying to tell you everything she couldnât with her eyes âAnd I love her with all my heart as much as she loves meâ they looked at each other, like their love never wavered but only got stronger. Wanda pecked her lips and whispered something before they looked back at you âBut something was missing. Well, not something. Someoneâ
At that, Natasha tensed up. You saw the moment her eyes clouded and she straightened up, her hands leaving Wandaâs knee to fold her arms over her chest. She was shielding herself.
Instinctively, you moved to the edge of the sofa. Your body trying to reach her, to comfort her or to at least apologise for asking, for forcing her to say something she didnât seem ready to say.
But Wanda shook her head subtly, smiling gratefully but asking you silently to give Natasha a moment. You nodded and sat back.
âWe work perfectly, donât we moya lyubovâ?â Wanda smiled at her wife, her hand already rubbing circles over her thigh and Natasha relaxed and looked at Wanda âEverything is almost perfectâ the brunette caressed her wifeâs cheek.
âAlmostâ Natasha whispered and as much as you wanted to look away and give them space, you couldnât. Natasha looked at you again âbut we need balance in our lives, you know? Someone to keep us in check, to remind us to live before we get consumed with our own thingsâ Wanda intertwined her fingers with Natasha and both smiled at you âSomeone with enough power to make us feel more freeâ
Your lips parted as the silence stretched in the room. Your cheeks were flushed and you shifted nervously on your seat. The words were sinking in your bones. Feeling so right that it scared you, because the words sounded real.
No one could be that mean to lie, right? But given your list of exes, you couldnât trust your own judgement. Still, your heart needed to believe.
âI donât think I am that someoneâ you murmured and Natasha stood up âIâm flattered, really. Youâve been so sweet to me. You both are awesome butâŚâ
The redhead sat next to you and your voice died down. Natasha caressed your cheek tenderly as your breath hitched, her thumb brushing your lower lip as her eyes followed her movements. And then she brushed your hair back.
âWe think you are. Yeah, we just met but look at usâ she said softly âYou are an attraction force. You didnât leave our minds all day and then we talked to you and you sound so collectedâ Natasha leaned closer and you bit your lip âI donât think you even know it. But if you are not comfortable, you can leave. We just needed you to knowâ
Your heart was drumming in your ears, your cheeks were burning but your mind went completely silent. Natashaâs eyes were twinkling with sincerity, a little fear and like she just opened her heart to you. So you did what youâve been wanting to do all fucking night.
You kissed her.
At first, she flinched a little as her muscles stiffened. But when her mind finally realised what was happening, her lips started moving. Natasha was careful, her plumped lips softer than you imagined and gentler. She tasted like vodka and lime. But mostly, she tasted like a promise.
You whimpered, trying to deepened the kiss and Natasha pulled back. She smiled softly and shook her head, brushing your nose with hers.
âNot yet, malyshka. You are going to get me killedâ she chuckled and you furrowed your brows.
âKilled? What do-â
A small tap on your shoulder cut you off, your cheeks heating up even more when you remembered the brunette. You turned to look at her, swallowing nervously and an apology already on the tip of your tongue but she raised a brow.
âIf you dare to apologise, you will regret itâ Wanda said firmly, sitting next to you and tapping her thigh âCome here, sweetheartâ
Your mouth ran dry and you glanced at Natasha, that gave you a small nod and a reassuring smile. You straddled Wandaâs lap and her hands grabbed your hips, keeping you steady.
She leaned closer. Lips brushing your neck as she inhaled your scent. You smelled like coconut, summer breeze and dreams. You held back a moan when she placed a soft kiss on your jaw, your fingers locking on her shoulders trying to ground you and she smiled.
âYou are so damn beautiful. Less than a day knowing you and our lives already shineâ she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear âYou are perfect, sweetheartâ
Before you could reply, before you could even think of denying her words, her lips captured yours. Wanda was a little rougher, impatient, but gentle all at once. Her tongue outlined your lower lip and you followed her silent order, opening your mouth.
Her tongue was on a mission, like she was trying to memorise every inch of you and her grip tightened on your hips. You moaned against her lips, your hips grinding against hers when she bit your lower lip, tugging it playfully and she smirked when you grunted.
âSuch an impatient pretty girlâ Wanda teased you and pecked your lips again âDid you eat something before going to the bar or were you planning on getting wasted?â
You looked at her in awe. Her tone firm but sweet, another trap wrapped in silk. One you wouldâve run straight into if Natasha didnât stop you.
âI wouldnât lie if I were you, malyshkaâ Natasha said amused, leaning closer to you âShe smells the lies from miles awayâ
Wanda hummed in agreement and you bit your lower lip, slightly distracted by Natashaâs fingers over your thigh.
âI- I didnâtâ you admitted shyly âBut Iâm not hungry, I swearâ
Wanda squinted her eyes, making you squirm over her and Natasha laughed.
âMaximoff, leave her alone. If she wants to eat, she will do itâ Natasha smirked and Wanda pouted, looking at her wife âNo, you wonât get away with everything you wantâ
âBut she will need energyâ Wanda defended herself and you gasped, making both look at you âunless you donât want toâŚâ
You leaned and kissed her again. You couldnât trust yourself with talking. Not when they looked at you like they just found a treasure or how cute Wanda looked when she pouted. And the way she melted under your arms just fuelled your need of her.
You broke the kiss when Natasha huffed and when you turned to look at her, she was pouting like a child. You smirked amused as Wanda giggled and kissed your neck.
âWhat?â you asked wearing a cocky smirk. One that disappeared when Natasha stood up.
The redhead was taller than you, but you could almost feel the power radiating from her. She looked bigger, imposing, like she could ruin you if she just snapped her fingers.
It was her turn to smirk, sending a shiver down your spine and you almost squeaked. But Wanda started licking your neck and you whimpered when Natasha leaned.
âNot so cocky now, are we?â Natasha whispered and you bit down your lip âYou are really lucky itâs our first night, malyshka. Really luckyâ
It wasnât a threat. She wasnât warning you either. No, her words were a fucking promise. And instead of fearing her, you wanted to challenge her. You needed to see how far it could go.
Your brain wasnât fully understanding how two women you just met, had total power over you. They werenât forcing you, they werenât pushing you. They kept giving you options and as free as you could feel, you didnât want it. You wanted to be theirs.
It was the type of power that came with a lot of promises. The one that just asked for trust and care in return. Because Natasha and Wanda had some power over you. But you? You were the powerful one in that room. They would give you the universe if you just asked. All you had to do in return was trusting them. You had to give them the room to ruin you in all the right ways and they would be yours forever.
âSweetheart, breatheâ Wanda whispered in your ear and you realised your heart was racing, threatening you to jump out of your chest. You took a deep breath and looked at her âGood girl. Now be nice to daddy and apologise for making fun of herâ
You moaned at the title. Your cheeks flushing when your eyes met Natashaâs. The redhead was grinning, green eyes daring you to not follow Wandaâs order. But you wouldnât dare even if you wanted to.
âSorry, Nat-â Wanda pinched your side and your cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red âSorry, daddyâ
âSuch an obedient playthingâ Natasha said proudly.
Her fingers locked around your chin. A firm and steady grip that made you moan again as she leaned and kissed you. The first kiss was gentle and caring, this one felt like a claim.
Natasha kissed you like she was marking you, owning you and at the same time she was giving herself to you. Your head felt hazy. Your body craving them as if their lips over you werenât enough.
Your fingers tugged Wandaâs hair when she bit your neck and the moment you moaned, Natashaâs tongue swirled with yours. It was like a practice dance. As if both knew all the right spots in your body, all the right things to do and say.
And it clicked.
You broke the kiss, panting and pushing Wanda away gently. Both looked at you confused and you tried to collect your thoughts before talking because you could potentially ruin your night.
âIâm not the first one, am I?â you asked carefully, watching the moment they shared a look and then went back to you âItâs okay if you donât want to tell me. Iâm sorry if I oversteppedâ
âOh, sweetheart, you didnâtâ Wanda cradled your jaw and gave you a sad smile âI wish I could tell you, you are the first one but you are right, you arenâtâ
âBut you are the one we wantâ Natasha added and smiled âand before you dare to say again we just met, sometimes you just know. We canât name what it is, but we know we want youâ
Your heart fluttered âWhat happened toâŚâ
âThatâs a story for another day, sweetheart. Why donât we move this party somewhere more comfortable, hm?â
Wanda looked at Natasha and her wife nodded. You gasped when the redhead hoisted you over her shoulder, she was way too strong. She handled you with ease and care, putting you down on the bed and smiling like she just grabbed a pillow.
âDo you want us to stop?â Natasha asked softly and you shook your head âRemember what mommy told you, malyshka. Use your wordsâ
You whimpered âNo, daddy. I donât want to stopâ
âGood girlâ Natasha smiled proudly.
Wanda knelt behind you as Natasha crouched and started taking off your heels. Wanda unzipped your dress slowly, tossing your hair aside and she kissed your shoulder blades. Natasha started kissing your legs and your mind didnât know where to focus as Wanda pulled your dress down slowly.
The experience was something you had never felt. They were acting with so much care, making you feel safe. As if they were unwrapping a gift and wanted to engrave the experience in their minds.
The redhead helped her wife taking off your dress and both moaned at the sight of your body. Black lingerie covering your body and you couldnât find in yourself to feel shy. Not when they were looking at you like you were a masterpiece.
âIf you want to stop, you will say so. Understood?â Wanda whispered in your ear, tilting your head to the side and kissing your neck.
âYes, mommyâ
The praise came as a moan. Your words igniting Wandaâs skin as you used the right title. The brunette started sucking on your neck and you grunted. And when you looked down, Natasha was already kissing your thighs.
Both were marking you, their hands caressing your body like you were made of glass. As if you could break underneath them if they were rougher with you.
Your knees opened when Natasha moved up and she smirked. Your body was already reacting on its own. Your mind was silent, trying to remember every kiss, every movement, every sound they were making.
Your breath faltered when Natasha stopped in your covered cunt. She inhaled your scent, whimpering as her mind tried to decide what to do. And when she placed a chaste kiss and moved to your abdomen, you grunted.
Wanda unhooked your bra, throwing it somewhere around the floor and you tossed your head back when she cupped your breasts. You hid your face in the crook of her neck, kissing her as she pinched your nipples.
And you moaned, feeling Natashaâs tongue over your skin as Wandaâs hands worked over your chest. Your teeth sank in her skin and the brunette growled when you started sucking.
Your hips bucked up when Wandaâs fingers were replaced with Natashaâs mouth. Her tongue swirling over your harden nipple and her lips popping when she let you go.
The redhead continued to mark you, bruises appearing over your skin as a statement. When her knee pressed against your cunt you moaned and started grinding to ease the tension.
âEasy, malyshkaâ Natasha whispered in your ear âWe are getting thereâ
Then you whined when they stopped touching you. Both kissing over you as you looked up. They were rough, you could almost feel the power battle that was taking place over you.
Your fingers hooked in Natashaâs pants and the redhead broke the kiss to looked down on you with curious eyes. You smiled innocently.
âToo much clothes, daddyâ
Wanda chuckled as Natasha smirked with amusement and they shared a loving look, checking on each other before they kept going. The brunette pecked her wifeâs lips and said something in russian.
Their attention was back on you. Moving around you with ease and Natasha made you stand up. You tripped and she caught you. Your heart melted when you heard a soft âI got youâ that felt like an oath.
âWho do you want to undress first, little one?â Wanda asked softly and you bit your lip.
Your eyes danced in between them. Your ears ringing as you tried to decide and when your breath hitched, the brunetteâs hand wrapped around your wrist. You looked at her and she smiled reassuringly.
âPerhaps our cute girl shouldnât chooseâ Natasha suggested tenderly and your cheeks flushed. Her finger traced your collarbone and she smiled âitâs a huge decision, isnât it malyshka?â you moaned at her tone. Natasha was stripping you from your freedom, the one that came with consequences and a lot of anxiety âMommy and daddy will do it for you. Sit and watchâ
You nodded and sat at the edge of the bed. Your eyes fixed on them as they helped each other out of their clothes. Their movements deliberate, their eyes glancing at you every now and then with smiles that reached their eyes.
Wanda turned around. Natasha unzipped Wandaâs dress and her tongue traced her wifeâs spine. You werenât sure if Wanda moaned or if it was you. You clasped your legs to get some relief.
But your underwear was ruined when Wanda knelt before Natasha. It was one hell of a sight as the brunette looked up to her wife and took off her pants. You whimpered when Natasha stepped out of her pants and took off her shirt.
Both were goddesses. Your eyes were trying to decide where to focus. Natashaâs toned abdomen was calling you but Wandaâs long legs were alluring. You needed them both, not sure if you needed them to touch you or you needed to touch them.
As if they could read your thoughts, they approached you. Standing before you with softened eyes, giving you silent permission to touch.
You swallowed, not ready to pick between them without feeling you were failing them. Wanda smiled at you knowingly and looked at her wife.
âDibsâ Wanda said triumphantly and you looked at them confused as Natasha chuckled.
âNo, you canât call dibs. She gets to do itâ Natasha said amused and you tilted your head with curiosity âMommy wants to pick who goes first. Do you want her to pick, malyshka?â
You giggled softly and nodded âYes, daddyâ you looked at Wanda and grinned âYou pick, mommyâ
The brunette caressed your cheek and smiled proudly. She leaned to peck your lips, leaving a dreamy look in your eyes.
âOur perfect girlâ she praised you and you smiled âTasha, sit on the bedâ
Natasha huffed but complied, she knew better than to piss off her wife by not following orders. The redhead sat next to you with a grin and you giggled when she winked at you.
âIf you piss mommy off, I will let you cum sooner than laterâ Natasha teased and you gasped but Wanda smacked her thigh.
âDo not give her ideasâ Wanda scolded and Natasha rolled her eyes playfully âSweetheart come here, kneel before daddyâ
You did as told, eagerly. And Natasha moaned at the sight of you as you looked at her with doe eyes that twinkled with excitement.
Wanda knelt behind you, kissing your neck and then your shoulder. She pressed her chest against your back and you moaned when she nip your earlobe.
âDaddy is so beautiful, isnât she?â Wanda purred and you nodded âDo you want to touch, little one?â
âYes, mommy, pleaseâ
Wanda hummed proudly and took your hand. She showed you the way, your fingers caressing her legs tenderly. Natasha rested her body over her elbows, tossing her head back when your hand reached her thigh.
âShe will never say it out loud, but she loves being worshippedâ Wanda murmured and you whimpered as she guided your fingers over Natashaâs clothed cunt âNatasha acts all tough and powerful, but she is a golden retriever in disguise. A woman that needs to be taken care ofâ your thumb pressed against her clit and Natasha moaned, a sound so heavenly that you thought you could come just by hearing it âShow her how much you want her, sweetheart. Make daddy feel goodâ
Natasha gasped when your arms hooked around her legs and you pulled her closer with strength you didnât know you had. And your body moved with a mission in mind.
The redhead watched you licked her abdomen, sucking and marking her. Her body was perfect, museum worthy. Wanda helped you unhooked her bra and you sucked her right breast first and then the left one.
Natashaâs breath hitched as you kept leaving bruises over her body. She didnât like love bites, at least not that much unless Wanda was doing it to prove a point. But with you doing the job, looking at her like youâve been dying to taste her and own her, Natasha knew she was fucked.
Maybe you werenât their first addition to their marriage. Theyâve tried multiple times and as much as they gave themselves up, it never reached that point. Not because they didnât want to. It was because they never felt ready.
It could be the alcohol in her veins or her foggy mind. But instead of wanting to stop you from keep bruising her, she pulled you closer.
Wanda took in the image, noticing the way Natasha was letting you step into a territory she barely unlocked. The way her wife was holding you close as she unravelled under your touch. And she smiled because as much as the three of you felt like something that could vanish as soon as the sun came up, Wanda knew it wouldnât happen.
They just found you. They wouldnât let you go any time soon.
Not when Natasha felt so safe. Not when Wandaâs body buzzed with excitement and need she had never felt with anyone but Natasha. Not when you were so obedient, so eager, so fucking perfect.
Your tongue traced a line down her body. Your fingers hooked on the waistband of her underwear as you asked silently for permission and Natasha nodded, biting her lip as she watched you undress her.
You moaned at the sight of her slick. You leaned and kissed her thighs tenderly. And when your lips met her cunt, you both moaned.
âTake your time, sweetheartâ Wanda cooed, her hand snaked between your legs. You whimpered when she tossed aside your underwear âI got youâ
You swirled your tongue over Natashaâs clit, moaning at the taste and Wanda pressed her thumb against yours. You ran down your tongue making Natasha buck her hips up. And when your thumb rubbed circles over her clit as your tongue entered her, Natasha tossed her head back with a loud moan.
Your movements started gentle, slow, almost afraid of rushing things. But then your hunger came out to play, drunk on her taste and her moans. The way her fingers twitched next to your face trying to restrain herself from tugging your hair.
And your mind was hazy, moaning against her cunt as Wandaâs fingers worked between your legs. You whimpered when she pushed two fingers inside of you, your knees spreading a little more to give her more space to work and Wanda hummed satisfied.
The three of you were moving in sync. Wandaâs lips marking your back as she pumped her fingers, you eating Natasha out like she was the last meal on earth and the redhead finally broke and tugged your hair, guiding you as she bucked her hips up, grinding her hips against your face.
âFuck, malyshkaâ Natasha whimpered, forcing herself to watch you and when she met your eyes she moaned louder âYou look so perfect like this. Iâm almost jealous, thinking your tongue worked on someone elseâ you grunted and Wanda fastened her movements, a possessive rhythm took over with Natashaâs words âYes, baby, just like that. Donât stopâ
You pushed your hips back, trying to get Wanda to move faster. And she complied, her mind deciding she couldnât wait for you to come around her fingers.
Natasha tugged your hair again and you whimpered, your eyes fixed on hers and you sucked on her clit and she moaned, not only at the sensation but at the way you were looking at her.
âIâm so close, please donât stopâ Natasha begged, feeling her abdomen tightened and her knees clasped in your head âFuckâ
Wanda licked your shoulder and smirked âYou will come when she does, sweetheart. So itâs up to youâ
Your eyes rolled back, your walls clenching around Wanda and your abdomen tightened as you tried to wait. And Natasha came moaning your name. She collapsed against the bed as you slowed your movements, your chin dripping with drool and her arousal as Wanda kept you in place.
âYou made her a mess, sweetheartâ Wanda whispered and you pressed your right cheek on Natashaâs thigh, moaning as Wanda kept pumping her fingers and her thumb rubbed circles on your clit âMommy is so proud of you, little one. You are such a good girl. Cum, baby, claim your rewardâ
Your back arched against her chest, your head leaning on her shoulder and Wanda sucked on your neck as you came around her fingers. Your desperate moans filled the room and Natasha straightened up, watching the way your body trembled against Wandaâs.
The brunette slowed her movements and she captured your lips with hers, tasting her wife and moaning against your mouth. You bit her lip harshly and she whimpered. And she broke the kiss when she pulled out her fingers as you grunted.
You watched her lick her thumb clean, her eyes fixed on you for a moment before looking at Natasha. The redhead understood the command, leaning closer with her mouth opened as Wanda pushed her fingers in.
Natasha looked at you as she sucked her wifeâs fingers, tasting you and moaned. You watched her mesmerised, noticing the way her eyes rolled back when Wanda pressed her fingers down her tongue. Natashaâs lips popped when Wanda pulled out her fingers and smiled.
âYou taste better than I imagined, malyshkaâ your cheeks flushed and she signalled you to get closer âAnd that pretty mouth does wonders, mommy will love itâ her knuckles caressed your cheek âOur perfect girlâ
Natasha kissed you tenderly, your skin flushed and your heart racing. You were sure you could never get tired of her lips. The way she kissed you was charged with something you couldnât name but it sat right on your bones.
Wanda stood up, leaving you both as you made out. Your body hovered Natashaâs as you climbed the bed and her hands squeezed your ass making you moan. You only broke the kiss when your lungs started burning needing more air and you smiled at Natasha.
âYou are perfect too, daddyâ you leaned and kissed her neck âSo perfectâ
Natasha grunted as you sucked on her neck, her hand slapping your ass and made you moan. The redhead tugged your underwear, contemplating ripping it off and the consequences. But it lasted one moment before she did it anyway and you gasped.
âIâll buy a new pair, donât worryâ she grinned and you giggled.
Natashaâs heart skipped a beat, founding you extremely cute. It was a balance, silly things during an intimate moment that warmed her heart. Someone that didnât expect her to be cold and heartless but actually enjoyed her goofy self.
âTasha!â Wanda gasped and you both turned to look at her âIt was such a nice piece. Why you do it, moya lyubovâ?â
âMy hands have mind of their ownâ Natasha grinned and Wanda chuckled âI see you brought the big gunsâ
In that moment, you noticed the strap on her hands and you gasped. Wanda looked at you amused, approaching you as if you were her prey. The small break was over because it was Wandaâs turn and Natasha was going to show you the right way to treat her wife.
âYou are so tight, sweetheart. I think you deserve to be stretch outâ you moaned as she brushed your lips with the tip of the toy âSadly, it wonât be me doing it. Daddy doesnât like to share her toysâ she pouted and Natasha chuckled under you.
âMalyshka, sit closer to the headboard. Iâll show you how to treat mommy, hm?â Natasha instructed and you looked at her âAnd since itâs our grand opening night, I will let you enjoy the show as you pleaseâ
Natasha winked at you and you growled at her words. You moved around the bed, following her orders and the redhead gave you a proud smile that only increased your arousal.
You took off what was left of your underwear and tossed it away, your body getting comfortable between the pillows as you watched them carefully.
Natasha went back to her powerful state. Imposing and commanding as she watched her wife putting the strap in place around her hips. The redhead told her something in russian and Wanda grunted, stripping off her underwear and kneeling before Natasha.
It was hard to tell which one held the power over the other. They both seemed to share but in that moment, the picture was clear.
Wanda looked at her wife with devotion. Letting Natasha handle her as she pleased. Focusing on her and not daring to look away, not even when the brunette wanted so bad to watch you.
And as easy as it looked, the only reason Wanda bent to her wifeâs wishes was because she loved Natasha dearly. Enough to give up her own power, enough to show the redhead she was hers too.
Natasha looked at you and you moaned. They looked perfect, delicious, you couldnât even feel left out because they were letting you watch their interaction. It was hot the way they surrendered to each other, their love an intoxicating force that not everyone could see fully. Not like this. But you were lucky by just witnessing.
âMommyâs tongue ran a little earlier, donât you think?â Natasha smirked and looked down to her wife âTelling our perfect girl how much I love being worshipped, how soft I can be, how to hold power over meâ you and Wanda moaned. Natashaâs smirk widened and she turned to you âIâll pay back the favour. Hereâs the secret, malyshkaâ her hand grabbed the toy and she brushed it against Wandaâs lips. Her wife opened her mouth and Natasha pushed it gently âMommy looks so collected, so expensive, you wouldnât even dare to think how much of a slut she isâ your hand landed between your legs as Wanda bobbed her head âShe walks around the world pretending she doesnât like to serve, to please, but her inner slut always comes out to play in the bed. Isnât that right, my love?â
Wanda and you moaned. The brunetteâs mouth stuffed with the toy as your fingers played with your clit. Natasha looked so powerful like that, holding your attention and your needs. Knowing what to say and when to say it. A side of her that she always showed; composed, in control, intimidating and powerful.
Because her goofy self was for those that were close to her. She couldnât be nice to everyone, it wasnât in her nature to trust any stranger and yet, she trusted you. Natasha was willing to let you see every part of herself.
âMalyshka, be a dear and toss me a pillowâ Natasha asked gently and you moved to complied. She smiled gratefully and dropped the pillow before Wanda âCome on, my love. Put on a show for our girl. Ride it as you suck my cockâ
Wanda whimpered, her hands grabbing the pillow and putting it underneath her. Her head kept bobbing on the toy, the tip meeting the back of her throat as Natasha tugged her hair.
It was also hard for Wanda to show that side of her. Because Natashaâs words were true; the brunette walked around the world with all the confidence she had. Every inch of herself screamed power and she loved it.
Wanda loved the control, her ability to solve everything as if the world depended on her and the power all of it gave her. But when Natasha stripped her out of her power, Wanda also found a way to breathe.
She wouldnât say it out loud, she would deny it if asked, but there was something about giving her power up for the woman she loved the most that was thrilling. But she felt vulnerable.
Her power shielded her from the outside. None of their exes had ever witnessed the power exchange between them because Wanda couldnât let them see that side of her, the one that could break if handled poorly.
However, you were there. Touching yourself at the sight of her sucking the strap and humping the pillow and instead of seeing someone easy to destroy, you still looked at her like her power was never gone.
No, Wanda still had power over you. She wasnât vulnerable. Wanda didnât feel the ache in her chest or her usual fear igniting inside of her. She was free, holding everything and letting it go all at once.
Natasha fucked her wifeâs mouth as if she could just come by the sight. You pumped two fingers inside you as you applied pressure on your clit. And Wanda was humping the pillow like it could save her.
âSeems like our girl is liking the show, Wandsâ Natasha grinned at you, her fingers tugging the brunetteâs hair and you moaned when Wanda choked on the strap âWho wouldâve thought? You are a slut just like mommy, hm?â
You whimpered, curling your fingers inside as Natasha paid attention to both of you. You were part of the show, they were letting you in and it felt like your body was on fire.
The gagging nosies Wanda was making were driving you to the edge. Her neck was flushed and you could see drool dripping. But what almost broke you was the moment you saw a tear rolling down her cheek.
You wished you were Natasha in that moment. The sight of Wanda from above was heavenly. A sight that shattered the powerful image of the brunette, the same woman that commanded you with a single look.
You moaned louder, your hips bucking up trying to reach your high and Natasha looked at you with a smirk. She pulled out the toy and Wanda coughed trying to regulate her breathing. The redhead crouched before her wife and grabbed her chin.
âKeep moving, Wandsâ she ordered and Wanda whimpered, hands steadying herself over the floor as she was grinding her hips âBut look at her. Look how much she loved watching you being a slut for meâ Wandaâs eyes met yours and you both moaned, your abdomen tightened and you tossed your head back as you came around your fingers âI wish I could take the credit, my love. But you did that, donât you love it? Someone finally matched your slutty assâ
And with that Wanda fell apart, her orgasm crashing over her bones. Natashaâs words landing in all the right ways. And when you finally regained yourself back, you crawled over the bed. You laid down over your chest and reached for Wanda, the brunette moaning your name like a prayer as she slowed down her movements with her eyes closed.
Your eyes met hers when she finally opened them. Panting with her cheeks flushed like she just realised how much of herself she let go and afraid that you would think less of her. But when you cradled her jaw and caressed her cheek with your thumb, Wanda leaned into your touch.
âThank you, mommyâ you whispered âyou looked amazingâ
Natasha smiled softly, watching the interaction as her heart raced. You were giving them all they needed, all they craved and you didnât even know. They cracked open before you and you werenât judging, you were following them.
Wanda leaned and kissed you, a tender kiss that said more than she could trust her own words to tell. A silent thank you and at the same time, she was holding onto you like you could save her.
Then she broke the kiss and reached for your hand, sucking the fingers you were using to touch yourself and you moaned when her eyes never left yours. There was something more than hunger in them, something that screamed âsee me as much as I see youâ.
âYou really are perfectâ Wanda whispered after she let go of your fingers âNow, let mommy and daddy take care of youâ
âI just had two-â
âItâs really not about how many times, malyshkaâ Natasha explained and you looked at her confused âLay on your back and let us have you, yes?â
âYes, daddyâ
âSuch a good girl you areâ she pecked your lips.
You laid on your back and Wanda hovered your body, not before leaving bruises over your abdomen like Natasha did earlier. She was claiming you too, marking you as a shared possession with her wife. And when she finally was face to face with you, Wanda smirked.
Her hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath faltered. You bit your lip, nodding slightly as she squeezed a little more testing the limit. But Natasha and Wanda made a promise, they wouldnât push too far that night.
They needed to try, to see how comfortable you were around them, how much of yourself you were willing to give. For them it wasnât physical, it never was. They saw you, they wanted you, they talked to you and realised they needed you.
Love a first sight was for fairytales, but you looked like the one that could finally break them and glue them all at once. You were perfect in more than one way, you just had to believe it. And they were ready to make you see it.
âI want to try that pretty mouth of yours, is that okay little one?â Wanda whispered, brushing her lips against yours and then tracing your cheek with her nose as she inhaled your scent.
âPlease, mommyâ you murmured, closing your eyes as you felt Natashaâs hands over your thighs.
Wanda took a moment to admire you. You looked so eager, so innocent, so⌠breakable. But you were trusting them, she could feel it. Her fingers brushed your hair and your eyes fluttered open, meeting hers with a soft twinkle.
âIf you could only see what we doâ Wanda said softly, smiling as she brushed her lips against yours âWe waited for you for so long, sweetheart. This will work out, I promiseâ she kissed you again and your hands held the back of her neck trying to pull her closer. Wanda broke the kiss and you grunted âEasy. The night is still youngâ she pecked your forehead âNow, if you make mommy cum, daddy will let you cumâ she leaned closer to your ear âbut Iâm not like daddy, I donât like sloppy workâ she purred.
You nodded eagerly and she hummed, hovering your face and you moaned at the sight of her glistening cunt. She smelled delicious. Just like Natasha, she smelled like paradise. An expensive paradise.
âOkay, malyshka. You better make mommy cum. Tap her thigh if you need us to stopâ Natasha said spreading your legs and you whimpered when Wanda lowered herself over your mouth and the redhead spit on your cunt.
Your lips sucked on Wandaâs clit and the brunette had to steady herself with the headboard. And you moaned against her cunt when you felt the tip of the toy in your entrance.
Your movements faltered as Natasha pushed inch by inch of the toy inside and Wanda grunted, getting impatient and started riding your face. You matched her pace once that Natasha bottomed out, grunting against Wanda when the redhead started moving.
Your head felt foggy. Overwhelmed by the sensation of both women over you. Their noises driving you to the edge. Wanda was moaning louder over you as your fingers dug into her skin and Natasha was whimpering, hypnotised by the way the toy disappeared inside of you.
And your back arched when her thumb pressed over your clit and Wandaâs movements turned erratic, her slick covering your face as she used you just like she used that pillow.
Soon the brunette came, legs pressed against your head as she shuddered above you. Wanda was sure she had never came that fast, not even Natasha had made her.
She moved after a few minutes, letting you breathe and moving your body so she could hold you from behind. You buried your face in her inner thigh, your hands holding her legs as Natasha hovered your body.
The redhead was focused, whimpering as she pounded her hips against yours. Your legs wrapped around her hips and both moaned when Natasha kissed your neck.
âYou are so perfect, malyshka. So tightâ she breathed out in your neck and you whimpered âWe are not letting you goâ
Natasha looked at you, green eyes as darkened as yours. You tried to talk but only a moan came out and Natasha smirked. Wanda caressed your hair, soft fingers grounding you while Natasha shattered your world.
âDo you like when daddy fucks you, sweetheart?â you looked up and Wandaâs eyes were fixed on you, engraving in her mind every feature of your face as it contorted with pleasure.
You nodded and sank your teeth in her thigh when Natasha got rougher. You needed them everywhere, you didnât want the night to end. And when Wanda started rubbing your clit, you screamed with pleasure.
âDaddy, mommy, pleaseâ you whined, feeling so close again and Natasha grunted âIâm so close, donât stop pleaseâ
But the redhead stopped, she pulled out and you mewled. Wanda shushed you as Natasha flipped you, raising your hips and pushing the toy inside again.
Her hands landed in between your shoulder blades and she pushed you down. Wandaâs hand tugged your hair as Natasha started grinding her hips faster, erratic, with her fingers between your legs.
âCome, detka. Show me how much you love daddyâs cockâ Natasha whimpered and your knuckles turned white as you fisted the sheets.
And you came, not sure of what you screamed but your orgasm came down like a crashing wave. You whined when Natasha didnât slow down, she went faster and rougher. Her fingers working over your sensitive clit and your nails started digging into Wandaâs thigh like she could save you.
âTasha, I think-â
âNoâ Natasha grunted, looking at Wanda with hungry and possessive eyes âShe can take it, right malyshka?â you moaned and Natasha pulled you up, pressing your back against her chest and bit your neck.
Your eyes met Wandaâs and the brunette searched for any sign of discomfort but when your eyes rolled back with pleasure, she knew you were okay.
She knelt before you, biting the other side of your neck. Both were marking you, claiming you and your mind was one step away of crashing. It didnât take that long for you to come again, one hand tugging Wandaâs hair and the other one tugging Natashaâs.
And the redhead slowed down, but she wasnât ready to pull out. Neither Natasha or Wanda were actually ready to give you a break. Not when the last orgasm was possessive, claiming and promising.
And you didnât want to let them go either.
(â)
At some point that night and after watching them come undone under your touch, you had a break. Regretting not listening to Wanda about the food when your stomach roared with hunger.
But you were sore, your body slumped over their bed with sheets covering you slightly. You looked like a fucking masterpiece, covered in love bites all over. Sweat glistening your skin and your head hazy.
âDonât sleep yet, sweetheart. Itâs time to eat before bedâ Wanda said softly, lifting your body and holding you in between her arms as you hid your face in the crook of her neck. You whined âNone of that, pretty girl. You need to hydrate and eatâ
âMommy, pleaseâ you pouted and Wanda giggled, brushing your hair âSleep nowâ
âSheâs a little bratâ Natasha grinned, straddling your lap and offering you a water bottle âCome on, malyshka, donât get on mommyâs bad sideâ
You grunted but straightened up, drinking as Natasha held the bottle. Then she turned and held a club sandwich before you and you pouted again. The redhead chuckled but you sighed, reaching for a fry but Wanda smacked your hand.
âSandwich firstâ Wanda ordered and you rolled your eyes, Natasha held back a grin.
âDaddy is more funâ you groaned and took a small bite of the sandwich as Natasha bit a fry and wiggled her brows, amused.
âYou say that now, until she is the one madâ Wanda whispered in your ear and nip your earlobe âAnd if you keep being a brat, Iâll show you the real dealâ
Natasha laughed and fed you a fry, then she offered her wife a bite of sandwich and Wanda looked at her gratefully.
âSheâs right, Iâm more funâ Natasha teased her wife, shrugging and biting another bite.
Wanda glared at her but you giggled. They kept bantering as you ate. And your eyes wandered over their bodies, they were as bruised as you. Not once did they stop you. They let you claim them as well and that made your heart flutter.
When the brunette was satisfied, Natasha cleaned up and Wanda moved to cuddle you. She pecked your lips and then peppered kisses all over your face making you giggle. And when she smiled at you, your breath hitched.
âThank you for trusting us, sweetheartâ she whispered and nudged your nose with hers âYou did goodâ
âThank you, mommyâ you murmured and pecked her lips again.
Natasha laid behind you, covering Wandaâs body with the sheets and then hers. Her arm wrapped around your hips and pulled you closer, leaving a kiss behind your ear.
âLetâs rest, malyshka. Tomorrow we can talk about everythingâ she whispered and you nodded.
And they kept whispering sweet praises until you fell asleep. Natasha looked at Wanda one last time, a silent conversation being held over your sleeping body. They kissed softly and went back to nestle your body between theirs.
You were perfect. And they would make sure you knew it.
(â)
You slid out of the bed, careful not to wake them up. And when you stood up, you tripped a little, gasping.
The only thing you could blame the alcohol for was your damn headache. But every decision that night was yours and your heart wanted to believe everything was true and not just a dream.
