[severepeanutartisanhands]

Okay hate to do this again but we’ll blame this on my lack of bookmarking and lack of good memory conspiring against me:

Anyone know the name of the Rosalie Hale/Bella Swan fic on ao3 , I can’t remember much but:

- Rosalie and Bella go to a car show

- pretty sure Emmett was at the car show, as well as Angela but don’t quote me on that

- Rosalie was presenting a car she had restored from her time as a human, a picture of her friend from when she was human?

- some other female mechanics are there and fawn over Bella and help Bella defend Rosalie’s car against some guys that were talking about it

- they go to a bar or someplace afterward

Thank you in advance!

[ellieputellas]

summergirl | part 2

summary: For the past ten years, you’ve played it safe: same small town, same predictable routines, same long-term boyfriend. But when your boyfriend asks for a break, calling your relationship “too boring,” 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 — global football star, your brother’s best friend, and the last person you should be kissing. She’s 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.

── .✦ previous part | fic masterlist | masterlist

⋆˙⟡♡ “Surprise,” 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. “He was in Ibiza and messaged me that he still wanted to attend the wedding.” Your brother said brightly. “So I figured, why not? Might help fix the situation between you two sooner, right?”

You froze, throat tightening and fists clenching a bit. Your eyes flicked to Inés who was already giving you a warning look. Quick on her feet, she slipped her arm through your brother’s and tugged him. “Cariño, we need to talk about something. Please, maybe your sister and Matt can catch up later.” She said, trying to do something about it.

“No, let’s let them be. They should catch up.” Xavier said.

Inés pouted. “But… uh, we need to discuss where to seat Matt and I’d really appreciate his input.”

Xavier looked at her confused. “Uh, I think that’s best if we do it alone, yeah?” He turned back to you then to Matt. “I’ll leave you two at it?”

Inés 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. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Matt’s 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.

 “Well, you didn’t cancel my ticket.” He tried saying in a jestful tone, trying to lighten up the mood.

You stared at him blankly, eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean, we booked this trip together already,” he shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “And I know you RSVP’d for me. So I figured… why not come?”

You stared at him, feeling your frustration grow. “Because we’re broken up, Matt.” You reminded him. “In fact, you ended things first.”

He raised a hand. “Hoo, calm down, first of all, I asked for a break, not a break-up.” He said, looking a bit irritated. “And I tried to call you and text you but you didn’t answer. If you just read my messages, you would have known that I was coming.”

You groaned, unable to stop yourself from angrily stomping your foot. “You didn’t even think that me ignoring you was a clue. That this,” you poked at his chest then at yourself. “This is over.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but I thought you just needed space. So I gave you space. Now I’m here, and I think it’s time we talk.”

You folded your arms tightly across your chest, bracing yourself. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m done.”

He frowned. “That’s unfair.” He said. “I only ever wanted a break. I didn’t agree to this.”

“Well, you didn’t give me a choice when you told me we were going on a break. So, I think it’s just fair that I don’t give you a choice either.” You said, seething at the way he was responding to you.

He shook his head stubbornly. “No. 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.”

Your stomach twisted. You already knew where this was heading.

“And what I want,” he said, voice dropping lower, “is us. Back together, and for real this time. I’m ready now, ready for all of it. I even –”

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. “No, absolutely not. Don’t even bring it out.” 

Matt looked up, startled, finally able to fish out the engagement ring box from his pocket. “No?”

“Why does it always have to be on your terms?” your voice cracked, sharper than you meant it to. “You leave me, you ‘find yourself,’ and you expect me to just sit there, take it, and wait for you once you’re ready? You don’t even care if I’ve changed. If I’ve – ” you stopped, struggling for words, anger and hurt tangling together. “If I’ve outgrown this. And, I have… I’ve outgrown you.”

His face fell, confusion and disbelief written all over it. “Outgrown? What are you even saying? But you love me?”

“I can’t even believe the words that are coming out of your mouth right now,” you stared at him, annoyed. “I don’t want this.”

⋆˙⟡♡ 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 didn’t 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 you’d 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. 

“I don’t want this.” 

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. “You can’t just give up completely and walk away.”

Alexia was alerted and immediately rushed into the scene, not liking the sight of this random guy grabbing you. “Hey!” She called sharply, striding faster without hesitation.

She didn’t 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. 

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. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Matt stepped back, thrown off. “Huh? What are you doing?”

Alexia ignored the question, peeking behind her to look at you. “Are you okay?”

Your throat tightened and you nodded. “Alexia, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Her jaw tensed. “I saw him. He just grabbed you.”

“It’s not—” You shook your head quickly. “I know him. Just… go, okay?”

But Alexia didn’t move. Her gaze flicked to Matt then back to you.

Matt, oblivious to the tension, suddenly lit up in recognition. “Oh, wait, I should’ve introduced myself.” He stuck his hand out toward her. “I’m Matt. You’re Alexia, right? You’re Xav’s best  friend? The soccer player?”

Alexia hesitated, confused. She didn’t take his hand. “Yeah? Matt, what are you doing manhandling her like that?”

He chuckled and shook her head. “Oh, I get how that might be confusing. Sorry, I should have introduced myself better.” He said, sighing then looking at you. “I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.”

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. 

“Oh,” she said finally, her voice flat.

Now that Alexia resigned from protecting you, Matt stepped beside you. “Yeah, what you were seeing was just a little fight, and I thought I’d surprise her…” He explained and babbled on but you barely heard anything he was saying. All you could see was the pained look in Alexia’s eyes. 

“Good to know,” Alexia responded, cutting Matt short before stepping back. “Sorry I interrupted this… moment with your boyfriend.”

She said the word like a curse. You watched her hurry off, stride heavy. “Alexia–” you started, desperate, but Matt’s hand closed firmly around your arm before you could follow. 

“What are you doing? I’m still talking to you.” 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. “Just fuck off, Matt.” You spat it out before running after Alexia.

Alexia was far ahead, briskly walking away from you. When you ran up to her, she wouldn’t even look at you, her gaze fixed ahead, almost blank.

“Alexia, please,” you pleaded. “Just hear me out. I swear I can explain.”

Alexia’s jaw clenched but she didn’t say anything.

“I don’t like Matt anymore. He’s nothing to me.” You said, voice kind of raw and desperate. “I swear, Alexia.”

Finally, Alexia stopped in her tracks, looking down at her shoes before breathing deeply. 

She paused before looking at you. “I 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.”

“No, Alexia, it’s not like that. Matt and I are over, I promise.” You pleaded.

She looked at you with a pained expression, face tight with hurt. “So this… this is why you wanted this hidden?” She asked, voice controlled, sharp but not cruel. “You didn’t want to tell Xavi or your cousins or anyone else because you had a boyfriend.”

“We were on a break when I met you. It was practically over..” You tried to defend yourself.

“How could I possibly believe that?” Her mouth quirked up but she didn’t look amused. She just looked like she was in disbelief of what you were saying, shaking her head. “Here I was thinking it was worth the wait, that you were just worried about startling your brother…. but no, it was all because you already had someone. You were just scared of getting caught cheating.”

“Alexia, please, please believe me–”

“You really fooled me.” She smiled but her face was tight, voice strained.

“Bunny?” You turned to see your brother running after you and Alexia, Matt trailing just behind him. “What’s going on?”

Alexia shook her head, looking down before looking straight at Matt. “I don’t know, Xavi. Maybe it’s just that your sister forgot to tell me that she was in a relationship while she was dating me and leading me on.”

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.

“But don’t worry, Xav. It’s over between us.” She said, nodding. “Your sister made sure of that.”

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.

⋆˙⟡♡ “I’m sorry that you had to see that.” You told Inés after you had finally calmed down, letting her soothingly hold your hand.

After the whole blow-up with Matt and Alexia, Inés 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 Inés in the eyes. “I really didn’t want to give you or Xavi anything to worry about so close to your wedding. I hope I didn’t ruin anything for you two.”

“Chiqui, you’re acting like you wrecked our wedding.” She said, tucking a hair behind your ear. “Xav 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, don’t worry. It’s all good.”

“What I am worried about,” she looked you in the eyes. “...is you.”

You nodded, sighing, unsure of what to even say.

“I wish I could have prevented the whole thing with Matt. I just didn’t expect for you to be right outside our villa when Matt arrived and it all just happened so fast.” She said, shaking her head. 

“No, no, it’s really all on me.” You responded.

“And I guess this could have all been prevented had I just been more upfront and honest to everyone sooner,” you added. “Especially to Alexia.”

Inés 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 Inés 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.

“So… I asked Matt to leave,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s on the boat now back to the mainland and he… he isn’t going to attend the wedding anymore.”

You gave a curt nod, staying silent, waiting for him to break the silence. Xavi sighed.

 “Look, Y/N,” he started. “I know I can be a bit intense and neurotic… I guess I just am not the chillest guy there is.” He grimaced. “I’m painfully aware.”