You bit your lip. No, you wouldnât ruin this for yourself with insecurities. You couldnât when they were so sweet before, during and after everything. And if it was a lie, then they would have to tell you themselves.
Your phone started ringing and you jumped a little, running and trying to answer before waking them up. You tripped with the sofa, grunting as you reached for your purse and when you turned around, Wanda was already looking at you, leaning back on the headboard as you answered.
âDude, where the fuck are you?â Lukeâs voice was on the other end and Wanda beckoned you and your body moved on its own, you could swear on that.
âIâm a little⌠busyâ you said softly and Wanda raised a brow with amusement âWhy? What do you want?â
âBreakfast? Open the door, Iâve been knockingâ your best friend groaned as you crawled over the bed and sat on Wandaâs lap.
And if Wandaâs mood wasnât enough to prove you they were planning on keeping you, her lips sure did because they found their way to your neck soon enough.
âIâm not there, vipesâ you bit your lip as Wanda licked your throat âBut Iâll meet you at the restaurantâ
Wanda slapped your ass and you held back a moan, looking at her confused and she started shaking her head. Making you furrow your brows.
âWhat do you mean you are not here? Oh wait!â he started laughing but you couldnât snap at him, not when Wanda kept roaming your body with her hands âYou still with them? Naughty girl!â
âIâm not telling you shitâ you smirked but it faded away when Wanda mouthed âlanguageâ, you rolled your eyes and she slapped your ass again making you whine.
âDude, you okay?â
âYeah, I just trippedâ you lied and Wanda giggled, pecking your lips âAnyway, see you at breakfast like inâŚâ you looked at the screen but Wanda blocked your view and you frowned âYes, Wanda?â
âYou are not leavingâ she sentenced and you looked at her in awe.
âBut Iâm hungryâ you pouted and heard Luke screaming on the phone âLucas, give me a minute. Shut up!â
Wanda grabbed your pillow and punched Natasha with it, her wife groaned and grabbed the pillow by the third time. She glared at her wife and you held back a smirk.
âWhat?â Natasha grunted, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Then her eyes found you and she squinted âWhy is your phone in your hand, malyshka?â
âSheâs trying to leaveâ Wanda replied and your jaw dropped, you grabbed the pillow from Natashaâs hand and punched her with it âWatch it, little oneâ
âThatâs not- Iâm not trying to leave, I swearâ you looked at Natasha âIâm just hungryâ Luke shouted your name again and you groaned âLuke, I said shut the fuck up! Give me anotherâŚâ
âLuke, right?â Natasha said after snatching the phone from your hand and you looked at her stunned and Wanda smirked âYeah, Natasha here. I donât think she will make it to breakfastâ the redhead hummed as she smacked your hand away and Wanda went back to kiss your neck âI see, yeah. When are you leaving?â she grabbed her phone and looked at the hour âSure, we will join if thatâs alright with you and your friends?â she hummed again and typed something in her phone, showing it to Wanda and her wife nodded âYeah, see you then. Thank youâ
Natasha hung up and placed your phones together over her nightstand and your jaw dropped. You werenât sure if you heard right, but apparently the redhead already decided they werenât going to leave your side.
âWhat did he tell you?â you asked as Natasha kissed her wife and looked at you amused.
âSomething about a trip to Women Island?â she shrugged and leaned to kiss you âHope you donât mind if we tag alongâ
âI- I donât but I donât think you want to hang with four strangers and-â
âWe are hanging out with you and may I remind you this stranger made you moa-â you clasped your hand over her mouth as your cheeks started burning and she raised a brow.
âFine, three strangers. They are stupid and teasing andâŚâ Natasha licked your hand and you moved it away âHey!â
âOh so now you donât like my tongue? Wasnât she asking me to never stop using it last night, dorogaya?â Natasha asked to Wanda and the brunette laughed.
âYeah, I remember thatâ she teased and you groaned, trying to get off Wandaâs lap but she kept you in place âWhat I donât remember is giving you permission to moveâ
âIs this my new life? Am I gonna get teased for the rest of my life?â you said without really thinking about your words but when realisation settled, you panicked âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to-â
âYes, thatâs what you should expect for the rest of your lifeâ Natasha smiled and grabbed your hand âAnd we donât mind hanging out with your friends. It will be good getting to know them since you know⌠you are kinda stuck with us nowâ
âYou make it sound like a threat, moya lyubovââ Wanda laughed and you bit your lip âWe donât have to go if you donât want us toâ
You looked at them, like really looked. Their eyes were twinkling softly, their smiles didnât waver and they kept one hand touching you as the other were linked.
They made it look like youâve been part of them all their lives, as if they didnât meet you the day before but like you belonged there already. And your heart melted.
Maybe you didnât take the best choices in the past, but this felt right. They felt right. So what if you just took a leap of faith?
âYeah, okay. Letâs do itâ you smiled and leaned to kiss each one of them âand I mean all of it, if you guys still want meâ you whispered shyly and Wanda caressed your cheek.
âI know a way or two to show you how much we want youâ she purred and you whimpered âWhat do you think, Tasha?â
âYeah, I know what you are talking about?â the redhead smirked and you moaned.
âAgain?â you grunted when Wanda pushed you down in between their bodies and their lips were already on your neck.
âAgain. And again after thatâ Natasha whispered and you bit your lip but your stomach growled and the redhead laughed.
âOr not. I guess she really is hungryâ Wanda chuckled and you groaned, looking down to your abdomen.
âNo, no, Iâm not hungry. Come backâ you whined but Wanda was already picking up the phone to order room service âShe wonât let it go, will she?â
Natasha patted your thigh âYou get used to it, now come back to my arms and wake me up when food is hereâ
And when you settled in her arms, watching Wanda reading the menu and ordering for you as Natasha kissed your shoulder and held you protectively, you knew whatever happened next it didnât matter.
You really could do that for the rest of your life.
summary: Being royalty doesnât stop you from being hunted. On land, youâre nothing but a fugitive now - an unidentified outcast the authorities would rather lock away than crown - yet in the shadows and the salt, you begin to reclaim the word âmonsterâ as something powerful, something yours.
word count: 4.9k
authorâs note: very excited to write s2
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âââââââââ
Being royalty doesn't stop you from being hunted.
It doesn't matter that you were born beneath banners of coral and crown, the ocean's heir in name and blood â on land, you're nothing but a fugitive now. To them, you're an unidentified outcast, a girl better off in a psych ward than a palace after showing her teeth for the first time. Every glance feels like surveillance, every street corner feels like a trap.
But you refused to spend your summer cowering.
For the first time in your life, you weren't terrified of the word that had chased you down corridors, whispered behind your back in Nightshades meetings, painted across your nightmares: Ripper. It still clung to you, sharp as broken glass, but somewhere between the blood and the heartbreak of last semester, between Wednesday's unwavering gaze and her refusal to let you collapse under it, the word changed shape.
Monster didn't mean less, it meant more.
And so you lived like someone who had finally stopped apologizing for being alive.
Because whether the shadows belonged to police or paranoia, you walked forward anyway, determined to live the only life you would ever have.
You thought freedom would taste like sugar or maybe even salt. Something indulgent. Instead, it tasted like ink, bleach, metal, music â things you never would've touched if not for the way Wednesday had looked at you at the end of last semester. That steady, obsidian gaze and that refusal to let you crumble under the word people used to identify you.
She never said, be fearless - that in itself would've been way too sentimental for her and cringe worthy. But her silence had carved something sharper: permission. And all summer, you lived as if her eyes were still on you, even when she wasn't.
You met your first non-Nevermore friend on a sticky July afternoon, the kind of heat that made even the shade feel like a trap. The gas station smelled faintly of oil and melted asphalt, humming fluorescent lights overhead, a low droning that almost felt like it followed you out of the woods. Your sneakers were still stained with dirt from Eugene's latest "mission," your hair clinging damp against your temples, adrenaline still fizzing in your veins. Eugene had been giddy all morning, waving his hands as tiny creatures answered him, more than just bees now - dragonflies, beetles, a grasshopper that clung stubbornly to his shoulder like a badge of honor.
In the fields near his home, fireflies began to accompany you everywhere.
When he announced he needed water, you volunteered to get it. He was too busy trying (and failing) to charm a girl leaning against her bike outside, his face flushed with both effort and heat. You smirked at the sight, shouldered the door open, and let the cold air slap against your skin.
That's when you saw him.
A college freshman, probably, judging by the faint scruff on his jaw and the tiredness in his posture. He leaned on the counter like he owned it, easy grin tugging at his mouth as he rang up a customer. His knuckles were silvered with scars - claw marks, old and half-healed, the kind that didn't fade, the kind that told a story even if he never said a word. His eyes flicked up when you walked in, curious, sharp, lingering for a moment too long, as though he could smell something on you that the rest of the world couldn't name.
You grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler, condensation slick on your fingers, and dropped it onto the counter. He scanned it without looking away.
"Hot day for a walk," he said, voice low, almost amused.
You shrugged. "Better than staying inside."
He tilted his head, studying you with that wolfish glint. "Not from around here, are you?"
It wasn't accusation, more like recognition. And you realized in that moment he didn't just see you - he knew you, in some unspoken way. Not the details, not the history, but the pulse of otherness.
A predator's awareness of another predator.
Outside, Eugene waved dramatically, trying to get the bike girl's attention. Inside, the werewolf boy smirked, sliding the bottle toward you. "There's a party Friday in the college dorms two towns over. You should come. It looks like chaos suits you with this whole... adventure get-up you've got going on."
You hadn't told him your name, you hadn't even said yes. But walking out into the heavy heat again, water in your hand and his words still echoing, you realized you already knew you'd go.
The dorm throbbed with bass, heat pressing down on your shoulders, bodies brushing against yours without fear. No whispers of monster, no second glances at your hands. Just laughter, music, the reckless crush of youth.
You danced too hard, drank too fast, smoked something you definitely shouldn't have, the whole dorm party spinning into a blur of heat and bass and sticky floors. Sweat stuck your shirt to your back, the smoke burned bitter in your lungs, and still you laughed - because here, no one knew what you were. No one whispered monster when your smile sharpened because the fun of the night washed over you. No one flinched when you leaned too close. They only saw a girl, reckless and young and alive.
But somewhere in the back of your mind, Wednesday hovered like a shadow you couldn't shake. You imagined her standing against the wall, arms crossed, black eyes cutting through the chaos, watching you with that impossible stillness. She wouldn't stop you, wouldn't tug the cup from your hand or pull you out of the smoke. She'd just tilt her head, mouth tugging into the faintest, most damning smirk, as if she'd already expected this of you. As if your recklessness was nothing more than another line in her private ledger of you.
And that thought - her smirk, her silence, the weight of her gaze even when she wasn't there - made you throw your head back and laugh harder, dance wilder, let the world swallow you whole. Because even in the mess of it, even tasting ash and liquor and something you couldn't quite name, you felt untouchable. Not because the crowd believed it, but because she would.
Even in her absence, where she was traveling the country chasing after a serial killer she'd researched as a kid, she was with you.
You walked home barefoot, shoes dangling from your fingers, pavement still somehow warm from the sun that had set hours ago. The dawn air felt heavy, clinging, as though the night's smoke and laughter had followed you out. Your hair reeked of cheap vodka and someone else's perfume. Your throat burned. You should've felt sick. Instead you felt alive in a way that scared you.
When you reached Eugene's house - the one you snuck out of past curfew to attend the party - you slipped back inside, tiptoeing past the creak of the front door. The house was asleep, or at least pretending to be. You climbed to the upstairs hallway, where the landline sat in its cradle like a relic. Your hand hovered over it. It was stupid and it was reckless but you dialed anyway despite Wednesday telling you a month ago that she despises midnight phone calls.
Or, phone calls in general - she preferred handwritten letters.
The ring stretched long, then shorter, then silence. And then her voice.
"Do you know what time it is?"
Her tone was flat, unimpressed, but the fact that she'd picked up at all made your chest ache. You pressed your forehead against the wall, laughing softly. "Good morning to you too."
There was a pause. You could hear the faint crackle of the line, the breath she didn't waste. "You're intoxicated," she said. Not a question but an observation.
"Maybe a little," you admitted, voice hoarse. "Don't worry, I danced majority of it out."
You could almost see her expression through the receiver: that faint tilt of her head, eyes narrowing, lips curved into the barest smirk. "And if I were worried? Considering you barely know how to stand on your own two feet."
"You wouldn't be," you shot back, smiling to yourself. "You'd just catalog it for later. File it under 'self-destructive impulses of my ridiculous fugitive girlfriend.'"
Silence again. Then, in a voice softer than she'd probably meant: "Ridiculous, yes. Fugitive, barely. But mine, nonetheless."
The words curled warm in your chest, sharper than any shot of liquor. You slid down the wall, knees drawn up, the phone cord tangling around your wrist. "You'd have hated it, you know," you murmured. "The party, the smoke, the loud music. The way Iâ" You broke off, catching your breath. "The way I let go. I don't think I'm the same, Wednesday. I don't think I'll ever be."
"Not hate," Wednesday said. "Observe. Critique. Possibly enjoy, if only because you'd be too distracted to notice me watching."
You laughed, the sound raw. "That's worse than hating."
"No," she replied, voice edged like glass but steady. "It's honest."
For a long moment neither of you spoke, the line heavy with everything unspoken. You stared at the faint gray light pushing through the window, thinking about how alive you'd felt under the neon, how much more alive you felt now, with her voice in your ear.
Finally, Wednesday broke the silence. "Don't make a habit of this," she said, crisp but not unkind. "Your passion should not be wasted on strangers."
"Then who?" you whispered, already knowing the answer.
There was the faintest exhale, deliberate. "Me."
The word struck you harder than the night ever had. You closed your eyes, let it sink into your bones, and promised yourself you'd remember it when the hunger came back, when the water pulled, when the monster in you snarled to be fed.
"Goodnight, Wednesday," you said, voice shaking.
"Itâs the morning," she corrected, and the line clicked dead.
Yoko, however, was merciless.
"You're basically naked without ink," she said a few weeks later, dragging you into a parlor above a laundromat. The smell of disinfectant and neon hum swallowed you whole.
You picked a design that wasn't obvious - something jagged, private. When the needle bit into your skin, you didn't flinch. You thought of Wednesday instead, how she'd raise one eyebrow when you showed her, how her cold fingers might trace the scar as if cataloguing evidence.
Yoko smirked when it was done. "Now you've got a story."
You pressed your palm over the bandage and whispered, almost to yourself: I already do.
A month later, you finally took the plunge and swam to San Francisco to visit your girlfriend's favorite werewolf. Enid's family shared bathroom looked like a war zone - towels everywhere, bleach fumes curling up like ghosts. She pushed you onto the toilet lid, gloves snapping against her wrists.
"You trust me, right?" she said, paintbrush dripping electric blue.
You laughed because in such a short period of time, you did end up trusting Enid.
The dye burned, but when you leaned over the sink and saw those streaks running through your hair, it felt like a flag. A warning shaped as a dare. Enid squealed, clapping blue-stained hands against her cheeks.
"You look like someone who says yes!" she declared. "This sudden new persona is so hot.â
You thought about telling her the truth - that it wasn't just yes, it was Wednesday. It was the way she'd look at you, see you, maybe even approve in her own strange way.
Instead, you just smiled.
The belly ring happened in a dorm room of a friend you met through the werewolf from the gas station, the room smelled of vodka and body spray, the fluorescent light flickering above.
"Breathe," the girl said, needle poised.
You did. Sharp pain, metallic flash, then it was done. A glint of silver at your navel - a secret rebellion.
Later, lying awake, you imagined Wednesday finding out. She wouldn't gasp, she wouldn't smile. She'd just study it with that clinical calm of hers, then maybe - just maybe - press her lips to the spot until the metal warmed against your skin. The thought made your pulse race more than the piercing itself.
But then there was the music.
Enid sent you playlists full of bubblegum pop, Bianca rolled her eyes, and Yoko lent you her old records. But it was Wednesday you thought of when you lay back on your borrowed bed at Eugene's, earbuds blasting too loud. Would she dismiss this noise as frivolous? Or would she - secretly, quietly - like that you were letting yourself feel something at all?
You didn't know but you quickly understood that that was half the thrill.
The tickets you bought were cheap and Eugene was practically vibrating before the first note hit. The two of you had been pressed into the crowd together, shoulders bumping, his bug-print hoodie already damp with sweat, his curls plastered to his forehead. He looked like he might combust from excitement alone.
"This is insane," he shouted over the hum of the amps warming up, eyes wide, grin crooked. "I've never been this close to a stage in my life!"
You laughed, steadying him when the crowd surged forward. The lights cut, plunging everything into black, and the room erupted as the band walked out. Drums thundered, guitars screamed, and Eugene threw his arms up, yelling so loud you couldn't even hear him anymore.
He didn't dance the way other people did. He bounced, flailed, half-tripped into you and then apologized before doing it all over again. His joy was so unguarded it was contagious; you found yourself laughing, letting the music crack through you, even as something darker in you stirred. The bass pounded against your ribs, heavy as a tide, and you felt the water in your veins answering. You wanted to move sharper, harder, not just with the crowd but against it - like Wednesday had when she freaked out dance at the Rav'n - exorcised rhythm itself.
Eugene didn't notice. He was too busy shouting the chorus, voice already breaking, eyes darting to the stage like he wanted to memorize every second. At one point he grabbed your wrist and dragged your arm into the air with his, two fists pumping in time, and you let him, laughing until you couldn't breathe.
The heat was unbearable, sweat slicking your skin, but you didn't care. The world narrowed to lights strobing red and white, to Eugene's voice cracking beside you, to the way the music scraped against your ribs until you couldn't tell if it hurt or healed.
When the encore ended, you stumbled out together, half-drunk on adrenaline and air that suddenly felt too clean. Eugene's grin stretched so wide it looked painful. "That was the best night of my entire life," he gasped, clutching his chest like he couldn't contain it. "Do you think they saw me? Like - do you think the lead singer saw me? I think she did. I swear she did."
You shook your head, laughing, your ears still ringing, your heart still thrumming like you hadn't fully come back to land. He was buzzing with pure joy, and you were buzzing with something stranger - half hunger, half freedom.
He bumped your shoulder with his. "We're doing that again. No arguments."
And for once, you didn't argue. Because you knew he was right.
âââ-
For years, the ocean had been something you rationed, like medicine you were afraid to overdose on. A stolen midnight swim here, a desperate plunge there. Always guilt, always fear. Always the thought that if you let yourself stay too long, the monster in you would surface and drag you under.
But this summer was different.
This summer, you stopped rationing.
After the concerts, the hair dye, tattoos, and all the other human activities you drowned in, you let the salt cling to your skin for days, your hair drying into wild ropes you didn't bother to tame. You dove until your chest burned, then dove deeper. And when the mermaids called - distant cousins, familiar strangers - you went with them.
They had no idea about the drama that occurred at Nevermore, and you were glad for that. But the ocean never forgot. Generations of fishermen had dragged your kind from the waves, their hooks tearing through trust as easily as flesh, and the rift between sea and shore only widened. You knew it was only a matter of time before that old fear turned inward - before even your own people looked at you the way humans did, with suspicion sharpened to a blade, and called you monster - not whispered, not doubted, but more screamed like a verdict.
But Enid told you not to worry about that, so you decided to shove the doubt away. Instead, your summer trip to Atlantis was like slipping into myth.
The city didn't look the way humans painted it in their myths, all golden towers and tridents. It was older, darker, built from coral that pulsed faintly with bioluminescence, streets carved into ridges of rock where fish darted like nervous pedestrians. Lanterns of captured starlight glowed from alcoves, and voices echoed low and resonant, shaped by water instead of air.
You walked - or rather, swam - through its corridors with the other mermaids, feeling something settle inside you. Belonging. Not as a crown, not as a duty, but as a birthright you'd spent too long denying.
At a marketplace carved into a cavern wall, you bought things: a bone-handled letter opener sharp enough to impress Wednesday, a string of obsidian beads for Morticia that glowed faintly when touched, a carved wooden hand for Thing that clutched a tiny dagger, a coral pressed notebook for Pugsley, a seashell pendant for Gomez that played faint music when held to the ear, even a box of oceanic dye for Enidâs hair. You even found a clumsy, oversized necklace of shell and pearl for Lurch, its weight comical but its beauty undeniable.
You carried them home carefully, imagining each Addams face when they saw what you'd chosen. Because the Addamses weren't just your girlfriend's family anymore - they were becoming yours.
And it wasn't just Atlantis you visited.
There were kelp forests that stretched taller than cathedrals, where you and the others wove in and out until you were dizzy with laughter. There were volcanic trenches, glowing red and violent, where you learned to stop fearing fire even underwater. There were ruins older than memory, where carvings of half-fish, half-woman creatures stared back at you like a warning.
You came back from every trip changed - saltier, freer, louder. With new scars on your arms from coral, with strands of pearls braided into your hair, with a certainty that you weren't just playing at being human anymore.
You were both, fully.
The more time you spent underwater, the more fire you carried back on land. It was in your voice, louder now, unafraid of echoing through the cavernous halls of the Addams house. It was in your hands, moving as though they could sketch the trenches you had swum through, the volcanic glow you had touched, the ruins older than memory that you had brushed with your fingertips. At first you'd been tentative, setting gifts into their hands like offerings to a family you weren't sure you belonged to. But by midsummer, you pressed them in with the urgency of someone desperate to be known - an obsidian rosary into Morticia's pale fingers, a hand cream straight from the snail for Thing, another crude necklace of shell and bone fastened clumsily around Lurch's neck. You didn't ask if they liked them. You didn't apologize. You wanted them to feel that you had thought of them while you were away in the deep.
Because you did, you always did.
And Wednesday noticed.
It was subtle - of course it was. She sat across from you in the parlor one evening, a book balanced on her knees, pretending not to listen as you described the glowing vents you had seen far beneath the surface, water blooming into light like wounds reopening. Your words tumbled faster than you could measure, hands carving the shapes into the air. You didn't realize how alive you sounded until you stopped for breath and caught her staring.
Her black eyes had softened, not with sentiment, but with something sharper: recognition or even fascination. The faintest approval that she would never name. She didn't interrupt, didn't scold you for being loud or careless.
She let you burn.
And for a girl who once rationed her own voice, who once folded her hunger down into silence and nosebleeds, it felt like worship.
The change didn't stop at words. It threaded into your body, into the way you touched her and acted around her.
Before, kissing Wednesday had been careful, reverent, like you were afraid of overstepping some invisible boundary she'd snap at you for crossing. First, you kissed at the lake, then again before you left to Eugene's, and then it had been roughly four months until you had kissed again.
But by midsummer, you kissed her like you kissed life itself: reckless, greedy, alive. Against the wooden wall outside her room, sprawled across her bed with Thing pointedly clattering away from the desk, even under the shadow of her umbrella in the Addams pool.
She never told you to stop. She never complained. She only let you press your salt-tasting mouth against hers until she gasped, until her hand fisted in your shirt, until her lips finally curved into something like surrender.
And when you pulled back, tattoo inked into the skin of your hip, hair streaked with blue, salt drying on your cheeks, she stared at you as though she'd always known this was what you were becoming.
"You're louder now," she murmured once, eyes narrowing as if cataloguing evidence.
You grinned. "You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that," she said. And then she pulled you back in.
Wednesday had always assumed passion was a weakness - a feeling flaw. Something humans invented to excuse sloppy choices and messy deaths. But you... you proved her wrong.
You had proved she was a true Addams.
The first time she realized, it was in her bedroom when you were visiting for two weeks before you had to leave for official royal business. Your mouth crushing against hers, salt and heat and daring. She hadn't known she could be kissed like that - as though you were trying to consume her, or as though you'd die if you didn't. When you pulled away, eyes burning like stormlight, she stared at you as though you'd just redrawn the definition of the word.
"You're insufferable," she said, deadpan, voice ragged in a way she'd never let anyone else hear.
You laughed. "You like it."
Her silence was confirmation enough.
But passion wasn't just kissing, it was heat in every direction.
It showed up in your arguments - over books, over music, over whether your streaks of blue hair made you look "deranged" or "like you finally had taste." Over who got the armchair in her room, over whether the water tasted different at Nevermore than in Jericho, over Thing's insistence on tapping out Morse code that only you seemed to understand.
They were dumb fights - utterly pointless and petty, but they sparked because neither of you could let go.
"You're infuriating," she said one night when you stole the last of her ink pens for doodling.
"You're possessive," you shot back.
"I don't share."
"Neither do I."
And then â of course â you fell asleep next to her that night in her bed, curled up as if there was no barrier between the two of you.
For Wednesday, it was disorienting. She had expected affection with you to be slow, clinical, perhaps even reluctant. Instead, you came at her like a tide, relentless, pulling her under whether she fought it or not.
You argued because you cared. You kissed because you couldn't help yourself. You laughed too loudly, pushed too hard, left blue hair dye on her pillow and wet rings from your tattoo balm on her desk. And she let you. Because what she'd discovered - what terrified her, though she'd never admit it - was that passion wasn't weakness at all.
It was survival.
And you were passionate about her.
And that's all an Addams has ever wanted.
The passion you had for your relationship was the sharpest weapon of all but with strength came great control.
The first sign that you were different now wasn't in the mirror or in your reflection on the lake's surface. It was the silence in your own body. No hot drip down your nose, no metallic taste in your throat, no panic at the thought of being too far from the sea.
You had stopped starving yourself, and the water had rewarded you. Your veins thrummed with it now, steady and endless, and during the week you visited New Jersey to visit Wednesday, you walked down barefoot to the Addams' lake in the early morning, the surface didn't just mirror you - it leaned toward you, waiting.
You crouched at the edge, pressing your palm flat against the water. It was shock-cold, a jolt that should have numbed you, but instead it pulsed back like muscle twitching beneath skin. You pulled upward, tentative at first, and the water followed. At first it came in quivers, a trembling dome that collapsed against your knees. But each attempt taught you something. Streams rose along your wrist like veins of glass while droplets hovered midair, scattering the gray morning light into rainbow shards before falling.
It wasn't just control, it was conversation with yourself.
Soon you weren't satisfied with just ripples, you wanted actual shape. You drew the lake into a column as tall as yourself, straight and trembling, and though it fell after a few breaths, the crash of it against your shins only drove you further. The next attempt twisted, spiraled, a helix of liquid wrapping itself around invisible bone. You laughed, startling the crows out of the trees, because failure didn't feel like weakness anymore - it felt like proof.
Pugsley began showing up with a notebook, hair mussed, eyes wide with the sincerity of someone who wanted to be useful. "I read about mermaids," he blurted one morning, flipping to a page scrawled with his crooked handwriting. "Old sailors said you could raise tides strong enough to split ships. Someone even brought up a crazy theory about immortality through your scales, crazy right? But anyways, you should practice with pressure."
You blinked at him, droplets running down your arm. "You've been researching me?"
He shrugged, cheeks red. "You're dating Wednesday. That makes you family and family deserves footnotes." The words sank into you deeper than any wave could.
You tried what he suggested. Standing still, hands hovering over the surface, you breathed slow. The air above the lake shimmered, heavy, dense, enough that Pugsley clutched his chest and whispered that he could feel it. When you snapped your fingers, the pressure broke into a spray that drenched the dock and sent Thing scuttling off in protest. Pugsley laughed until his stomach hurt.
Another day, he dared you to make a whirlpool. You waded in up to your knees, twisting your wrists, and the current obeyed - circling your thighs, gathering speed until a funnel yawned open in the lake, swallowing leaves in its spiral. The dock shuddered, Pugsley cheered, and for a moment you almost believed you could spin the whole world if you wanted to.
Wednesday didn't interrupt at first, but you always knew when she was watching. Her silhouette in the upstairs window, her stillness at the treeline, the weight of her gaze sharper than any blade. One evening, as you coaxed a wall of water into standing between you and the moon, she came to stand behind you. The wall lasted eight seconds before breaking, sending silver waves rolling back to shore. She didn't even comment on the spectacle. She only said, "You've stopped bleeding."
You turned to her, chest heaving, droplets clinging to your lashes like tears. "Because I stopped starving myself."
Her lips curved - almost an uplift of her lip, almost a wound. "Good, I prefer you this way. Sharp and dangerous."
And when you kissed her after, with the taste of salt still on your tongue and your pulse still racing from the lake's pull, she kissed you back with that clinical precision that was also hunger, as though she too had been starving for this.
By the end of summer, you weren't hiding anymore.
You were tattooed, pierced, streaked with color. You smelled of dye, ink, cigarette smoke. You kissed Wednesday without a second thought, stayed up until dawn, carved your initials into the railing of a boardwalk.
You wore yourself like proof.
The monster was still in you. But Wednesday had taught you to stop being afraid of her.
it turns out that you're quite oblivious, which makes everything ten times harder for a certain nervy spaniard trying to learn english just for you. (5.5k - anon request!)
âShe left mid-date again? Really? Another one?â The stifled laugh down the phone was not what you wanted to hear at that moment. âTĂa, what the hell are you doing to these women?âÂ
You werenât sure how you ended up in Barcelona, nevermind being set up on blind dates by members of the current most successful team in Europe. You werenât even sure if Jana was actually your cousin or not at this point.Â
âBecause I donât speak their language and I mess things up every time! Itâs not funny, Jana, it really hurts.â You mumbled, kicking at a non-existent stone as you walked home from another failed date.
The third failed date. And possibly the most embarrassing thus far.
Date one was at a restaurant, whose quaint exterior led you to falsely believe that inside, it was quiet and jovial and wholesome. No. Your dateâs order came wrong twice, your non-alcoholic cocktail had alcohol in it, and the owners blasted music so. loud. that you couldnât even hear your own thoughts, nevermind the woman across from you. Which, rather unfortunately, resulted in an awkward situation. You had asked her to repeat herself three times, and still you didnât catch what she said. So, you went for what you thought was a safe bet, in which you laughed to brush it off, except you did in a way that could only be described as a mocking and villainous cackle. After which, your date had stated in Spanish âThis is my first date since my divorce.âÂ
It was no surprise she walked out afterwards.
âMaybe youâre cursed or something.â Jana offered helpfully, wincing when you scoffed sharply.
âNo, itâs not me, itâs them! Where are you finding them?â
Date two, however⌠that was entirely your fault. You had been slacking with learning Spanish since moving there, claiming to be too tired from your studies to find time and brain space for them. Which meant, when you were faced with an entirely Spanish-speaking date, there wasnât really a way to communicate. She did her best, until she reached her final straw as you offered to get out Google Translate so you could talk properly. She took one glance at her phone and claimed âfamily problemâ in the thickest accent you had ever heard, before standing from her chair which pushed back with a screech that sliced throughout the room.
That was an awkward one.
âWell, Vicky came up with an idea-â
âOh, for fuckâs sake. Do I even want to know?âÂ
âWe made a Tinder profile for you.âÂ
You wished you never asked.
But, that did explain the strange pool of people youâd been paired with. Turns out it was just blind leading the blind. And your final date was a classic Tinder pull.Â
She sat down. Kept her phone face up on the table within reach, glancing at it every five seconds when it lit up with new notifications. You asked questions, receiving short answers like it was a Vogue 73 Questions video. Then, you heard a ping sound that sounded ever-so-similar to the aforementioned app, and just like that she was up out her chair, like the others, and out with a laugh as her thumbs moved fast against the screen of her phone.Â
âJana⌠this is getting ridiculous. I canât even speak to most of them. Whether itâs because of a language barrier or because I just make a fool of myself, not a single second of the dates goes right.âÂ
The first occasion was funny, you could laugh about it over dinner and drinks with Jana and her friends from the team. After that though, your confidence and dignity took a jab each time. The idea of another blind date made you sick to your stomach.Â
âWell, I told you to ask Ale to teach you some things in return. Spanish is not hard to learn, you know.âÂ
Thatâs right. Alexia.
Thankfully you didnât meet her on another blind date, no. Instead, you were invited to a night out at a bar with the team before the season started, not long after youâd moved to the city on a whim for a year of your studies. Youâd known Jana forever, and there was actually a good chance she could be a distant cousin, but who knows and who cares, because she offered you the perfect escape just when you needed it.Â
Starting a whole new degree in your late twenties was never part of the original plan, nor was moving to Barcelona in your third year of it. But those two surprises paled in comparison to the blind dates that were apparently part of Janaâs deal for moving.
Alexia had become a⌠strange friend. That first night at the bar had felt both like a lifetime ago and just yesterday.
âHola.â Sheâd smiled, awkwardly first, then brightly when you reciprocated it. âYou⌠Janaâs prima? Yes?â
The bar hadnât been madly loud, but her voice was much quieter than the rest of the room, like she was nervous to speak. Whether to you, or in a mix of languages, you werenât sure.
Youâd nodded anyway, still smiling. âThatâs me.â
She hesitated, unsure where to go next. All she knew was that she couldnât tear her eyes away.Â
âI⌠see you, in games, the year last. You very loud.â You laughed, and the sound made her laugh too, though she was the only one that adorned a pink tinge to her cheeks after.
She hadnât been wrong then, when referring to the few trips youâd made to watch Jana and the team, and she still wasnât wrong. You were passionate about the team, and you did exactly what every passionate fan would do at a game. Scream when something went wrong and scream when something went right. Swear at the referee even if a blaugrana player gave an Olympic dive.
And for some reason, after that night at the bar where the two of you were nearly inseparable, there was a text on your phone the next morning from Jana asking for a peculiar request.
Alexia has asked for English lessons, if you will teach her. You are studying education, it could be good no?
Yeah, childrenâs education. Not for a 31 year old two time Ballon dâOr winner.
âŚnot that it stopped you from saying yes.
âI forget. We just get distracted, end up talking, her with her broken English. She tries so hard, bless her, and asks me the most random things.â You adjusted your bag on your shoulder as you walked through the streets back to your flat, shoes clapping against the tiles with every step.Â
âWhat kind of things?âÂ
You rounded the street corner onto the road your apartment complex was on, and thought for a moment to gather your thoughts in response to Janaâs question.Â
There was a variety of random things; phrases that didnât exactly align with her goal of learning English for the sake of interviews and networking.Â
âWell⌠I donât know, just odd and out of the blue. Last time she asked me to tell her how to say âI like spending time with youâ in English. Same with âyou are beautifulâ and âI feel comfortable with you.â Why does she want to say all this to journalists? Does she have a thing for them or something?âÂ
The sound of a light slap came over the phone lineâ you, blissfully unaware it was Jana putting a hand over her eyes in speechless disappointment.Â
âNo, tĂa, she does not have a thing for journalists.â She sighed, desperately holding herself back from blurting the one thing that would save everyone a considerable amount of time.Â
The blind dates? Merely a tactic to wear you down whilst Alexia could be there to pick up the pieces. Alexia wasnât exactly aware that was the reason, all that she knew was that from the first time she met you, she needed an excuse to see you again. And again. And again. Hence the English lessons.
Was it a slightly sadistic plan on Jana and the younger member of the teamâs behalf? Possibly, but they had a self-imposed boundary of no more than five dates. They assumed things would be a bit more fast moving than they currently were, but⌠you were completely and pitifully oblivious. If things did drag on until after the fifth, they would have to come up with an interventionâ for the sake of Alexiaâs sanity, and your confidence.
âThen why is she asking them?â You muttered, huffing as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder again, more of a restless tic than necessity. Before Jana could start rambling about some made up, irrelevant reason â because she had a habit of doing so â you spoke again. âYou know what? I donât want to know, and I donât care. She can have the English lessons, what she does with them is not my business. What is my business is these stupid blind dates, and I donât want them anymore. Iâm done.â
Jana hardly flinched, because she knew that this same time next week, she would be having the same conversation. Just like she had for the last three weeks. So, she indulged, because she could. Because she thrived on it, and it was that same teasing that was slowly bringing you and Alexia together. Give it a few years and youâd be thanking her on your wedding day.
âLook, you are not getting any younger.âÂ
You stopped in the middle of the street. Moved your phone from your ear to in front of you and glared at it like she could see you.Â
âExcuse me?âÂ
âYou heard me.â All you could hear was the smirk on her face as you resumed your walk home, steps slow and precise through pure anger.
âNo. I donât want any more blind dates set up by teenagers.â You scowled at the laugh that burst out of her, loud enough that you had to pull your phone from your ear once more.
âWeâre not teenagers!âÂ
âYou are compared to me!â You snapped, shaking your head at her continued laughter. âIâm old!â
âOh, please.â Jana paused. Her grin grew. âAlexia is only a few months older.âÂ
âDonât bring her into this.â You muttered. Ears turning red before you could do anything about it.
âMmhm. Sure.â Janaâs voice was sly, the kind of tone that made you want to hang up and never answer her call again. âAnyway, you can yell at me all you want, but weâre not the problem here.âÂ
You groaned at her, cursing her under your breath, and reached into your bag for your keys as you entered your apartment building. âWhatever. I donât care. No more dates. I mean it, Jana.â
âFine, fine.â Another pause. âIâll make sure next weekâs date is a good one. Iâll speak to y-â
âOh no, sorry- Iâm about to get into the elevator, the signal is going! Bye, Jana.â You hung up and rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. âFucking kids.âÂ
Waiting in the metal box as it skimmed past other floors was demoralising. Nothing but you and the lingering echo of the failed dates so far. Itâd be the same when you finally do get to your flat too; you will walk around and wind down for the night, your only company being every embarrassing moment from each night.Â
You barged your shoulder into your door a little harder than necessary when it finally unlocked. You placed your bag on the drawers by the door, shrugged off your jacket onto the wall hooks, and barely even flinched when that very item fell to the floor moments later. Wasnât the only thing that had given up on you that night, or the last few weeks.Â
Then, you paused in the entryway between the living area and the kitchen. Both were dark. Both quiet and still. Lifeless, cold, boring and alone. Your kitchen counters and the small breakfast bar was covered in books, notepads, stationary, binders. All University stuff, compared to your lounge coffee table. That had some of Alexiaâs English work on it, leftover from the previous night.Â
You wandered over to your sofa and slumped down onto it. Pulled your phone out. Hesitated with thumbing in your pass code. When you finally had the gall to do it, as simple as it may have been, you headed straight to one place.Â
Are you free right now? I am, if youâd like an extra lesson.
An open invite, because you were too afraid to give in completely to whatever the reason your wish for her company was. Her reply was clockwork.Â
Por supuesto, gracias :)
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door.Â
Youâd changed your clothes whilst you were waiting for her, hence the-
âYou⌠comfy.âÂ
-that she greeted you with, along with a relaxed and fond smile youâd grown to like the sight of. You brushed off the once over she gave you and pinned it down to her teasing matters only as you tugged at your sleeve cuff.
âIâve told you, the more you tease, the less chance Iâll go easy on you.â You warned lightly, stepping aside to let her in.
âNo, no easy.â She preened, competitive and determined as ever. She went to head towards your lounge like she always did before your hand out stopped her.
âDid you bring any of your things?â You asked with an eyebrow raised and a nod of your head down to her empty hands.
She grimaced, then slowly shook her head, both of which were unnecessarily charming. â...I forget.â
You rolled your eyes, but of course let her get away with it as you led her to the sofa. Alexia sat first, and you followed suitâ a comfortable gap between you both, but closer than one might expect, or be deemed as just friendly. The brunette rested her foot on her knee, leaned back against the cushions with her hands clasped over her stomach. You were perched on the edge, reaching for the papers off the table and one of the many pens strewn around.Â
âLo siento, profesora.â She paired the low-toned apology with a grin, both of which had your hand faltering where it reached out. Her words got under your skin a little, for one reason you knew for sure (irritation, very slightly) and another less⌠clear reason.Â
âYouâre lucky I still have some here. Take this, this, and lean on that.â You handed her a sheet she left half-finished last time â the pair of you may have ended up watching a film instead â as well as a pen and a random book you paid no mind to when picking it. Apparently, she did.
ââHow to⌠raise a toddler.ââ She read aloud, accent curling around the words endearingly and eyebrows knitted together as she did so. After she finished, she turned to you with a frown on her face. âYou have something to tell?âÂ
For a moment, you stared at her blankly. Until you realised what she was hinting at.
âI donât have a child, you idiot. Itâs just extra reading for my studies.â You rolled your eyes again, for the hundredth time that day. She let out a soft sound of realisation that left you fighting off a smile. âCome on, concentrate. Get through that and we can move on.â
There was probably all of two minutes of her pen scribbling on the page before she hummed, like she sometimes did before speaking.
âHow was your day?â She wondered, head dropping back against the cushions as she looked at you.
âFine. Thank you. Now work.â You told her. Strict. And very clearly avoiding the main event of the day. Alexia, though she wouldn't admit it aloud, wasn't so disheartened at the prospect of another failed date.
âI am practicing. Conversation.â She argued, practicing her act of faux innocence with the way she shrugged her shoulders blamelessly.
âYou can practice your conversation after youâve done that sheet.âÂ
With a dramatic huff, she turned back to her sheet.Â
âYou no ask for my day.â She grumbled under her breath rather theatrically.Â
That time, you didnât bother to hide it. The smile came easy, and your voice softened just the slightest bit when you finally returned the question.
âAnd how was your day, Alexia?â You turned to look at her and she did the same, though it was only a glance as she turned back to her paper with a smug expression.
âFine. Thank you. Now, I do the work.âÂ
You couldnât help but laugh quietly at her. Alexia didnât look up from her page, but the corner of her mouth pulled higher, betraying how she tried to hide her satisfaction at pulling the noise from you. You felt the warmth in your chest that had been simmering in the background deepen, that same warmth and contentment that was always there whenever you were with Alexia. Before you could think too hard about it, you shifted a little closer and propped your elbow on the back of the couch to watch her write.
At some point, a minute or two later, you realised you were distracting her. The sheet crinkled beneath her hand as she readjusted with every line she went down, and her writing was slightly uneven. So, in an attempt to give her room to concentrate, you got your phone out and started flipping absentmindedly between apps. Yet, unbeknownst to you, it wasnât you watching her that was distracting. It was just you overall. She attempted to discreetly steal glances with each full stop of her writing, thinking you wouldnât notice. You did, just pretended not to, eye stuck to your phone as if you had a dozen better things to do.
Still, you felt her there. The lightest of brushes of her jacket sleeve against your elbow, the faint tap of her pen against the paper when she was thinking, even the slow exhale she gave when she finally finished a line. It wasnât exactly a silence between you both, just a lived-in, comfortable quiet that had formed and grown between the two of you over the weeks. A quiet you werenât used to sharing with many people.
You scrolled aimlessly, not reading a thing, aware of how feeble your focus was when she was beside you. Your mind drifted, to the memories of the last couple weeks and the scattered texts here and there too. The phrases she would ask and how random they seemed. The way she had smiled gratefully when you chose a film the night before and put the Spanish subtitles on for her, deeming the lesson over. The worksheets had been abandoned halfway through that evening for an awfully cheesy rom-com, where she laughed at all the wrong moments and made you laugh just because she was.
Her knee shifted slightly at one moment, grazing yoursâ deliberate or not, you couldnât tell. She didnât move away though, and after a brief moment of internal panic, you didnât either. Instead, you let the contact exist. Let yourself enjoy it, even.Â
Alexiaâs pen paused again, her brows furrowed in concentration. She bit her lip as she read back what sheâd written, and you caught yourself watching the curve of her mouth before forcing your gaze away. It wasnât the first time you had caught yourself doing that, and so what if you didnât want it to be the last.
When she finally leaned back, paper and book balanced on her thigh, she let out a small sigh that was half exasperation and half satisfaction. Immediately, you put your phone face down on the sofa, giving her your full attention without a hint of a second thought. Which is ridiculous, you believe, that you do that. Why do you do it? And why does it feel so natural?
âTerminado.â She said, quietly proud at her work as she handed the sheet to you so you could look over it.
Throughout the weeks, there was one mistake that Alexia always made, without fail. The best part was that it wasnât on purpose, it was completely accidental. You didnât like it because it was funny, you liked it because it was so very human of someone so perfect in her stardom.
âAle, youâve done it again. Every time!â You laughed gently, pointing to three different lines of the page where sheâd made the mistake. Each instance where she had to translate âandâ she forgot, instead just keeping the âyâ of the Spanish. She groaned loudly, throwing her head back and slapping a hand over her face as she cursed the English language out under her breath.Â
âIt is more easy! More quick! And sound better!â She argued, shoulders up to her ears as her hands waved about like she was stating her case against a referee.Â
âYouâre right, but youâre not correct.â You continued laughing as you skimmed through the rest of the sheet. Alexia hastily forgot her grievances with the language when she saw the amusement clear as day on your face once she removed her hand.
Eventually, to put Alexia out of her misery, you finished checking her answers.Â
âI do well?â She asked, hopeful through her humour, and it made you smile.
âYou did. Very well. Youâre getting better.â You complimented truthfully. Though, you ignored the fluttery feeling in your stomach at the light coating of pink that dusted her cheeks at the sincerity.Â
âGracias, profesora.â Alexia hummed with a startlingly soft gaze. She had paused, as if deciding whether to say something or not. Ultimately, she went with it, it seemed. âYou are good teacher. After Uni, you will be good teacher. Very good. Best.â
ââThe bestâ is high praise from the best.â You teased, watching how she chuckled and glanced away at the fellow praise. You saved her her dignity and moved on quickly. âSince weâve no more sheets for you because you forgot to bring them, we can do some more phrases if youâd like. Your random phrases that make it sound like youâre flirting with journalists.â
Alexia tried to hide her gawping at your claim. How were you still so oblivious that they were for you? The night before, sheâd asked for the translation of her proudest compliment yet, the most truthful one. And it was so painfully lost on you.
âHow I say⌠me siento cĂłmodo contigo?â Sheâd asked, after waiting all night to build up the courage to ask. Instead of a blush or a shy smile she hoped to receive as the penny finally dropped for you, she got this-
âAw, thatâs so sweet that you have a journalist you feel like that with.â Youâd responded, before giving her the answer. âI feel comfortable with you."
She grew concerned, in that moment, that you were blind too. Given how you missed the deadpan and politely maddened look on her face as a result of your utter obliviousness.
âWhy do you want to know all these odd phrases anyway?â You wondered, elbow back on the sofa cushions as you rested your chin on your hand to look at her.
The question was asked offhandedly, like you werenât really expecting much of an answer from her apart from the one youâd already hadâ that they were just for interviews and things like that.
Alexia decided, there and then, that sheâd had enough.Â
The brunette hesitated. Held your gaze. Glanced away for the briefest second as she tapped her fingers on her thigh nervously, before she went back to her gaze.
âFor you.âÂ
That, of course, was the furthest thing from what you expected to hear her say.Â
You blinked at her. She blinked at you.Â
âWhat do you mean?â You asked delicately, voice a slightly higher pitch than normal.
Alexia had to hold in a groan that desperately wanted to escape.
âI ask these things⌠for you. No journalists. You.âÂ
Given that you hadnât had much of a negative reaction yet, she took that as a good sign. So, she shuffled closer again, Alexiaâs shoulder pressing against your elbow that still rested against the sofa cushions. In your shocked silence, her confidence grew slightly.Â
Time to put her practice to good use.
âYou are beautiful.â She started. You swallowed a quiet gulp at both her words and how she was looking at you. âAnd⌠I feel comfortable with you. Is⌠different, to others. I worry about my English but you help, and you make me feel comfortable. I trust you. I like the way you laugh, and smile. I never want this time with you to end. You are important to me, you make me happy. I⌠want to make you happy.â
Your blush was so intense, you swore she could probably feel the heat radiating off you. The feeling in your stomach of butterflies was the strongest it had ever been, and your breath caught with every phrase she said, now that they were directed entirely, purposefully, only at you.
You were surprised at the revelation initially, but the longer you stayed in her gaze, the more that feeling passed. At her admission, everything suddenly felt as if⌠it had clicked into place. A lightbulb moment. And it filled you with both a calmness and an excitement that you wanted to drown in, indulge in.Â
âYou⌠like me?â You whispered, breathless, wanting to ensure you hadnât misread the situation.Â
That same groan returned for Alexia, though she managed to stifle it once more. It was reaching its breaking point, however.
She nodded, with a soft and nervous smile. âI like me.â
You both paused. Alexia frowned like she knew something wasnât quite right about that declaration, but couldnât figure it out immediately.Â
When she did, after a few seconds of you trying to contain your laughter, she groaned suddenly and scrambled to make up for her error.
âNo! I like you. Not me. I have a⌠crush.âÂ
You laughed with her, not at her, and she joined in almost instantly. Couldnât resist when you sounded like you did.Â
After the bravery sheâd built up to to tell you that, the hard work sheâd put in just to tell you in your own language, it suddenly made the idea of admitting to your feelings much less daunting. She was right there with you.
âI like you too, Alexia.â You reciprocated, catching her slightly off-guard and delighting in the shy smile she gave. That shyness then carried over into her next words.
âHow to say⌠âhe querido besarte desde que nos conocimos.ââ Still shy, but full of intent. You felt like you must have been red from head to toe with how much you were blushing.
âI have wanted to kiss you since we first met.â You told her. The grin she replied with, as if sheâd just scored a blinder of a free-kick, was rather unexpected.
âReally?â She teased with an eyebrow raised, and you realised then that you had been played.Â
You rolled your eyes as you laughed, glancing away sheepishly even though the words were entirely true on your behalf too. Lightly, you nudged at her knee in retaliation, something that only humoured her more.
Then, the laughter faded. Alexiaâs gaze turned steady again, not serious in her demeanour but with enough candour in her expression that you focused on her entirely. As if there was anything else you could focus on then.
âI have wanted to kiss you since we first met.âÂ
The statement didnât come as a surprise, but with how truthful and genuine she uttered it, it still landed hard.
You found yourself nodding easily, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a mix of nerves and anticipation. Alexia started to lean in, and you did too, untilâŚ
âHang on.â You blurted out, suddenly covering her mouth with your hand. âYouâve had over three weeks to prepare yourself to kiss me. Iâve had about three minutes.â
Alexia chuckled into your palm, not at all annoyed, and gently took your hand away with a fond shake of her head. âYou are ridiculous.â
The accented lilt in her murmur made you want to forget everything that had been said so far and just kiss her.
She read that on your face shockingly well. She smiled affectionately, and raised her eyebrows in patient expectation.
âSo, I kiss you now?â The midfielder asked politely. You couldnât exactly speak, though, due to your frozen nature. You just stared. In turn, that made her frown again, wondering if sheâd gotten her words confused again. â...beso?â
You snapped out of whatever trance you were in and exhaled a laugh through your nose, nodding with a composed urgency that made Alexia grin brightly. Then, she controlled herself, tempering her grin into something smaller, softer, more fit for purpose.Â
One hand fell to your knee, and the other landed deftly on your cheek. Your arms hardly moved, too stunned, but when she leaned in, your arm that had been resting on the sofa cushions wrapped loosely around her shoulders. Her lips met yours with a delicate brush first, shy and nervous, until she felt you melt into it almost instantly. Then, she pulled back for half a second just so she could go into it again with a little more firmness. You met it and matched it, losing yourself in the careful and precise way her mouth moved against yours.
It didnât once feel rushed, or like anything less than perfect. It deepened slowly, naturally, and her lips were pliant against yours. You both moved seamlessly, like it was a dance youâd done a thousand times before. The feel of her hand on your cheek was both grounding and left you feeling like you were soaring, and it was the same for her with the way your fingers lightly brushed through the hair at the nape of her neck. A soft exhale left her nose when you grasped a touch tighter there after a particularly mind-melting movement of her lips, and the small notion sent shivers down your back.Â
Finally, when you pulled back a fraction, breathing the same air as you rested your forehead against hers, you knew the look in her eyes mirrored yours. Pupils slightly blown, and a mixture of intoxicating adoration as well as a deep-rooted relief present on both your faces.
âI canât believe youâve wanted to kiss me since the bar. We could have done this a month ago.â You commented, still a little dazed. Alexia chuckled once more, though there seemed to be something on her mind. So you leaned back, your arm falling to your lap and hers from your cheek finding its new place atop yours. âWhat is it?â
âYour blind datesâŚâ She started timidly. âJana want me to do⌠be first.âÂ
You stared at her, wide-eyed, the realisation settling in rather quick.Â
âYou could have been my first blind date? That was Janaâs real plan with all that?â She nodded solemnly, and you huffed. âSo I could have had a nice date with you instead of the embarrassing three Iâve had?â
The midfielder, smart in her ways, chose to ignore your outrage and take the pair of you down a different avenue.
âNice, eh?â She smirked cheekily, catching you out on your barely-there admission that you wanted a date with her, and had been wanting one since the dates started. You slapped her arm lightly, delighting in the way she laughed afterwards.
Then your eyes narrowed suddenly as you began to piece it all together. Alexia gulped dramatically under your accusatory glare. âSo these English lessons were just a ploy.â
Her face pinched in confusion that you werenât exactly surprised byâ it was a rather weird word.Â
âPloy?â She repeated, testing it out on her tongue and wondering what on earth it could mean.
âAn excuse. A strategic tactic.â Of course football terms resonated with her.
âUn poco.â She shrugged initially, before softening. âI want know you. No blind date. Just⌠normal.â You couldnât fault her for that. âBut also⌠is helpful. The lessons. I enjoy them. Because is with you.âÂ
Nor could you fault her for that either. So instead of lingering on it any longer and pretending to be mad with how it all played out, you gave her a smirk Alexia was beginning to grow familiar withâ it often led to you teasing her. Which it did.
âAre you going to ask me to tell you how to say âI want to take you on a dateâ now?â You grinned, thinking youâd caught her out. Even in another language, she was always one step ahead of you.
âYou already tell me, just now.â She was proud of that one, and you didnât have it in you to roll your eyes that time. Still, she felt inclined to ask it, something that made your cheeks warm again and your answer nearly catch in your throat. âI want to take you on a date.â
There was no hesitation with your answer. âThen take me on a date, Alexia.â
â
i don't normally write short things like this so be nice if it's really terribleđ¤ nevertheless i had fun writing something new so thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed <3
Summary: Words donât come easy for Y/N⌠Alexia helps with that
The first thing Y/N noticed when she walked into the FC Barcelona training facility was how loud it felt.
Not just in sound, but in energy. Conversations overlapped in rapid Catalan and Spanish, boots squeaked against tile, laughter spilled from the lounge, and the low thud of a ball being volleyed somewhere echoed down the hall.
Her chest tightened in the way it always did when there were too many voices, too many eyes. She adjusted the strap of her training bag, willing herself to move forward.
Coach GirĂĄldez had greeted her warmly, introducing her as âour new forwardâ with that bright coachâs grin that made it sound like a celebration. The girls had clapped, some calling âBienvenida!â or âWelcome!â Y/N had smiled, a small, tight one, and lifted her hand in a quick wave. That was all she could do right now. Words stuck like gum in her throat.
Sheâd been through this before; new schools, new teams, the same careful routine of body language to make up for the silence. A nod here, a smile there. It wasnât that she didnât want to speak. It was that the moment to speak always seemed to collapse under the weight of anxiety, the sound trapped before it even reached her lips.
Selective mutism wasnât something she talked about much. How could she, when talking was the problem? Instead, she lived with it like a shadow, something others either ignored or prodded at without understanding.
Her first week with Barça passed in a blur of drills, learning plays, and keeping her focus tight enough to block out the noise of her own self-consciousness. A few teammates; Mapi, Ingrid, and Patri, took extra care to include her with gestures and smiles. Even so, she mostly communicated through nods, thumbs-up, and occasionally writing quick messages on her phone.
One afternoon, after training, she was heading towards the gym for her cooldown when she noticed the physio room door slightly ajar. Sheâd never been inside. But today, curiosity tugged at her.
Inside, someone sat on one of the treatment tables, knee wrapped, hair falling loose over her shoulder as she laughed at something the physio said. It took Y/N a moment to recognise her, the captain. Alexia Putellas.
Y/N had seen her name on jerseys, in highlight reels, in articles about her injury recovery. But in person, there was a groundedness about her, like she belonged entirely to this place, even when sidelined.
Alexia glanced up at the doorway, and their eyes met.
Y/N froze.
Alexiaâs smile softened, an unspoken âhelloâ in it. âHola,â she said, voice warm.
Y/N nodded, unsure why her pulse had jumped. She should move on. She shouldâŚ
Y/N hesitated. Her mouth felt dry. And yet⌠something about the way Alexia looked at her, open, patient, made the tension in her throat loosen, just slightly.
âYes,â she heard herself say.
The word was small, but it was out loud. It startled her almost as much as it seemed to startle her.
Alexiaâs smile widened. âBienvenida, Y/N.â
For the first time since she had arrived, Y/N felt the knot in her chest ease.
Y/N didnât plan on going back to the physio room the next day.
In fact, sheâd told herself she wouldnât, she didnât want Alexia to think she was hovering or, worse, pitying her.
But after training, her quads ached enough to warrant a stretch session, and the physio room was quiet compared to the noisy locker room. She pushed the door open slowly, half-expecting it to be empty.
Alexia was there again. This time, no physio, just her, leaning back on the table, scrolling through her phone. Her knee brace was off, replaced by a compression sleeve.
When she looked up and smiled, it felt⌠different. Familiar, even though theyâd barely spoken.
âHola, Y/N,â Alexia said, like they were already friends.
Y/N blinked, the sound of her name unexpectedly grounding. âHi,â she murmured.
She moved to the corner mat to stretch, fully expecting the conversation to end there. But Alexia slid her phone aside and leaned forward.
âHow are you settling in?â she asked, switching to careful English, slow and deliberate.
Y/N hesitated. Normally, this question was a minefield; one she avoided by nodding vaguely or shrugging. But the way Alexia asked it⌠her voice was low, not prying, and her gaze stayed steady without feeling heavy.
âItâs⌠good,â Y/N said quietly. She could feel her own surprise at how easily it came out. âStill⌠learning names.â
Alexia chuckled. âItâs a big team. And we talk too fast.â
That made Y/Nâs lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. âSometimes.â
For a moment, silence settled, but it wasnât awkward. It was⌠easy.
Alexia tilted her head. âYou donât talk much, do you?â
The question wasnât judgemental. It was an observation, almost gentle. Y/N looked down at her hands. âNot⌠with most people.â
âWith me?â
She shouldnât answer. She didnât have to answer. But her throat didnât close up the way it usually did. âYouâre⌠easier,â she admitted.
Alexiaâs brows softened, and something flickered in her expression, not pity, but understanding. âThen weâll talk more.â
Y/N glanced up, caught off guard by how sure she sounded. And maybe, just maybe, a part of her wanted that.
It started with coffee.
A week after that first real conversation, Y/N found herself heading toward the playersâ lounge after training. Sheâd been planning to grab her water bottle and leave, but the rich smell of espresso made her slow her steps.
Alexia was there, standing at the machine with her crutches leaning against the counter. She glanced up when Y/N entered.
âYou drink coffee?â Alexia asked, holding up an extra mug.
Y/N hesitated, then nodded. âYes.â
âSit,â Alexia said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. âIâll make you one.â
They sat at a small table near the window, the winter sunlight slanting in golden streaks across the floor. The first few sips passed in companionable quiet. Y/N didnât feel the usual pressure to fill the silence, Alexia seemed perfectly fine just⌠existing next to her.
âYou live close?â Alexia asked eventually.
âTen minutesâ walk.â
âThatâs good. Easier after late games.â
Y/N smiled faintly. âIf I ever play.â
Alexiaâs eyes crinkled. âYou will. Iâve seen you in training. You donât need to rush.â
They fell into a rhythm after that.
Sometimes theyâd sit together in the lounge, other times in the empty stands after training, or walk slowly around the pitch while Alexia did her rehab exercises. It was always low pressure, Alexia never filled the space with too many questions, but when she did ask something, it was thoughtful.
And Y/N found herself talking more than sheâd talked to anyone in years. Little things, what sheâd cooked for dinner, a funny thing Mapi had shouted during drills, a memory from her old team. Alexia listened with an attentiveness that made Y/N feel⌠seen.
One afternoon, they were walking down the corridor after physio, Alexiaâs hand brushing Y/Nâs arm as they turned a corner. It was such a light touch, accidental but it left a strange, warm pulse in Y/Nâs chest.
Another time, Alexia had leaned close to point something out on Y/Nâs phone, their shoulders pressed together. Y/N could smell her perfume; something soft, floral, and distractingly pleasant, and sheâd barely caught a word Alexia said.
If Alexia noticed, she didnât comment. But there was a softness in her gaze sometimes, when Y/N spoke, that made her wonder if she was imagining it.
For the first time since joining Barça, Y/N wasnât counting down the hours until she could go home. She wanted to stay.
She wanted to stay because Alexia was there.
It happened during a rondo.
Y/N was in the middle, trying to intercept a pass between Patri and Mapi, when Alexia, leaning on her crutches by the sideline, called out âHaz ese truco que te enseùÊ!â Do that trick I taught you!
Y/N, without even thinking, shot back a quick reply, âIâll never do it as well as you!â
The ball rolled between her legs while she was distracted, but the reaction around her wasnât laughter about the missed tackle.
It was⌠silence.
Patri froze mid-pass. Mapiâs eyes widened in mock shock. Marionaâs jaw dropped so dramatically it couldâve been a comedy sketch.
âWait, wait, wait,â Mapi said, pointing at Y/N. âDid you just talk? Out loud?â
Y/N blinked, caught in the headlights.
âSĂ, sĂ, I heard it!â Mariona gasped. âAnd to Alexia, no less!â
The teasing started immediately.
âOhhh, so thatâs the secret.â
âOnly speaks when the Queen speaks.â
âCareful, Ale⌠sheâs breaking her silence just for you.â
Y/N felt her cheeks heat, but before she could retreat into herself, Alexia cut in smoothly. âMaybe she just has good taste,â she said with a smirk.
That only made the chorus of âOoooh!â louder.
From then on, the team seemed to keep track. Whenever Y/N spoke around Alexia, someone was there to nudge someone else, grinning knowingly. In the locker room, if Alexia sat next to her, Mapi would wink across the room. If Alexia handed Y/N a water bottle during a break, Patri would mutter something about âromantic gesturesâ under her breath.
It was embarrassing, yes, but also⌠weirdly nice. No one was mocking her for being quiet anymore. They were celebrating the fact she wasnât quiet with Alexia.
One afternoon, after another round of teasing, Y/N mumbled, âTheyâre never going to stop, are they?â
Alexia smiled, walking beside her toward the exit. âProbably not.â
âAnd youâre okay with that?â
âWhy wouldnât I be?â Alexiaâs tone was light, but there was something in her eyes; a spark, a question she didnât voice.
Y/N didnât answer. But she didnât mind the teasing quite as much after that.
It was just a friendly match, a midweek game against a lower-league team, but for Y/N, it was still another chance to prove herself.
She was subbed on at the 60th minute, heart pounding in that mix of nerves and adrenaline that never quite faded no matter how many times she played.
Alexia, still not cleared for contact, was watching from the bench in her training gear.
For most of Y/Nâs minutes, things went fine, a couple of clean passes, one decent shot that sailed just wide. But in the 82nd minute, she went for a 50-50 ball and felt her ankle twist under the weight of her own momentum.
It wasnât a terrible injury, she knew that right away, but it still hurt, sharp and hot, and she hit the turf with a wince.
The physio jogged out, but before they even reached her, she heard the sound of someone moving fast on crutches.
Alexia.
She was beside Y/N in seconds, crutches clattering to the ground as she crouched, or tried to, with one leg braced, and put a hand on Y/Nâs shoulder.
âEstĂ s bĂŠ? Are you okay?â
Y/N nodded quickly, embarrassed, but her throat was tight for reasons that had nothing to do with pain. âIâm fine,â she managed, voice low.
âYou scared me,â Alexia said, and there was nothing casual in it. Her eyes searched Y/Nâs face, serious, intent, like she was memorising every blink and breath.
The physio insisted Y/N come off, just to be safe. Alexia walked beside her the whole way, crutches under one arm so she could keep a steadying hand on Y/Nâs back.
On the bench, Alexia knelt in front of her, properly this time, and adjusted the ice pack herself, her fingers warm even through the cold.
âYou have to be careful,â Alexia said quietly, almost scolding, but the softness in her tone made it feel more like worry than reprimand.
Y/N swallowed. âYouâre one to talk.â
That earned her a faint smile, but Alexia didnât look away. âI mean it.â
Something in the moment felt⌠heavier. Like the rest of the stadium noise had faded, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of floodlight and shared heartbeat. Y/N could see the fine lines at the corners of Alexiaâs eyes, the way her lashes caught the light, the faint scent of her perfume even here on the bench.
For a second, it felt like if she leaned forward just slightlyâŚ
âÂĄBuen trabajo!â someone shouted from further down the bench, breaking the spell.
Alexia straightened, clearing her throat, but the look she gave Y/N before turning away was enough to leave her pulse skittering for the rest of the night.
If Y/N thought the teasing had been bad before the friendly match, it was nothing compared to now.
The next day, Patri all but cornered her in the locker room. âYou know she sprinted, on crutches, when you went down?â she said, eyebrows waggling. âThatâs love, amiga.â
âItâs not, she was just-â Y/N started, but Mapi cut her off with a dramatic gasp.
âYou spoke a full sentence! And defending her! This is getting serious.â
The others joined in: Mariona humming a mock love song under her breath, Ingrid dropping a folded note into Y/Nâs hand (âFrom your secret admirer⌠hint: itâs not that secretâ), even Cata whispering, âJust ask her out already.â
By lunchtime, Y/N was ready to sink into the floor. But instead of hiding, she went to the lounge.
Alexia was there, of course, leaning back on the couch with her knee propped up, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when Y/N walked in, and that little smile, the one that reached her eyes, appeared.
âHi,â Y/N said quietly.
âHi,â Alexia returned. She patted the spot beside her. âCome sit before Mapi steals you for more teasing.â
Y/N sat, tucking one leg under herself. âTheyâre⌠relentless.â
Alexia smirked. âBecause theyâre not wrong.â
That made Y/Nâs heart trip over itself. âAbout what?â she asked, her voice softer now.
Alexia didnât hesitate. âThat I like you.â
For a second, Y/N forgot how to breathe. Alexia was watching her closely, but not nervously, like she already knew the answer.
âIâŚâ Y/N began, then stopped. But her throat didnât close. Her voice didnât vanish. She looked down at her hands, then back up at Alexia. âI like you too.â
The relief in Alexiaâs smile was almost dizzying. She reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/Nâs face, her fingers lingering against her cheek.
âI was going to wait until you were ready,â Alexia murmured. âBut youâve been ready for a while, havenât you?â
Y/Nâs chest felt warm, not tight, not anymore. âWith you, yeah.â
Alexia leaned in then, slow enough that Y/N could meet her halfway. The kiss was soft, unhurried, the kind that felt like it had been waiting patiently in the background for weeks.
When they pulled apart, a cheer went up from the hallway. Mapiâs voice carried above the rest: âFINALLY!â
Y/N groaned, hiding her face in Alexiaâs shoulder, but she was smiling. And she didnât feel the need to hide anything else.
Summary: Sheâs captain of FC Barcelona, twice a Ballon dâOr winner, admired all over the world⌠but melts at a firefighter.
The call came in just after noon. A reported fire at a sports facility on the outskirts of Barcelona.
Nothing too urgent, one of those routine calls that more often than not turned out to be a faulty alarm or someone leaving a toaster plugged in. Still, duty was duty, and you were strapped into the truck alongside your team, listening to the sirens wail as the city streets blurred past.
By the time you arrived, the scene was already buzzing. Staff members in polo shirts hovered nervously near the gates of the Joan Gamper training grounds. That made you raise an eyebrow. The FC Barcelona crest was everywhere; on the signage, on the doors, even on the merchandise someone had clearly left lying on a bench.
Your captain gave the order, and you hopped out, helmet under your arm as you approached one of the staffers.
âSmall kitchen fire,â the man explained quickly, gesturing toward the facilityâs cafeteria building. âItâs under control, but protocol says we call you.â
âGood call,â you nodded, slipping on your helmet. âLetâs make sure itâs really out.â
As you and your crew moved inside, you could feel eyes on you. The reason became clear almost immediately, half the Barça Femenà squad was gathered in the courtyard, cooling down from training. They were still in their gear, laughing and chattering in a dozen different directions, but their gazes flicked toward the firefighters like moths to a flame.
And one gaze in particular lingered.
You didnât notice at first, you were too focused on checking the scorched remains of a countertop appliance, but eventually, the prickle of awareness made you turn your head slightly.
Across the courtyard, Alexia Putellas, captain of FC Barcelona and arguably one of the most recognisable athletes in Spain, was staring directly at you.
The moment your eyes met hers, however, she snapped her gaze away so quickly you thought she might have given herself whiplash.
You almost laughed. Almost. But you had a job to do, so you let it slide.
The fire was indeed minor, just a fryer overheating. After confirming everything was safe, you and your team packed up. That shouldâve been the end of it. Except, when you stepped back outside into the sun, you caught her staring again.
This time, it was even more blatant. Alexia stood a little apart from her teammates, water bottle dangling loosely from her fingers, her expression unreadable but her eyes locked firmly on you. Until, of course, you looked back. Then, snap, she turned away again, pretending to listen intently to Mapi LeĂłn, who was rambling about something with a mischievous grin.
âEverything under control?â a staffer asked you.
âYeah,â you said, voice casual, though you were very aware of the weight of certain eyes on you. âYouâre all safe now.â
You shouldâve left it at that. Professional. Efficient. But curiosity tugged at you, and you allowed yourself the smallest glance over your shoulder.
Sure enough, Alexia was looking again.
And when she realised, youâd caught her, her ears went pink.
Your team started packing up the truck, but as you tightened the straps on a hose, you heard laughter from the playersâ side. Not just laughter, teasing laughter, the kind that comes with a good-natured roast.
âAlexiaaa,â Mapiâs voice carried across the courtyard. âWhy are you standing there like a statue, eh? Say something to the bombera before she leaves!â
You froze, suppressing a smile. Oh, this was getting good.
Another voice, Patriâs you thought, chimed in, âYouâve been staring since she arrived! Poor girlâs going to think youâre a creep.â
âI have not,â Alexia muttered, but her defensive tone only made her teammates howl harder.
You risked another glance. Sure enough, Alexiaâs face was now an interesting shade of red. She ran a hand through her hair, clearly flustered, while her teammates poked and prodded at her shoulders like siblings whoâd just discovered the best new way to annoy their sister.
You bit back a grin. The great Alexia Putellas, captain of one of the best football clubs in the world, undone not by a defender or a referee, but by her teammatesâ teasing and, apparently, your presence.
Adorable.
As you climbed into the truck, you made sure your voice carried just enough across the courtyard.
âStay safe out here,â you said, a playful lilt in your tone.
Her teammates erupted into fresh giggles. Alexia, caught mid-sip of water, nearly choked.
You shut the truck door, hiding your grin as the engine roared to life. But as you pulled away from the training ground, one thought lingered in your mind:
Youâd definitely caught her staring.