You didn’t comment, just nodding silently in agreement.

“But I don’t want you to think,” he continued, voice low, “that I would ever be against anything that makes you happy.”

He finally sat beside you, elbows on his knees. It was rare seeing him look so unsure of himself.

“Look, the only reason why I was worried about your break with Matt was because…” He paused, struggling to piece together his thoughts. He sighed.

“I just… well, after dad died, I knew I should’ve just stayed at home. I should have been there for you and for mom.” He said, nodding to himself. “But I had a life in Barcelona. I had my work, my friends, Inés. I couldn’t leave all of that behind.”

“You didn’t have to.” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows together. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

He nodded. “I know. Logically, I knew that. But that doesn't mean that I didn’t feel guilty leaving you and mom behind again immediately after dad died.” He said. “One of the things that made me feel less guilty then was knowing you had Matt to take care of you.”

You looked down at your feet, awkwardly twiddling with your thumbs.

“Matt 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.” Xavi explained before exhaling. “And you have to be fair to him because he has stuck with you all through those years. Just like I knew he would.”

You shook your head. “Xav, you have got to stop treating me like a child.” You said, voice sounding exasperated. “I don’t need anyone to protect me or take care of me. Not you, and certainly not Matt.”

You took a deep breath. “And I’m not saying Matt is a bad person or that he didn’t stick by me through all those years,” you paused. “But he got tired of our relationship too and I eventually realized I never really loved him, at least not romantically.”

“We were just comfortable, but not in love,” you continued. “I can’t 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 Inés have, and what our parents had. And I was never getting that with Matt.”

“I know, I know.” He nodded, eyes filled with guilt. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you doubt yourself, even indirectly.”

You stayed quiet, crossing your arms.

“If I had known that you were unhappy with Matt,” he continued. “I wouldn’t have given you that whole speech about commitment after I found out that you two were on a break.”

“You know that’s a lie.” You said in a firm but quiet voice. “Xav, I know you. Even if you knew I wanted to end things, you would have still tried to talk to me about trying again. It’s why it was so hard for me to deal with my feelings for Alexia.”

He nodded. “Well, yes… but you should know that it’s just because I want the best for you. No brother would want his sister to be alone in life.”

“Yeah but you should know too that being alone is something I can handle anyway.” You responded, feeling a bit defensive. “I’m old enough to take care of myself and to handle life. And I’m certainly old enough to know what I want in life. 

“You mean my best friend.” He responded quickly with a flat tone. “Alexia.”

You paused, looking at him momentarily before looking away again. “No, not really but also… in a way, I guess, yes… I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“So…” he started. “What happened there?”

You hesitated, taking a deep breath before saying in a small voice: “I met her, we dated and it was just… different,” you answered, sparing him the details. “I know it might be too early to say but…I seriously think I have feelings for her. Like I want something more than just a summer fling.”

Xavi blinked, stunned.

“And Xav. it’s not just about me liking her,” you continued before he could react. “It’s deeper than that; it’s 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.”

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. 

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 Alexia’s 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.

“If I had known athletic and Catalan was your type, I would have set you two up sooner.” He joked and you just playfully swatted him. “I would’ve forced you to come visit me had I known.”

You sighed, feeling a sense of relief suddenly, feeling the air between you lighten up. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I never liked Alexia’s ex anyway,” he said. “You two would make a better couple than they did.”

You smiled, feeling warmer. 

“I guess I really have to make it up to you, huh,” he said. “I feel like this could have all been prevented if I didn’t have such a reputation for being… intense.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. Your wedding is in a couple days. Just focus on that.” You swallowed hard. “Besides, I can’t pin all blame on you or expect you to fix the mess I caused. I gotta handle it myself.”

Xavi nodded once, serious. “Okay. But after the wedding, I'll still find a way to make it up to you.” He put a firm hand on your shoulder, patting you. “I promise.”

⋆˙⟡♡ 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 Inés 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. 

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 wasn’t avoiding you, you wouldn’t 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 Inés out of a floral arch, wanting lower floral displays instead. In his words: “An arch would distract you from the ocean and the sun; I want it to complement it, not take away from it.” He got teased a bit by the uncles for obsessing over floral arrangements but now you could see that it worked well. 

Everything seemed precise without looking too mechanical, which you were sure was Inés’ touch. She knew how to balance your brother’s obsession with having everything be pristine and perfect. She added the whimsical touches – the unconventional floral choices mixed into the arrangements, the handwritten letters that the staff were placing on everyone’s 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. 

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 groomsmen’s 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.

“How are you holding up?” she asked gently. “She’s still giving you the cold shoulder?”

You gave her a tired smile and nodded. She sighed softly and pulled you into a hug, warm and familiar.  “It’ll be alright,” she said. “Okay?”

You shook your head a little, not pulling away but not exactly convinced either.

“I’m not so sure about that,” you said quietly.

Your mom smoothed your hair and kissed the side of your head the way she used to when you were younger. “Just get through today. Smile and be happy for your brother,” she said, nodding. “The rest… well, it’ll sort itself out eventually.”

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.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “I hope so.”

⋆˙⟡♡ The wedding ceremony was beautiful. So beautiful that you were practically reduced to tears.

Inés 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 wasn’t performative or too scripted. It was just honest. There were moments where Inés’ voice wavered, moments where your brother laughed quietly through his words like he could not believe he was allowed to be this happy. You don’t even think you’ve 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. 

But she didn’t 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 — on your brother, Inés, 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. “God, this island is insane,” she gushed. “Am 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? He’s literally the most boring one among the cousins.”

“Daisy,” her mother warned, not even looking at her. “With an attitude like that, you are going to stay single forever.”

Cam laughed, nudging Daisy with her elbow. Daisy shot her a glare but did not deny it.

Your aunt sighed, shaking her head fondly. “You two don’t give your cousin enough credit. Winning over Inés’ 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.”

Your mother smiled softly. “That, and Inés loves him fiercely,” she said. Her voice wavered just a little. “Did you hear her vows? The way she talked about him, about their love….”

She blinked a few times, clearly still emotional over the most beautiful vows all of you have ever heard.

“Well, they’re both lucky,” your aunt said quietly. “Not everyone finds something like that.”

Your mother nodded, turning to look at you for a moment. “I just wish your father could have seen it.”

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. “Alright,” she said, turning to you. “Enough sentiment. You, dear, should mingle later. Inés 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.”

Cam’s eyes widened as she looked at you, clearly trying not to laugh.

You stared back at her, equally wide-eyed.

Your mother huffed softly. “Ignore her. I don’t care who you end up with,” she said, glancing back at you. “I just want you to find someone who knows how to love you properly. And how to forgive. That matters more than people think.”

You swallowed, understanding the weight of that statement even though she had said it casually.

“Yeah, forgiveness is important,” your aunt added, a lilt to her voice. “It didn’t save my marriage but it did save my blood pressure.”

You chuckled, taking a deep breath, watching the reception venue come into view as you approached it.

⋆˙⟡♡ 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 Inés 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, Inés’ special empanadas were passed around in baskets still warm from the kitchen and probably one of the best things you’ve eaten this trip. After, there was a soup served, which was apparently Inés’ mother’s 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 mother’s 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. 

Alexia sat at the table just beside yours, surrounded by your brother’s 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. Inés’ 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 didn’t need to. You could feel the emotion even if you couldn’t understand the entire speech. They looked incredibly happy and proud of Inés, and welcoming of your brother.

After her parents, it was your mother’s turn.

She took a breath before she began, steadying herself. “Xavier,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “From the time he was a child, he was always so serious, always focused and always trying to get everything right.” A few people laughed knowingly. “No one was surprised when he became a doctor.”

She glanced at Inés and smiled. “Then along came Inés, 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.”

“She showed him that in life, sometimes you have to take a step back.” She smiled warmly at the couple, before briefly looking at the folded piece of paper she was holding. “Because life is like a painting. You can’t 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 Inés, she taught him how to step back, to breathe and admire life without trying to get everything to be perfect or precise.”

Her voice wavered then. She cleared her throat, blinking quickly. “I wish his father were here to see Xavier right now.” She looked down to pause. Your chest tightened at the mention of your father.

“He would have loved this,” she continued quietly. “He 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.”

She smiled sadly. “If 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.” A soft laugh rippled through the room. “And somehow, it would have been exactly right. He would probably move everyone to tears but also make them laugh.”

Her eyes returned to Inés. “And I know he would have loved Inés deeply.” She nodded.  “He would have told her how grateful we are, and how lucky we are that she chose our family.”

Your mother lifted her glass, her hand steady despite the emotion in her voice. “I don’t know exactly how he would have ended his speech. But I imagine he would have smiled, raised his glass, and said, ‘Welcome to the family.’”

She raised it higher. “So 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 Inés.”

As you raised your glass, somehow, you could feel someone’s gaze on you. You turned subconsciously to see Alexia, actually looking at you for the first time in days. This time, her gaze wasn’t cold or empty. It felt warm, like she was… seeing you again. She looked a bit worried, seeing you tear up like that. 