And you werenât about to forget it.
The cafeteria fire was forgotten within a day. For the players, anyway.
For Alexia, it was not.
Her teammates hadnât stopped teasing her since the moment the fire truck rolled away. Mapi, especially, took her new mission in life very seriously: to torment Alexia about the bombera guapa until she cracked.
âYou shouldâve seen your face,â Mapi laughed in the locker room the next morning, towel slung over her shoulder. âBlushing like a schoolgirl. I didnât know our captain could get shy.â
âI wasnât shy,â Alexia muttered, shoving her training kit into her bag with a bit more force than necessary. âAnd I wasnât blushing.â
Patri raised an eyebrow from across the room. âYou looked like a tomato, tĂa. If that wasnât blushing, then I donât know what it was.â
The younger players snickered. Even Cata, usually so quiet, was grinning as she tied her shoes.
Alexia ran a hand down her face. Theyâll forget. Give it a few days, and theyâll drop it. Thatâs what she told herself. She was wrong.
Two days later, training wrapped up under a blazing sun. Everyone was exhausted, sprawled across the grass like discarded dolls. Alexia sat upright, sipping water and trying not to let her mind drift to the memory of a firefighterâs confident stride and easy smile.
But her teammates didnât give her the chance.
âImagine,â Mapi said, grinning wickedly, âif the fire department had to come back here again. Maybe a small accident⌠like, oh, I donât know, someone âaccidentallyâ setting a cone on fire?â
âDonât tempt me,â Patri added with a laugh. âAt this point, Iâd do it just to watch Alexia lose her cool again.â
âI do not lose my cool,â Alexia snapped, though the faint pink on her cheeks betrayed her.
Aitana, lounging nearby, smirked. âYouâre the calmest player Iâve ever met on the pitch. But one firefighter smiles at you, and suddenly you forget how to breathe.â
That set everyone off again, laughter rolling across the training ground. Alexia threw her bottle cap at Aitana, who only dodged and laughed harder.
The teasing mightâve stung if it werenât⌠well, true.
Alexia had always prided herself on composure. On keeping her head in pressure situations. She could block out entire stadiums of chanting fans, focus only on the ball at her feet.
But the second youâd turned those steady eyes on her, calm and assured beneath the weight of your helmet, her stomach had flipped. And when you caught her staring, and smirked just the tiniest bit, her pulse had tripped over itself like a rookie midfielder.
It was ridiculous. She didnât even know you.
And yet, she couldnât stop replaying it in her mind.
Meanwhile, across the city, you werenât nearly as oblivious as Alexia thought.
Of course, you knew who she was. Everyone in Barcelona did. But watching the most composed footballer in the country get flustered over something as simple as a glance? That had been a treat.
You hadnât told your own crew about it. Theyâd never let you hear the end of it. But when you lay in bed that night, you found yourself grinning at the memory of her pink ears and her teammatesâ relentless teasing.
âCaptain Putellas,â you murmured to yourself with amusement. âYouâre adorable.â
It didnât take long for fate, or perhaps Mapiâs scheming, to bring you back together.
The fire department was invited to give a short safety demonstration at the training ground. A PR move, probably. Good for community outreach. Your captain volunteered your team, and before you knew it, you were back at the Joan Gamper facilities, pulling up in your truck.
You barely had time to climb down before you heard it:
âLook who it is!â Patriâs voice, gleeful. âThe bombera!â
The players were already gathered on the grass, waiting. Some waved at you like you were old friends. Others whispered to each other behind hands, clearly entertained.
And there she was. Alexia.
Standing with arms folded, trying so hard to look nonchalant. Too hard.
The moment your eyes met hers, she glanced away. Again.
But this time, you smiled. Wide and deliberate.
And if her ears went pink all over again, well. You werenât about to complain.
âAlright, everyone, gather round.â
Your captainâs voice carried easily across the grass, drawing the Barça womenâs team closer. They were already buzzing, though not about fire safety. You could feel their eyes darting between you and Alexia like kids waiting for a punchline.
You stepped forward, helmet tucked under your arm, and cleared your throat. âWeâll keep this quick. Just some basics, what to do if thereâs smoke, how to use an extinguisher, and how to avoid setting your kitchen on fire again.â
That earned a round of laughter. Even Alexia cracked a smile, though she ducked her head quickly, pretending to tie her shoelace.
âWho wants to volunteer first?â you asked, gesturing to the fire extinguisher your crew had set up.
Immediately, Patri shoved Alexia forward. âOur captain! She loves being a role model.â
Alexia stumbled a step, glaring over her shoulder at Patri, but it was too late. Twenty expectant eyes were already on her.
âUhâŚâ Alexiaâs voice faltered. She glanced at you, then back at the extinguisher, then at you again. Her usual confidence, the calm authority she carried on the pitch, was nowhere to be found.
You hid a smile. âDonât worry, itâs easy. Come here.â
Her steps were hesitant as she moved to stand beside you. She was taller up close, broad-shouldered but graceful, though at the moment she looked like sheâd rather disappear into the turf.
âFirst,â you said, holding up the extinguisher nozzle, âyou pull this pin.â You demonstrated, then handed it to her.
She reached out, fingers brushing yours briefly, and you swore you felt the tiniest jolt run through her. Her hand jerked back like sheâd touched a live wire, and she nearly dropped the extinguisher.
The team howled with laughter.
âSmooth, capitana!â Mapi crowed. âYou handle footballs better than fire equipment.â
âShut up,â Alexia muttered, ears blazing red as she finally managed to tug the pin free.
You leaned in slightly, voice gentler now. âGood. Now, squeeze here, and aim low at the fire.â
She nodded quickly, determined, gripping the handle with exaggerated care. When the foam burst out, she flinched, nearly stumbling backward. You steadied her with a hand on her elbow.
âThere you go,â you said, and couldnât resist adding softly, âNot so scary, right?â
Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, brief, but enough. Enough for you to catch the spark of nervous energy behind them. Then she looked away again, jaw tight, like even eye contact might undo her completely.
By the end of the demo, half the team had taken turns spraying foam at the target. Some took it seriously. Most did not. Mapi pretended to duel with Aitana, who shrieked and ducked behind Cata. Patri gave a dramatic speech about being a hero before immediately misfiring and hitting her own shoe.
But through it all, you kept catching glimpses of Alexia at the edge of the group. Watching. Fidgeting with her water bottle. Every time your eyes found hers, she looked away just a second too late.
And every time, her teammates noticed.
âWhy donât you thank the nice firefighter, Alexia?â Aitana teased as the demo wrapped up. âYouâve been staring the whole time.â
âI have not,â Alexia shot back, voice sharp with embarrassment.
âSĂ, you have,â Patri said, grinning ear to ear. âWe all saw it.â
Alexia rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but her ears gave her away again, pink as ever.
You couldnât help it. You laughed. Not cruelly, not mockingly, just warmly, genuinely. And when her gaze flicked to you, startled, you gave her the smallest nod.
It was as if you were saying: Donât worry. I see you. And itâs okay.
She blinked, then looked down at the grass, but this time⌠this time you swore you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward.
Later, as you packed up the equipment, you heard voices drifting from behind the playersâ bench.
âYouâve got to talk to her,â Mapi insisted.
âNo.â Alexiaâs voice was low, firm.
âWhy not?â
âSheâs⌠busy. A professional. And IâŚâ A pause. ââŚI donât want to make a fool of myself.â
Too late for that, you thought, amused.
Still, something in her tone softened your smile. For all her composure on the pitch, she really was shy, wasnât she? Clumsy, even, when it came to something that wasnât football.
Adorable, indeed.
As you climbed into the truck again, you glanced back one last time.
Alexia was standing with her teammates, arms crossed like she was annoyed at them, but when she thought no one was looking, her eyes slid your way once more.
This time, you let her have the moment. You pretended not to notice.
But oh, you noticed.
You didnât expect to see her again so soon.
It was a quiet Saturday morning, one of the rare days you werenât on shift. Youâd thrown on a hoodie and jeans, hair pulled back, and wandered down to your favourite cafĂŠ for coffee and a croissant.
The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside.
And there she was.
Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona, standing at the counter in a simple white tee and sweatpants, hair scraped into a messy bun. She had sunglasses perched on her head like sheâd tried to disguise herself, but the moment you spotted her, you knew.
She hadnât seen you yet. She was staring at the pastry case like it held the answers to life itself, card in hand, frowning ever so slightly.
You considered slipping past quietly. But then the barista called out, âY/N! Hola!â with a grin, and Alexiaâs head snapped up.
Her eyes widened when they landed on you.
And just like that⌠pink ears.
You smiled, making your way to the counter. âHey,â you said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world to run into her here.
âHola,â Alexia murmured, voice soft, almost uncertain.
You ordered your drink, then turned slightly toward her. âDidnât think Iâd see you here.â
She shrugged, shifting her weight. âI come sometimes. When⌠I have a free morning.â Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away, fiddling with her card like it might save her.
You bit back a grin. âDonât worry, I wonât blow your cover. Captain Putellas deserves her coffee in peace.â
At that, she let out a tiny laugh, barely more than a breath, but it was there. She looked at you again, and for once she didnât glance away immediately. Her eyes were warm, cautious, but curious too.
Then the barista slid her drink across the counter. âCafĂŠ con leche, for Alexia.â
She froze.
The way her name hung in the air, unmistakable, made her shoulders tense. A couple of heads turned. You caught it instantly, the flicker of unease, the instinct to retreat.
Without thinking, you leaned closer, lowering your voice. âRelax. Itâs fine. No oneâs going to bother you.â
Her gaze snapped to yours again, startled. Then softened.
For a moment, you stood there, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in a busy cafĂŠ.
And then, because fate clearly had a sense of humor, Alexia reached for her coffee, misjudged the angle, and knocked the lid clean off. Half the drink sloshed onto the counter.
âÂĄMierda!â she cursed under her breath, scrambling for napkins.
You couldnât help it. You laughed. Not meanly, just light, warm, a little teasing. âCareful, Captain. Youâre dangerous with fire extinguishers and coffee.â
Her cheeks went scarlet. âIâŚI donât usuallyâŚâ She trailed off, clearly mortified, and you reached over to grab napkins, helping mop up the spill.
âDonât worry,â you said gently, bumping her hand lightly with yours as you cleaned. âI wonât report you to the coffee police.â
That earned you another laugh, this one real. She shook her head, finally smiling.
By some unspoken agreement, you both ended up sitting at the same corner table, coffees in hand.
The conversation started simple, safe. Training schedules, how exhausting firefighting shifts could be, the weather. But little by little, Alexia relaxed.
You noticed the way she spoke with her hands, tapping the table when she got passionate about something. You noticed how sheâd meet your gaze in bursts, brave for a moment, then shy again, glancing down with a faint smile tugging at her lips.
And you noticed, very clearly, how adorable she was when she tried to act casual but fumbled instead. Like when she gestured too widely and nearly tipped her cup again. Or when she forgot the word she wanted in English and huffed in frustration before switching back to Spanish.
Every clumsy little moment just made her more endearing.
âSo,â you said eventually, leaning back in your chair. âDo your teammates always tease you that much, or was that just special treatment for me?â
Her eyes widened. Then narrowed in mock betrayal. âYou heard them.â
âHard not to.â You grinned. âThey seem to think you were staring.â
âI wasnât-â she started, then stopped, realising sheâd trapped herself. Her blush returned full force. ââŚI meanâŚI was just-â
You let her flounder for a beat, enjoying the sight of the unflappable captain completely undone. Then you softened, tilting your head.
âItâs okay,â you said quietly. âI didnât mind.â
Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. And for the first time since youâd met her, she didnât look away.
Neither of you noticed the time slipping by until the cafĂŠ started filling with the late-morning crowd.
Alexia glanced at her phone and sighed. âI should go. Team lunch.â
You nodded, hiding your disappointment. âDuty calls.â
She stood, hesitating for a moment, then said, âMaybe⌠weâll see each other again?â Her tone was tentative, like she wasnât sure if she should ask.
You smiled. âIâd like that.â
Her ears went pink again, but this time, she smiled back as you exchanged numbers.
The next day at training, Alexia knew she was in trouble the moment she walked into the locker room.
Mapi and Patri were huddled together in the corner, whispering like they were plotting world domination. Aitana was scrolling on her phone with a grin far too smug for this early in the morning. Even Cata, normally so quiet, had the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Alexia barely got her bag down before Mapi pounced.
âSo,â Mapi drawled, âhow was coffee?â
Alexia froze. âWhat?â
âCoffee,â Patri echoed sweetly. âWith our favorite bombera.â
âI donât-â Alexia started, but Aitana cut her off, waving her phone like a sword.
âFunny thing about Barcelona,â she said. âSmall city. Lots of people around. Lots of phones. Lots of Instagram stories.â
She turned the screen toward Alexia. And there it was: a blurry photo from some random cafĂŠ-goer, captioned âDidnât expect to see Alexia Putellas having coffee this morning đâď¸â.
Alexiaâs stomach dropped.
In the corner of the photo, just barely visible, was you, smiling across the table at her.
âÂĄJoder!â she groaned, dragging a hand over her face.
The locker room erupted into chaos.
âYou sat with her?!â Patri gasped, clutching her chest in mock drama.
âYou had a date?â Mapi demanded, practically vibrating with excitement.
âIt was not a date,â Alexia muttered, ears already turning pink.
âOh, it was definitely a date,â Aitana said firmly. âLook at your face! Youâre smiling like a lovesick teenager.â
âI smile all the time,â Alexia protested weakly.
âNot like that,â Patri sing-songed.
Even Cata chimed in, voice soft but teasing: âYou spilled your coffee, didnât you?â
Alexiaâs head snapped up. âHow do you know that?!â
âBecause youâre clumsy around hot people,â Cata said simply, and the room dissolved into laughter again.
By the time training started, Alexia was wishing for the ground to swallow her whole. But her teammates werenât done.
During rondos, every time the ball got near her, someone muttered, âCareful, donât spill it!â
During sprints, Mapi jogged past her with a wicked grin. âBetter hurry, or your firefighterâs going to leave without you.â
Even their coach, gave her a puzzled look when the laughter refused to die down. âWhat is going on?â
âNothing!â Alexia snapped, glaring at the team. Which, of course, only made them laugh harder.
Meanwhile, you had no idea what storm youâd inadvertently unleashed.
After your coffee with Alexia, youâd gone back to the station, in a good mood that your colleagues immediately noticed.
âYouâre smiling,â one of them teased. âWhoâs the lucky one?â
âShut up,â you said, but you were smiling even wider.
Still, you had no idea that Alexiaâs teammates were turning her life into a comedy show over it.
That evening, Alexia was sprawled on her couch, scrolling through her phone when a message popped up in the team group chat.
Mapi: đĽđ
Patri: Capitana, whenâs the wedding?
Aitana: At least invite us to the proposal, okay?
Alexia groaned, tossing her phone onto the couch cushion.
But then, against her better judgment, she picked it up again. Opened your contact. Stared at it.
She hadnât texted you since coffee. She wanted to. She really wanted to. But every time she typed something, she deleted it again.
Finally, she forced herself to write:
Had a good time the other day. Thanks for keeping my coffee disaster a secret đ
She hovered over the send button, heart racing. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed it.
Seconds later, the little âdeliveredâ checkmark appeared.
And then three dots.
Her heart nearly stopped.
Alexia stared at the three dots like they might explode. They blinked on. Then off. Then on again.
She chewed her lip, heart hammering. Maybe she doesnât want to answer. Maybe sheâs busy. MaybeâŚ
Then your reply popped up.
Anytime, Capitana. Though I donât think Iâve ever seen someone panic so much over a latte đ
Her face went hot. She groaned out loud, burying her face in her pillow. Of course youâd tease her. Of course.
Before she could overthink it, another message came through:
But donât worry. Your secretâs safe with me. Firefighterâs honor.
Alexia exhaled, the tension easing from her shoulders. A smile crept across her face before she could stop it. She typed back:
Glad to know I can trust you. Even if you laugh at me.
The reply came almost instantly:
Only a little. It was pretty cute, to be fair.
Cute. Youâd called her cute.
Alexia dropped her phone again, groaning into the pillow. She was the captain of FC Barcelona, twice a Ballon dâOr winner, admired all over the world, and here she was, reduced to a flustered teenager because a firefighter thought she was cute.
At the station, you chuckled softly as you put your phone down. You could practically imagine her expression, wide-eyed, embarrassed, ears pink.
She had no idea how transparent she was.
And you had no intention of rushing her. Watching the great Alexia Putellas stumble and blush her way through this was far too endearing.
Over the next few days, the texting continued. Short messages at first, cautious and tentative. Then longer ones.
She asked about your shifts, and you asked about her training. You told her funny stories about kitchen mishaps at the firehouse; she admitted she couldnât cook much beyond pasta. You teased her mercilessly about that, and she pretended to be offended.
The more you talked, the more her shyness peeked through in the sweetest ways. Sheâd type something bold, then immediately follow it with, That sounded stupid, forget I said that. You always reassured her.
And slowly, the guarded captain seemed to relax.
One evening, after a particularly long day for you, she texted first.
Rough shift?
You smiled tiredly at the screen.
Yeah. Nothing too bad, but long. Could use about twelve hours of sleep.
There was a pause. Then:
Wish I could bring you coffee. Without spilling it this time.
You laughed out loud, shaking your head. She was trying. Clumsy, but trying.
Careful, Capitana. That almost sounded like you want to see me again.
A long pause. No three dots. You worried youâd pushed too far, until finally:
I do.
Just that. Simple. Bare. Honest.
Your chest warmed.
Then letâs make it happen. Youâre in charge of picking the place though. I donât want to be blamed if you trip over a table or something đ
Her response took longer this time. You pictured her pacing her apartment, fingers hovering over the keyboard, overthinking every word.
Finally:
Deal. Just⌠donât expect me to be smooth about it.
You grinned.
I wouldnât have it any other way.
Back in her apartment, Alexia set her phone down with trembling hands. She couldnât believe sheâd actually agreed. She couldnât believe youâd actually said yes.
And she couldnât believe how giddy she felt, like sheâd just scored the winning goal at Camp Nou.
Of course, she knew one thing for certain: she could never let her teammates find out.
Which meant, inevitably, they would.
Alexia tried to keep her cool the next few days. Really, she did.
She went to training, focused on drills, kept her answers short when her teammates pried. But every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped, and she had to bite back a smile.
It didnât take long for the team to notice.
âWho are you texting, capitana?â Aitana asked innocently one morning, jogging beside her to get some water during warm-ups.
âNo one,â Alexia said quickly, slipping her phone back into her bag.
âMmhm.â Aitana smirked. âThatâs why youâre smiling like that?â
âIâm not smiling.â
âYes, you are.â
Before Alexia could retort, Mapi jogged past, sing-songing, âProbably the firefighterrrr.â
Alexia groaned, covering her face with her hands. She shouldâve known keeping a secret from this team was impossible.
That evening, she finally mustered the courage to text you.
So⌠I was thinking. Do you like Italian food?
You replied almost instantly.
Love it. Why?
Alexia stared at the screen for a full minute before typing:
Thereâs a place I like. Quiet. Not fancy. Maybe⌠dinner?
Your grin practically hurt your cheeks. Sounds perfect.
Just promise not to spill your pasta on me.
Her reply came after a long pause.
No promises.
You laughed, shaking your head. The way she leaned into her own awkwardness now, it was charming, really.
Two days later, at training, Alexiaâs phone buzzed in her locker. She grabbed it quickly, shielding the screen from curious eyes.
But not quickly enough.
Patriâs sharp gaze caught the little notification banner. âDinner Friday?â she read aloud.
Alexia froze. âÂĄPatri!â
The room went silent. Then erupted.
âDinner?!â Mapi gasped, clutching her chest. âWith HER?!â
Alexiaâs ears turned crimson. âMind your own business.â
âOh no,â Aitana said gleefully. âThis is our business. Our captain is going on a date!â
âItâs not a date,â Alexia muttered, shoving her phone deep into her bag.
âUh-huh,â Patri said, smirking. âThen what is it?â
âJust⌠dinner.â
âDinner,â Mapi repeated dramatically. âAt a restaurant. With the firefighter who makes you blush every five seconds.â She clasped her hands together. âSounds exactly like not a date.â
The locker room roared with laughter again.
Later, Alexia slumped in her car, forehead against the steering wheel.
She was doomed. Absolutely doomed.
If her teammates knew she had dinner plans, they would never, ever let her live it down. Theyâd probably follow her to the restaurant just to spy.
And yet⌠she couldnât bring herself to cancel.
Because the thought of seeing you again, just the two of you, no foam, no teammates, no teasing, made her chest feel light in a way she hadnât felt in a long time.
So, despite her nerves, she texted you again:
Friday, 8 pm. Iâll pick you up?
The reply came quickly.
Looking forward to it.
Alexia exhaled, letting her head drop back against the seat.
She was in trouble. But maybe, just maybe, it was the good kind.
Friday night arrived faster than either of you expected.
You stood outside your apartment building, dressed simply, nothing over the top, just something that felt comfortable but nice. When Alexiaâs car pulled up, you almost laughed out loud.
It wasnât the sleek sports car you might have expected from a Ballon dâOr winner. No, Alexia showed up in a practical little hatchback, spotless but utterly unassuming.
When she got out, though, jeans, a fitted blazer over a plain shirt, hair down and loose, she nearly made your heart skip.
âHi,â she said, voice a touch breathless.
âHi yourself,â you teased lightly. âYou clean up well, Capitana.â
Her ears turned pink immediately. âYou look⌠good. I meanâŚreally good. Beautiful.â The last word slipped out before she could stop it, and her eyes went wide like she wanted to reel it back in.
You smiled, saving her from drowning in embarrassment. âThank you. Shall we?â
The restaurant she picked was perfect; quiet, tucked away, cozy. Wooden tables, soft lighting, the hum of low conversation around you.
Alexia held the door open for you, almost tripping on the threshold in her rush.
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. âCareful. I thought we agreed you werenât going to spill anything tonight.â
âI havenât spilled yet,â she muttered, but her blush deepened.
Seated across from you, menu in hand, she looked simultaneously like the composed captain of Barcelona and the shyest woman alive. She kept tucking her hair behind her ear, then fidgeting with the silverware, then pretending to study the wine list as if it held state secrets.
âRelax,â you said gently, leaning on your hand. âItâs just dinner.â
Her eyes flicked up to yours, warm but nervous. âYeah. Just⌠dinner.â
Of course, the universe had other plans.
The bread basket arrived first. Alexia reached for it, hand brushing yours again, and in her haste she knocked her water glass straight into her lap.
She shot up, cursing softly, grabbing napkins to dab at her jeans. âMierda.â
You laughed, sliding your own napkin across the table. âYou really are determined to spill something every time weâre together, arenât you?â
Her face flamed as she took the napkin. âI swear Iâm not usually like this.â
âI donât know,â you teased. âKind of feels like your thing now.â
Despite her embarrassment, a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. âGlad I can make an impression.â
âYou definitely have,â you said, softer this time.
That made her pause. Her eyes lifted, meeting yours across the table. She hesitated before she looked away.
Dinner went on, punctuated by more little mishaps, her fork clattering to the floor, her sleeve brushing a candle and nearly catching (you swooped in and pinched it out before it even smoked, which earned you a round of applause from the amused waiter).
Every time, she grew more flustered. But every time, you teased her lightly, gently, never cruel. And each time, she smiled more easily, the tension easing from her shoulders.
You talked, too. Really talked. About childhood, about the weight of responsibility, her as a captain, you as a firefighter. About the strange balance of being admired in public but still feeling ordinary in private.
At some point, dessert arrived, and you both realised youâd been sitting there for nearly three hours.
Alexia leaned back, sipping the last of her wine, finally relaxed. âThis was⌠nice.â
âEven with all the accidents?â you teased.
She groaned, covering her face with her hands. âDonât remind me.â
You reached across the table, gently tugging her hands down. âHey. I liked it. All of it. Even the disasters.â
Her eyes softened. âYouâre just saying that.â
âIâm really not.â
For a long moment, you held her gaze. The restaurant buzzed around you, but it felt quiet, intimate, like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.
And then she cleared her throat, looking away quickly, cheeks blazing. âI should, um⌠get you home.â
You smiled, leaning back. âOkay, Capitana. But only if you promise not to spill me out of the car on the way.â
Her laugh, genuine, unguarded, was the perfect end to the night.
As she dropped you off, you lingered at the curb, hands in your pockets. She hesitated, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, clearly torn between wanting to say more and not knowing how.
So you leaned down slightly, peeking in through the open window. âYou know, Alexia,â you said softly, âfor someone so clumsy, youâre doing pretty well.â
Her lips curved into a shy smile. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
And then you stepped back, giving her a little wave as she drove off, leaving her grinning like sheâd just won another trophy.
Alexia shouldâve known she wasnât going to get away with it.
For one glorious day, she thought she had. Sheâd gone to dinner with you, dropped you home, spent the night grinning into her pillow like an idiot. At training the next morning, she walked in convinced she could keep it quiet.
And then she spotted Patri and Mapi whispering with matching evil grins.
No. No, no, no.
âGood morning, capitana,â Patri sang as Alexia walked past. âDid you sleep well last night?â
Alexia narrowed her eyes. âLike normal.â
âOh, normal,â Mapi said, tapping her chin. âIs that what we call âsmiling at your phone until midnightâ?â
Alexia froze. âHow do youâŚâ
Aitana popped up beside her, phone in hand. âBecause Barcelona is a very small city, and restaurants have windows.â
On the screen was a blurry photo; Alexia, leaning forward at a little Italian place, laughing across the table. At you.
Her blood ran cold.
âWho took that?!â she demanded.
âDoes it matter?â Mapi teased. âLook at your face!â
The photo wasnât flattering. Her head was tilted, hair falling into her eyes, smile so wide it crinkled her nose. She looked nothing like the composed, stoic captain the media always painted her as. She looked⌠happy.
âDelete it,â Alexia muttered, shoving her bag into her locker.
âToo late,â Patri said. âAlready in the group chat.â
Alexia groaned, dropping her forehead against the cool metal of the locker.
The teasing that day was merciless.
During warm-ups: âDonât trip, Alexia, you might spill spaghetti!â
During passing drills: âCareful, donât drop the ball like you dropped your fork!â
Even the coaches were raising their eyebrows, though wisely they didnât ask.
By the time training ended, Alexia was ready to crawl under the turf and stay there forever.
Meanwhile, you were at the fire station, blissfully unaware. Until your phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number:
Hi Y/N. This is Patri. Donât ask how I got your number. Just wanted to say thanks for finally making our captain act like a human being instead of a robot â¤ď¸
You stared at the screen, then laughed so hard your crewmates gave you strange looks.
A second later, another text came through:
PS. If she pretends she didnât spill water all over herself, donât believe her.
You grinned, shaking your head. Poor Alexia.
That evening, Alexia texted you, clearly frazzled.
My teammates know.
Of course they do.
They wonât stop teasing me.
Of course they wonât.
This is a nightmare.
No, this is adorable.
There was a long pause. Then:
Adorable?
You smiled.
Yeah. I like that they know. Means Iâm not imagining this.
Another pause. Then, slower this time:
Youâre not imagining it.
You leaned back against your pillow, warmth spreading through your chest.
For all her clumsiness, her blushes, her overthinking, she was trying. Really trying.
And you were more than happy to let her stumble her way closer.
If Alexia thought the teasing would die down, she was sorely mistaken.
For a week straight, every little slip during training became a reference to you. She overhit a pass? âThinking about the firefighter again?â She slipped during sprints? âSheâs sweeping you off your feet, capitana!â
By Friday, she was this đ¤đ˝ close to losing it.
But then something happened. Something small, but important.
She realized she didnât care as much anymore.
Yes, her teammates were relentless. Yes, she blushed every five minutes. But every time her phone buzzed with your name, every time you teased her gently or asked how her day was, it outweighed all of it.
So when the team planned a casual dinner out, she did something she never thought sheâd do.
She invited you.
It took her three tries to actually type it.
The team is going out for dinner Saturday. You could come, if you want.
Delete.
Saturday, some of us are going to eat after training. It might be fun if you joined.
Delete.
Finally, she sent:
The team is getting dinner Saturday. Iâd like you to be there. Only if you want.
She nearly dropped her phone after pressing send.
Your reply came minutes later:
So I get to meet the infamous teammates who wonât stop teasing you?
Alexia groaned out loud.
Yes. But only if you promise not to join them.
No promises đ
Saturday came. You showed up to the restaurant in casual clothes, hair a little wind-tossed from the evening breeze. You expected to feel nervous. After all, you were about to walk into a room full of Barcelona stars who had apparently turned teasing Alexia into a full-time job.
But the moment you stepped inside, a chorus of greetings hit you.
âLa bombera!â Mapi crowed, standing up and spreading her arms. âFinally! Weâve been waiting for you!â
You laughed, letting her pull you into a dramatic hug before you even reached the table. Alexia, sitting nearby, was pink already, glaring at Mapi over your shoulder.
âDonât scare her,â Alexia muttered.
âOh please,â Mapi said, flopping back into her seat. âShe runs into burning buildings. I think she can handle us.â
Patri leaned across the table with a grin. âWelcome. You know, youâre basically a legend already. Weâve heard so many stories.â
You arched a brow, sliding into the chair next to Alexia. âAll flattering, I hope.â
âDepends who you ask,â Aitana said slyly, sipping her drink. âAccording to Alexia, youâre terrifying.â
âI never said that!â Alexia protested, nearly knocking over her water glass in her haste.
The table erupted in laughter. You nudged her knee under the table, leaning close to murmur, âRelax, Capitana. They like me already.â
Her blush deepened, but her lips twitched upward despite herself.
Dinner was chaos. The team was loud, lively, and absolutely merciless toward their captain. Every story turned into a chance to drag her. Every joke circled back to you somehow.
âAlexiaâs the most composed player on the pitch,â Patri said dramatically, waving her fork. âBut then you show up, and suddenly sheâs dropping forks and spilling coffee.â
âDonât forget the fire extinguisher,â Mapi added. âShe almost took out half the team trying to impress you.â
You grinned, resting your chin in your hand as you watched Alexia cover her face with both hands. âHonestly,â you said, âI find it kind of adorable.â
The table erupted again.
Alexia peeked at you through her fingers, mortified; and maybe, just maybe, a little pleased.
By the time dessert arrived, youâd laughed until your cheeks hurt.
And Alexia, though flustered, red-eared, and endlessly teased, looked lighter than youâd ever seen her. She was still shy, still clumsy (she nearly dropped her spoon into the flan), but she was smiling. Really smiling.
At one point, when the noise around you swelled, she leaned closer, voice soft so only you could hear.
âThanks for coming.â
You tilted your head. âSure you donât regret inviting me into the lionâs den?â
Her smile was small but certain. âNot even a little.â
And for once, when your eyes met, she didnât look away.
Summary: You move to Barcelona after five years in Hong Kong and a burnout that left you allergic to Slack notifications and emotional intimacy. Youâre expecting a slower life, decent bread, and maybe a little peace. What youâre not expecting is to almost get run over by a hot stranger on day one. Or for that stranger to be your next-door neighbour. Or for that neighbour to be, casually, Alexia Putellas.
Featuring: Mapi Leon, Jana Fernandez, Patri Guijarro
You arrive in Barcelona smelling like airplane peanuts and your own bad decisions.
Thereâs a ghost of turbulence still clinging to your spine, your carry-onâs lost a wheel somewhere between Terminal 1 and emotional stability, and the Catalan sun is both aggressively beautiful and deeply personal in how it chooses to highlight your under-eye bags.
Barcelona. Youâre here.
No fireworks. No parade. Just the dull throb of jet lag and the fact that your new apartment is somewhere uphill in El Born â which, as it turns out, is a maze designed by people whoâve never met a flat surface or a straightforward street sign in their life.
Youâve just barely managed to drag your two oversized suitcases (one of which insists on doing a little limp-left dance every ten steps) to the corner of Carrer de la Princesa, where a cafĂŠ that smells like good olive oil is buzzing with locals who make espresso-drinking look like a competitive sport.
You stop. Take a breath. Decide to cross.
And thatâs when the car almost hits you.
It comes out of nowhere â a sleek black SUV, turning into the narrow lane like it owns every square inch of it. Thereâs the screech of brakes, your arm flinging instinctively over your chest, and the very real possibility of meeting your end in the shape of a luxury vehicle.
The car halts two feet from your shin.
Someone honks â not from this car, but from another. Because, of course, Barcelona drivers are unimpressed by near-death. You, however, are not.
You blink. The world settles.
And then the window rolls down.
The driverâs elbow appears first, then a flash of blonde hair pulled into a low bun, sunglasses pushed up over her head like sheâs just walked off a runway shoot for âWomen Who Donât Know Theyâre Icons Yetâ.
She looks⌠annoyed.
And then confused.
And then, when she sees your dazed expression, something like concern flickers across her face.
âÂĄJoder!â she mutters. Then, softer, âÂżEstĂĄs bien?â
Her voice is gravel and honey â like she woke up five minutes ago and is already too cool for this conversation. You open your mouth, not entirely sure if your vocal cords are functioning, and say:
âI think I just met God, and she drives like a maniac.â
She stares at you. You stare back.
Thereâs a beat. Two.
Then â inexplicably â she grins.
A slow, crooked, aggravatingly charming grin that curls at the edges of her mouth like it knows what itâs doing. She leans out of the car window, head tilting slightly.
âGood first impression, no?â
You scowl at her. It lacks commitment.
She taps her temple like sheâs saluting your sarcasm, then shifts the gear and pulls forward.
Youâre ready to exhale, to curse her in three languages, to drag your battered dignity across the last stretch to your new apartment â when the SUV glides to a stop directly in front of your building.
No. No. No.
You freeze, praying to every airport god and luggage deity that this is not about to be your life.
She gets out of the car.
She is â unfortunately â hot. In a messy, athletic, expensive hoodie kind of way. Legs for days. The kind of person who wears sneakers like they were custom-designed just for her. A water bottle dangles from one hand like a prop in a Nike commercial.
She looks up, squints at the building, and then presses the buzzer for flat 3B.
You check the paper in your pocket.
Youâre 3A.
Of course.
Of course sheâs your next-door neighbour.
Of course you almost got killed by a woman who lives a wall away.
You mutter something that mightâve been âthis is fineâ but comes out closer to âJesus Christ,â and roll your last suitcase across the street, head down, as she disappears inside.
ââââââ
You get to your door ten minutes later. You meet your new landlord, a wiry man named Jordi who smells like garlic and is suspiciously eager to explain how to work the washer-dryer (âpress, hold, then beg it to functionâ).
The flat is⌠decent. Small but sunlit, and the kind of charm youâd call ârusticâ if you were in a better mood.
You drop your bags. Collapse onto the IKEA couch that might also be a war crime. Stare at the ceiling.
Your phone buzzes with a âWelcome to Spain!â message from your new jobâs HR chat. Thereâs also a note from your best friend in Hong Kong:
Donât die abroad. That was my thing.
You type back:
Almost got hit by a hot blonde. Might die happy.
No response. Rude.
You sit up. Drag your tired limbs into the shower. Discover the water is either molten lava or Antarctic. Pick lava. Burn your sins away.
When you finally collapse into bed â hair wet, limbs aching â you hear it.
From the other side of the thin wall: a laugh.
Her laugh.
Your new neighbour. The hot SUV menace.
The one who nearly killed you.
You consider banging on the wall.
Instead, you close your eyes, whisper to yourself:
âBarcelona. Day one. Drama: already delivered.â
You fall asleep smiling.
ââââââ
The evening tastes like dust and canned anchovies.
Youâve just finished attempting to set up your Wi-Fi (failed), unpack your Bluetooth speaker (found dead on arrival), and make something resembling dinner (tinned chickpeas and half a tomato). Barcelona, so far, is vibes and violence.
Youâve got music playing faintly off your dying laptop â some sleepy indie track that sounds like rain and unresolved childhood trauma â when someone knocks at your door.
Twice.
Not three times. Not once. Twice.
Itâs a very specific knock. Too intentional to be accidental. Not aggressive enough to be maintenance. Which leaves: cult, murderer, or⌠her.
You open the door. And, of course, itâs her.
Hot SUV girl. From earlier. Your personal near-death experience in high-top sneakers.
Sheâs changed into an oversized hoodie and loose denim shorts, and sheâs holding a bottle of wine â the casual kind of bottle that says, I may be hot, but Iâm also capable of civilised guilt.
âHola,â she says, almost sheepish. Then adds in English, âHi. Again.â
You donât respond. Just lean against the doorframe, one brow raised.
âI was⌠maybe rude earlier,â she offers, raising the bottle. âThis is an apology. For almost, uh⌠flattening you.â
You glance at the wine. Then at her.
âApology accepted. Offer pending.â
âPending?â
âDepends. Is that Rioja or just some tourist trap Tempranillo from the shop around the corner?â
She actually looks embarrassed. Itâs a bit adorable.
ââŚI didnât check.â
You sigh. âAmateur.â Then step aside. âCome in before the hallway starts judging us.â
She blinks. Then smiles. Walks in.
Your flat is still in the early stages of not-quite-home â half-unpacked boxes, suspicious throw pillows courtesy of your landlord, and a lingering scent of jet lag and IKEA cardboard.
She stands awkwardly near the counter as you rummage for two mismatched glasses.
âIâm Alexia, by the way,â she offers, leaning a hip against the counter.
You donât look up. âLike, just Alexia? Or like, Alexia?â
The name clicks â faintly familiar.
You remember your late-night stalk, the vague âIâve seen her somewhereâ itch.
Probably Instagram. Or a billboard.
She hesitates. âUh⌠just Alexia.â
âCool,â you say, pouring the wine. âIâm Y/N. Just Y/N.â
She laughs. âWe sound like Bond girls.â
âSpeak for yourself. I look like Iâve been buried in a suitcase for hours.â
Alexia takes her glass and clinks it against yours, gently.
âTo near-misses and new neighbours.â
You take a sip. Itâs⌠actually good wine.
Suspiciously good.
She watches you. You notice â vaguely â that sheâs got this oddly charming air of someone who doesnât quite know how to be cool in real life, despite very obviously being cool on paper.
âSo, you just moved in?â she asks.
âThis morning. From Hong Kong.â
âWow.â She nods, then adds, âIâve never been. Whatâs it like?â
You pause. Shrug.
âLoud. Fast. Delicious. A little like living inside a neon headache, if the headache could make Michelin-starred dumplings.â
Alexia laughs. Itâs a good laugh â open, unselfconscious.
âAnd now Barcelona.â
âAnd now Barcelona,â you echo. âYou?â
âBorn here. Left for a bit. Came back. Familyâs still close.â
âAnd your hobbies include hitting pedestrians?â
âOnly the cute ones.â
You blink.
Oh.
So thatâs how she flirts.
Weirdly.
Badly.
Endearingly.
You raise an eyebrow. âSo I should be flattered I almost died?â
She smirks. âDepends. Would you have remembered me otherwise?â
âProbably not. I have a very low threshold for chaos.â
âThen I guess Iâm lucky Iâm not subtle.â
Thereâs a beat.
Your glass is half-empty. Her fingers linger on the stem like sheâs fighting the urge to say something else.
âWhat do you do?â she asks.
âTech. Product design. Trying to live slower.â
âAnd Hong Kong wasâŚ?â
âFast. Always fast. I burned out. Left. Now I make less money and hopefully fewer ulcers.â
She nods like she understands. Maybe she does. Youâre not sure.
âAnd you?â you ask.
âFootball,â she says, simply. âI play.â
âAh,â you say, noncommittally. âProfessionally?â
âYeah.â
You wait for elaboration. It doesnât come. Which is either mysterious or evasive â you havenât decided yet.
She looks around your flat. Takes in the still-sealed kitchen appliances, the wall of books you havenât unpacked, the single plant youâve named âDesperation.â
âStill settling in?â
âStill figuring out where the trash goes.â
Alexia chuckles. Then says:
âItâs downstairs. Past the bikes. The door with the broken handle.â
âYou learn this the hard way?â
âIâve lived here four years. I still get it wrong.â
You find yourself smiling.
Itâs been less than an hour, but the air between you is already warmer. Comfortable.
Until she glances at her phone, winces, and says:
âI should probably go. Early training.â
âOf course. Training for⌠football things.â
âFootball things,â she repeats, amused.
She walks to the door. Then pauses.
âHey,â she says. âI meant it â I was really sorry about earlier. I donât usually drive like that.â
âAnd I donât usually throw myself into traffic. So letâs call it even.â
She grins. That same cocky tilt.
âIâll see you around, Y/N.â
âYouâre my neighbour, Alexia. You kind of have no choice.â
She opens the door, glances back once, and leaves.
You close it behind her. Lock it.
Then grab your phone. And google âAlexia Footballer Barcelona.â
And â you see the search result. Alexia Putellas. She has a Wikipedia page. Then you scroll to find the link to her Instagram.
Blue check. National team. Ballon dâOr. The whole damn thing.
You sit back, glass in hand.
Your new next-door neighbour is football royalty.
And also, apparently, allergic to normal flirting.
This city might kill you.
But at least itâll be interesting.
ââââââ
You wake up tangled in linen sheets, a half-dried towel still clinging to your hair like a regret, and one singular thought ringing in your brain like a hungover alarm:
Putellas.
You say it out loud, just to test it.
âPutellas.â
Yup. Still hot. Still confusing.
You grab your phone, thumb already moving with the kind of speed usually reserved for trauma Googling or awkward text re-reads.
Alexia Putellas.
And there it is.
First, the Wikipedia page.
Then, the stats. The awards. The club. The national team. The fact that she is, somehow, the face of Spanish football and also the face of âI brought you wine because I almost ran you over.â
Photos flood your screen. Alexia in red. Alexia in blue and claret. Alexia with the Ballon dâOr. Alexia looking like she moonlights as the final boss in a sports anime. Alexia, stone-faced on the pitch, and then another photo â one from just a few months ago â where sheâs laughing with teammates, wearing a backwards cap and smiling like she owns the sun.
You scroll. You spiral.
Interviews. Highlights. Fans who would sell their kidneys for a blink of eye contact.
You do the math.
You got buzzed into the same apartment building as her while wearing a baggy hoodie that says âCaffeine Dependent Life Form.â She saw your socks. One had a hole.
You drop your phone onto your chest and groan.
Somewhere, God is laughing.
ââââââ
When you finally crawl out of bed, itâs late morning. The light in Barcelona is unfairly pretty. It bounces off the white tiles in your kitchen like a music video, and your half-burnt toast looks almost photogenic in the glow of your terrible decisions.
You make coffee. Strong. Bitter. Punishing.
Youâre staring at your laptop screen â pretending to onboard for your new job while mostly thinking about your neighbour â when you hear a soft, chirping noise from the open window.
You look out.
And there she is.
Alexia. Sitting cross-legged on the rooftop landing between your two apartments. In grey sweatpants and a Barça tee that has seen better days. Hair tied up again. Feet bare.
Sheâs feeding a cat.
Or trying to, anyway.
The cat â a fluffy orange menace with the energy of a disgraced monarch â is sniffing her fingers with the kind of caution usually reserved for explosives and bad Tinder dates.
âMessi,â she calls out, voice gentle.
The cat looks offended.
You lean out your.
âIs it actually named Messi or are you projecting?â
She glances up, blinking like she hadnât realized she had an audience.
âHis nameâs Messi. I didnât name him. He adopted me. Out of pity, I think.â
âPityâs a good motivator,â you say. âItâs why I feed most of my exes compliments.â
Alexia grins. âTough crowd.â
âYou brought me wine. Youâre at least a crowd favourite.â
She tosses a bit of what looks like tuna toward the cat, who considers it, then immediately walks away.
âHe hates me,â she says.
âYou almost ran over his emotional support human. Thatâs bad PR.â
Alexia chuckles. Her face softens in the morning light, the hard lines youâve seen in photos softened by sleep and domesticity.
âWhat are you doing today?â she asks, casually. Like youâve been neighbours for years. Like this is normal.
You sip your coffee.
âTrying not to get fired before I even start. Remote onboarding. Software demos. Minimal crying.â
âAmbitious.â
âAnd you?â
âRecovery day,â she says. âNo training. No media.â
âSo you spend it begging stray cats for affection?â
She shrugs. âTheyâre honest. Mostly.â
You pause. Then lean out your window a bit more.
âSo⌠are you famous-famous? Or like, just Barça-famous?â
Alexia smirks.
âDefine famous.â
âPeople make Twitter threads about your ankles.â
She squints. âHave you been Googling me?â
You feign innocence. âI would never.â
She hums. âThey talk about my ankles?â
âIn great detail.â
âWeird.â
âRight? I mean, theyâre fine. Youâve got⌠efficient ankles.â
She laughs. âEfficient?â
âFunctional. Athletic. I canât believe Iâm reviewing your ankles before noon.â
âIâm flattered. I think.â
Youâre both quiet for a moment.
She shifts on the rooftop, tugs her hoodie sleeves down like sheâs suddenly shy.
âI donât usually tell people right away.â
âThat youâre a global icon?â
âThat I play. Most people already know. You didnât.â
âSorry I failed the test.â
She laughs again. Itâs a sound youâre already starting to like. Too much. Too soon.
âWhat do you do when youâre not playing?â you ask.
âTry to be normal,â she replies. âFail at it. Make playlists.â
âPlaylists?â
âIâm very serious about my playlists.â
âThatâs a red flag.â
âYouâre judging me?â
âAbsolutely.â
âDo you want to listen?â
You blink.
âIs that a line?â
âMaybe.â
You glance at your inbox. Three new onboarding emails and a calendar invite from someone named Klaus.
âI could be convinced,â you say.
She grins.
âMeet me on the rooftop. Bring coffee. Iâll bring trauma bonding via music.â
You hesitate. Just a second.
Then you say, âGive me ten minutes.â
ââââââ
You bring her coffee in a mismatched mug that says âWorldâs Okayest Human,â which feels apt.
Alexia greets you on the rooftop like this is some regular Tuesday thing, like youâve been rooftop-coffeeing for years, not barely thirty-six hours since you first made eye contact while almost becoming one with her carâs bumper.
She has a Bluetooth speaker set up. Not blasting, just ambient enough to fill the silence between sips and looks.
She takes the coffee. Sniffs it first, like sheâs bracing for disaster.
âYou made this?â
âI donât believe in weak coffee or weak-willed baristas.â
She takes a sip. Then another.
âOkay. Fine. You get to stay.â
âBig honour.â
âHuge.â
You sit beside her, shoulder almost brushing hers. The rooftop is sun-drenched, cracked in places, with just enough room for two folding chairs, a plant in a pot shaped like a chicken, and the kind of awkward electricity that only happens when two people are pretending not to flirt.
Her playlist starts. Something indie. A little dramatic. The first lyrics are literally: âIf I died right now, would you even miss me?â
You give her a look. âDo you only listen to women who sound like they ghostwrite poetry for divorcees?â
She grins. âYes.â
You raise your eyebrows. âAnd youâre proud of this?â
She nods. âExtremely.â
The playlist continues. Thereâs a soft remix of RosalĂa next, then a ballad in French you only half understand but fully feel.
You sip your coffee. She drums her fingers on her thigh in time with the beat.
âYou always this dramatic with strangers?â you ask.
âOnly the cute ones who almost get hit by my car.â
âStill milking that, huh?â
âAbsolutely. Youâre never letting it go, are you?â
You smirk. âDepends on how good this playlist is.â
She switches songs. A reggaetĂłn beat kicks in â loud and obnoxious.
âThatâs cheating,â you mutter.
âItâs culture.â
You both fall quiet for a while, watching pigeons flirt on the next rooftop over like itâs a telenovela.
She eventually says:
âItâs weird. I donât usually like new people.â
You blink. âThanks?â
âNo, I meanââ she hesitates, frowns at herself, then shrugs. âIâm private. My world is⌠intense.â
You nod. You get it, even if you donât fully get it yet.
âToo many eyes?â
âToo many expectations.â
âAnd here I am, mocking your playlists.â
âKeeps me grounded.â
You smile. Sip your coffee again to buy time. Sheâs not looking at you anymore, just the skyline, like sheâs counting rooftops.
âBack in Hong Kong, I didnât talk to my neighbours for five years,â you say. âOne of them may have been in the triad. Never confirmed.â
âThatâs dark.â
âThatâs urban living.â
She turns back to you. Her eyes are lighter up close. Hazel with flecks of something unreadable.
âWhy Barcelona?â
You think about lying. Saying something airy like adventure or love of architecture. But sheâs being honest, so you match it.
âBurnout. Five years of too much. Needed to not shatter.â
She nods. âThatâs fair.â
âAnd also the bread.â
âThe bread is elite.â
A pause. She lifts the speaker, scrolls through her phone.
âOkay. Game.â
âGame?â
âI play a song. You tell me what you think it says about me.â
âThis feels like a trap.â
âCoward.â
âFine. Play your little vulnerability mixtape.â
She hits play.
Itâs a melancholy acoustic thing with lyrics about running from feelings and climbing rooftops to scream.
You listen. Wait. Then say:
âYouâre secretly a softie.â
âHmm.â
âYou write dramatic text drafts you never send.â
She laughs. âMaybe.â
âYou once cried during a Pixar film.â
âIt was Coco. That doesnât count.â
âCounts more, actually.â
She grins. Then hits play on the next song.
And thatâs how you spend your afternoon â decoding her taste, mocking her Pilate princess and sad girl eras, offering your own Spotify sins in return. It was actually similar to hers excepts yours has more alt, dark pop and none of the reggaeton.
Somewhere between track five and track six, she says:
âYouâre easy to talk to.â
You look at her. âThatâs not always a compliment.â
âNo,â she agrees. âBut it is with you.â
And thatâs it.
No grand moment. No sweeping gesture.
Just a quiet morning on a Barcelona rooftop, coffee going cold, playlists unraveling between you like threads.
The sun is high.
The cat comes back â briefly â sniffs your chair, then leaves again.
Youâre not sure what this is.
But you know itâs not nothing.
ââââââ
It starts with a text.
Alexia:
You free tonight?
You stare at your phone, lying in bed with a half-eaten croissant and a face mask you bought out of guilt at El Corte InglĂŠs. The clock reads 19:05.
You consider the various ways to read into that message. The infinite subtleties.
You settle on neutral.
You:
Emotionally or logistically?
Alexia:
Both. Iâm making food. Kind of. Come over?
Thereâs a beat. Then a second message:
Alexia:
There will be wine. And witnesses.
You blink.
You:
Whoâs coming? Am I being sacrificed?
Alexia:
Bring snacks. Wear something cute. Youâre meeting the squad.
Ah.
So youâre meeting her friends.
No pressure.
No big deal.
Just the people whoâve probably watched her drag herself through injuries, heartbreak, and a hundred post-match meltdowns. People who call her by nicknames you havenât earned. People whoâll knowâinstantlyâif youâre just a passing flirtation or something a little less deniable.
You panic for a full ten minutes, then throw on a clean T-shirt, jeans that make you feel powerful, and the lipstick shade you save for airport security and minor acts of emotional terrorism.
You knock once on her door.
It opens before you finish the second.
Alexia, in joggers and a cropped tee, blinking at you like she wasnât fully expecting you to show.
âYou came.â
âThereâs wine, isnât there?â
She grins. Steps aside.
Her flat is brighter than yours â partly because itâs on the corner, partly because her walls are covered in chaotic photo collages.
And there â perched on the couch like they own the building â are three women.
One of them looks up first.
Bleach-blonde. Piercings and tattoos. A smile that screams trouble.
âSo,â she says, voice thick with mock innocence. âThis is the American.â
Alexia shoots her a look. âMapi, be nice.â
âIâm always nice,â Mapi LeĂłn says, standing up and pulling you into a surprisingly warm hug. âUnless you hurt her. Then Iâm feral.â
âNoted,â you say, patting her back. âThe threatening is very clear.â
Another girl waves from the behind Mapi. Petite, sunny, chaos behind the eyes.
âIâm Jana,â she says. âAlexiaâs emotional translator.â
âShe has one?â
âYes,â Mapi deadpans. âBecause she communicates like a scared house cat.â
From behind Jana, another girl leans over with a glass of vermut and a raised brow.
âAnd Iâm Patri. The normal one.â
âSheâs lying,â Mapi mutters. âShe once flirted with a DJ by sending her a PowerPoint.â
Patri shrugs. âGoogle Slides. And it worked.â
Alexia is watching you. Carefully. Like sheâs waiting to see if youâll bolt or burst into flames.
You walk further in, drop your snack contribution (a sad cheese board) on the counter, and say:
âSo. Surveillance squad. How do I score?â
Mapi claps. âSheâs funny. Keep her.â
Alexia hides a smile behind her glass.
ââââââ
You all settle in. Thereâs wine. Thereâs tortilla that Alexia claims she made (Jana mutters âher mom made itâ), and pan con tomate thatâs genuinely good enough to forgive the fact that Mapi keeps calling you âSilicon Valley.â
You learn a few things during the night:
Patri is obsessed with reality TV and will die defending Love Island.
Jana once accidentally insulted a refereeâs haircut mid-game in three languages.
Mapi has a shrine to her dog that includes a framed paw print and a candle.
Alexia goes very quiet when sheâs watching you laugh.
Somewhere around the third glass of wine, Jana elbows you.
âYou like her?â
You blink. âSubtle.â
âI donât do subtle.â
You glance at Alexia, whoâs arguing with Patri over how many syllables RosalĂa can fit into a verse.
âI like her,â you say. âEnough to be terrified.â
Jana smiles. âGood.â
âGood?â
âBecause sheâs already gone for you.â
You look back at Alexia. Her eyes meet yours. She smiles â soft and crooked.
Yeah.
Youâre probably gone too.
ââââââ
Barcelona rarely does full drama with its weather.
But when it does?
Itâs Oscar-nominated.
The sky is sulking. Thunder mutters over the rooftops like a tired gossip. Rain lashes against your windows with the type of energy usually reserved for betrayal scenes in telenovelas.
Youâre sitting cross-legged on your couch, laptop dimmed, pretending to work while actually watching rainwater pool in the courtyard below.
Youâre not exactly lonely.
But you are⌠aware of the silence.
A knock sounds.
Not loud. Just⌠there.
You open the door.
And there she is.
Alexia.
Rain-drenched hoodie. Shorts. No umbrella. Holding her phone like it personally betrayed her.
âPowerâs out,â she says, voice pitched like itâs not a big deal.
You blink. âOkay. And?â
âCan I charge my phone?â
You cross your arms. âThis couldnât wait?â
She shrugs. Rainwater drips from her sleeve.
âI got bored.â
You open the door wider. âI feel emotionally manipulated.â
âYou like it.â
You do.
She steps inside, shaking her hoodie out like a wet dog. Her socks are mismatched. Her hair is frizzy. She smells like rain and a faint trace of fabric softener.
âKitchen,â you say. âFar right socket. Itâs the only one that doesnât spark when you use it.â
âComforting.â
âWe like to live on the edge here.â
She plugs her phone in and looks around.
Your flat still has power, miraculously. One lamp glows like a warm secret. The room smells like coffee and uncertainty.
âWhat were you doing?â she asks.
âConsidering whether Iâm a functional adult or just cosplaying one.â
âAny conclusions?â
âNone Iâd put in writing.â
She smiles and flops down beside you on the couch, stealing your throw blanket without asking. Her knee brushes yours.
âYouâre not working,â she observes.
âNeither are you.â
âIâm technically on rest.â
âAnd technically trespassing.â
She stretches, arms overhead, hoodie riding up just enough for you to regret having eyes.
âYouâre not kicking me out.â
âUnfortunately.â
You toss her a spare mug and get up to pour more coffee.
When you hand it to her, your fingers graze. Brief. Barely there.
Still electric.
âYou always this casual about home invasions?â you ask, settling back beside her.
âOnly when the victim is cute.â
âStop.â
âCanât. Itâs a condition.â
âChronic awkward flirt disorder?â
âDiagnosed and proud.â
She sips her coffee. You try not to watch her mouth too closely.
Outside, thunder rolls again. The rain picks up.
âDid you really get bored,â you ask, âor was this your excuse?â
Sheâs quiet. Just for a second.
Then:
âI like being here.â
You glance at her. Sheâs not looking at you, just staring at her hands like they might answer for her.
âWhy?â you ask, gently.
âItâs easy. With you.â
The words hang in the air â fragile, stupid, enormous.
You swallow. âItâs not always easy.â
âI know. But itâs⌠good. Still.â
You shift closer, knee now fully pressed against hers.
âYou couldâve picked anywhere to spend a storm.â
âI picked here.â
You donât kiss her.
Not yet.
But the distance between you shrinks to something stupid and brave.
And when the lights flicker â briefly, then stay on â neither of you moves.
ââââââ
Thereâs something about proximity.
You see Alexia everywhere now â not just physically, but in the way her presence has quietly colonized your routines.
Thereâs the glass container of oranges you find outside your door one morning, no note, just a post-it with a wobbly smiley face.
She shares her Spotify curated private playlist: Sad Girl Spanish Edition.
You text her intervention pending.
She replies with a thumbs-up emoji and a photo of Messi the cat, judging her from a windowsill.
Thereâs her toothbrush, now living in your bathroom like it has rights.
And then thereâs the key.
You give it to her one night â not during a grand gesture, just while sheâs ranting about forgetting her charger again and youâre trying to butter toast.
âYou might as well have a key,â you say, tossing it onto the counter. âYou spend more time here than in your own flat.â
She stops mid-rant. Looks at the key. Then at you.
âReally?â
âUnless you prefer dramatic rooftop entrances.â
She smiles. Soft. Almost shy.
âNo. I like this.â
You donât say what this is. You donât need to.
You start keeping oat milk in the fridge because she pretends not to like regular milk even though she steals your coffee every time.
She pretends not to be sentimental but leaves her favourite hoodie on your chair.
You pretend not to watch her walk around your kitchen like sheâs always belonged there.
Neither of you says anything about the fact that your toothbrushes touch in the cup.
One afternoon, Mapi texts you:
Mapi:
You guys are basically married. Should I start planning the honeymoon or the intervention?
You reply:
Calm down, queer panic brigade.
Mapi:
No fun.
You snort.
ââââââ
She does ask you to come to a match.
Doesnât make a big deal of it. Just drops it into conversation while youâre both folding laundry like a soft-domestic gay rom-com.
âYou should come Saturday,â she says.
âTo the game?â
âYeah. If you want.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou asking me to see you sweaty and aggressive?â
âI thought that was your thing.â
âOnly if you win.â
âNow the pressureâs on.â
You go.
You sit next to Patri and Ona in the stands - they are injured, surrounded by fans wearing her name on their backs. Itâs surreal, a little overwhelming â the chant of Alexia, Alexia bouncing off your ribs.
She plays like sheâs part electricity.
Sharp passes. Clean tackles. That signature posture of intensity that you now recognise as her default setting when sheâs trying not to overthink.
When she scores, she doesnât celebrate toward the cameras.
She glances up at the stands.
Looks for you.
Finds you.
Smiles.
You donât even realise youâre smiling back until Patri nudges you.
âYouâre in trouble,â she says, sing-song.
You are.
That night, she knocks once.
No hoodie. Just leggings and a tank top, post-shower, hair damp and messy.
âI forgot my key,â she says, smirking.
âOr you wanted to be invited in.â
She shrugs. âMaybe.â
You let her in. Make tea. Sit close.
This time, when she leans in â slowly, like sheâs checking the temperature of the room, of your breathing â you donât wait.
You meet her halfway.
Her mouth tastes like mint and something warm. She kisses like she plays â controlled, then sudden. A little unsure, a little intense, all heart.
You kiss her until your tea goes cold.
Then you do it again.
Not because itâs new.
But because it already feels like home.
ââââââ
You find her outside the stadium long after the last chants have faded. Your second FC Barcelona Femeni game.
Sheâs in a tracksuit, damp from the post-game cooldown, hair tied back, cheeks pink from effort. Her duffel bag is slung casually over one shoulder, and sheâs trying to look casual even though her eyes have been scanning the crowd for the last ten minutes.
When she spots you, something unspoken in her posture relaxes.
âHola,â she says.
âHola, superstar.â
She rolls her eyes, but sheâs smiling. Thereâs mud on her shin and a smear of sports drink on her sleeve. Itâs unfair how hot she looks.
âYou scored.â
âWe won.â
âYou waved at me in front of thousands of people.â
She pretends to consider. âYou look very good. It would be criminal not to wave at you.â
She opens the passenger door of her car and gestures.
âCome on. You need churros.â
âIs that an order?â
âMore like a recovery plan.â
You get in.
She drives with one hand on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the radio dial. The windows are slightly fogged, the air thick with post-match adrenaline and the smell of minty shower gel.
âDo you always take girls for post-victory churros?â you ask, trying to sound casual.
She snorts. âOnly my neighbour from 3A.â
You grin. She grins wider.
ââââââ
The xurreria is a neon-lit corner shop that looks like it hasnât changed since the â90s â fluorescent lights, scuffed floors, a grumpy man at the counter who doesnât even blink when Alexia walks in like she owns the place.
âYouâre a regular here?â you ask as she orders for both of you.
âPost-match ritual.â
âYour teammates know?â
âOnly Jana. She hates that I eat sugar. Calls me weak.â
âSheâs not wrong.â
Alexia hands you a paper tray of churros and a plastic cup of thick, sinful chocolate.
âWeakness,â she says, taking a bite, âis relative.â
You sit outside on a damp bench, sugar-dusted fingers brushing occasionally, sharing bites like something from a soft-launch Instagram post.
You should be tired. Youâre not.
âYou good?â she asks.
âBetter than good.â
She nods. âYou looked happy.â
âAt the match?â
âWhen I found you after.â
You pause.
âI was.â
She licks chocolate off her thumb, like itâs the most casual thing in the world, and then says:
âYou looked like home.â
You blink.
âWhat?â
âNothing,â she says quickly, suddenly looking at her hands. âForget it.â
You donât.
ââââââ
Back in the car, she leans her head back against the seat.
âYou wanna come over?â she asks.
âYouâve already invaded my flat.â
âThen come invade mine.â
âIs this a sleepover?â
âCould be.â
âShould I bring pyjamas?â
âOnly if theyâre ugly.â
âI own exclusively ugly pyjamas.â
She smiles. âPerfect.â
You reach over and brush a stray sugar grain off her cheek.
Her eyes flutter shut for a second, like the touch short-circuits her.
When they open, theyâre steady.
âI like you,â she says.
Soft. Like she doesnât want it to break.
You exhale.
âI know.â
âIs that bad?â
âNo.â
âIs this fast?â
âA little.â
âDo you mind?â
You reach over, curl your fingers into hers.
âNot even a little.â
ââââââââ
It happens slowly, then all at once.
Not the falling.
That partâs done.
You fell the moment she said âyou looked like homeâ with sugar on her fingers and rain still tangled in her lashes.
No, what happens now is everything after the fall â the quiet continuity, the dangerous softness of staying.
Sheâs in your bed one morning, half-buried under your duvet, wearing that ratty grey Barça hoodie you once called âan insult to fashion and fibre,â and sheâs still the most beautiful thing youâve ever seen.
Youâre brushing your teeth when she walks in, sleep-puffy and barefoot, muttering:
âYou stole all the covers.â
âYou stole all my serotonin.â
She wraps her arms around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder.
âYou make a good radiator.â
âYou make a good disaster.â
She hums. Doesnât let go.
ââââââ
You both brush your teeth together â she uses the spare, pink one she keeps here now. You think about buying a second one just to make it official.
You find her Spotify playlists on your shared speaker one night.
She catches you scrolling.
âDonât judge me.â
âYou have a playlist called ârunning from feelings while hot.ââ
âItâs accurate.â
You make her a new one.
You call it âstanding still for once.â
She listens to it three times that week.
ââââââ
Mapi comes over to drop off something â she stays for coffee and one episode of a bad true crime docuseries.
Halfway through, she looks between you and Alexia on the couch, your legs tangled like itâs instinct, and says:
âSo⌠this is happening.â
You nod. âI think so.â
Alexia bumps her knee against yours. Doesnât say anything.
Mapi grins. âFinally.â
Then she drinks the rest of your coffee and leaves without saying goodbye.
Alexia teaches you how to say things in Catalan.
You butcher most of them.
âEts preciosa,â she says one night, voice low.
âWhatâs that?â
âIt means youâre messy and you stole all my hoodies.â
âLiar.â
âIt means youâre beautiful.â
You go quiet.
âSay it again,â you ask.
She does. Into your neck. With her hand on your hip. And you believe her, even when your brain canât quite translate it.
ââââââ
The night it clicks, fully, is a Tuesday.
Youâve had a long day. Meetings that couldâve been emails. A migraine forming behind your eyes. Rain again, heavy and constant.
She comes over with pan con tomate and a movie youâve seen a dozen times.
You fall asleep with your head in her lap.
When you wake up â just barely, just for a second â sheâs brushing hair from your forehead and whispering something soft in Catalan you donât understand.
You ask her to say it again.
She doesnât.
She just leans down and kisses you like itâs the only thing sheâs ever been sure of.
ââââââ
You donât remember how long itâs been.
Weeks. Months. Or maybe just the kind of days that stretch in all directions â soft-edged, infinite.
Thereâs no âofficialâ start date.
No declaration on Instagram.
No line in the sand.
But you know it now.
In the way she brings you tea when youâre grumpy.
In how she lets you wear her training jackets before big games.
In the way she sleeps better in your bed than her own.
It was always going to be her.
You just hadnât met her yet.
ââââââ
The thing about slow mornings with Alexia is that they donât feel slow.
They feel like time has stopped â paused, just for you.
The shutters are half-closed, the room washed in that golden light that only Barcelona mornings know how to deliver. Sheâs still asleep beside you, hair fanned out across the pillow like a soft crown, wearing your oversized T-shirt like it was designed just for her.
You donât dare move.
You just watch.
She eventually blinks awake, stretching with that lazy athletic grace that reminds you sheâs a professional athlete who somehow also drools slightly in her sleep.
âYou staring at me?â she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
âJust considering my life choices.â
âAnd?â
âTheyâre excellent so far.â
She smiles into the pillow. âYouâre disgusting.â
âYou like it.â
âUnfortunately.â
You laugh, and she rolls over, hooking her arm around your waist like sheâs afraid you might slip away.
Later, while youâre both nursing mugs of coffee on the balcony, she says:
âI told my mami about you.â
You almost choke. âWhat?â
âJust⌠mentioned. Casually. That I have a neighbour. Whoâs smart. And funny. AndâŚâ
She shrugs, as if the rest doesnât need words.
You lean back against the railing, trying to process the casual weight of
that confession.
âAnd she saidâŚ?â
âShe wants to meet you.â
You blink. âWeâve known each other, what? Two months?â
âFeels longer,â she says, sipping her coffee. âIn a good way.â
Thereâs something terrifying about how easily she says it. How right it feels, sitting here with her, with your knees brushing under the table and the city waking up below you.
ââââââ
You walk to the market together later that morning â her in a hoodie and cap, you in sunglasses and jeans, both trying to look like two normal people and not a very famous footballer with a girl whoâs still learning where the best panaderĂa is.
People stare, sometimes.
She doesnât flinch.
She just reaches for your hand when you least expect it.
âAre weâŚ?â you start, hesitant.
âWhat?â
âSoft-launching?â
She grins. âYou want hard launch?â
âMaybe after another month of churros.â
âDeal.â
ââââââ
That night, she invites you over for dinner â just the two of you.
She cooks. The fish is slightly overcooked.
You eat it anyway, because the way she keeps peeking at you, nervous and proud, is better than any Michelin star.
âItâs bad, isnât it?â she says, halfway through.
âItâs⌠alright.â
âSo bad.â
âOvercooked,â you confirm, laughing.
She throws her napkin at you, then leans across the table and kisses you. Slow. Intentional.
You end up on her couch, legs tangled, her head on your shoulder.
âYou know,â she says softly, âI never do this.â
âCook?â
She laughs. âHey! Youâre mean. But I mean⌠this. Letting someone in.â
You trace a small circle on her arm with your thumb.
âWhy me?â
She hesitates. Then:
âBecause you didnât care who I was. Not at first. You just⌠made fun of my playlists.â
âThey were terrible.â
âAnd you stayed.â
You swallow. âIâm not planning on going anywhere.â
She tilts her head up, eyes bright, as if sheâs trying to memorize you.
âGood,â she whispers.
ââââââ
Later, when youâre back in your flat, lying in your own bed, you hear her laugh through the wall â that soft, unguarded sound that made you fall in the first place.
You smile into your pillow.
Because this isnât just a meet cute anymore.
Itâs late-night groceries and key exchanges.
Itâs bad cooking and soft confessions.
Itâs the quiet, wry, campy miracle of finding someone who feels like home.
ââââââ
Youâre trying to butter toast in a kitchen designed for three and currently occupied by seven.
Jana is standing in the fridge, half-asleep and holding a block of cheese like sheâs discovered God. Mapi is arguing with Alba about how many espressos is too many before noon. Patri is eating cereal with a fork, because spoons have apparently become a myth. Miriam is trying to reheat something with an accent thick enough to make you pause every third sentence. And Alexia?
Alexia is leaning against the counter like itâs a modeling shoot. Hoodie. Shorts. Morning hair. Looking at you like youâre her favourite sunrise.
âStop staring,â you mutter, failing to butter the toast evenly.
âYouâre cute when you struggle,â she replies.
âTell that to my carbs.â
She walks over, takes the knife from your hand, and finishes the toast in two smooth strokes like some kind of domestic lesbian deity.
You blink. âYouâve been practicing.â
She grins. âAlba made me. Said if I was gonna date a woman with standards, I should know my way around gluten.â
From across the room, Alba yells, âI stand by that!â
ââââââ
Itâs day four of the vacation, and the house is chaos in the best way.
Afternoons are spent in swimsuits, sun-warmed and wine-softened. Nights are all card games, outdoor dinners, and sleepy limbs tangled on too-small couches. You and Alexia have claimed the bedroom with the best view â not because of seniority, but because no one was brave enough to interrupt your soft-couple bubble during the room grab.
Everyone knows youâre together now.
Even the older auntie walking her dog by the beach yesterday said, âAh, les novias,â with a knowing smile when you held hands.
No hiding. No soft-launches. No pretending.
Itâs nice.
At lunch, Miriam pulls you aside while the others are setting up the table on the terrace.
Sheâs shorter than Alexia, a little louder, a little more self-assured in her vibe. Sheâs got the air of someone whoâs known Alexia since braces and scraped knees.
âYou make her happy,â Miriam says, handing you a bowl of olives like itâs a peace offering and a judgment tool all in one.
âI try,â you say.
âShe was different before you. More⌠closed.â
You nod. âShe still closes sometimes.â
âAnd you stay.â
âOf course.â
She watches you a moment longer, then nods like sheâs decided something.
âGood.â
You feel like youâve passed a test you didnât know you were taking.