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. 

“Hey,” she murmured, holding you tight. 

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 parents’ speeches, it was time for the entourage. Inés’ 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 Alexia’s 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 — 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, “La Reina,” and a few people echoed it, laughing. She shook her head immediately, lifting her hands in protest.

“Ya, ya, vale, vale,” she said, laughing. “Por favor.”

She paused, taking a deep breath. She started. “I, uh, am not very good at speeches,” she said honestly. “Normally, for my speeches, I would ask help from my best friend… but today, my speech is for my best friend’s wedding. So, how could I ask him?”

Everyone chuckled. 

“I met Xavi when he came over from the men’s medical team,” she continued. “When we met, I was not in a great mood. Actually, I was unbearable.” She paused, glancing at him. “You can say it.”

Xavi laughed, nodding.

“I was in recovery from my ACL tear,” Alexia shared. “Everyone kept trying to comfort me. It was the other doctors, the staff, my teammates. They were telling me I’d be okay, that things would work out and that it wasn’t 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.”

She looked back at Xavi. “Then Xavi came in and did what he always does. He talked to me the only way he can.”

She smiled at him. “He 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 didn’t 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 I’d play again at the same level,” she shared. 

Alexia nodded. “That was the first time I genuinely felt comforted because Xavi was being realistic and honest, and well,” she smiled at him as she said. “He turned out to be right.”

She glanced down at her notes. “I’m not a science nerd like Xavier,” she said, “but I did learn a thing or two about probabilities from him.”

Xavi playfully raised an eyebrow at her. 

Alexia laughed. “Like, when I first met Inés, I was about 83 percent sure she was too pretty for you.” Laughter broke out immediately, Inés waving her hand and laughing as she protested. Xavi just gave a proud look and shrugged. 

“And after the first dinner at her place,” Alexia continued, smiling, “I was 94 percent sure her cooking was better than yours.”

Now, it was Xavi’s 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.

“And even though, as your best friend, I never admitted this whenever you asked me for my advice or my opinion,” Alexia added, her tone lighter, “Inés was right roughly sixty-eight percent of the time you two argued.”

Everyone chuckled. She laughed, a little nervously, glancing back down. You smiled, not expecting a funny speech from Alexia. 

Alexia paused before continuing. “I also remember you telling me that in life, there is almost no such thing as a hundred percent certainty in nature.” She tilted her head. “Something about probabilities and margins of error.”

She paused. “But I don’t necessarily think that’s true,” she said. “Because there are quite a few things I’m one hundred percent sure of.”

She looked down on her notes, a small smile on her face. “Like I was a hundred percent certain that you never looked at someone like you looked at Inés.” She looked over to the couple, smiling at them. “I’ve seen you date girls before but there was just something different about your eyes after you met her.”

She paused as the couple smiled at each other, eyes sparkling as they looked at each other lovingly. 

“I’m also a hundred percent sure that Inés has made you a better person,” Alexia added. “Inés, 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.”

Alexia smiled, almost fondly, at your brother. “Not because he doubted what he felt for you or because he wasn’t happy. Rather, it was because he was afraid of failing you.” Alexia said with a softness to her tone. “He 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 – the version of himself that is worthy of your love and for your hand in marriage.”

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.

“Mind you,” she added, exhaling with a small laugh, “this was one month into dating. And he was already talking about marriage.”

Everyone now laughed.  Xavier ducked his head, cheeks flushed, but he didn’t deny it. 

You swallowed, a bit surprised. It was not that your brother was incapable of love – you knew he was very much a lover – but rather, you were quite surprised by the depth of it, the seriousness with which he held it. 

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 wasn’t 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. 

And, it wasn’t wrong of you to try new things, to seek new experiences and to widen your perspective. It wasn’t 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 Inés 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 Alexia’s voice cut gently through it.

“And looking at you two now,” she said, turning fully toward the couple, “I can say with a hundred percent certainty that what you two have is rare.”

“It’s the kind of love that’s quiet but certain, deep without being loud. It’s the kind that doesn’t need proving because it shows up naturally: in the way you look at each other, in the ease between you, in the tenderness.” Her expression warmed. “And if I ever get to have a love even half as sure as yours, I’d consider myself incredibly lucky.”

And briefly but unmistakably, Alexia’s gaze flickered toward you. 

She blinked and looked away just as quickly, lifting her glass with an easy smile. “Alright,” she said, tone lightening. “Let’s raise a glass to the couple who I’m a hundred percent sure would like me to stop talking now so they can go back to staring at each other with heart eyes.”

Laughter rippled through the room as glasses were raised.

“To Xavi and Inés!”

Cheers followed, crystal clinking against crystal. You smiled at your brother and sister-in-law as they gestured their thanks. 

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.

⋆˙⟡♡ 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. 

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 Xavi’s coworkers, one hand wrapped around a drink she didn’t 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 shouldn’t 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 weren’t replaying her speech in your head, pretending you weren’t yearning to be there with her right now. 

Suddenly. you felt hands settle on your back, firm and familiar, and you nearly jumped out of your seat.

“Jesus, Xav,” you said as you turned around, seeing your brother, looking a bit less put-together than when the wedding started. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He grinned unapologetically. “Sorry, bunny. Forgot how jumpy you get.”

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.

“So,” he said, smiling. “I’m a married man now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? That’s what this whole thing was for?” You gestured vaguely toward the dance floor. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

He laughed and reached out to pinch your cheek, not nearly as gently as he probably intended. “You’re so annoying,” he said fondly. “You’re lucky I still see you as my cutie bunny sister.”

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 should’ve. “You know, I’m probably the second happiest man in the world right now,” he hummed.

You frowned, tilting your head. “Second? That’s it? Why not first?”

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “first place obviously goes to my buddy Santi.” 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. “I think he edged me out by just a bit though.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “And…I’d be the happiest man alive if I could stop thinking about the fact that my baby sister is sitting here, pretending she’s fine, while clearly being hopelessly heartbroken over my best friend.”

You groaned softly and leaned back in your chair. “Xav,” you said, tired but affectionate. “I’m 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.”

He gave you a look that said he didn’t buy it for a second.

“I’m sorry,” you added after a moment. “I promise I’m not trying to be a downer on your wedding day. I swear, I’ll try to seem less gloomy. Want me to join you and your buddy Santi?”

He waved it off. “You don’t have to do that.” He chuckled.

You hesitated, then sighed. “Still. How do I make it up to you?”

His smile returned, slow and slightly mischievous. “Actually, I do need help with something.”

You straightened a little. “With what?”

He stood and held out a hand, nodding his head towards the exit. “I’ll show you.”

⋆˙⟡♡ 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.

“Is your favor secretly just a clever way of getting me to breathe in some fresh air?” You asked, smiling at your brother.

“Well…” 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. Inés 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.

“I did tell you I’d find a way to make it up to you, didn’t I?” Xavier gave you a crooked smile.

You looked back to the lounge area, taking a deep breath. Alexia didn’t have to turn for you to know who it was but when she did, your heart still raced inside your chest. 

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 Inés 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. “Alright,” he said lightly, clapping his hands together. “Now, just do me a favor and tell me what you two talk about later, yeah?”

Before you could respond, he pulled you into a brief hug, squeezing you tight. Then he extended his arm toward Inés, 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.

“I never got to tell you,” you said quietly. “But you look really beautiful today.”

She let out a small breath through her nose, a hint of a forced smile touching her lips, but she didn’t 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. “Alexia, I really—”

“Y/N,” she cut in, her voice low but firm. “I’m only talking to you right now as a favor to your brother and Inés. You know that, right?”

You nodded, even though she wasn’t looking. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.”

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.

“I’m still glad you’re here,” you added after a moment. “Even if you don’t want to be.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t walk away either.

You took in a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever could happen. 

“Look, Alexia… I’m sorry I lied to you,” you said, forcing yourself not to rush the words. “It was wrong to tell you my last relationship ended a year ago when it hadn’t. And, it was wrong to hide you and our relationship from my brother. And I’m sorry for making you think I was ashamed of you.”

You breathed deeply. “ I’m so sorry that I let my fear and my anxiety make decisions for me when I should’ve been honest and grown up about it.” 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.

“I’m sorry about a lot of things and I wish I could make it all better,” your voice broke at the end. You cleared your throat, pulling yourself together for just a few more minutes. 

“But one thing I won’t apologize for… is being with you. I won’t apologize for this summer..” You paused, trying to watch her reaction, trying to find an opening of some sort.

“Alexia, I’m 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,” you continued, voice getting a bit louder. “I don’t want to apologize for something I genuinely cherished.”

You breathed, sniffling as you tried to stop your tears from falling “And if someone asked me if I’d do it all over again, I would.”

You looked down, feeling your lower mouth quiver as your emotions started getting the best of you. “I would do it all over again,” you repeated.

“I would still take that bet from my cousins and I would still choose to kiss you that night at the club,” you exclaimed, voice shaky and raw, but you tried to keep it steady. “I 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.”

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, “Yes, I was dishonest about my situation, about why I didn’t want my brother to know. I was an asshole for that and I won’t downplay it,” you said with a nod. “But I can tell you that not once was I dishonest about how I felt about you.”

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. “How am I supposed to trust you after all that?” she asked, voice low but firm. “How can I be sure what you’re saying now is real?”

You blinked, breathing in as you swallowed. 

“T-There’s no such thing as a hundred percent certainty,” you said, repeating her words from her speech, pausing again to keep your composure. “You mentioned that in your speech. Something about what Xav said about how there’s absolutely nothing that is a hundred percentin nature.”

You breathed, trying to gather your thoughts. “And what I’m trying to say is.. I don’t need you to trust me a hundred percent,” you added. “I 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.”

You stared at Alexia, tears running down your face, feeling absolutely vulnerable. You did mess up, possibly ruined your chance with her, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt you too. It didn’t make it any easier to stand there, saying everything you should have said earlier, while Alexia listened in silence, unreadable and distant.

“Please,” you begged, voice shaking. “Say something.”

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. 

You took that as permission, stepping closer and reaching for her hand. You held it firmly, like you were afraid it might slip away. “Please,” 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. “Hey – no,” she said, her voice urgent as she reached for you, hands gripping your forearm and pulling you back up. 

“Don’t do that.” She shook her head, softer now. “You don’t… you don’t have to do that.”

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 wouldn’t be the last time.

“If I give you another chance,” she started. “If I give you that one percent… will you promise that you would be honest with me? No more lies. Just the truth.”

You nodded. “Yes,” you answered without hesitation.

She took a deep breath. “And the thing with your boyfriend…”

“It’s over,” you responded immediately as she trailed off.

Alexia studied your face, as if looking for cracks. “Over as in finished,” she pressed, “or over as in paused?”

“Finished,” you said. You swallowed, forcing yourself not to soften it. “We 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 and…”

You inhaled deeply. “Basically, it’s done. There is absolutely no more space in my heart – in my life – for him.”

She looked away briefly, jaw tightening, then back at you. “And you’re not saying this just because you’re standing here with me?”

“No,” you replied quietly. “I’m saying it because it’s true… because I promised to be honest with you.”

Alexia exhaled, long and shaky, as if letting go of something she’d been holding in for days. Then finally, she reached for your hand.

She didn’t just take it this time. She enclosed it between both of hers, warm and grounding, her thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Can I be honest too?” 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. “I.. I missed you.” She admitted, a small smile flickering on her lips. “And I’ve been dying to tell you all day that you look like the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

You smiled and chuckled nervously, taking your hand to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, sniffling as you did. “So, does this… does this mean –”

Alexia exhaled, breathing deeply as she wiped your cheeks with the pads of her thumbs, before nodding. “Yes,” she said. “I’m giving you that one percent.”

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. 

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.

⋆˙⟡♡   “I don’t want to see your face again unless it’s telling me I have a grandchild,” your mom told your brother as she hugged him tightly.

Xavi laughed into her shoulder. “Thanks, mom,” he said with a sarcastic tone.

Inés 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. 

Inés came straight to you and wrapped her arms around you. “I’ll miss you a lot, chiqui,” she said, squeezing tightly.

When she pulled back, she looked at you with that knowing smile of hers. “So,” she said lightly, “am I going to start seeing you around Barcelona more often?”

You laughed, glancing down before looking back up, biting your lip as you nodded. Inés’ face lit up immediately.

“But don’t get ahead of yourself,” you added quickly. “We’re not… there yet. I still have to work for it. Y’know… gotta prove myself.”

Inés chuckled and reached up to pinch your cheek. “Please. Alexia is not that hard to get through,” she said. “Plus, she really likes you. You’ll be fine.”

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.

“I’ll miss you too, Bunny,” he said understandingly, patting the back of your head.

You pulled away and sighed. “I never actually thanked you, you know,” you said. “For what you did.”

He shrugged, smiling like it was nothing. “Maybe I did it for selfish reasons,” he said. “Because now… you have a reason to visit me more in Barcelona.”

You laughed softly. “You won’t even be there for the next few months.”

“There’s a chance that I’ll be back a couple months after the season starts,” he said, smirking. “Which I’m guessing you know the exact date of now.”

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. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” 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. “Look at them,” she said. “Especially my handsome boy.” Then she glanced at you, eyes soft. “I make gorgeous children, don’t I?”

You laughed, shaking your head at your mother.

“So,” she continued, “when does your semester start?”

“A couple of weeks,” you responded. “Enrollment’s coming up soon but… I got a few things I gotta figure out before I go.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then tilted her head slightly. “Well,” she said, gesturing with her head. “Is that what you gotta figure out?”

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 wasn’t doing anything in particular, just waiting, hands tucked into her pockets, eyes scanning the dock until they found you.

You smiled. “Well… yeah, that’s exactly what I have to figure out.”

Your mom smiled and patted you lightly on the arm. “Go,” your mom said gently. “Figure that out.”

You chuckled before you excused yourself, walking towards Alexia, feeling your hands grow clammy as you walked towards her.

“Hey,” you said when you reached her.

“Hey,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

You hesitated, then exhaled. “So… summer’s ending soon, huh?” you said, unsure of how to start this conversation. “Everyone from the club heading back already?”

She bit her lip and nodded, eyes a bit distracted. “Yeah. Everyone’s leaving in the morning,” Alexia answered. “Season’s starting soon so gotta get back into shape after drinking all summer.”

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 Xavi’s friends until she was so sick that she barfed all over a chair. 

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 “bestie time.”

Needless to say, the romantic moment had to go on pause.

You didn’t 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.

 “You’re leaving in a couple of days, right?” Alexia asked, glancing at you.

You shook your head. “Next week. Inés offered for my mom and me to stay a few extra days. Her parents are staying too.”

She smiled faintly. “That family really is generous.” She chuckled. “Pays to be rich.”

“Yeah,” you said. “They’ve been incredibly gracious.”

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.

“So,” you said. “Do you have plans before you leave? Aside from packing?”

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. 

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.

“Maybe we could have dinner later?” you added, softer.

Alexia tilted her head, amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were asking me out.”

You chuckled at her tone. “I am.”

She smiled then hesitated. “The team’s having one last dinner together tonight. Kind of a last hurrah before the season starts.”

The disappointment flickered across your face before you could stop it. You nodded anyway. “Yeah. Of course, that makes sense.”

You were already bracing yourself to say everything now, just let it all out there. 

“But…” she added, “I’m free tomorrow.”

You looked up. “Tomorrow?”

She smirked slightly. “I was supposed to leave in the morning with the club, but Xavi… extended my stay.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “He did?”

“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes fondly. “Said 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.”

You laughed softly. “What kind of favor?”

Alexia stepped a little closer. “Apparently there’s a restaurant here in this resort that he never got to try,” she said. “He wanted me to test it out, give feedback so that Inés could rework the menu.”

You smiled slowly. “That favor sounds suspiciously specific…. and made-up.”

“Oh, it gets better,” she said. “He also suggested I invite his sister. He said something about her having a rough summer and having her heart broken.”

You laughed, shaking your head at her teasing. “Did he tell you what she’s like?”

She leaned in slightly, eyes warm. “He said she’s smart, kind… and that she got the better genes in the family.” She chuckled. “And apparently she looks like a bunny, which I’m still not sure about… like, is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “Give that bunny girl a chance.” You said. “She might surprise you… cause she’s a bunny. Like, a bunny in a magician’s hat.”

Alexia’s gaze softened at your terrible analogy. “Apparently, she also tells terrible jokes.”

“Hey,” you said defensively. 

She chuckled. “Well, even if she does seem corny and looks like a bunny…” she said, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering as her hazel eyes gazed into yours. “I think there’s a pretty good chance I’d fall for her.”

You swallowed, biting your lip as you could feel her inch closer. “I’d say there’s at least a one percent chance,” you responded, referencing your conversation from last night.

She smiled knowingly, immediately catching on to it. “Funny. I think those chances just went up.”

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.

“Now, it’s at two percent,” she murmured.

You smiled, hand finding the back of her head, ready to pull her in for another kiss. “Let’s make it three.”

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. it’s 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 🤍

🏷️ @alexiaputellasera @grimleaper @aannyx @papimapileon @pinkhavenn @jazard7 @vex91 @femmeputellas @wosolipa @a1exia9ute11as @northbankheart @bonmatellisme @characteristicallyobservant @moonystoes @alotofpockets @alexialareina @whiskeredshrimp-blog @hella-hecka-gay @annalou1se @fortifyde @bears-05 @aleszias @steffi-209 @tbreezzyygyal @spideycat13 @madthoughtsword @mccabeskcc @sofisarch @miaereen @blaured @eliotwoolfpoe @bears-05 @mmack23 @wonderfully3 @alexias-wife11 @warriornun4 @northbankheart @alyson1811 @goldenstarlihgt @hotfootballer29 @bellelynannie @superbhottubdreamer @madthoughtsword @mmullereduards @jazard7 @sofisarch @lynn5783 @tbreezzyygyal @symphnet @rosiepoetc @vbueckers

[holyblonded]

prada darling | alexia putellas

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 can’t tell if i hate it or not 🫩

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.