ââââââ
Later that night, thereâs a bonfire on the beach. Patri brings marshmallows. Jana brings a Bluetooth speaker that only plays Queer artists. Mapi brings a box of wine and no plan.
You and Alexia are curled up on a blanket, her hoodie zipped halfway, your legs thrown over hers.
âA year,â she murmurs.
âTwelve months,â you confirm, mock-serious.
âFifty-two weeks of tolerating your playlists.â
âHeyââ
âAnd your three-hour match analysis breakdowns.â
âThat was one timeââ
âAnd the socks you leave in the kitchen.â
âOkay, thatâs on purpose.â
You look at her. Smiling. Soft.
âStill the best year of my life.â
She leans in, kisses you. Gentle. Warm. Certain.
âMe too.â
From behind you, Mapi shouts, âSTOP BEING CUTE, YOUâRE RUINING THE FIREâS EDGE!â
Jana adds, âConfirmed â still gay, still yours!â
You break the kiss, laugh against her mouth.
She doesnât let go.
ââââââ
Later that night, as everyone trickles back toward the house, Alexia wraps an arm around your shoulders and whispers:
âNext year, same place?â
âSame people?â
âSame us.â
You glance up at the sky â stars heavy above, sea whispering below.
âYeah,â you say. âSame us.â
She squeezes your hand.
And you know â this is what home feels like now.
Summary: You move to Barcelona after five years in Hong Kong and a burnout that left you allergic to Slack notifications and emotional intimacy. Youâre expecting a slower life, decent bread, and maybe a little peace. What youâre not expecting is to almost get run over by a hot stranger on day one. Or for that stranger to be your next-door neighbour. Or for that neighbour to be, casually, Alexia Putellas.
Featuring: Mapi Leon, Jana Fernandez, Patri Guijarro
You arrive in Barcelona smelling like airplane peanuts and your own bad decisions.
Thereâs a ghost of turbulence still clinging to your spine, your carry-onâs lost a wheel somewhere between Terminal 1 and emotional stability, and the Catalan sun is both aggressively beautiful and deeply personal in how it chooses to highlight your under-eye bags.
Barcelona. Youâre here.
No fireworks. No parade. Just the dull throb of jet lag and the fact that your new apartment is somewhere uphill in El Born â which, as it turns out, is a maze designed by people whoâve never met a flat surface or a straightforward street sign in their life.
Youâve just barely managed to drag your two oversized suitcases (one of which insists on doing a little limp-left dance every ten steps) to the corner of Carrer de la Princesa, where a cafĂŠ that smells like good olive oil is buzzing with locals who make espresso-drinking look like a competitive sport.
You stop. Take a breath. Decide to cross.
And thatâs when the car almost hits you.
It comes out of nowhere â a sleek black SUV, turning into the narrow lane like it owns every square inch of it. Thereâs the screech of brakes, your arm flinging instinctively over your chest, and the very real possibility of meeting your end in the shape of a luxury vehicle.
The car halts two feet from your shin.
Someone honks â not from this car, but from another. Because, of course, Barcelona drivers are unimpressed by near-death. You, however, are not.
You blink. The world settles.
And then the window rolls down.
The driverâs elbow appears first, then a flash of blonde hair pulled into a low bun, sunglasses pushed up over her head like sheâs just walked off a runway shoot for âWomen Who Donât Know Theyâre Icons Yetâ.
She looks⌠annoyed.
And then confused.
And then, when she sees your dazed expression, something like concern flickers across her face.
âÂĄJoder!â she mutters. Then, softer, âÂżEstĂĄs bien?â
Her voice is gravel and honey â like she woke up five minutes ago and is already too cool for this conversation. You open your mouth, not entirely sure if your vocal cords are functioning, and say:
âI think I just met God, and she drives like a maniac.â
She stares at you. You stare back.
Thereâs a beat. Two.
Then â inexplicably â she grins.
A slow, crooked, aggravatingly charming grin that curls at the edges of her mouth like it knows what itâs doing. She leans out of the car window, head tilting slightly.
âGood first impression, no?â
You scowl at her. It lacks commitment.
She taps her temple like sheâs saluting your sarcasm, then shifts the gear and pulls forward.
Youâre ready to exhale, to curse her in three languages, to drag your battered dignity across the last stretch to your new apartment â when the SUV glides to a stop directly in front of your building.
No. No. No.
You freeze, praying to every airport god and luggage deity that this is not about to be your life.
She gets out of the car.
She is â unfortunately â hot. In a messy, athletic, expensive hoodie kind of way. Legs for days. The kind of person who wears sneakers like they were custom-designed just for her. A water bottle dangles from one hand like a prop in a Nike commercial.
She looks up, squints at the building, and then presses the buzzer for flat 3B.
You check the paper in your pocket.
Youâre 3A.
Of course.
Of course sheâs your next-door neighbour.
Of course you almost got killed by a woman who lives a wall away.
You mutter something that mightâve been âthis is fineâ but comes out closer to âJesus Christ,â and roll your last suitcase across the street, head down, as she disappears inside.
ââââââ
You get to your door ten minutes later. You meet your new landlord, a wiry man named Jordi who smells like garlic and is suspiciously eager to explain how to work the washer-dryer (âpress, hold, then beg it to functionâ).
The flat is⌠decent. Small but sunlit, and the kind of charm youâd call ârusticâ if you were in a better mood.
You drop your bags. Collapse onto the IKEA couch that might also be a war crime. Stare at the ceiling.
Your phone buzzes with a âWelcome to Spain!â message from your new jobâs HR chat. Thereâs also a note from your best friend in Hong Kong:
Donât die abroad. That was my thing.
You type back:
Almost got hit by a hot blonde. Might die happy.
No response. Rude.
You sit up. Drag your tired limbs into the shower. Discover the water is either molten lava or Antarctic. Pick lava. Burn your sins away.
When you finally collapse into bed â hair wet, limbs aching â you hear it.
From the other side of the thin wall: a laugh.
Her laugh.
Your new neighbour. The hot SUV menace.
The one who nearly killed you.
You consider banging on the wall.
Instead, you close your eyes, whisper to yourself:
âBarcelona. Day one. Drama: already delivered.â
You fall asleep smiling.
ââââââ
The evening tastes like dust and canned anchovies.
Youâve just finished attempting to set up your Wi-Fi (failed), unpack your Bluetooth speaker (found dead on arrival), and make something resembling dinner (tinned chickpeas and half a tomato). Barcelona, so far, is vibes and violence.
Youâve got music playing faintly off your dying laptop â some sleepy indie track that sounds like rain and unresolved childhood trauma â when someone knocks at your door.
Twice.
Not three times. Not once. Twice.
Itâs a very specific knock. Too intentional to be accidental. Not aggressive enough to be maintenance. Which leaves: cult, murderer, or⌠her.
You open the door. And, of course, itâs her.
Hot SUV girl. From earlier. Your personal near-death experience in high-top sneakers.
Sheâs changed into an oversized hoodie and loose denim shorts, and sheâs holding a bottle of wine â the casual kind of bottle that says, I may be hot, but Iâm also capable of civilised guilt.
âHola,â she says, almost sheepish. Then adds in English, âHi. Again.â
You donât respond. Just lean against the doorframe, one brow raised.
âI was⌠maybe rude earlier,â she offers, raising the bottle. âThis is an apology. For almost, uh⌠flattening you.â
You glance at the wine. Then at her.
âApology accepted. Offer pending.â
âPending?â
âDepends. Is that Rioja or just some tourist trap Tempranillo from the shop around the corner?â
She actually looks embarrassed. Itâs a bit adorable.
ââŚI didnât check.â
You sigh. âAmateur.â Then step aside. âCome in before the hallway starts judging us.â
She blinks. Then smiles. Walks in.
Your flat is still in the early stages of not-quite-home â half-unpacked boxes, suspicious throw pillows courtesy of your landlord, and a lingering scent of jet lag and IKEA cardboard.
She stands awkwardly near the counter as you rummage for two mismatched glasses.
âIâm Alexia, by the way,â she offers, leaning a hip against the counter.
You donât look up. âLike, just Alexia? Or like, Alexia?â
The name clicks â faintly familiar.
You remember your late-night stalk, the vague âIâve seen her somewhereâ itch.
Probably Instagram. Or a billboard.
She hesitates. âUh⌠just Alexia.â
âCool,â you say, pouring the wine. âIâm Y/N. Just Y/N.â
She laughs. âWe sound like Bond girls.â
âSpeak for yourself. I look like Iâve been buried in a suitcase for hours.â
Alexia takes her glass and clinks it against yours, gently.
âTo near-misses and new neighbours.â
You take a sip. Itâs⌠actually good wine.
Suspiciously good.
She watches you. You notice â vaguely â that sheâs got this oddly charming air of someone who doesnât quite know how to be cool in real life, despite very obviously being cool on paper.
âSo, you just moved in?â she asks.
âThis morning. From Hong Kong.â
âWow.â She nods, then adds, âIâve never been. Whatâs it like?â
You pause. Shrug.
âLoud. Fast. Delicious. A little like living inside a neon headache, if the headache could make Michelin-starred dumplings.â
Alexia laughs. Itâs a good laugh â open, unselfconscious.
âAnd now Barcelona.â
âAnd now Barcelona,â you echo. âYou?â
âBorn here. Left for a bit. Came back. Familyâs still close.â
âAnd your hobbies include hitting pedestrians?â
âOnly the cute ones.â
You blink.
Oh.
So thatâs how she flirts.
Weirdly.
Badly.
Endearingly.
You raise an eyebrow. âSo I should be flattered I almost died?â
She smirks. âDepends. Would you have remembered me otherwise?â
âProbably not. I have a very low threshold for chaos.â
âThen I guess Iâm lucky Iâm not subtle.â
Thereâs a beat.
Your glass is half-empty. Her fingers linger on the stem like sheâs fighting the urge to say something else.
âWhat do you do?â she asks.
âTech. Product design. Trying to live slower.â
âAnd Hong Kong wasâŚ?â
âFast. Always fast. I burned out. Left. Now I make less money and hopefully fewer ulcers.â
She nods like she understands. Maybe she does. Youâre not sure.
âAnd you?â you ask.
âFootball,â she says, simply. âI play.â
âAh,â you say, noncommittally. âProfessionally?â
âYeah.â
You wait for elaboration. It doesnât come. Which is either mysterious or evasive â you havenât decided yet.
She looks around your flat. Takes in the still-sealed kitchen appliances, the wall of books you havenât unpacked, the single plant youâve named âDesperation.â
âStill settling in?â
âStill figuring out where the trash goes.â
Alexia chuckles. Then says:
âItâs downstairs. Past the bikes. The door with the broken handle.â
âYou learn this the hard way?â
âIâve lived here four years. I still get it wrong.â
You find yourself smiling.
Itâs been less than an hour, but the air between you is already warmer. Comfortable.
Until she glances at her phone, winces, and says:
âI should probably go. Early training.â
âOf course. Training for⌠football things.â
âFootball things,â she repeats, amused.
She walks to the door. Then pauses.
âHey,â she says. âI meant it â I was really sorry about earlier. I donât usually drive like that.â
âAnd I donât usually throw myself into traffic. So letâs call it even.â
She grins. That same cocky tilt.
âIâll see you around, Y/N.â
âYouâre my neighbour, Alexia. You kind of have no choice.â
She opens the door, glances back once, and leaves.
You close it behind her. Lock it.
Then grab your phone. And google âAlexia Footballer Barcelona.â
And â you see the search result. Alexia Putellas. She has a Wikipedia page. Then you scroll to find the link to her Instagram.
Blue check. National team. Ballon dâOr. The whole damn thing.
You sit back, glass in hand.
Your new next-door neighbour is football royalty.
And also, apparently, allergic to normal flirting.
This city might kill you.
But at least itâll be interesting.
ââââââ
You wake up tangled in linen sheets, a half-dried towel still clinging to your hair like a regret, and one singular thought ringing in your brain like a hungover alarm:
Putellas.
You say it out loud, just to test it.
âPutellas.â
Yup. Still hot. Still confusing.
You grab your phone, thumb already moving with the kind of speed usually reserved for trauma Googling or awkward text re-reads.
Alexia Putellas.
And there it is.
First, the Wikipedia page.
Then, the stats. The awards. The club. The national team. The fact that she is, somehow, the face of Spanish football and also the face of âI brought you wine because I almost ran you over.â
Photos flood your screen. Alexia in red. Alexia in blue and claret. Alexia with the Ballon dâOr. Alexia looking like she moonlights as the final boss in a sports anime. Alexia, stone-faced on the pitch, and then another photo â one from just a few months ago â where sheâs laughing with teammates, wearing a backwards cap and smiling like she owns the sun.
You scroll. You spiral.
Interviews. Highlights. Fans who would sell their kidneys for a blink of eye contact.
You do the math.
You got buzzed into the same apartment building as her while wearing a baggy hoodie that says âCaffeine Dependent Life Form.â She saw your socks. One had a hole.
You drop your phone onto your chest and groan.
Somewhere, God is laughing.
ââââââ
When you finally crawl out of bed, itâs late morning. The light in Barcelona is unfairly pretty. It bounces off the white tiles in your kitchen like a music video, and your half-burnt toast looks almost photogenic in the glow of your terrible decisions.
You make coffee. Strong. Bitter. Punishing.
Youâre staring at your laptop screen â pretending to onboard for your new job while mostly thinking about your neighbour â when you hear a soft, chirping noise from the open window.
You look out.
And there she is.
Alexia. Sitting cross-legged on the rooftop landing between your two apartments. In grey sweatpants and a Barça tee that has seen better days. Hair tied up again. Feet bare.
Sheâs feeding a cat.
Or trying to, anyway.
The cat â a fluffy orange menace with the energy of a disgraced monarch â is sniffing her fingers with the kind of caution usually reserved for explosives and bad Tinder dates.
âMessi,â she calls out, voice gentle.
The cat looks offended.
You lean out your.
âIs it actually named Messi or are you projecting?â
She glances up, blinking like she hadnât realized she had an audience.
âHis nameâs Messi. I didnât name him. He adopted me. Out of pity, I think.â
âPityâs a good motivator,â you say. âItâs why I feed most of my exes compliments.â
Alexia grins. âTough crowd.â
âYou brought me wine. Youâre at least a crowd favourite.â
She tosses a bit of what looks like tuna toward the cat, who considers it, then immediately walks away.
âHe hates me,â she says.
âYou almost ran over his emotional support human. Thatâs bad PR.â
Alexia chuckles. Her face softens in the morning light, the hard lines youâve seen in photos softened by sleep and domesticity.
âWhat are you doing today?â she asks, casually. Like youâve been neighbours for years. Like this is normal.
You sip your coffee.
âTrying not to get fired before I even start. Remote onboarding. Software demos. Minimal crying.â
âAmbitious.â
âAnd you?â
âRecovery day,â she says. âNo training. No media.â
âSo you spend it begging stray cats for affection?â
She shrugs. âTheyâre honest. Mostly.â
You pause. Then lean out your window a bit more.
âSo⌠are you famous-famous? Or like, just Barça-famous?â
Alexia smirks.
âDefine famous.â
âPeople make Twitter threads about your ankles.â
She squints. âHave you been Googling me?â
You feign innocence. âI would never.â
She hums. âThey talk about my ankles?â
âIn great detail.â
âWeird.â
âRight? I mean, theyâre fine. Youâve got⌠efficient ankles.â
She laughs. âEfficient?â
âFunctional. Athletic. I canât believe Iâm reviewing your ankles before noon.â
âIâm flattered. I think.â
Youâre both quiet for a moment.
She shifts on the rooftop, tugs her hoodie sleeves down like sheâs suddenly shy.
âI donât usually tell people right away.â
âThat youâre a global icon?â
âThat I play. Most people already know. You didnât.â
âSorry I failed the test.â
She laughs again. Itâs a sound youâre already starting to like. Too much. Too soon.
âWhat do you do when youâre not playing?â you ask.
âTry to be normal,â she replies. âFail at it. Make playlists.â
âPlaylists?â
âIâm very serious about my playlists.â
âThatâs a red flag.â
âYouâre judging me?â
âAbsolutely.â
âDo you want to listen?â
You blink.
âIs that a line?â
âMaybe.â
You glance at your inbox. Three new onboarding emails and a calendar invite from someone named Klaus.
âI could be convinced,â you say.
She grins.
âMeet me on the rooftop. Bring coffee. Iâll bring trauma bonding via music.â
You hesitate. Just a second.
Then you say, âGive me ten minutes.â
ââââââ
You bring her coffee in a mismatched mug that says âWorldâs Okayest Human,â which feels apt.
Alexia greets you on the rooftop like this is some regular Tuesday thing, like youâve been rooftop-coffeeing for years, not barely thirty-six hours since you first made eye contact while almost becoming one with her carâs bumper.
She has a Bluetooth speaker set up. Not blasting, just ambient enough to fill the silence between sips and looks.
She takes the coffee. Sniffs it first, like sheâs bracing for disaster.
âYou made this?â
âI donât believe in weak coffee or weak-willed baristas.â
She takes a sip. Then another.
âOkay. Fine. You get to stay.â
âBig honour.â
âHuge.â
You sit beside her, shoulder almost brushing hers. The rooftop is sun-drenched, cracked in places, with just enough room for two folding chairs, a plant in a pot shaped like a chicken, and the kind of awkward electricity that only happens when two people are pretending not to flirt.
Her playlist starts. Something indie. A little dramatic. The first lyrics are literally: âIf I died right now, would you even miss me?â
You give her a look. âDo you only listen to women who sound like they ghostwrite poetry for divorcees?â
She grins. âYes.â
You raise your eyebrows. âAnd youâre proud of this?â
She nods. âExtremely.â
The playlist continues. Thereâs a soft remix of RosalĂa next, then a ballad in French you only half understand but fully feel.
You sip your coffee. She drums her fingers on her thigh in time with the beat.
âYou always this dramatic with strangers?â you ask.
âOnly the cute ones who almost get hit by my car.â
âStill milking that, huh?â
âAbsolutely. Youâre never letting it go, are you?â
You smirk. âDepends on how good this playlist is.â
She switches songs. A reggaetĂłn beat kicks in â loud and obnoxious.
âThatâs cheating,â you mutter.
âItâs culture.â
You both fall quiet for a while, watching pigeons flirt on the next rooftop over like itâs a telenovela.
She eventually says:
âItâs weird. I donât usually like new people.â
You blink. âThanks?â
âNo, I meanââ she hesitates, frowns at herself, then shrugs. âIâm private. My world is⌠intense.â
You nod. You get it, even if you donât fully get it yet.
âToo many eyes?â
âToo many expectations.â
âAnd here I am, mocking your playlists.â
âKeeps me grounded.â
You smile. Sip your coffee again to buy time. Sheâs not looking at you anymore, just the skyline, like sheâs counting rooftops.
âBack in Hong Kong, I didnât talk to my neighbours for five years,â you say. âOne of them may have been in the triad. Never confirmed.â
âThatâs dark.â
âThatâs urban living.â
She turns back to you. Her eyes are lighter up close. Hazel with flecks of something unreadable.
âWhy Barcelona?â
You think about lying. Saying something airy like adventure or love of architecture. But sheâs being honest, so you match it.
âBurnout. Five years of too much. Needed to not shatter.â
She nods. âThatâs fair.â
âAnd also the bread.â
âThe bread is elite.â
A pause. She lifts the speaker, scrolls through her phone.
âOkay. Game.â
âGame?â
âI play a song. You tell me what you think it says about me.â
âThis feels like a trap.â
âCoward.â
âFine. Play your little vulnerability mixtape.â
She hits play.
Itâs a melancholy acoustic thing with lyrics about running from feelings and climbing rooftops to scream.
You listen. Wait. Then say:
âYouâre secretly a softie.â
âHmm.â
âYou write dramatic text drafts you never send.â
She laughs. âMaybe.â
âYou once cried during a Pixar film.â
âIt was Coco. That doesnât count.â
âCounts more, actually.â
She grins. Then hits play on the next song.
And thatâs how you spend your afternoon â decoding her taste, mocking her Pilate princess and sad girl eras, offering your own Spotify sins in return. It was actually similar to hers excepts yours has more alt, dark pop and none of the reggaeton.
Somewhere between track five and track six, she says:
âYouâre easy to talk to.â
You look at her. âThatâs not always a compliment.â
âNo,â she agrees. âBut it is with you.â
And thatâs it.
No grand moment. No sweeping gesture.
Just a quiet morning on a Barcelona rooftop, coffee going cold, playlists unraveling between you like threads.
The sun is high.
The cat comes back â briefly â sniffs your chair, then leaves again.
Youâre not sure what this is.
But you know itâs not nothing.
ââââââ
It starts with a text.
Alexia:
You free tonight?
You stare at your phone, lying in bed with a half-eaten croissant and a face mask you bought out of guilt at El Corte InglĂŠs. The clock reads 19:05.
You consider the various ways to read into that message. The infinite subtleties.
You settle on neutral.
You:
Emotionally or logistically?
Alexia:
Both. Iâm making food. Kind of. Come over?
Thereâs a beat. Then a second message:
Alexia:
There will be wine. And witnesses.
You blink.
You:
Whoâs coming? Am I being sacrificed?
Alexia:
Bring snacks. Wear something cute. Youâre meeting the squad.
Ah.
So youâre meeting her friends.
No pressure.
No big deal.
Just the people whoâve probably watched her drag herself through injuries, heartbreak, and a hundred post-match meltdowns. People who call her by nicknames you havenât earned. People whoâll knowâinstantlyâif youâre just a passing flirtation or something a little less deniable.
You panic for a full ten minutes, then throw on a clean T-shirt, jeans that make you feel powerful, and the lipstick shade you save for airport security and minor acts of emotional terrorism.
You knock once on her door.
It opens before you finish the second.
Alexia, in joggers and a cropped tee, blinking at you like she wasnât fully expecting you to show.
âYou came.â
âThereâs wine, isnât there?â
She grins. Steps aside.
Her flat is brighter than yours â partly because itâs on the corner, partly because her walls are covered in chaotic photo collages.
And there â perched on the couch like they own the building â are three women.
One of them looks up first.
Bleach-blonde. Piercings and tattoos. A smile that screams trouble.
âSo,â she says, voice thick with mock innocence. âThis is the American.â
Alexia shoots her a look. âMapi, be nice.â
âIâm always nice,â Mapi LeĂłn says, standing up and pulling you into a surprisingly warm hug. âUnless you hurt her. Then Iâm feral.â
âNoted,â you say, patting her back. âThe threatening is very clear.â
Another girl waves from the behind Mapi. Petite, sunny, chaos behind the eyes.
âIâm Jana,â she says. âAlexiaâs emotional translator.â
âShe has one?â
âYes,â Mapi deadpans. âBecause she communicates like a scared house cat.â
From behind Jana, another girl leans over with a glass of vermut and a raised brow.
âAnd Iâm Patri. The normal one.â
âSheâs lying,â Mapi mutters. âShe once flirted with a DJ by sending her a PowerPoint.â
Patri shrugs. âGoogle Slides. And it worked.â
Alexia is watching you. Carefully. Like sheâs waiting to see if youâll bolt or burst into flames.
You walk further in, drop your snack contribution (a sad cheese board) on the counter, and say:
âSo. Surveillance squad. How do I score?â
Mapi claps. âSheâs funny. Keep her.â
Alexia hides a smile behind her glass.
ââââââ
You all settle in. Thereâs wine. Thereâs tortilla that Alexia claims she made (Jana mutters âher mom made itâ), and pan con tomate thatâs genuinely good enough to forgive the fact that Mapi keeps calling you âSilicon Valley.â
You learn a few things during the night:
Patri is obsessed with reality TV and will die defending Love Island.
Jana once accidentally insulted a refereeâs haircut mid-game in three languages.
Mapi has a shrine to her dog that includes a framed paw print and a candle.
Alexia goes very quiet when sheâs watching you laugh.
Somewhere around the third glass of wine, Jana elbows you.
âYou like her?â
You blink. âSubtle.â
âI donât do subtle.â
You glance at Alexia, whoâs arguing with Patri over how many syllables RosalĂa can fit into a verse.
âI like her,â you say. âEnough to be terrified.â
Jana smiles. âGood.â
âGood?â
âBecause sheâs already gone for you.â
You look back at Alexia. Her eyes meet yours. She smiles â soft and crooked.
Yeah.
Youâre probably gone too.
ââââââ
Barcelona rarely does full drama with its weather.
But when it does?
Itâs Oscar-nominated.
The sky is sulking. Thunder mutters over the rooftops like a tired gossip. Rain lashes against your windows with the type of energy usually reserved for betrayal scenes in telenovelas.
Youâre sitting cross-legged on your couch, laptop dimmed, pretending to work while actually watching rainwater pool in the courtyard below.
Youâre not exactly lonely.
But you are⌠aware of the silence.
A knock sounds.
Not loud. Just⌠there.
You open the door.
And there she is.
Alexia.
Rain-drenched hoodie. Shorts. No umbrella. Holding her phone like it personally betrayed her.
âPowerâs out,â she says, voice pitched like itâs not a big deal.
You blink. âOkay. And?â
âCan I charge my phone?â
You cross your arms. âThis couldnât wait?â
She shrugs. Rainwater drips from her sleeve.
âI got bored.â
You open the door wider. âI feel emotionally manipulated.â
âYou like it.â
You do.
She steps inside, shaking her hoodie out like a wet dog. Her socks are mismatched. Her hair is frizzy. She smells like rain and a faint trace of fabric softener.
âKitchen,â you say. âFar right socket. Itâs the only one that doesnât spark when you use it.â
âComforting.â
âWe like to live on the edge here.â
She plugs her phone in and looks around.
Your flat still has power, miraculously. One lamp glows like a warm secret. The room smells like coffee and uncertainty.
âWhat were you doing?â she asks.
âConsidering whether Iâm a functional adult or just cosplaying one.â
âAny conclusions?â
âNone Iâd put in writing.â
She smiles and flops down beside you on the couch, stealing your throw blanket without asking. Her knee brushes yours.
âYouâre not working,â she observes.
âNeither are you.â
âIâm technically on rest.â
âAnd technically trespassing.â
She stretches, arms overhead, hoodie riding up just enough for you to regret having eyes.
âYouâre not kicking me out.â
âUnfortunately.â
You toss her a spare mug and get up to pour more coffee.
When you hand it to her, your fingers graze. Brief. Barely there.
Still electric.
âYou always this casual about home invasions?â you ask, settling back beside her.
âOnly when the victim is cute.â
âStop.â
âCanât. Itâs a condition.â
âChronic awkward flirt disorder?â
âDiagnosed and proud.â
She sips her coffee. You try not to watch her mouth too closely.
Outside, thunder rolls again. The rain picks up.
âDid you really get bored,â you ask, âor was this your excuse?â
Sheâs quiet. Just for a second.
Then:
âI like being here.â
You glance at her. Sheâs not looking at you, just staring at her hands like they might answer for her.
âWhy?â you ask, gently.
âItâs easy. With you.â
The words hang in the air â fragile, stupid, enormous.
You swallow. âItâs not always easy.â
âI know. But itâs⌠good. Still.â
You shift closer, knee now fully pressed against hers.
âYou couldâve picked anywhere to spend a storm.â
âI picked here.â
You donât kiss her.
Not yet.
But the distance between you shrinks to something stupid and brave.
And when the lights flicker â briefly, then stay on â neither of you moves.
ââââââ
Thereâs something about proximity.
You see Alexia everywhere now â not just physically, but in the way her presence has quietly colonized your routines.
Thereâs the glass container of oranges you find outside your door one morning, no note, just a post-it with a wobbly smiley face.
She shares her Spotify curated private playlist: Sad Girl Spanish Edition.
You text her intervention pending.
She replies with a thumbs-up emoji and a photo of Messi the cat, judging her from a windowsill.
Thereâs her toothbrush, now living in your bathroom like it has rights.
And then thereâs the key.
You give it to her one night â not during a grand gesture, just while sheâs ranting about forgetting her charger again and youâre trying to butter toast.
âYou might as well have a key,â you say, tossing it onto the counter. âYou spend more time here than in your own flat.â
She stops mid-rant. Looks at the key. Then at you.
âReally?â
âUnless you prefer dramatic rooftop entrances.â
She smiles. Soft. Almost shy.
âNo. I like this.â
You donât say what this is. You donât need to.
You start keeping oat milk in the fridge because she pretends not to like regular milk even though she steals your coffee every time.
She pretends not to be sentimental but leaves her favourite hoodie on your chair.
You pretend not to watch her walk around your kitchen like sheâs always belonged there.
Neither of you says anything about the fact that your toothbrushes touch in the cup.
One afternoon, Mapi texts you:
Mapi:
You guys are basically married. Should I start planning the honeymoon or the intervention?
You reply:
Calm down, queer panic brigade.
Mapi:
No fun.
You snort.
ââââââ
She does ask you to come to a match.
Doesnât make a big deal of it. Just drops it into conversation while youâre both folding laundry like a soft-domestic gay rom-com.
âYou should come Saturday,â she says.
âTo the game?â
âYeah. If you want.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou asking me to see you sweaty and aggressive?â
âI thought that was your thing.â
âOnly if you win.â
âNow the pressureâs on.â
You go.
You sit next to Patri and Ona in the stands - they are injured, surrounded by fans wearing her name on their backs. Itâs surreal, a little overwhelming â the chant of Alexia, Alexia bouncing off your ribs.
She plays like sheâs part electricity.
Sharp passes. Clean tackles. That signature posture of intensity that you now recognise as her default setting when sheâs trying not to overthink.
When she scores, she doesnât celebrate toward the cameras.
She glances up at the stands.
Looks for you.
Finds you.
Smiles.
You donât even realise youâre smiling back until Patri nudges you.
âYouâre in trouble,â she says, sing-song.
You are.
That night, she knocks once.
No hoodie. Just leggings and a tank top, post-shower, hair damp and messy.
âI forgot my key,â she says, smirking.
âOr you wanted to be invited in.â
She shrugs. âMaybe.â
You let her in. Make tea. Sit close.
This time, when she leans in â slowly, like sheâs checking the temperature of the room, of your breathing â you donât wait.
You meet her halfway.
Her mouth tastes like mint and something warm. She kisses like she plays â controlled, then sudden. A little unsure, a little intense, all heart.
You kiss her until your tea goes cold.
Then you do it again.
Not because itâs new.
But because it already feels like home.
ââââââ
You find her outside the stadium long after the last chants have faded. Your second FC Barcelona Femeni game.
Sheâs in a tracksuit, damp from the post-game cooldown, hair tied back, cheeks pink from effort. Her duffel bag is slung casually over one shoulder, and sheâs trying to look casual even though her eyes have been scanning the crowd for the last ten minutes.
When she spots you, something unspoken in her posture relaxes.
âHola,â she says.
âHola, superstar.â
She rolls her eyes, but sheâs smiling. Thereâs mud on her shin and a smear of sports drink on her sleeve. Itâs unfair how hot she looks.
âYou scored.â
âWe won.â
âYou waved at me in front of thousands of people.â
She pretends to consider. âYou look very good. It would be criminal not to wave at you.â
She opens the passenger door of her car and gestures.
âCome on. You need churros.â
âIs that an order?â
âMore like a recovery plan.â
You get in.
She drives with one hand on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the radio dial. The windows are slightly fogged, the air thick with post-match adrenaline and the smell of minty shower gel.
âDo you always take girls for post-victory churros?â you ask, trying to sound casual.
She snorts. âOnly my neighbour from 3A.â
You grin. She grins wider.
ââââââ
The xurreria is a neon-lit corner shop that looks like it hasnât changed since the â90s â fluorescent lights, scuffed floors, a grumpy man at the counter who doesnât even blink when Alexia walks in like she owns the place.
âYouâre a regular here?â you ask as she orders for both of you.
âPost-match ritual.â
âYour teammates know?â
âOnly Jana. She hates that I eat sugar. Calls me weak.â
âSheâs not wrong.â
Alexia hands you a paper tray of churros and a plastic cup of thick, sinful chocolate.
âWeakness,â she says, taking a bite, âis relative.â
You sit outside on a damp bench, sugar-dusted fingers brushing occasionally, sharing bites like something from a soft-launch Instagram post.
You should be tired. Youâre not.
âYou good?â she asks.
âBetter than good.â
She nods. âYou looked happy.â
âAt the match?â
âWhen I found you after.â
You pause.
âI was.â
She licks chocolate off her thumb, like itâs the most casual thing in the world, and then says:
âYou looked like home.â
You blink.
âWhat?â
âNothing,â she says quickly, suddenly looking at her hands. âForget it.â
You donât.
ââââââ
Back in the car, she leans her head back against the seat.
âYou wanna come over?â she asks.
âYouâve already invaded my flat.â
âThen come invade mine.â
âIs this a sleepover?â
âCould be.â
âShould I bring pyjamas?â
âOnly if theyâre ugly.â
âI own exclusively ugly pyjamas.â
She smiles. âPerfect.â
You reach over and brush a stray sugar grain off her cheek.
Her eyes flutter shut for a second, like the touch short-circuits her.
When they open, theyâre steady.
âI like you,â she says.
Soft. Like she doesnât want it to break.
You exhale.
âI know.â
âIs that bad?â
âNo.â
âIs this fast?â
âA little.â
âDo you mind?â
You reach over, curl your fingers into hers.
âNot even a little.â
ââââââââ
It happens slowly, then all at once.
Not the falling.
That partâs done.
You fell the moment she said âyou looked like homeâ with sugar on her fingers and rain still tangled in her lashes.
No, what happens now is everything after the fall â the quiet continuity, the dangerous softness of staying.
Sheâs in your bed one morning, half-buried under your duvet, wearing that ratty grey Barça hoodie you once called âan insult to fashion and fibre,â and sheâs still the most beautiful thing youâve ever seen.
Youâre brushing your teeth when she walks in, sleep-puffy and barefoot, muttering:
âYou stole all the covers.â
âYou stole all my serotonin.â
She wraps her arms around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder.
âYou make a good radiator.â
âYou make a good disaster.â
She hums. Doesnât let go.
ââââââ
You both brush your teeth together â she uses the spare, pink one she keeps here now. You think about buying a second one just to make it official.
You find her Spotify playlists on your shared speaker one night.
She catches you scrolling.
âDonât judge me.â
âYou have a playlist called ârunning from feelings while hot.ââ
âItâs accurate.â
You make her a new one.
You call it âstanding still for once.â
She listens to it three times that week.
ââââââ
Mapi comes over to drop off something â she stays for coffee and one episode of a bad true crime docuseries.
Halfway through, she looks between you and Alexia on the couch, your legs tangled like itâs instinct, and says:
âSo⌠this is happening.â
You nod. âI think so.â
Alexia bumps her knee against yours. Doesnât say anything.
Mapi grins. âFinally.â
Then she drinks the rest of your coffee and leaves without saying goodbye.
Alexia teaches you how to say things in Catalan.
You butcher most of them.
âEts preciosa,â she says one night, voice low.
âWhatâs that?â
âIt means youâre messy and you stole all my hoodies.â
âLiar.â
âIt means youâre beautiful.â
You go quiet.
âSay it again,â you ask.
She does. Into your neck. With her hand on your hip. And you believe her, even when your brain canât quite translate it.
ââââââ
The night it clicks, fully, is a Tuesday.
Youâve had a long day. Meetings that couldâve been emails. A migraine forming behind your eyes. Rain again, heavy and constant.
She comes over with pan con tomate and a movie youâve seen a dozen times.
You fall asleep with your head in her lap.
When you wake up â just barely, just for a second â sheâs brushing hair from your forehead and whispering something soft in Catalan you donât understand.
You ask her to say it again.
She doesnât.
She just leans down and kisses you like itâs the only thing sheâs ever been sure of.
ââââââ
You donât remember how long itâs been.
Weeks. Months. Or maybe just the kind of days that stretch in all directions â soft-edged, infinite.
Thereâs no âofficialâ start date.
No declaration on Instagram.
No line in the sand.
But you know it now.
In the way she brings you tea when youâre grumpy.
In how she lets you wear her training jackets before big games.
In the way she sleeps better in your bed than her own.
It was always going to be her.
You just hadnât met her yet.
ââââââ
The thing about slow mornings with Alexia is that they donât feel slow.
They feel like time has stopped â paused, just for you.
The shutters are half-closed, the room washed in that golden light that only Barcelona mornings know how to deliver. Sheâs still asleep beside you, hair fanned out across the pillow like a soft crown, wearing your oversized T-shirt like it was designed just for her.
You donât dare move.
You just watch.
She eventually blinks awake, stretching with that lazy athletic grace that reminds you sheâs a professional athlete who somehow also drools slightly in her sleep.
âYou staring at me?â she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
âJust considering my life choices.â
âAnd?â
âTheyâre excellent so far.â
She smiles into the pillow. âYouâre disgusting.â
âYou like it.â
âUnfortunately.â
You laugh, and she rolls over, hooking her arm around your waist like sheâs afraid you might slip away.
Later, while youâre both nursing mugs of coffee on the balcony, she says:
âI told my mami about you.â
You almost choke. âWhat?â
âJust⌠mentioned. Casually. That I have a neighbour. Whoâs smart. And funny. AndâŚâ
She shrugs, as if the rest doesnât need words.
You lean back against the railing, trying to process the casual weight of
that confession.
âAnd she saidâŚ?â
âShe wants to meet you.â
You blink. âWeâve known each other, what? Two months?â
âFeels longer,â she says, sipping her coffee. âIn a good way.â
Thereâs something terrifying about how easily she says it. How right it feels, sitting here with her, with your knees brushing under the table and the city waking up below you.
ââââââ
You walk to the market together later that morning â her in a hoodie and cap, you in sunglasses and jeans, both trying to look like two normal people and not a very famous footballer with a girl whoâs still learning where the best panaderĂa is.
People stare, sometimes.
She doesnât flinch.
She just reaches for your hand when you least expect it.
âAre weâŚ?â you start, hesitant.
âWhat?â
âSoft-launching?â
She grins. âYou want hard launch?â
âMaybe after another month of churros.â
âDeal.â
ââââââ
That night, she invites you over for dinner â just the two of you.
She cooks. The fish is slightly overcooked.
You eat it anyway, because the way she keeps peeking at you, nervous and proud, is better than any Michelin star.
âItâs bad, isnât it?â she says, halfway through.
âItâs⌠alright.â
âSo bad.â
âOvercooked,â you confirm, laughing.
She throws her napkin at you, then leans across the table and kisses you. Slow. Intentional.
You end up on her couch, legs tangled, her head on your shoulder.
âYou know,â she says softly, âI never do this.â
âCook?â
She laughs. âHey! Youâre mean. But I mean⌠this. Letting someone in.â
You trace a small circle on her arm with your thumb.
âWhy me?â
She hesitates. Then:
âBecause you didnât care who I was. Not at first. You just⌠made fun of my playlists.â
âThey were terrible.â
âAnd you stayed.â
You swallow. âIâm not planning on going anywhere.â
She tilts her head up, eyes bright, as if sheâs trying to memorize you.
âGood,â she whispers.
ââââââ
Later, when youâre back in your flat, lying in your own bed, you hear her laugh through the wall â that soft, unguarded sound that made you fall in the first place.
You smile into your pillow.
Because this isnât just a meet cute anymore.
Itâs late-night groceries and key exchanges.
Itâs bad cooking and soft confessions.
Itâs the quiet, wry, campy miracle of finding someone who feels like home.
ââââââ
Youâre trying to butter toast in a kitchen designed for three and currently occupied by seven.
Jana is standing in the fridge, half-asleep and holding a block of cheese like sheâs discovered God. Mapi is arguing with Alba about how many espressos is too many before noon. Patri is eating cereal with a fork, because spoons have apparently become a myth. Miriam is trying to reheat something with an accent thick enough to make you pause every third sentence. And Alexia?
Alexia is leaning against the counter like itâs a modeling shoot. Hoodie. Shorts. Morning hair. Looking at you like youâre her favourite sunrise.
âStop staring,â you mutter, failing to butter the toast evenly.
âYouâre cute when you struggle,â she replies.
âTell that to my carbs.â
She walks over, takes the knife from your hand, and finishes the toast in two smooth strokes like some kind of domestic lesbian deity.
You blink. âYouâve been practicing.â
She grins. âAlba made me. Said if I was gonna date a woman with standards, I should know my way around gluten.â
From across the room, Alba yells, âI stand by that!â
ââââââ
Itâs day four of the vacation, and the house is chaos in the best way.
Afternoons are spent in swimsuits, sun-warmed and wine-softened. Nights are all card games, outdoor dinners, and sleepy limbs tangled on too-small couches. You and Alexia have claimed the bedroom with the best view â not because of seniority, but because no one was brave enough to interrupt your soft-couple bubble during the room grab.
Everyone knows youâre together now.
Even the older auntie walking her dog by the beach yesterday said, âAh, les novias,â with a knowing smile when you held hands.
No hiding. No soft-launches. No pretending.
Itâs nice.
At lunch, Miriam pulls you aside while the others are setting up the table on the terrace.
Sheâs shorter than Alexia, a little louder, a little more self-assured in her vibe. Sheâs got the air of someone whoâs known Alexia since braces and scraped knees.
âYou make her happy,â Miriam says, handing you a bowl of olives like itâs a peace offering and a judgment tool all in one.
âI try,â you say.
âShe was different before you. More⌠closed.â
You nod. âShe still closes sometimes.â
âAnd you stay.â
âOf course.â
She watches you a moment longer, then nods like sheâs decided something.
âGood.â
You feel like youâve passed a test you didnât know you were taking.
ââââââ
Later that night, thereâs a bonfire on the beach. Patri brings marshmallows. Jana brings a Bluetooth speaker that only plays Queer artists. Mapi brings a box of wine and no plan.
You and Alexia are curled up on a blanket, her hoodie zipped halfway, your legs thrown over hers.
âA year,â she murmurs.
âTwelve months,â you confirm, mock-serious.
âFifty-two weeks of tolerating your playlists.â
âHeyââ
âAnd your three-hour match analysis breakdowns.â
âThat was one timeââ
âAnd the socks you leave in the kitchen.â
âOkay, thatâs on purpose.â
You look at her. Smiling. Soft.
âStill the best year of my life.â
She leans in, kisses you. Gentle. Warm. Certain.
âMe too.â
From behind you, Mapi shouts, âSTOP BEING CUTE, YOUâRE RUINING THE FIREâS EDGE!â
Jana adds, âConfirmed â still gay, still yours!â
You break the kiss, laugh against her mouth.
She doesnât let go.
ââââââ
Later that night, as everyone trickles back toward the house, Alexia wraps an arm around your shoulders and whispers:
âNext year, same place?â
âSame people?â
âSame us.â
You glance up at the sky â stars heavy above, sea whispering below.
âYeah,â you say. âSame us.â
She squeezes your hand.
And you know â this is what home feels like now.
You join Barça and everything is so different from home. The food, the pace of life, the fact that nobody ever seems to be on time. And the touchiness. It's so confusing. Is it friendly? Is it more than friendly? There seems to be no such thing as boundaries with these Spanish girls.
Most surprising of all is how you've found yourself a fast friend in the Barcelona captain, Alexia. Not a day goes by where you don't feature in each otherâs lives, her arm wrapped around your shoulders, your legs intertwined on your couch. And yet still you're taken by surprise when one of the girls makes a comment on a night out about you two dating.
Wordcount: 4.2k
Warnings: 18+ for smut
You find yourself in Barcelona, thousands of miles away from England and all you know. And youâre not sure how you got here.
Okay, well, thatâs a lie.
You know how you got here. Your agent. And you, needing a change of scenery from the wreckage of your dating life left behind in the rainy country after your girlfriend (ex you suppose is the better term now) dropped you like a hot potato for the new signing at her club. That stung. A lot. And seeing them in WSL match-ups was not your idea of a pleasant time.
Which is how Barcelonaâs interest skyrocketed them to the top of your consideration list come contract negotiation time. Arsenal was not happy to lose you. But they couldnât compete with the promise of a new league, new faces, and no run-ins with your ex and her new girl at half field.
But even with your reasons for wanting to come to Spain, itâs still such a major change in your life. Debilitating really. The language. The food. The tardiness. Seriously â how is it that every single Spaniard youâve met is always 5, 10, 15 minutes late? Annoying and yet they also somehow have it come across as endearing. You hate it. Because you know that wonât work for you. Or your perpetually 10-minute ahead of schedule self. Youâd break out in hives if you even tried to be late.
The slower pace of life, now, you could get used to. Midday naps? Yes please. Spending a couple hours making your way through dinner because everyone prioritizes congregating and chatting instead of inhaling food in silence? Also on board.
But the touchiness. You are utterly perplexed. Youâre English. Even a handshake can feel like crossing a personal boundary. But the Spanish. With their legs across your lap. And hands dancing down your arms. And the kisses on the lips.
Youâre taken aback. The team is friendly. Very, very friendly. With each other and with you. You are not sure if youâve found yourself with 15 new girlfriends (based on the level of affection, you think yes), or if this is just the baseline in Spain.
Because youâre pretty sure Mapi is with Ingrid. Like with with.
But as you sit here after team dinner, the crew moving to the nearby club, you see Mapi draped over Patri, the midfielderâs hand tucked between her thighs holding her in place where the defender sits on her lap. But that hand is much, much higher up than would ever be considered appropriate in England. Let alone Mapi sitting on Patriâs lap in the first place!
Your eyes snap to Ingrid who you find smiling, not at all upset. What the hell? Patriâs hand is basically snug between Mapiâs legs, tucked up high and tight. Something that could very well cause a fist fight in England. But Ingrid is laughing, looking light and happy. Â
Alexia slides into the booth next to you. Jolting your thoughts to the other surprising thing about moving to Barcelona: your new friendship with the worldâs best female footballer.
Sheâs nothing like you thought she would be. Not cocky. Not loud. Not competitive (well except on the field). Sheâs soft and quiet and tentative smiles. And broken English making an effort to help you settle into home here in Barcelona.
And you quickly find yourself and her spending an awful lot of time together. At her apartment, with Nala curled in your lap. At your place, with her commandeering your kitchen and filling it with delicious smells. At night when the city goes a little quiet and your thoughts get too loud. At the beach, learning to sink in the sand from the master, her face turned up towards the sun, forcing you to exist in the quiet with her.
Sheâs easily been one of the best parts of coming to the club, aside from the football. She makes you feel like you belong, even if itâs only been 8 weeks. You can see why Lucy once told you that Barcelona was the best place she ever played football. That theyâre a family in a way no other club sheâs been at touches. Because you feel it, even with your limited time here.
You turn your attention back to deciphering the Ingrid/Mapi/Patri debacle when you feel Alexiaâs fingers start tracing shapes over the skin exposed through the rip in your jeans. Your quad tenses at the fluttery feeling before you relax back into the booth with a small exhale.
You can see Alexiaâs small smirk from the corner of your eye. Itâs like she lives for pulling reactions out of you. You huff out a grunt at proving her theory right that you English are rolled a little tight.
You are so focused on dissecting the interactions between Mapi and Patri and Ingrid that you miss the woman walking up to the table, dark hair thrown over her shoulder, smile gracing her painted lips.
âHola,â she says, drawing attention her way. âIâm LucĂa,â she says, looking at you.
You smile back politely, already turning away to study if the way Ingridâs fingers are clenched around her glass is because the condensation is making it slippery or secretly a tell at Patri fondling her girlfriend.
âWould you like to dance?â the woman asks, voice hopeful.
âSheâs taken,â Alexia instantly replies, a slight edge to her tone that has your eyes brought back towards the current situation. Ingrid and her relations with her glass will keep for now.
âYeah, theyâre dating,â Mapi chimes in, pointing to you and Alexia.
The woman frowns slightly but offers a shoulder shrug of acceptance and wanders off back to her friend group.
"We're not dating," you correct.
"Uh, yes we are?" Alexia chimes in, brow wrinkling up adorably.
"What? Since when?" you ask, confused at whatever joke sheâs trying to make.
"Cari, what did you think this was?" she asks gently, laughing lightly, her free hand indicating between the two of you as the hand on your thigh squeeze to emphasize her point.
"You being Spanish! You're all so touchy feely!" you exclaim, voice rising as your hands gesture around.
Alexia laughs, the pads of her fingers pressed to her mouth as if she can stuff her smile back away. "There is a big difference between being touchy with your friends and touchy with your girlfriend.â
âWell tell me the difference then! It all looks the same.â
Alexia leans in, lips close to your ear. âI do not want to take my friends to bed,â she murmurs softly, her hand squeezing fairly high up your thigh in emphasis.
You exhale a breath, fighting the urge to shudder at the whisper of her breath across the shell of your ear. âIf weâre dating, why havenât you kissed me?â you ask breathlessly.
âWeâve kissed,â she asserts.
You roll your eyes. âI thought you Spaniards peck everyone on the lips! Your friends, your teammates, your family, the local bus driver, the busboy, the dog walker.â
She rolls her eyes at your dramatics. âI was waiting for you to indicate you were ready for more. Youâre a little bit like a bird.â
âA bird?â you ask confused.
âFlighty,â she smiles. âFluttery wings that take a few times to land and stay in one place. Easily scared off at quick movements.â
Okay, you feel only slightly attacked for her mentioning your erratic habits. But her gentle smile soothes that burn of truth.
âWeâre dating?â you ask again, confusion still infused in your words.
âSĂâ
âWeâve been on dates?â
âSĂâ
âWhat dates??â
âThat vineyard? That new restaurant with the rooftop garden where we held hands? The road trip up the coast? The farmerâs market? The private boat ride at sunset? I took you to my uncleâs birthday party, the family party?â She states, eyes imploring you to stop her at any point as she racks up all the different dates youâve been on.
âWhat! I thought you were just being super friendly because Iâm new to the team.â
âCari, no!â she laughs. âNobody gets invited to my family parties, not even Irene. I keep football and my personal life pretty separate.â
Oh, that changes your perspective a little. But how were you supposed to know that? What sheâs saying makes sense though. You yourself thought that the vibes were pretty romantic during that boat ride at sunset, just the two of you and the captain. And you may or may not have watched her as the setting rays bathed her gold and desired to kiss her when she smiled at you so openly.
âWell shit, Iâve been dating Alexia Putellas this entire time and had no fucking clue,â you state in disbelief. âHowâd I pull that off?â
She chuckles and pulls you into her side by your belt loops, hip nestling up against hers as her arm slides over your shoulder. âI didnât realize you English were so oblivious.â
âHey!â you say in mock irritation. âWeâre just a little emotionally stunted, thank you. Not every culture can be so touchy feely as you Spanish. It would be too confusing. Imagine the entire world having to play this game.â
âWhat game?â she murmurs, face close.
âAre they just Spanish or are they dating?â
She laughs into the crook of your neck, body shrugging up and down with her chuckles.
And youâre thinking that if you are dating Alexia, itâs about time you enjoy some of those perks, sliding a hand into her hair and around the back of her neck. You pull her head up to yours, lips descending to capture hers in a proper kiss.
Untangling the thread between Mapi and Ingrid and Patri can wait for another day.
Right now, youâre solely focused on convincing Alexia that now that you are aware of your dating status, you are loudly indicating you are ready for her to show you the differentiation between friend and girlfriend.
The whole taking you to bed part.
Stat.
---------------------------
You watch her, reluctantly pulled onto the dance floor by an eager Jana.
Alexia has a hard time saying no to the kids. Itâs one of the things you found most endearing about the legendary captain when you first joined Barça. Lucy had mentioned that youâd find the atmosphere different from the English clubs youâve both filtered through in your careers.
So, you were expecting a bit of a closer relationship between these long-standing players. But you werenât expecting her, Alexia. Sheâs an untouchable figurehead in recent years with her Ballon dâOr wins and countless others â Champions League, Nations League, World Cup.
You arenât a stranger to success. The back-to-back Euros can attest to that.
But, still, she commands attention and respect at a frequency that is unmatched in your industry. Youâve yet to hear a single bad thing about her from teammates or rivals alike. With so many strong personalities and ultra-competitive women in the field, that is exceedingly rare. To have nobody who has a bad word to mouth about you.
You canât even claim that. And youâre one of the happy-go-luckiest bitches on the pitch, in your humble opinion.
From her abbreviated movements at the edge of the group, you can tell that Alexia is not wholly comfortable out there on the bass-thumping dance floor. Still, she made the effort, not wanting to tell Jana no.
 But, your patience has worn thin.
Alexia dropped a bomb on you earlier. You two are dating. And you mistakenly assumed that meant that she would swoop you away to do something with that information.
But no. Instead, Jana asked her dance. And she said yes.
Alexia went ahead and sauntered over to the dance floor as if your world hadnât been cracked wide open in the last hour, gaining yourself a world-class footballer girlfriend who you had no idea was already yours.
While you usually love nights out with your new teammates, this new family youâve found yourself part of, tonight is not one of those nights.
Because since Alexia confirmed you two are dating, have been dating for weeks, all you can think about is taking her to bed. Or rather, her taking you. Whichever way she wants it, youâre not fussed.
You just want her. Now. Not after another hour or two of the girls jamming to the latest hot pop at the club.
You down your drink and push up to stand, pulling your blouse hem down from where itâs risen.
Enough. Itâs time for you and the girlfriend you've just been informed you have to have a little bit of alone time. Youâve been patient. More than.
It's been at least four songs.
And now that you're allowing yourself to properly look at Alexia, really linger since it can't be considered crossing a boundary when she's your girlfriend, you are incredibly turned on.
Her jeans sit low on her hips, drawing your eyes to the way the accentuate the curve of her ass before falling off into wide pant legs.
The white crop top looks like it's been painted on, tight and bright and a beacon calling at you through the crowd. You need no confirmation that she isn't wearing a bra. Her nipples have no problem bearing that truth to you.
You nudge Mapi with a finger to her ribs. The defender grunts at you but reluctantly stands when you motion for her to let you out of the booth. You are a woman on a mission. A very important mission to get into one Miss Putellas' pants.
She catches your eye from across the room as you start threading between tables and bodies, destination set on her. When an oblivious man slides in front of you, causing you to pull up short to avoid touching his sweat-drenched shirt, you lose eye contact. And once you've side-stepped that mess of a man you see that someone else has caught your girlfriend's attention in your absence.
Or rather, someone has stepped up to command her attention. And Alexia is too damn polite for her own good.
You sigh and shake your head in a mix of annoyance and fondness at this woman who is shockingly yours.
You can tell by the way Alexia's eyes roam away from this stranger every few seconds to scan the crowd that she really would like to be out of this conversation. But the woman is just too damn polite to walk away.
And so, as her girlfriend, it is your duty to save her.
By the time you make it across the dance floor the man has his hand on her forearm and you can visibly see Alexia shrink away, unease leaking from her curled in posture and too tight smile.
You walk up like a woman possessed, shoulders thrown back and chin raised high. You barge through the man's arm, separating the tether between the two.
"Hey!" he shouts affronted.
You pay him no mind, instead wrapping a hand around Alexia's waist and turning her to lean up and whisper in her ear, "Let's go home."
She looks at you and nods in relief.
The man is still speaking for some strange reason. You just grab your girlfriend by her wrist and gently pull towards the exit, walking past the team booth and snagging her purse as you go. Your feet don't even stop.
You can feel Alexia's grin from behind as you break out into the fresh air, taking a deep breath. So much better.
Alexia grins at you, reaching her hand down to grab yours as you walk down the street, music fading with every step.
"My place or yours?" you ask, eyes dropping to gaze at her lips.
"Mmm, mine," she teases with a wink. "Bigger shower."
You moan low under your breath at the visual of her in the shower pressed up against the tiles. The things you'd like to do to her.
Barely maintaining control of your spiking arousal, you speed walk your way to Alexia's apartment, practically dragging the laughing midfielder along behind you.
Her apartment door swinging shut behind you with a firm thump pulls you out of your stupor. There are no audiences here, no grubby club goers, no teammates vying for Alexia's attention.
It's just you and her, your girlfriend. That word, even if uttered only in your head, sets you spinning in the most delicious way.
You can see her pupils dilate as you stalk towards her, shoes discarded, jacket dropped to the floor.
Hands drag through her hair. She wore it down tonight, and she looks so pretty with it that way. You're not sure you've told her that in the span of time between knowing that was not an appropriate comment to make to your captain and learning said captain apparently is also your girlfriend.
Your grip tightens slightly, dragging her head down as you claim her lips.
She moans into your mouth and the vibration has you groaning into her, wrecked at the knowledge that she's just as turned on as you are.
You shuffle the two of you towards her bedroom, chuckling slightly at how you know exactly where that is because you two have had sleepovers in her bed before.
How incredibly dense could you have been? As if sleeping in Alexia Putellas' bed was just a run-of-the-mill action from a captain looking out for the new signing. Stamp "cabrona" on your forehead and mail you back to England.
This girl must have the patience of a saint. To put up with oblivious you for so damn long.
And here and now, watching how her body turns pliant under your hands and lips, you realize that she probably would have waited an inordinate amount of time more waiting for you to make the first move.
Alexia Putellas, Miss Ballon d'Or herself, football legend, Catalan goddess, prefers to give up control rather than take it.
It sends you soaring as you press her down into the bed as she fucking whimpers at the contact.
"Ale," you murmur, drawing back to look at her lust-hazed eyes.
She blinks up at you. "ÂżQuĂŠ?"
"You're my girlfriend," you state with awe, hands trailing down her abs as you sit up, settling back into her lap.
She bites back a groan, hands settling on your waist. "SĂ," punctuated by a thrust up of her hips, teeth worrying her bottom lip.
"Is this okay?" you check softly, grinding down into her gently.
That does draw a strangled noise somewhere from the back of her throat. Her eyes are wild as the find your gaze, head nodding insistently. "Por favor," she begs. "TocamĂŠ."
You lean down, capturing her in another kiss as your hand trails up her arm, fingers delicately trailing along her exposed collar bone before landing on her breast.
She arches into the touch and you squeeze lightly, taking delight in how she turns her head into your neck to catch her breath.
You feel her own fingers start an exploration of your body.
But the clothes separating the two of you really, really need to go. You pull back and yank your blouse of your head in one motion.
Alexia's eyes feast on your chest, hands reaching out to cup you through your bra.
Your head falls back as you moan. Her touch is soft, slightly hesitant. Your hands cup her own, pushing her to touch you more insistently. You like it a little rough. And it's better she understand that up front.
The midfielder chuckles into your neck, fingers flipping one of your bra cups down to fully seat you in her hand before her fingers reach out to pinch a nipple.
Fuck, yes. That's it.
She has distracted you from your original purpose, though, to divest her of her clothing.
You reluctantly climb off her.
And she whines, hands reaching to pull you back onto her.
"Clothes," you state. Getting even that one word out is difficult when your mind is so wholly focused on the throb between your legs. All of her touches, her huffs of air against your skin, her thrum of energy has landed firmly between your legs.
You kick your pants and underwear down your legs and onto her bedroom floor.
As you move to pull off her jeans, you can feel the glide of your arousal coating your thighs as you move.
You are ridiculously wet.
You've been wet since the club. And you'd be willing to bet if you slipped a hand down between Alexia she would be as well.
Which is a good idea.
You discard the rest of her clothing somewhere near yours and pounce on her, pushing her back to lay down as you mount her, legs slotting on either side of her.
She can feel how wet you are in the glide against her abs. She clenches the muscles in response and groans into your mouth, reaching up to pull you back down to her mouth.
"Please," she whispers. "I need you."
Your hand is descending before she finishes speaking. Her wetness engulfs your fingers the second they find a home between her thighs.
She gasps as you make contact, a hand threading through your hair and pulling lightly. "Yessss."
Hearing her so affected at just an initial touch has your body running hot.
You paint kisses down her shoulder that quickly turn to nips when on the first one she moans at the bite.
Fingers drag through her, twirling and circling and spinning Alexia tighter and tighter.
She's panting into your neck at this point, moans spilled into your skin.
And you absorb them, let them run down your nervous system until you're just about there with her, grinding down on her thigh in a poor attempt at relieving the ache settled low in your stomach.
"Don't stop," she demands, eyes screwed shut as her thighs start to tense. "Don't stop, don't stop."
Your forearm flexes as you keep up the pace, other hand gripping her opposite hip to anchor her down as those hips start to gyrate the closer she gets to release.
You can hear the desperation in the noise escaping her. Not really moans anymore, definitely not words. Really just breathy, whining things at this point.
She raises the thigh you're pressed up against as you push her closer to the edge, thigh full on tensed. The way she pushes up into your clit, unintentional but still somehow hitting the exact spot you need, pulls a filthy moan out of you.
She finds her words again at that.
"Cari, look at me," she whispers.
You didn't even realize your eyes had closed. But you listen, finding her gaze easily.
The hunger you find there as her hands come to rest on your hips, pulling you forward and pushing you backward as you ride her thigh, has you careening towards your orgasm faster than you've ever experienced before.
You thought you were leading this dance. And you were. Still are.
But your moan awoke something in her that has her needing to wrap her body around yours and pull you over the cliff with her.
Your hips are working in rhythm with her hands, pulling you up with every pass of your clit over her thigh. Until she takes control of your rhythm, slowing it down, letting your body drag slowly, elongating the contact.
It causes your hips to stutter, the rhythm of your hand faltering for a second before you press firmer against her and start again.
She gasps at that. Pushes her body up into you, thigh included.
You can't take anymore. You're too far gone.
Your hips cant down onto her leg, taking what you need. Your fingers on her involuntarily speed up as your body crashes towards your peak.
She whispers it. Not for performance. Just out of desire to care for you. "Let go, I've got you."
And you do. You come in a crashing wave of heat, hips humping into her, body shaking as the stimulation becomes too much for your poor clit.
She captures your moaning mouth into a deep kiss, hand cradling your head.
Your fingers never stop.
She'll marvel at that later.
But for now, she follows you into orgasm, your sounds amplifying the pleasure for her. Where she pulled low, rumbling moans from you. Your fingers pluck high, sweet sighs from her.
You gently carry her back down, fingers trailing off to muted movement, just connection not intention.
Her final sigh is her loudest. A worn out huff of air that relays how much her body needed that release, muscles now lax and loose.
Alexia pushes you onto your back before she pillows her head on your shoulder and throws a leg over your hip.
It's comfortable and intimate all in one. You're close to drifting off. You can feel the haze closing in as your body starts to lose the battle with your incoming post-orgasm coma.
"'M might be a bit slow with the Spanish things," you slur into her hair. "You might need to explicitly spell things out for me, love. Otherwise next thing I know you'll hand me a flower and all of a sudden I've missed that we're now married."
She laughs at that, rich and full.
You drift off to sleep with a smile on your lips, her laugh in your ears, her shampoo in your nose, and Alexia wrapped in your arms.
Youâve just moved back to Barcelona with your four year old daughter, and life has been all about her since the day she was born. Your long time friend Alba thinks itâs about time you started focusing on yourself again, especially when it comes to dating. Sheâs always loved to meddle in your love life, and now sheâs pushing harder than ever.
The problem? The person sheâs nudging you toward is her sister, charming, cocky, and exactly the kind of complication youâre not sure youâre ready for. Dipping your toe back into the dating pool is one thing⌠diving headfirst into something with Albas sister known for casual flings is another.
Part 2
Warning: Sex
You werenât supposed to be here for long. Just a quick coffee stop before work, in, out, and on your way. The tiny cafĂŠ on the corner was already buzzing with the pre work crowd, the smell of freshly ground beans clinging to the air. You shuffled forward in line, scrolling through your phone, half awake and in desperate need of caffeine.
âLong time, no supermarket.â
You froze, the voice sparking instant recognition. Lifting your head, you found Alexia standing a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of a black bomber jacket, hair pulled back into a low bun. She was leaning casually against the counter, a paper cup already in hand, watching you with that infuriatingly self assured smile.
You narrowed your eyes, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you with the faintest curve. âDo you just⌠appear in places like some sort of overly confident apparition?â
Alexiaâs smirk widened. âOnly when fate calls for it.â
âThatâs twice now youâve used fate as an excuse,â you countered, stepping forward as the line moved. âStarting to sound like you believe it.â
âMaybe I do,â she said easily, eyes still fixed on you. âOr maybe I just like the idea of running into you in random places.â
You huffed a quiet laugh, more amused than you wanted to admit. âIf this is your way of trying to make it look like youâre not stalking me, you might want to work on your subtlety.â
Her gaze flicked over you once, deliberately slow, before she took a sip of her coffee. âOh, Iâd be much more obvious if I was stalking you.â
You raised an eyebrow, equal parts unimpressed and intrigued. âGood to know.â
The barista called your order, and you stepped forward to collect your cup. When you turned back, Alexia was still there, still leaning against the counter like she had nowhere else to be.
âYou on your way to work?â she asked.
âYes,â you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. âSome of us have normal jobs that donât involve stadium lights and screaming fans.â
âNormalâs overrated,â she replied, falling into step beside you as you pushed open the cafĂŠ door.
You shot her a sidelong look. âAre you following me now?â
âIâm walking the same way,â she said, her tone deliberately innocent, though the glint in her eyes told you otherwise. âCoincidence.â
âYou really donât like losing, do you?â you asked.
Her answering smile was slow, deliberate. âNot even a little.â
You shook your head, sipping your coffee as the two of you kept walking. Somehow, she made coincidence feel intentional. Alexia matched your pace easily, hands still tucked into her jacket pockets, her stride unhurried.
âSo,â she began, âwhatâs the most rebellious thing youâve ever done at work?â
You frowned, glancing at her. âAt work? Iâm a teacher. My version of rebellion is using the good stickers when the school says theyâre for âspecial occasions only.ââ
Her mouth quirked up. âRisk taker. Dangerous.â
âAnd you?â you asked, arching an eyebrow. âWhatâs your wildest workplace rebellion? Wearing mismatched socks to training?â
Alexia grinned, that confident edge still there but softened with genuine amusement. âI once told the manager I had a physio appointment... I went for pancakes.â
You snorted. âWow. The danger. The deceit.â
âI know,â she said gravely, but her eyes were sparkling. âI live on the edge.â
The two of you fell into a rhythm your teasing met with her quick wit, her stories punctuated by your dry commentary. You hadnât expected her to be funny. Charming, yes. Confident, obviously, but she had a knack for landing the kind of quiet, understated punchlines that caught you off guard and made you laugh before you could stop yourself.
By the time you reached the corner where your paths would split, you were almost reluctant to stop.
âWell,â you said, nodding toward your street, âthis is me.â
Alexia tilted her head, studying you for a beat longer than necessary. âGuess Iâll have to rely on fate again, then.â
You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched. âOr, you know, you could just⌠not.â
Her smile deepened, just enough to feel like sheâd scored a small victory. âWhereâs the fun in that?â she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your coffee and the realisation that you were still smiling.
đ§đź
It happened three days later.
Youâd stopped by the small, quiet park near your apartment after work, needing a breather before heading home where your mother waited with Aurora. The sun was low, painting everything gold, and you were content just sitting on a bench with your book, letting the noise of the day fade.
âEither youâve got a habit of showing up in my favourite places,â came a familiar voice from behind you, âor weâve got some very cooperative fate on our hands.â
You didnât have to turn around to know. âStarting to think youâve got a GPS on me, Putellas.â
When you glanced up, she was already settling onto the other end of the bench, effortlessly comfortable like sheâd been invited. She was in training gear this time, hair still damp, clearly fresh from practice.
âNo GPS,â she said, leaning back with a little smirk. âJust really good timing.â
You closed your book halfway. âYou realise this is bordering on suspicious.â
âSuspicious?â She tilted her head, pretending to think. âOr⌠convenient?â
You gave her a look. âDepends on your definition of convenient.â
She grinned, but this time there was a softness under it. âMineâs getting to talk to you without having to bribe my sister into arranging it.â
That caught you off guard the ease in her voice, the way she wasnât hiding behind the usual cocky quips. âSo this isnât just your standard charming athlete routine?â you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully.
Alexia chuckled. âI mean⌠I can still be charming if you want. But no. Iâm just trying to get to know you.â
You studied her for a moment, weighing the sincerity against the smooth delivery. But it didnât feel like an act. "Alright,â you said slowly, closing your book. âOne question. Thatâs it.â
She looked like sheâd just been handed a penalty kick in an empty net. âOnly one?â
âMake it count.â
Alexia leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving yours. âWhatâs the one thing youâd drop everything to do, if you could?â
It was so far from the flirty banter youâd been expecting that you blinked and you had the sneaking suspicion she was paying very close attention to your answer. You leaned back against the bench, considering her question. âDrop everything? As in⌠no responsibilities, no planning, no consequences?â
âExactly,â Alexia said, watching you like she was trying to read the thoughts forming in your head.
You exhaled slowly, eyes drifting toward the orange tinted skyline. âI think⌠Iâd get on a train. Just pick a direction and go. No destination, no schedule. Just⌠see where I ended up.â
Her lips curved, not quite a smile but close. âThatâs⌠very you.â
You raised an eyebrow. âVery me? You barely know me.â
âNot true,â she countered. âIâve noticed things. You like control, but you crave a little chaos. Youâre careful⌠but youâd jump if the moment was right.â
The accuracy made you blink. âThatâs oddly specific for someone whoâs talked to me, what, three times?â
She shrugged, but her eyes held yours without wavering. âIâm a good observer.â
âAnd what about you?â you asked, tilting your head. âIf you could drop everything?â
Her answer came without hesitation. âTravel, but not for football. Just for me. Somewhere quiet, somewhere no one knows my name.â
You could hear the weight in it, the truth behind the wish and for the first time, the wall of effortless confidence she carried seemed thinner, more human. âGuess weâre both running away in our hypothetical scenarios,â you said lightly, trying to pull the mood back before it got too heavy.
She chuckled. âMaybe, or maybe weâre just picking the kind of freedom we canât usually have.â
It was quiet for a moment, not awkward, just charged. You found yourself wondering what it would be like to talk to her like this without the interruption of real life looming in the background.
But before you could say anything else, she pushed herself up from the bench. âAlright. Iâll let you get back to your book before you accuse me of stalking again.â
You smirked. âNo promises I wonât.â
Alexiaâs grin flashed as she started walking backward down the path. âSee you around, mystery train girl.â
And then she was gone, leaving you with the faintest, most inconvenient thought. You wanted to see her again.
đ§đź
It happened yet again the following week, and completely by accident.
Youâd ducked into a small, hole in the wall cafĂŠ near the school for a much needed caffeine boost before tackling the last of your marking. It wasnât your usual spot, but the place smelled like fresh croissants and the rain outside had made it too inviting to pass up.
You were halfway through ordering when a familiar voice floated in from behind you.
âCareful, youâre going to start making this a habit.â
You turned, and there she was hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing a rain spotted hoodie and jeans, looking far more approachable than the billboard version of her you were used to seeing. You shook your head. âIf youâre about to claim this is your cafĂŠ, too, Iâm starting to think youâve been following me since the supermarket.â
âI told you, no GPS,â she said, stepping past you to greet the barista by name. âJust fate being generous.â
âGenerous isnât the word Iâd use,â you said, but you couldnât quite hide your smile.