“I should not have drunk that much,” you groaned, pulling on your favorite sweatpants and a matching zip-up hoodie, both stitched with the tiniest embroidery of your brand’s 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 hadn’t 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 weren’t the woman behind Solenne, a brand that graced billboards in New York, Milan, London, Paris. You weren’t a “genius” 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.

“Oh, carinyo, you can’t be serious,” Eli said, shaking her head, dark eyes sparkling as you stood with the hose poised over her rose bush.

“Eli. I swear,” you said, one hand clutching your stomach as you laughed at the memory. “She ordered three raw eggs—of the menu, cracked them into a glass, and just—” you mimed throwing your head back, swallowing. “Like she was in a Rocky montage. At dinner! Our poor waitress was so weirded out.”

Eli nearly spit out her tea. “Ai, Déu meu!” She pressed a hand to her chest, scandalized. “In front of you? In a restaurant? This is barbaric, nena. Not a date.” [Oh, my God]

“It was performance art,” you deadpanned, turning off the hose and sinking into the chair across from her. “I 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.”

Eli leaned forward, eyes wide in horror. “Nena… where are you meeting these women? Honestly. Are you… are you picking them up off the street?”

You burst out laughing. “Not off the street! Just… friends of friends, mostly.” You shrugged, sipping from your mug of herbal tea. Which wasn’t technically a lie. The problem was most of your “friends of friends” 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. “I worry about you. Too beautiful, too smart, too funny, and yet you sit across from me telling me stories about egg-guzzling gym rats.”

You groaned dramatically, hiding your face behind your mug. “I’m starting to think Barcelona is cursed.”

“Barcelona is not cursed. Your taste in women is cursed,” 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.

“How’s work, nena?” she asked warmly.

Your lips curved into a small smile. For once, the answer was easy. Back in Paris, you’d 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.

“It’s been… wonderful,” you admitted softly. “I sent some sketches to the company for feedback before I start sewing.”

Eli beamed. “See? You are happiest when you are creating.”

She didn’t know, of course, that the “company” 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. “Oh, nothing glamorous. I just stitch a few things here and there, send them along, and hope they don’t look like trash bags.”

Eli swatted your arm, scandalized. “Trash bags? Ai, dona, don’t speak about your work like that! If it comes from you, it cannot be ugly.”

Her faith in you made your throat tighten. She really had no idea.

“If you ever need help, nena, I am right here,” she added earnestly.

You smiled into your mug. “I’ll keep that in mind, Eli. Maybe you can help me wrestle a sewing machine when it misbehaves.”

Eli suddenly grew quiet, staring at you over her tea. You felt the weight of the mom-stare and shifted nervously in your chair.

“…What?” you asked warily.

“How old are you, nena?” she asked, squinting slightly like she was lining up puzzle pieces.

“Twenty-seven,” you answered slowly, suspicious. “Why?”

Eli looked up toward the sky as if calculating something, then back at you with a triumphant nod. “That will work.”

“What will work?”

She ignored you, speaking more to herself. “Yes, yes… that will be fine.”

“Eli,” you warned.

She set her mug down with a decisive clink. “Alright. Enough of this nonsense. You have been on a multitude of dates since you arrived in Barcelona and they have all failed—”

“Geez, thanks for sugarcoating it,” you muttered.

“So,” she continued briskly, “I am taking matters into my own hands. My daughter Alexia—”

“Eli…”

“No, no, no, no, no.” She wagged a finger at you. “Let me finish before you say yes.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“She is only three years older than you. You like them older, don’t deny it. She is beautiful, strong, successful. She plays for Barça. You should come to a game with me, nena. It’s in a couple of weeks. Don’t you know someone on the team?”

You hesitated. “Hm… yes. The company sponsors a few players on the women’s side, and some on the men’s.” You tried to make it sound casual, though it wasn’t exactly easy to hide a sponsorship portfolio the size of yours.

“Perfect.” Eli clapped her hands, delighted. “I 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.”

“Eli…” You started, but faltered when she held up her hand like a queen commanding silence.

“Not taking no for an answer,” she said firmly. “You think about it. You have a business trip, no? After you return from your business trip, you give me your answer.”

You bit back a laugh at her sheer determination. “…Fine. But only because it’s you.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said smugly, rising to her feet. Then, as if matchmaking her daughter was just a warm-up, she called back over her shoulder: “Now. What bread did you make yesterday?”

You followed her inside, chuckling. “Fresh baguettes. With honey and jam from that market you showed me.”

Eli clasped her hands to her chest like you had just announced world peace. “Ah! This I must try. Move over, I am taking over your kitchen.”

And just like that, your terrifying new reality, going on yet another blind date, was eclipsed by Eli raiding your bread basket.

“Hola, Mami.”

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 Eli’s guest bathroom and then devour whatever was simmering on the stove.

“Hi, vida,” 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 sautéing garlic and tomatoes filled the kitchen, warm and inviting.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at the tone immediately. “What are you plotting?”

“Me?” Eli raised her brows, slicing into a clove of garlic with exaggerated innocence. “Nothing. Just… good news.”

From the couch, Alba cackled like a crow. “Oh no. You’re in trouble.”

Alexia groaned. “Alba, don’t encourage her.”

But Alba was already pushing herself up, abandoning her reality show. She jogged barefoot to the kitchen, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. “I need front row seats for this.”

“Alba, calla,” Eli scolded, pointing the knife at her like a conductor’s baton. Then she turned back to the pan, sweeping the onions into the sauce with a flourish. “So. I know you said no more dating, Alexia—”

“Ay, Mami…” Alexia leaned heavily against the counter, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.

“Alexia,” Eli said sharply, knife still in hand. “Listen 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?”

“Mama…”

“Twenty-seven years old,” Eli continued, plowing straight over her daughter’s groans. She began stirring the sauce with gusto, like she was narrating a recipe. “Works 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 sews—¡un arte!” [it’s art]

Alexia frowned despite herself, curiosity slipping in. “Fashion?”

“Yes, fashion!” Eli waved the wooden spoon dramatically, nearly splattering sauce across the counter. “Clothes, bags, shoes, you know everything. And she is single.” Eli’s voice dropped conspiratorially, eyes flicking toward Alba as if this was top secret gossip. “She tells me about her disaster dates. The last on ordered raw eggs. In a glass and drank them!”

Alba clutched her chest like she’d been shot. “Perdona? What kind of Rocky Balboa nightmare is that?”

“Exactly!” 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. “That’s… disgusting.”

Eli leaned across the counter, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “So, you will take her out Saturday. I know her favorite restaurant, the French one downtown. It reminds her of home.”

“What?” Alexia blinked. “No. No way.”

“Yes way.” Eli was already bustling to the oven, sliding out a tray of salmon like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb. “And I made the reservation for you.”

Alba clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is better than reality TV.”

“Mama!” Alexia shoved her hands through her hair, pacing now. “You’re setting me up on a blind date without even asking me?”

Eli smiled sweetly, setting the salmon on the counter. “Finally, she understands. Besides, I am your mother. I have the power.”

Alba leaned across the table, stage whispering to Alexia, “You’re doomed.”

“Shut up, Alba.”

Eli carried on as if she hadn’t heard. “She would be here tonight but she is traveling. Business trip in Madrid, I think.”

Alexia squinted. “Madrid?”

You weren’t 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 hadn’t corrected her.

Alexia groaned. “Mami, I’m not interested in dating. I told you. I’m focusing on football right now.”

“Football, football, football!” Eli threw her hands up toward the ceiling. “Is that all you think about? You will shrivel into an old woman with only a ball for company. Live a little!”

Alba snorted, already stealing a piece of bread from the counter. “Imagine her tombstone: Here lies Alexia. Married to football. Boring at parties.”

Alexia smacked her arm. “Alba!”

Eli, unfazed, plated the salmon like a general preparing her troops. “Saturday. No tracksuits. She will probably want to drive herself, so be on time—no, be early. And you will dress nicely, entiendes?”

Alexia groaned, dropping her head into her hands like the world was ending.

Alba patted her back with mock sympathy. “Poor thing. Forced to have dinner with a beautiful, talented woman. What a tragedy.”

Alexia lifted her head just enough to glare at her sister. “I hate you.”

Alba grinned, already buttering her stolen bread. “Love you too.”

And for all her groaning, Alexia couldn’t 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 didn’t matter. She was done with dating….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.

“Magnifique,” 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. “This—this is not accessory. This is a conversation. People will stop in their tracks. They will want to know the story.”

The sisters exchanged a look, one biting her lip, the other blinking fast. Pride warred with disbelief on their faces.

“We… we were not sure anyone would see it that way,” the elder confessed, her Italian lilt strong. “Most people told us it was… troppo strano. Too strange.”

“That is why I am here.” You set the bag back on the table as if it were a relic from another era, reverent. “Fashion without risk is death and being safe is boring. What you two are doing? This is resurrection. This is… future.”

A spark of hope lit their faces. The younger sister leaned forward. “You mean you would use our designs?”

“I don’t just want your designs.” You leaned in, the dim light catching the sheen of your blouse, your tone deliberate. “I want you. Both of you. Your hands, your imaginations, your madness. I don’t buy talent to cage it, I give it a stage. Solenne should not only whisper luxury. It should scream daring. And you—” you gestured to the marble bag, then to the shimmering woven-metal prototype— “you two are daring.”

Silence, thick and weighty, hung for a moment. The sisters sat stunned. Then the younger burst into a shaky laugh, covering her mouth. “Is this real? We thought you were only coming to… look. To be polite.”

Your smile was faint but sharp with certainty, the kind that had charmed venture capitalists and terrified rivals. “I never just look.”

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 Solenne’s fall/winter line. The kind of risk that didn’t 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.

“Des, you’ve been typing since they left,” you said as you tugged your coat tighter.

“That’s because unlike you, I don’t trust lawyers to capture the poetry of ‘marble dust handbags,’” 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 wasn’t 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 hadn’t hesitated, she jumped ship to join you. “Assistant,” 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. “So. You were saying Eli set you up?”

You groaned so dramatically it echoed in the marble lobby. “Yes. Oh, she thinks I’m 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.”

Desiree snorted. “Honestly? As she should. I love her. She makes sure you eat, she bosses you around, she calls you nena. She’s like, Mediterranean me and it’s amazing.”

“She also made a reservation at that French place for a blind date,” you muttered, pressing the elevator button. “I told her I wasn’t sure, but she just smiled at me and waved a spoon in my face. It was… terrifying.”

Desiree stopped mid-step, her eyes wide with glee. “Wait. Hold on. Let me guess.” She snapped her fingers. “Alexia Putellas.”

You froze, hand hovering over the elevator panel. “…She did not say the name.”

“She didn’t 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.”

You blinked. “Dating is messy. Especially when it’s with someone else in the public eye. You know how I feel about that.”

The elevator dinged. Desiree shoved you inside and leaned against the rail, arms crossed, eyes glittering. “Babe. You’re telling me you’re 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?”

You pressed your palms to your face. “You are supposed to be my assistant. You’re supposed to support me in these situations.”

“I am supporting you. Supporting you to finally get some.” Desiree grinned wickedly. “At least go for the food. Worst case? You eat steak frites and text me an SOS halfway through.”

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.

“I’m just not sure, Des,” you admitted. “Fall/Winter Fashion Weeks are approaching and for some reason we’re doing all four. Who even approved that schedule?”

“You did,” she said flatly, picking at the hem of her blazer.

You groaned. “Why do I hate myself?”

“Because you’re a control freak.” She leaned forward, her tone suddenly softer. “But listen. You’ve been at this since you were fifteen. Designing, grinding, raising your sister, taking care of your cousins, supporting your grandmother. You’ve been responsible your whole damn life. You’ve never been allowed to just… be twenty-seven. To do stupid things like date. Or fall in love.”

Her words sank into you, quiet but heavy. You stilled, fingers hovering over your desktop keys.

“Babe,” Desiree continued, now standing to take your hands. “You keep going on dates with bums because you know they’re bums. It’s safe. They’ll never stick. Eli didn’t raise a bum. So you’re scared, because what if it’s different this time? What if it’s real?”

Silence stretched, the city humming outside your windows.

Finally, you groaned, letting your forehead drop to the back of your chair. “Fine. Maybe I’m scared of a real relationship.”

Desiree beamed. “And that’s progress.” She smacked your arm. “So go on the damn date. What’s the worst that could happen? You eat good food, flirt a little, and if it’s a disaster, you send me memes about it after. Done.”

You peeked up at her with a reluctant smile. “You are insufferable.”

“And you love me.” She flopped back onto the couch with the dramatic sigh of a woman who had just won a war. “Now, let’s order pasta. Milan men are useless, but their chicken is actually bomb.”

When your plane touched down in Barcelona that Saturday morning, exhaustion tugged at your bones, but you didn’t head home. Instead, you drove straight to Eli’s… 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.

“¡Nena!” 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. “Buenos días, Eli.”

“How was Madrid?” 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. “Come, sit, tell me everything.”

You stirred the coffee, the spoon clinking softly. “It 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 that’s another thing I have to think about. You know, the scent combinations, packaging, mood boards, all of it.”

Eli waved a hand as if dismissing your empire sized worries. “Ai, 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.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “If only the investors thought that way.”

Her lips curved into a sly little smile, one you’d grown to recognize over these past months. Mischief lived in that smile.

You set down your cup slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, feigning innocence far too dramatically to be believable.

You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Like you’ve just successfully trapped me in one of your schemes.”

Eli pressed her fingers together in mock contemplation before breaking into a grin.

“Tonight at eight, right?” you said before she could open her mouth, already laughing.

She clapped her hands together like a little girl. “¡Sí, nena! At the French restaurant you like. What is the name again?”

“La Vigne Cachée,” you supplied with a sigh.

“¡Eso! Yes, yes,” Eli nodded enthusiastically, shooing you with her hands. “Take the whole day, eh? Get your nails done, buy new makeup, wear that black dress—the one that shows off your cul.” [Ass]

“Eli!” you gasped, your hand flying to your chest before you dissolved into laughter. “You cannot just say that!”

“¿Por qué no? It is true,” she shrugged, sipping her own coffee with perfect composure. “If I had that dress and that cul, I would wear it every day. Even to the bakery.”

You buried your face in your hands, laughing so hard your shoulders shook. “You are outrageous.”

“I am honest,” she corrected, patting your arm like she was offering sage wisdom. Then she stood suddenly, tugging you up with her. “Go, go, go. No wasting time. This is important!”

“Important?” you echoed, dragged halfway to the door with a piece of toast still in your hand.

“Yes!” she insisted, waving her free hand in the air like a conductor. “Do your hair, paint your nails, spray some of that fancy perfume. Make sure she cannot look away.”

“She?” 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, “If this goes badly, Eli, I’m blaming you!”

Her voice followed you down the walk, triumphant and teasing. “If it goes badly, it is because you didn’t wear the black dress!”

La Vigne Cachée 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 hadn’t 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 she’d 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 didn’t recognize you and quite frankly you liked that.

“Alexia?” you said softly as you reached the table.

She stood so quickly her chair almost scraped the floor. “Sí—uh, yes. Hi.”

Your laugh was low, playful, your accent wrapping around the word. “Hi.”

She pulled out your chair, still looking as if she couldn’t 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.

“So,” you began once she sat back down, tilting your head. “You like to arrive… how do you say? Extremely early?”

Her lips quirked. “I—well, I didn’t want to be late.”

“Mm,” you teased, leaning on your hand. “Or maybe you were nervous.”

Alexia gave a short laugh, looking down at the table as if it could save her. “Maybe.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, your tone gentle, mischievous. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”

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 didn’t 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 you’d 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 couldn’t bear the thought of space between you.

By the time dessert arrived, Alexia had forgotten every reason she’d sworn off dating. All she knew was that she didn’t want this night to end. And by the way she caught you smiling at her—playful, knowing, and utterly captivating, she suspected you didn’t 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, Barcelona’s 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 Cachée, neither moving to leave.

Alexia shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders rolling like she was preparing for a post-match interview. “So…”

“So,” you echoed, smiling. “You survived, didn’t you? My company isn’t that bad?”

Her laugh was soft, genuine, and it made your chest flutter. “Better than I expected.”

You arched a brow. “Expected? You were expecting bad?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head, eyes wide. “Not bad. I just… I didn’t expect this.” Her voice dipped at the last word, like she wasn’t 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.

“Do you always look like you’re thinking too much?” you teased, voice low.

Her throat bobbed. “Probably.”

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 wasn’t 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. “I don’t usually do that,” you admitted, a playful glint in your eyes.

Alexia’s lips curved slowly, a little dazed, a little triumphant. “Neither do I.”

You laughed, brushing your thumb against her sleeve before stepping back. “Well… maybe rules are meant to be broken.”

She was still watching you like you’d 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 didn’t think about football.

To say you and Alexia had hit it off was an understatement. It wasn’t 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 didn’t recognize you. She thought Solenne was some small but promising label, and you didn’t correct her. She wasn’t the type to scroll endlessly through Instagram or devour fashion magazines, and she couldn’t 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 weren’t the girl who was Karl Lagerfeld’s 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 Chanel’s 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 weren’t even the genius behind Solenne.