When you reached for your card to pay, the barista shook their head. âShe got it,â they said, nodding toward Alexia, who had already tapped her own card on the reader without you noticing.
âReally?â you asked, raising an eyebrow.
âConsider it a public service,â she replied, taking both cups when they were ready. âYou looked like you needed this more than I did.â
And before you could argue, she was heading toward a corner table by the window, glancing back only once to make sure you were following. You told yourself you could have taken your coffee to go. You could have, but you didnât.
She slid one cup across to you when you sat down. âSo, mystery train girl⌠whatâs on your schedule today besides marking papers and accidentally running into me?â
You sipped, pretending not to notice the amused glint in her eyes. âIâm starting to think youâre the one accidentally running into me.â
Alexia leaned back in her chair, a lazy confidence in her posture. âIf I were trying, youâd know.â
âCocky,â you said.
âAccurate,â she corrected, smiling and then, almost unexpectedly, she launched into a story about her first disastrous attempt at cooking for her teammates complete with sound effects and exaggerated hand gestures and you found yourself laughing. Actually laughing.
Youâd known she could be charming. You hadnât expected her to be genuinely funny, the kind of funny that snuck up on you and made you forget youâd been tired, or stressed, or wary of her attention in the first place.
By the time the rain had eased outside, you realised youâd been sitting there for nearly an hour and worse you werenât entirely ready for it to end.
You glanced at your phone mid-laugh and felt your stomach drop.
The time glared back at you.
âShit,â you muttered under your breath, already gathering your bag.
âIâm late,â you said, standing so fast your chair scraped against the floor.
âLate for what?â she asked, leaning forward like she expected a real answer.
But you werenât about to explain. âDoesnât matter. Iâve got to go. Thanks for the coffee reallyâ You were already halfway to the door, shrugging into your coat. âIâll, uh⌠see you around.â
You didnât wait for her reply, just pushed out into the damp street, the rush of cool air hitting you like a slap. Your pace quickened automatically, legs eating up the pavement as you muttered at yourself under your breath.
Of all days to lose track of time.
Aurora loved her new nursery too much sometimes. Sheâd pout if you came to collect her before she was done building something elaborate in the block corner with her favourite friend, but heaven help you if you were late. If she was one of the last children sitting at the table with the nursery staff tidying up around her? Youâd never hear the end of it all evening.
You pictured it now the narrowed eyes, the unimpressed little sigh, the dramatic slump of her small shoulders. The child had a flair for theatre, and you had no one to blame but yourself.
So you pushed on, coffee cup still warm in your hand, cursing the fact that Alexiaâs ridiculous cooking story had been so funny youâd forgotten about the clock entirely.
By the time you reached the nursery, you were a little out of breath from half-jogging the last stretch. You spotted Aurora instantly through the big front windows, sitting at the craft table with her friend, a glue stick in one hand and what looked suspiciously like more glitter than paper in front of her.
The moment she clocked you, her eyes widened not in delight, but in dramatic disbelief.
âYou late,â she announced as soon as you stepped inside, hands going straight to her hips.
âIâm two minutes late,â you said, holding up your fingers for emphasis as you signed her out with the staff.
âStill late mama,â she countered, shaking her head like she was deeply disappointed in your life choices. âI was the third last one here.â
You bit back a smile. âTragic.â
âIs tragic,â she said with all the gravity of someone announcing the end of the world, before brightening as she grabbed her bag. âBut⌠I made you something.â
She held up a glitter covered piece of paper with a vague heart shape in the middle. It left a dusting of sparkles all over your hands when you took it, and you knew your kitchen table was about to suffer the same fate.
âSee? Now you forgiven,â she added as if she was the one doing you a favour.
âLucky me,â you said, hoisting her bag onto your shoulder.
She chattered all the way home, completely forgetting her earlier indignation, while you listened and nodded in the right places grateful youâd made it in time, even if just barely.
Alexia and her smirk could wait. Aurora came first. Always.
You step inside your apartment with Auroraâs small hand firmly wrapped in yours, the soft click of the door closing behind you signaling the start of your familiar evening routine. The scent of home, faintly of lavender from the diffuser and last nightâs dinner lingering in the air settles around you both like a warm blanket.
Aurora immediately lets go of your hand and dashes to her little play corner in the living room, where her toys are scattered in a happy mess. You smile, watching her animated as she builds towers with blocks and makes up stories with her stuffed animals. Sitting down on the floor beside her, you join in, letting yourself get caught up in the simple joy of her laughter and wild imagination.
After a while, you gently remind her itâs time for dinner. Aurora protests with a playful whine but follows you into the kitchen, hopping onto her booster seat at the table. While you prepare something quick but nutritious usually a little pasta with sauce or some veggies and chicken Aurora chats about her day, her eyes bright as she recounts small adventures and new friends.
Once dinner is finished and the dishes are tidied away, itâs time for the bath. Aurora splashes happily, making a game of pouring water and blowing bubbles, and you keep an eye out to make sure the water isnât too hot. Towelling her off and wrapping her in her favourite fluffy towel, you head to her bedroom, the soft glow of a nightlight already casting gentle shadows on the walls.
She climbs into bed as you sit beside her, pulling a picture book from the shelf. Tonightâs story is one of magic and kindness a tale sheâs heard many times but never tires of. Your voice softens with each page turn, the rhythmic cadence of the story weaving a peaceful spell.
When the final page is turned, you tuck her in tightly, smoothing down her hair and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Auroraâs eyelids flutter closed, the dayâs energy finally spent.
âGoodnight, my little star,â you whisper, standing and quietly leaving the room, the door left slightly ajar so you can hear her steady breathing as she drifts to sleep.
đ§đź
The morning light filtered softly through the classroom windows as your students filed in, their chatter and footsteps filling the room with familiar energy. You settled at your desk, organizing papers and preparing for the day ahead when a familiar voice interrupted your focus.
âKnock knock,â Alba teased, appearing at the door with her trademark grin.
You looked up, raising an eyebrow. âMorning. Whatâs up?â
She sauntered over, dropping her bag by your desk. âSo⌠about your little coffee date with Alexia.â
Your head snapped up, surprise flickering across your face. âDate? It wasnât a date. We just happened to be at the same cafĂŠ, thatâs all.â
Alba laughed softly, clearly amused. âUh-huh. Thatâs what you say, but apparently, you caused quite the stir.â
You sighed, crossing your arms. âI donât know what youâre talking about. It was just coffee.â
She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. âYeah, well, Alexiaâs been asking about you. Wanting to know if you're ok after your sudden quick exitâ
You shook your head, trying to keep your tone steady. âLook, Alba, you know Iâm not interested in anything right now. I barely have time to breathe, let alone date someone like her.â
Albaâs grin softened. âFair enough, but youâre not as good at hiding things as you think.â
You rolled your eyes but couldnât suppress a small smile. âThanks for the vote of confidence.â
She gave you a playful nudge on the shoulder. âAnytime. Now, letâs get through the day before Alexia shows up with another surprise visit.â
You chuckled, shaking your head as Alba left the room, already plotting her next move.
đ§đź
By the time you got Aurora into bed that night, your patience felt like it had been stretched paper thin.
From the moment youâd picked her up from nursery, it had been one battle after another, her refusing to hold your hand crossing the road, deliberately stomping through a muddy puddle despite you warning her not to, refusing dinner, splashing half the bathwater onto the floor, and flat out ignoring you when you told her it was time to get into bed.
It wasnât that she was bad, she was four, but today, sheâd pushed every button you had, and you were running on fumes.
When you finally closed her bedroom door, you just stood there for a moment in the hallway, breathing in the silence like it was oxygen. Then you wandered into the living room and sank onto the sofa, elbows on your knees, head in your hands.
The exhaustion wasnât just physical it was the kind that sat in your bones. The kind that made your eyes sting, your throat tighten. You were so close to crying you could already feel the lump forming in your chest.
And then a knock at the door.
It startled you, sharp against the quiet. You froze for a moment, torn between pretending you werenât home and actually answering it. Whoever it was, you werenât sure you had the energy to deal with them, but the knock came again, softer this time, almost tentative.
You drag yourself off the sofa and pad to the door, still unsure whether youâre ready for human interaction.
When you pull it open, you blink in surprise.
Alexia is standing there in jeans and a hoodie, hair pulled back, looking nothing like the poised image youâd seen splashed across sports headlines. In one hand, sheâs holding a bottle of wine. She doesnât say anything just lifts it slightly in a silent offer, one brow raised as if to ask, Well?
For a second, you just stare at her, mind catching up. Youâre not sure whether your pulse is reacting to the wine⌠or to her.
You bite the inside of your cheek, weighing it up. You could send her away and crawl into bed, or you could let her in and maybe forget about the day for a while.
Without a word, you step aside.
Her mouth curves in a small, knowing smile, and she slips past you into the apartment like sheâs done it a hundred times before. Still no words between you, just the quiet scrape of the door closing and the faint clink of glass as she sets the bottle down on your kitchen counter.
She moves with a casual confidence, already scanning for glasses as if sheâs in her own place. Youâre left leaning against the door, wondering when exactly she learned to read you so easily.
You push yourself away from the door and cross the room, your bare feet quiet against the floor.
Alexiaâs already found two glasses from the cupboard, impressive, considering youâd have had to think about where they were. She glances up at you briefly, that same half smile tugging at her lips as she twists the corkscrew into the bottle.
Still, she doesnât speak.
You watch her pour the wine, the deep red swirling into each glass, and when she slides one across the counter toward you, your fingers brush as you take it. Thereâs something almost deliberate about the way she lets the contact linger for half a second too long.
You take a sip before saying anything. The warmth hits instantly, both from the wine and from her being here, uninvited but somehow exactly what you needed.
"Long day?" she asks finally, voice low but not prying.
You huff out something thatâs half a laugh, half a sigh. "Something like that."
She doesnât push, just nods and takes her own drink, leaning a hip against the counter like sheâs perfectly content to wait you out and maybe thatâs what makes you stay put instead of retreating to your sofa. Because right now, with her here, it doesnât feel quite as heavy.
Alexia tilts her head, studying you like sheâs trying to work out the exact balance between giving you space and pulling you out of whatever knot your day tied you into.
âSo,â she says, her tone lighter now, âdo you always look like youâve just survived a small natural disaster, or is tonight special?â
You glance at her over the rim of your glass, managing a dry laugh, âIf youâre trying to cheer me up, thatâs⌠one way to go about it.â
A smirk tugs at her mouth. âHey, I didnât say you look bad. Just like someone who needs a wine.â She swirls her wine, watching the liquid as if the answer might be in there. âIâve had days like that. Match goes badly, you just want to go home and switch off, but then the dog knocks over your dinner and you realise youâve got no clean socks. That sort of day.â
You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. âYou? The Alexia Putellas? Bad days?â
She shrugs, feigning modesty. âHard to believe, I know, but even the greats have moments where the universe conspires against them.â
You lean an elbow on the counter, warming to her unexpectedly easy humour. âSo whatâs your cure for those days?â
âWine helps,â she says, lifting her glass in a mock toast. âBut mostly? Good company. Distracts you before you start plotting revenge against your own laundry.â
You arch a brow. âAnd you decided Iâm good company?â
Her eyes flick up to meet yours, steady and confident. âI decided you needed someone to remind you youâre not alone in it. The âgood companyâ bit is just a bonus.â
Itâs cocky, sure, but thereâs sincerity under it. Enough that you find yourself smiling before you can stop it.
Her smirk deepens as she sets her glass down, the sound of it meeting the counter impossibly loud in the quiet room.
âYou know,â she says, her voice low and teasing, âyouâre different.â
You tilt your head, wary but curious. âDifferent how?â
âMost peopleâŚâ She steps closer, slow, deliberate. ââŚdonât talk back to me the way you do or they try too hard. You donât do either." Another step, and sheâs close enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume something warm, subtle, and ridiculously distracting.
âIâm not most people,â you say, though your voice comes out softer than you meant.
Her lips quirk, like youâve just confirmed something she already knew. âNo. Youâre not.â The air between you shifts charged now, thick with something you donât quite have a name for. She leans in a fraction, her eyes locked on yours, and murmurs, âTell me to stop.â
Sheâs so close you can feel the warmth of her breath against your skin.
You donât.
Instead, you stay perfectly still, your heart thundering in your chest, and when her lips brush yours, itâs like a thread snaps. You close the distance, the kiss slow but certain, tasting of wine and something you canât place something entirely her.
Her hand comes to the side of your face, gentle but grounding, like sheâs making sure youâre really there, really choosing this and you are.
The kiss deepens naturally, like neither of you had to think about it just instinct, heat, and the faint hum of tension finally breaking.
Alexiaâs thumb brushes along your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. She tilts her head slightly, changing the angle, and you feel that little pull in your stomach that makes it far too easy to forget the day youâd had, the exhaustion, everything.
When she finally pulls back, itâs only far enough to look at you. Her eyes search your face like sheâs memorising it. Thereâs a faint smirk still on her lips, but softer now, tinged with something you canât quite name.
âYou didnât tell me to stop,â she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.
You huff a laugh, trying to sound more composed than you feel. âI'm very aware of that.â
âGood,â she says, still close enough that the words feel like they settle against your skin.
For a moment, you both just stand there breathing the same air, suspended between what just happened and whatever comes next until she leans back slightly, though her hand stays against your cheek. âBetter than wine?â she teases, one brow raised.
You meet her gaze, still catching your breath. âIâll need another sample to be sure.â
That earns you a low chuckle, and her smirk returns in full. âDangerous answer.â
âMaybe,â you reply, though youâre not moving away either.
She studies you for a beat longer, then finally lets her hand drop, but the warmth lingers where she touched you. Her pinky grazes yours like itâs nothing, but itâs not nothing, not with the way sheâs watching you.
Thereâs no smirk now, no teasing line ready on her lips, just that quiet, steady gaze that feels like it could strip you bare without her ever touching you.
You donât speak. You donât need to.
Your fingers find hers slowly, deliberately, slotting together until your palms are flush. Her grip tightens, gentle, but sure, like sheâs testing if youâll pull away. You donât.
The stem of your wine glass is cool against your fingertips as you set it down, the faintest clink marking the point of no return. Still holding her hand, and without breaking eye contact, you turn toward the hallway.
Youâve never been reckless, not in years, but this feels like stepping off a ledge and realising you want to fall. The quiet thrum in your chest drowns out the voice in your head listing all the reasons you shouldnât.
Alexia follows without hesitation.
The soft creak of your bedroom door feels deafening in the stillness, and for a brief second, you wonder if youâre making a mistake then her hand slides to your waist, warm and certain, and you stop thinking altogether.
Your body knows what it wants.
Her.
The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you in that small, charged space. Itâs dim only the soft spill of light from the hall catching the edge of her cheekbone, the curve of her mouth.
She doesnât rush. Her hand, still resting on your waist, draws the faintest line up your side, slow enough that it feels deliberate. The warmth of her palm seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, igniting something low in your stomach.
Youâre standing close enough now that you can feel her breath, that subtle shift in the air between you before something happens.
Her eyes flick to your mouth for just a second before they return to yours, and thereâs that unspoken question again only this time you answer by closing the final inch between you.
The kiss is unhurried at first, exploratory, her lips brushing yours like sheâs memorising the shape before pressing in firmer.
One of her hands slides to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your hips meet. The other drifts up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head just so.
Itâs intoxicating, her scent, the quiet hum in her throat, the way her fingers flex against your spine.
Youâre not thinking about tomorrow, or the fact that this is wildly out of character for you. Youâre just feeling the softness of her lips, the heat of her body, and the dizzy realisation that you donât want her to stop.
Her fingers twist gently in your hair, nails grazing your scalp in a slow, teasing rhythm. The softness of her lips against yours suddenly shifts becoming firmer, deeper, more urgent. You catch your breath, the kiss pulling you in like a tide you donât want to resist.
Her hand slips beneath your shirt, fingertips tracing the curve of your ribs, sending electric sparks that make your skin tingle and shiver. You respond instinctively, your hands moving to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer until thereâs no space left between you.
She breaks the kiss briefly to trail a hot, featherlight path down your jaw to the pulse at your neck. Her lips linger there, warm and claiming, and you tilt your head back, giving yourself over to the delicious pressure and the slick, heated trail of her breath.
Clothes fall away with practiced ease, every inch of skin pressed together carries a silent conversation, a blend of trust, longing, and something tender and new.
She moves with a confidence that is both thrilling and grounding, like she knows exactly what she wants, but is equally intent on making sure you want it too. Your breath hitches when her lips find yours again, softer this time, a gentle exploration that belies the fire burning just beneath.
Her hands slide to your hips, steady and certain, and before you can even register her intent, sheâs lifting you as though you weigh nothing.
A surprised laugh escapes you, cut short when your back meets the soft mattress. She follows you down, bracing herself over you, her hair falling forward to frame her face like a curtain.
The confidence in her movement steals your breath, but itâs the look in her eyes, hungry, certain, and just a touch reverent that sends heat rushing through you.
Her palms press into the bed on either side of your head, caging you in without making you feel trapped. If anything, the power in her presence makes you feel wanted in a way thatâs almost dizzying.
âComfortable?â she asks, her voice low, teasing, but with an undertone of genuine care.
You nod, pulse quickening, your fingers already finding the warm skin at her waist, pulling her down until your bodies meet.
She dips her head, lips grazing yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens her weight settling over you, her hands beginning their slow, deliberate exploration.
Every shift of her hips, every press of her mouth feels like sheâs learning you, committing each reaction to memory and youâre letting her.
Her kiss deepens, her body pressing flush against yours, and the heat between you builds until itâs almost unbearable. Her hands roam with purpose, fingertips mapping every inch of skin they find.
You arch into her touch, your breath hitching when her mouth trails from your lips to your jaw, then lower, each kiss deliberate and lingering. The scent of her, the warmth of her, the quiet rasp of her breathing it all pulls you further under.
Her touch is both commanding and gentle, guiding you into a rhythm that feels like itâs been written into your skin. She listens to your every sound, every shiver, responding in ways that draw you higher, closer to breaking apart.
Your hands explore her in return, memorising the flex of muscle beneath soft skin, the way her breath stutters when you find the right spot. The give and take becomes instinctive, a wordless conversation that says far more than either of you could speak aloud.
Her mouth moves down your neck to your collarbone until you feel her breathe on your breasts, she takes one nipple between her lips, slow and purposeful, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to spark a fresh jolt of want through your nerves. You bite your lip, a gasp catching in your throat. She coaxes it out with the flat of her tongue, humming low in her chest as if sheâs savouring every noise you make.
She moves slowly, as though thereâs no where sheâd rather be, no rush at all her hands exploring your ribs, the dip of your waist, the curves and hollows she finds with a kind of patient hunger. Each new place she touches feels new to you too, a surprise and slightly dangerous, as if her touch itself could rewire you.
Somewhere under the pulse in your ears, you register her murmuring your name, so quietly you might have missed it if she werenât so close. She says it like itâs a secret.
The bed creaks under your shifting bodies, the sheets twisting beneath you, and your breath comes in short, greedy bursts. When you finally open your eyes, sheâs looking at you with that same impossible reverence, like youâre made of flame and sheâs determined not to get burned.
She slows, smiling just a little dimples at the edge of her mouth, lashes lowered, a question in the gentle press of her mouth against your chest. You nod, unable to quite smile, your body a tightwire of hope and ache. Alexiaâs lips drag a careful line from the hollow of your throat down the centre of your torso, lingering at the places that make you shiver, her tongue painting lazy, electric circles.Â
She pauses at your navel, and glances up through her lashes. The heat of her gaze makes you want to squirm. Instead you fist the sheets, waiting. She noses lower, mouthing the skin just below your hipbone, leaving a constellation of kisses and small, possessive nips. Your back arches as she settles between your thighs, arms winding under your legs to hold you open. Her palms are hot, bracing your hips, anchoring you to the mattress.
You hear yourself gasp when her tongue finally touches you delicate, almost shy, a slow flick that teases more than it satisfies.
The contact turned sharp and vivid, a jolt up through your spine, and you had to clamp your forearm over your mouth to keep from crying out. Alexia tasted you as though sheâd been starved for a week, tongue pressing, flattening, then softening into these slow, sucking pulls that left your nerves flaring. There was no fumbling, no embarrassment just a relentless focus that sent each flick and slide rolling up the length of your body.
Your leg twitched. You felt her smile against you.
She set a rhythm, insistent and clever, and every time you thought youâd gotten used to it, she changed circling the tip of her tongue, then dipping lower, then sucking just enough to make your hips jerk helplessly. The sheets under your fists were hot and damp, your thighs trembling, and she kept you right at the threshold until your hands scrabbled for her hair, needing something to hold onto, something to anchor you as if you might fly off the bed and out the window if she let you go.
Alexia hummed, a low, pleased sound. Each vibration sank up through your stomach, gathering heat and tension until you thought you might burst open like a firework. She licked again, slower, greedy for the way your legs shook around her. When her tongue circled just right, she grazed her teeth over you, so gentle it felt like lightning. All logic left your body in a single, moan.
She drew back just for a second, her breath wet and hot against your skin. The words were lost before they reached your mouth, but she didnât seem to need them her gaze flicked up, found yours, and she smiled, wolfish and soft at once. With a steadying hand at your hip, she dove in again, more insistent this time, and you surrendered, every nerve tuned to the pressure and heat.
She didnât let up when you started to shake one hand left your hip to slide up, splaying over your belly to hold you down, as if she knew you might come apart without something solid. Her tongue circled, then pressed, and again, and again, and you felt the tidal pull building, impossible to ignore. You tried to warn her, half-formed words snagging in your throat, but her only answer was a hum that vibrated straight through you.
You couldnât have moved even if you wanted to her hand held you down, her mouth drew you out. Your hips shifted of their own accord, seeking pressure, chasing the heat of her tongue. She let you, adjusted to each stutter of your body with an easy patience that made you feel like you could shatter and not be ruined.
You tried to remember how to breathe while the tension built, curling tighter and tighter in your gut until you were sure youâd fly apart. Light sparked behind your eyelids. She sucked softly, then harder, her tongue flicking so fast and precise you couldnât bite back the noise she pulled from you, a sound youâd never made before, sharp and desperate.
Alexia made a pleased noise, the vibration sending you over. For a second, there was only the white hot, electric rush of sensation, like someone had pulled the rug out from under you and left you suspended, weightless, in the blinding aftermath. You shook, helpless, as waves of heat chased each other up your spine. For a moment, you forgot how to be human forgot your name, your job, the place, the time, the fact your daughter was in the next room. There was only the sharp, bright burn of release, and Alexiaâs mouth, softening as she coaxed every last tremor from you.
When the wave finally receded, you were left gasping, a tremble running through your legs. Alexia eased her grip on your hips, her touch gentle now, as though she was afraid to bruise you. She pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another just above your hipbone, tracing her mouth up the length of your body. With each new kiss, you became aware of the sweat cooling on your skin, the thrum of blood in your ears, the wild, animal ache of wanting her even more.
Alexiaâs mouth lingered just above your skin, her breath hot and humid as she slid up your body in a slow, torturous climb. Her tongue flicked over your stomach, tasting the sweat that pooled along your skin, and you realised you were still trembling, every muscle taut and uncertain. She seemed to like that her hands splayed wide at your hips, anchoring you to the mattress, thumb pressing lazy circles into your thigh.
You tried to catch your breath, but she didnât give you space to recover. Instead, she bit softly at your ribs, dragging her teeth until you shivered, before her lips found the underside of your breast. She kissed it once, twice, then worked up to your nipple, enveloping it in a heat that somehow reignited all the nerve endings you thought sheâd already burned out of you. You arched, helpless, letting her take whatever she wanted.
She pushed herself up, and the pressure of her gaze on your face was more intimate than anything that had come before. You wondered if she could see the way your heart hammered, or if she felt it, palm pressed flat over your stomach.
She moved up, then higher, and suddenly her mouth was on yours again, insistent, greedy, her tongue slick with the taste of you. You tasted yourself, salt and something sweeter, and it made your head spin. You clung to her shoulders, her hair, trying to pull her closer, because after everything you still needed more.
Her thigh pressed between yours, steady and hot. Your hips rolled into the pressure, chasing sensation that should have been impossible, so soon after. She pressured forward, a slick heat drawing up from the base of her pelvis to the tips of her fingers. She steadied herself with a hand on your thigh and slid her knee backward, you caught your breath, a stutter in the air, as your hips rose to meet the core line of her body.
She shifted, the sweep of her calf against your inner thigh, the impossible heat of her skin as she slotted herself against you. The friction was more than you expected, less than you needed, and you bucked up to tangle your bodies closer, wanting nothing between you, not even air. Her hands dug into the mattress by your hips, muscles cording tighter beneath her skin. Through the blur of sensation, you felt the tremor in her, the restraint it took for her to hold back, to not devour you whole.
You wrapped your leg over her waist, locking her in place. The angle changed and the pressure spread across her, nerves sparking, as Alexia ground down hard enough to squeeze the air from her lungs. She gasped, the shock of it sweet and dizzying, and Alexiaâs cunt pressed in, slick and insistent, your bodies found a pattern together, legs scissoring, slippery skin catching and sliding, the friction building to a hot, bright ache. Her hands, gripping your waist, left fingerprints in the flesh, and the noise you made was half-wild, unrecognisable to your own ears.
You matched her, pace for pace, finding new angles, searching for the one that would shatter you both.
Alexiaâs breathsgrew sharp and ragged, teeth gritted as she rocked harder, her cunt slick against yours, heat gathering where you pressed together. The grind of her, relentless and greedy, sent electric pulses up your belly. Each time your hips met, you felt the edge sharpen, pleasure peaking, receding, then surging again until you could barely keep still.
You tried to say her name but it came out as a shaky half-word, lost in the wet, smacking rhythm of your bodies. The bed creaked under the motion, sweat gathered beneath your back, the sheets hot and tangled, her hair damp where it stuck to your cheek. Your clit throbbed where it caught hers, every contact like the flare of a struck match.
Alexiaâs hand slid up, fingers curling around your throat not tight, just enough to pin you there and let you know who had you. Her gaze met yours, eyes dark, and you saw in them the same hunger swallowing you alive. The pressure at your throat pushed a desperate noise out of you, half sob, half moan, and Alexia grinned, teeth sharp and shining. She ground her cunt harder against yours, the slick heat building between your folds until each thrust sparked a new tremor through your core.
âThatâs it,â she hissed, voice raw and feral, ârub against me, fuck, youâre so wet for me.â Her pelvis rocked with a rhythm that felt custom fit to your shape, every drag of her clit against yours sending shockwaves through your bones. Her hand squeezed your throat just a little tighter, enough to make your head swim with the promise of it, the way she could take anything from you and youâd thank her for it.
You clawed at her thigh, pulled her closer, needing more friction, more of the slippery, obscene slide where your bodies met. She bent her head to your ear, her breath hot and jagged. âYou want me to make you scream?â she whispered, not waiting for an answer her hips stuttered into you, cunt grinding hard and wet and perfectly messy. The slap of your bodies echoed off the walls, every movement louder, sharper, more obscene.Â
You tried to answer, but you couldn't with your head spinning with the friction and the press of her hand at your throat. Alexia let out a guttural, helpless laugh, like she couldnât believe how good it felt, then angled her hips and rubbed her clit right up the length of yours once, twice, and the world flashed white behind your eyes.
âFuck,â she gasped, hips rolling, âI can feel you, oh god, yes, right there, rub it rightâshit, yes, just like thatâ and her leg flexed under you, grinding her slick, swollen cunt against yours until you were both soaking, the sheets under you hot and slippery. You lost all sense of yourself, everything bracing and bright and slick, your cunt pulsing wild against hers. The sound you made was primal, raw, punching out of your chest. Alexiaâs hand tightened on your throat, holding you at the edge, her face inches from yours, her mouth open and desperate. You watched her come apart her eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, the muscles in her arm trembling with effort as she gripped you, rode you, took from you.
You felt her tense, hips stuttering, then she crashed through, her whole body seizing around the pleasure. The strength in her turned wild and helpless, every thrust uncoordinated and greedy. You matched her, riding the last, frantic waves, tightening your legs until you couldnât tell where you ended and she began.
When it was done, you both collapsed together, sticky and breathless, the air between your bodies furnace-hot and saturated with sweat. Alexiaâs head dropped onto one of your pillows, hair plastered wet to her forehead. The weight of her in your bed was a kind of gift, the only anchor against the mad aftershocks still rolling through you. You both lay there, tangled, sweating, and panting, the echo of your own animal noise hanging in the air.
Alexiaâs hand loosened on your throat, drifting up to cradle your breast instead. She nuzzled her nose against your cheek, then pulled back enough to see your face. Her mouth was red and swollen and so were her eyes, rimmed with something raw. She grinned, teeth showing, and then dissolved into a shaky laugh that vibrated down both your bodies.
You would have joined her but you couldnât catch your breath. Every part of you felt stretched, overused, and so perfectly right that you wanted to laugh and cry at once. You stared up at the ceiling, counting the cracks, unsure if you were still floating or if the bed had finally settled back into the room. You tried to say something clever, but what came out was a groan and a wordless string of vowels.
âOh my god,â Alexia said. âDid we both justââ She flopped onto her back, both arms flung wide, and let out a noise that was half sob, half laugh, half something else that had no name. âI canât feel my legs. I think you broke me.â
You rolled over, face pressed into the damp pillow. âYou started it,â you managed, voice muffled and stunned.
She rolled onto her side, staring at you. Her eyes were wild but soft. She let the silence build until it was something almost physical, then, âAre you okay?â
You ran a quick scan of your body aching everywhere, hips bruised, one side of your neck hotly stinging. You stretched your arms over your eyes and nodded only managing a hum in response.
Alexia didnât look convinced by your vague hum. She shifted closer, resting her head on her hand, studying you with an intensity that made it impossible to hide behind your forearms.
âNot just physically,â she said softly. âI mean⌠are you okay?â
You peeked out from under your arm, meeting her gaze. The wildness in her eyes had mellowed into something warm, almost tentative like she was giving you space to bolt if you wanted to.
âIâm⌠yeah,â you said after a beat, the words slow, deliberate. âIâm just⌠processing.â
Her mouth curled into a small, wry smile. âProcessing as in âwhat the hell just happenedâ or processing as in âI regret thisâ?â
You let your arms drop, turning fully to face her, the sheet slipping to your waist. âNot the second one.â
That earned you a grin, the cocky kind youâd seen on her before, but it softened quickly. âGood,â she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. âBecause Iâm not in the mood to regret anything tonight.â
The silence that followed wasnât awkward it was full. Heavy with the knowledge of what youâd just shared, and the possibility of what it meant. Finally, you exhaled a small laugh. âYou really canât feel your legs?â
Her smirk returned, playful now. âIâm not exaggerating. Youâre carrying me to breakfast tomorrow.â
You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you. âWeâll see if youâve earned it.â
Alexiaâs hand found yours under the sheets, fingers lacing without hesitation. âOh, I think I have,â she said, her voice dropping low, teasing but the gentle squeeze of her hand told you she meant more than just the physical.
You stayed like that for a while, facing each other, the heat of her skin seeping into yours under the tangle of sheets. The adrenaline of earlier had ebbed, leaving behind something softer the quiet hum of shared space, where neither of you felt the need to fill the silence.
Alexia traced idle shapes over the back of your hand with her thumb. At first, you thought it was unconscious, but when you looked down, you saw she was watching the movement too, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. âYouâre hard to read,â she murmured eventually, eyes flicking up to yours.
You huffed a laugh. âThatâs by design.â
âMm.â She didnât push. Instead, she reached over to tug the sheet higher around your shoulders, like sheâd decided it wasnât worth letting you get cold.
Your body was still buzzing in strange ways not from the physical, not entirely, but from the way she seemed to take up so much space in your mind now. It was unsettling and comforting all at once.
âYouâre staring,â you said, a little embarrassed at the weight of her gaze.
She grinned. âCanât help it. You look⌠different.â
âHow?â
âLike youâve stopped pretending you donât like me.â
You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âAnd youâre avoiding the question,â she countered, but there was no bite to it.
Eventually, you shifted closer, resting your forehead against hers, letting your eyes close. Her breathing slowed to match yours, and before you realised it, your body was melting into the mattress, the edges of sleep creeping in.
The last thing you felt was her fingers still tangled with yours, a silent anchor that held even as the room faded to black.
đ§đź
The first thing you noticed when you stirred was the cool patch of sheets beside you.
Your hand reached out before your mind had even caught up, brushing over the empty space where her body had been. No warmth. No weight. No sound of steady breathing.
You sat up slowly, the duvet pooling at your waist, eyes scanning the room as if she might still be there, hiding in plain sight. The clothes youâd both discarded were gone from the floor, hers, at least.
She was gone.
Your chest tightened, not in a dramatic, heartbreak way, but with the heavy, hollow realisation that last night was⌠last night.
You rubbed your hands over your face, trying to shake the stiffness from your body and the thoughts from your head. It shouldnât matter, she wasnât yours, there had been no promises, but you couldnât stop yourself from wondering if leaving without a word was her way of keeping it that way.
It hit harder than youâd expected a low, dull thud somewhere behind your ribs. You sank back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, replaying the night in fractured snapshots: her laugh, her hands, her breath against your ear. All of it so vivid, so real.
And yet, it was apparently just one night.
You let out a breath, half sigh, half laugh at yourself. âStupid,â you muttered into the empty room. Stupid for letting her in, stupid for thinking she might stay, stupid for feeling something more than what it clearly was.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, too bright for your mood, and you rolled onto your side, pulling the duvet up like it might shield you from the memory of her leaving. But even as you closed your eyes, the scent of her still lingered on the pillow, making it impossible to pretend she hadnât been there at all.
You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, still wrapped up in the quiet ache of waking to an empty bed. Then, through the stillness, a soft murmur caught your ear high-pitched, lilting, and unmistakably Aurora.
You frowned. She usually stayed in her room in the mornings, playing with her dolls or lining up her blocks until you came to get her. Pushing the duvet aside, you swung your legs over the bed, pulling on a pair of loose shorts and the baggiest tee you could find.
Padding down the hallway, you pushed her bedroom door open, expecting to see her cross legged on the floor.
Empty.
Thatâs when you noticed the faint flicker of light spilling into the hallway. You turned toward it, moving quietly, and stopped in the archway to the living room.
The TV was on, its dim glow flickering over the sofa. Aurora was curled up in the corner, her little legs tucked under the blanket⌠the same blanket that draped over Alexia, who was seated beside her.
Your breath caught.
Alexiaâs posture was relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, her attention fixed on Aurora, who was animatedly explaining, in great detail, the elaborate plot of her cartoon.
ââŚand thatâs Bluey, and sheâs a blue heeler, and her sister is Bingo, andâ
Alexia nodded along like sheâd been waiting her whole life for this exact conversation. âAnd Blueyâs the main one, right?â
Aurora grinned. âYes! Sheâs the big sister! And sheâs really, really funny.â
Something in your chest shifted confusion, warmth, maybe a little bit of panic all tangled together. You stayed in the doorway, caught between not wanting to interrupt and not knowing how this had even happened.
Alexia must have felt your eyes on her because she glanced up mid nod, her expression unreadable, your feet felt rooted to the spot, though your heart had definitely gotten the memo to sprint.
Aurora finally noticed you, her face lighting up. âMorning Mama! Alexiaâs watching Bluey with me!â
You blinked at her, then at Alexia. âYeah⌠I can see that.â