You were just you. The you who drew silly sketches and shoved them under Alexia’s nose, demanding opinions she didn’t 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.

“Nena, enough is enough.” 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. “You finally have the day off, Alexia is already at my house, and you can finally meet Alba.”

You didn’t even look up from the machine as you guided a seam through the needle. “Eli, I’m almost finished—”

Eli gasped dramatically and marched right up to you, plucking the thread from between your lips. “Don’t you dare talk with needles in your mouth, and don’t think I didn’t notice.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Notice what?”

“Did you even eat today?”

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. “Ai, these artists. Starving yourselves for ‘the vision.’” She looped her arm through yours and started pulling you away from the table like a misbehaving teenager.

“Eli, I’m still in my these clothes—”

“They are black leggings, nena. Nobody will care. Let’s go.”

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.

“The next time you do this,” Eli warned, wagging her spatula as you stepped inside, “you don’t want to know what I will do. Entesa?” [Understand?]

“Yes, mademoiselle,” you mumbled, head down like a child caught sneaking sweets.

“Bonita!” Alexia’s voice came from the living room as she immediately got up and wrapped you in a hug, lifting you slightly off the ground. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be buried under sketches.”

Before you could answer, Eli whacked the back of Alexia’s head with the spatula.

“Ow—Mama!” Alexia ducked, glaring at her mother.

“And what is wrong with you? You knew she was in that sewing dungeon all day and didn’t drag her out?” Eli whacked her again, making you snort.

“Mama!” 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.

“What the fuck?”

The new voice made you turn. A woman stood in the doorway, jaw practically on the floor. You recognized her instantly from Eli’s framed photos, Alba.

Her eyes bulged. “You’re—you’re—you’re—”

“Alba!” Eli smacked her youngest with the spatula now. “Language, niña! Mouth like a sailor.”

Alba stumbled back, pointing at you like she’d seen a ghost. “Mama, do you know who this is? This is the creator of Solenne. The one I dragged you to in Paris. Lagerfeld’s prodigy. Chanel’s golden child. The reason my bank account cried for six months after that handbag.”

You tried to hold back, but laughter exploded out of you again, especially when Alexia tightened her grip on your waist, looking baffled.

“Ugh, you two are impossible,” Alba groaned at her mother and sister’s dumbfounded expression, digging her phone out of her pocket. “Fine. Look. Wikipedia. Here. Read.” She shoved her phone between them.

Alexia leaned over her shoulder. “Wait, what?”

Eli squinted at the screen. “Nena!” She whirled back to you, scandalized. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

You wiped tears of laughter from your eyes. “Eli, I did tell you. I told you about my company, my designs, my reasons for moving—”

“You made it sound like you were knitting sweaters for Etsy!” Eli smacked you lightly with the spatula, too.

“Ow—Eli!”

“You need to give yourself more credit. This is incredible. You should be proud.”

Your smile softened. “I am proud. It’s my baby. But sometimes…” You shrugged. “Sometimes it feels safer to keep it small.”

Eli softened, cupping your cheek for just a second before turning back to the stove like nothing had happened. “Bah. Enough. Dinner!”

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.

“You’re cooler in person,” she admitted between bites of salad. “Like, not as scary. I thought you’d be… I don’t know. Untouchable.”

“Untouchable?” you laughed. “Alba, you’ve seen me choke on tea at your mother’s table.”

“She’s right,” Eli agreed dryly. “Not untouchable. A disaster.”

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 Étienne and his big heart.

“Nena, where is your sister? I never asked. She’s in university, right?” 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. “Olympe? She’s in her first year of uni. She goes to university in America, and she plays for the woman’s basketball team at her school. She wants to go into the WNBA,” you explained with pride.

Eli smiled as well, “That’s very good! When she joins we will all go watch her games.”

You laugh at Eli’s ambition, she was already planning this far ahead.

By the time you and Alexia slipped out into the night, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Déjà vu,” you teased as Alexia walked you home, the moonlight catching in her hair.

She grinned. “What do you mean?”

“Standing outside like this. First date all over again.”

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.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Solenne?” she pouted, tugging playfully at your leggings.

“Chérie, I did tell you,” you laughed, brushing a curl from your face. “You just weren’t listening.”

Her lips brushed your shoulder. “Mama’s right. You don’t give yourself enough credit. I didn’t think ‘too humble’ was a thing until you.”

You exhaled, voice softer. “Sometimes the attention is overwhelming. “I know. I just enjoy the quiet, I’m not sure. Sometimes the attention can be… Comment dit-on cela en espagnol?” [How do you say this in Spanish?]

“Overwhelming?” Alexia offered.

“Yes. Exactly, it’s 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 cousin’s school talked bad about me near him and had him in hysterics. My poor Étienne, he had to change schools which is the last thing he needs. Since then, I guess I realized it’s safer to keep it small, even when it isn’t small at all.”

Alexia only hummed, her hand sliding under your shirt, rubbing circles at your waist. “Well… small or not, I’m proud of you.”

You blinked back a sudden rush of emotion, whispering, “Thank you, mon amour.”

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.

“Why did you choose Solenne?” Alexia asked.

“My grandmother’s name. She’s always supported me and when I started it was the only thing I could give to her really, I was only fifteen,” you whispered, the reputation of Alexia’s hands lulling you to sleep. “Besides it sounds elegant and classy, which was all I wanted.”

“How old is your sister and cousin? I don’t think you’ve told me.”

“Olympe is actually seventeen. She graduated a year early so she could go play early. She plays for the University of Connecticut. Étienne is eight going on nine. He’s my baby, I love him so much. He has the sweetest heart, and he’s really into football right now. Olympe is trying to turn him onto basketball. He lives with our mamé because both of his parents travel for work,” you let out a loud yawn. [Grandma]

Alexia kissed your temple, her voice gentle. “Go to sleep, guapa. I’ll be here in the morning.”

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.

“Nena, what is wrong?” Eli asked when you suddenly folded yourself in half in your seat, hair falling like a curtain around your face. “The game is almost over and you spent most of it worrying and staring at Alexia.”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered against your knees, then lifted your head to groan. It wasn’t your first football game, you knew Jules Koundé and went to many of his games. “This isn’t like cheering for Jules or Aurélien or the French team. This is… different. This is me wearing her jersey. This is me sitting in the family box. This is Alexia.”

“Aww,” Alba cut in with a teasing smirk, her eyes never leaving the pitch as the final whistle blew. “You already got the WAG routine down. Cute outfit, nervous energy, cheering for your girl like the world is ending.”

You sat up straighter and looked at her, scandalized. “It’s technically Alexia and I’s first public outing where people might connect dots. I was already spotted at concessions and you know how I value my privacy, so if one—”

“You’re rambling again,” Alba sing-songed, resting her chin on her fist. “Huge ball of anxiety, but you’ll live. Stop overthinking.”

You blinked at her. Eli blinked at her. The two of you turned in tandem, shocked.

“What?” Alba asked, defensive under your twin gazes.

“That’s actually… good advice,” you said slowly, as if testing the words.

Eli clutched her chest like she’d been shot. “It’s a miracle.”

Alba tossed her hair dramatically. “What can I say? Genius strikes when you least expect it.”

“I can say you finally had a good thought,” Eli muttered into her coffee cup.

“Mama!” Alba gasped.

You laughed so hard you clutched your stomach, rings clinking together, just when the door opened.

“What are we laughing at?” Alexia’s 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.

“Good game, vida,” Eli said, rising to kiss her daughter’s cheek.

“Yeah, good game, I guess,” Alba mumbled, before Eli smacked her arm and physically nudged her toward the door.

“We are going to the family room,” Eli announced far too quickly, dragging Alba out despite her whining.

“Subtle,” 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, “Good game, chérie. So proud of you.”

Alexia’s lips curved before she tightened her hold and captured your mouth again, this time slower, lingering, kissing you like she’d been waiting the whole ninety minutes for this exact moment.

“Capi will you make the TikTok—

“What the fu—”

“Capi?”

You both jolted apart, Alexia spinning halfway toward the door where Jana, Bruna, Esmee, and Salma stood in a messy clump. Jana’s jaw had practically hit the floor. Bruna’s eyes were comically wide. Even Esmee, usually reserved, had her mouth parted in shock. Salma, however, was smirking.

“Oh, my God,” Bruna whispered. “You’re kissing someone.”

“Not just someone,” Jana pointed, eyes narrowing as if solving a puzzle. “That’s—wait. That’s—”

“Hi,” 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 hadn’t just been caught making out with their captain.

“Uh…” Esmee blinked, still processing.

Bruna elbowed her. “Say something!”

You chuckled lightly, then turned toward Salma, who was already stepping forward. “Salma,” you greeted warmly, pulling her into a hug. “Congratulations again on the contract. I’m so glad we’re working together.”

Salma grinned knowingly. “Gracias. I had a feeling this was coming.”

Alexia stood frozen, her ears red. “Am I… am I the only one who didn’t know about Solenne?” she muttered under her breath.

Jana’s eyes shot open wider. “Wait. Solenne? You’re Solenne?”

“Like… the fashion Solenne?” Bruna’s voice cracked on the word. “The one on Vogue last month?”

“Well, I created it.” You smoothed the skirt of your dress under your Alexia jersey and shrugged delicately. “But tonight I’m just here as Alexia’s date.”

That sent the three of them into a fresh wave of whispering chaos. Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, enough,” she said firmly, shepherding them toward the hall. “Go. Make your TikToks. Leave us alone.”

The four scurried off, still whispering loudly.

When they disappeared, Alexia groaned. “They’re never going to let me live that down.”

“They’ll survive,” 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 they’d gone ahead to the restaurant, giving the two of you space.

Alexia opened the passenger door, hand sweeping theatrically. “Get in.”

You shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. You just played ninety minutes. You’re exhausted. I’ll drive.”

“Carinyo.” Her voice softened, her hand still braced on the door. “Please. Let me spoil you. Besides, you drive like a lunatic.”

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 driver’s seat. The car purred to life.

“You better drive safe,” you teased, buckling in.

Alexia smirked, shifting into gear. “Bonita, as long as I don’t drive like you we will be safe.”

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.

[wh1te-mustang]

get you right where you need to be || w.maximoff

kinktober week 2!!

pairing: sugarmommy! wanda maximoff x fem!reader

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 company’s 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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t help but melt. 

you had instantly said yes, her response being a tight squeeze on your hand before she pressed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. and that’s why you were standing there, in a room filled with people whose net-worths were probably a 100 times more than yours. 

wanda couldn’t 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. 

you don’t 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. 

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, wanda’s 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, “hello, mrs. maximoff.”

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 “kate, it’s lovely to see you again. how are you?” you had asked softly. 

there was no need to shout, the live band playing jazz was comfortingly quiet. “i’m okay, thank you so much for asking-” she said with a smile, visibly relaxing and you realise today must be a big day for her as well, as wanda’s only assistant. 

“ms maximoff said to seat you at the private bar. and she also told me to tell you that she will come and get you soon” she mumbles quick, fingers running over the tablet in her hand and you nod, your smile dropping slightly but you're glad kate didn’t notice. it was a bit upsetting, you hadn’t seen wanda properly in a week but it’s fine, you told yourself. 

she makes up for it by always staying in bed with you longer in the mornings, you thought.  

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. 

you let kate guide you to the private bar, where you smiled politely at the bartender and placed your drink’s order. this was the best part, you thought to yourself as you took a sip of your drink and leaned back against the bar. 

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. 

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. 

“whiskey, neat please.” 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. 

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. she’s wearing a very loose brown colored suit, that is too big on her but she somehow manages to make it work. 

in the process of you sizing the woman up, she’s staring right back at you and she's the one who ends up breaking the silence. 

“shirley temple?”

“cosmopolitan.” you reply politely and the woman regards you with a small grin and then asks, in the sweetest voice “you old enough to drink, sweetheart?”

“excuse me?” 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. 

you quickly establish that you don’t like her. 

she tilts her head to the side, and if possible, her eyes brighten into a deeper shade of blue, you stiffen even more. “ive seen you around the office with wanda.” 

“well, i have never seen you.” 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. 

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. “i like to work from home mostly, it’s more fun and i can drink on the clo-” 

you don’t mean to be dramatic, but you literally notice the temperature of the room drop, and you feel her before you even hear her voice. 

“agatha, i see you have met my wife.” you hear from behind and the grip you had on your glass loosens instantly. you feel wanda’s warm hand press against your shoulder blade and you lean back easily into her touch.

you can let her do all the thinking now. 

“wife?” 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.

“well, i didn't know about that.” is all she ends up saying, eyes now fixed on wanda with an easy grin. 

“you wouldn't know. with those failed marriages and all.” wanda’s voice isn't loud, but it’s firm enough. her hand is still on your shoulder as she moves to stand besides you, and you finally get to see what she’s wearing. and your mouth dries up. 

“i’ve been married once, wanda. at least show a tiny bit of interest in my life.” agatha pouts at your girlfriend but you don't see it. 

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. 

“i dont want to.” 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. 

agatha’s eyes were back on you, over the rim of her glass and you can literally see her grin over it. “this one’s pretty cute-”

“no.” 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. 

she settles right in front of wanda, taking a deliberately slow sip of her drink, voice quiet but you still hear her, “you wound me, darling but-” she looks at you over wanda’s shoulder. 

she is taller than wanda, you blink. she winks at you, you blink again.

“until we meet again, sweetheart. te veo” she smiles at you then, a smug yet genuine grin and she’s gone. 

wanda is immediately in front of you, hands reaching to hold yours “hi, darling. i apologize for leaving you alone for so long.” and then she’s leaning down to press two kisses to the back of your hands. “did agatha give you a hard time?”

“hey, no- wanda it’s fine. please dont apologize and no she was fine, she didn-” 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. 

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. 

you clench your legs together, quickly becoming aware of the seeping wetness between your thighs. and wanda’s eyes seem to follow your movements, focused on your exposed thigh and her jaw clenches. 

oh. 

oh, she’s very turned on. 

though, when she looks back at you, her eyes soften around the corners, and she manages to give you a gentle smile. “one hour, and then we can leave, is that fine?”

and when you answer with a meek ‘yeah’, 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. 

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 wanda’s left hand settles easily over your thigh under the table and doesn't leave its place for a long time. 

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 goodbye’s 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. 

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 wanda’s hand rubbing circles on your thigh was comforting enough. 

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, “i have never met agatha before. she’s new.” 

wanda’s 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 “yeah, she has been overseeing the uk office for a few years, came back just this week.”

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 “im sure she probably liked you” 

what?

no, she’s got it all wrong. you turn to look at wanda, eyes widening slightly before you mumble “wanda, no- that’s not why i was say-”

“my darling girl, i know. i know.” 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. “i know, my love. i was just stating the obvious. everyone adores you.” 

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.

“she, however. she doesn't get to adore you, because you are mine, yes? are you not mommy’s girl?”

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. 

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 passenger’s seat and shit, you're wet. you just can’t help it, you nod, once, twice before you reach to press a kiss to her palm. “i’m mommy’s girl. only yours.” 

and that seems to please wanda enough because she grants you a beautiful smile, her dimple prominent. 

“good 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?”

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, “yes, mommy. i can.”

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 wanda’s bedroom and then you start to take of your dress. it’s 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 wanda’s bed. and then you wait, five minutes, then ten.

when you’ve 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 wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer, the bedroom door clicks open.

your back straightens immediately, and other than wanda’s sharp inhale, she doesn’t give you anything. you don’t 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.

“oh, you're so pretty like this, darling. is this all for me?” 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.

“it looks like a pretty color, baby, i wanna see it more clearly.” 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.

“oh, you're so gorgeous, sweetling. what a stunning color indeed.” 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.

“wore it for you, mommy.” 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.

“oh.” 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 doesn’t seem to mind as she takes out the strap she had kept hidden from you all night and you moan out loud, finally and it’s your favorite. “you wanna be helpful, darling?”

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 “yes, mommy.” 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.

“mommy had such a long week, exhausting it was. and now she wants to unwind, destress if you will,” her tone is borderline mocking, but you know she’s holding back “but for that, she needs her pretty princess’s help.”

and then she’s 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. “you wanna help mommy? yeah? wanna be useful, baby?”

you're nodding, hands gripping onto wanda’s 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 “use your words like a big girl, princess.”

“yes! god, please yes mommy, please use me! i wanna help.” you don’t 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 don’t 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 wanda’s movements only fastened. “god, what a perfect pussy, she takes me so good. she missed me, yeah? she did?”

she’s 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. “this is exactly what mommy needed, princess.”

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 eight’s on it. and your hips jolt “m-mommy-”

“shh, baby, i know mommy’s so deep inside you, but you take it so good, yeah? you love mommy’s cock?” she’s cooing and her voice is so soft, like a symphony in your ears but her pace is animalistic. you’re soaking her slacks and the thong is a mess that’s barely holding on, but she refuses to take it off.

“gosh princess, mommy doesn’t give your pussy attention for a week and you go to the next older woman you see? that’s unfair.” she’s panting and her lips are bitten red, her voice is still gentle but now she’s resorted to pinching your clit. you yelp, shaking your head as you feel tears welling up your eyes. jesus, you're close already.

“oh, my poor baby, it's alright, shh- you just can’t help it when people look at you. you love the attention; you’re just like that.” her thumb presses hard on your clit, you choke on a whine.

you guess she’s pissed, slightly even jealous and you don’t want to say anything out of line. but she’s not even letting you say anything at all with just how she’s ramming into you, “no- n-no mommy, i’m only yours, fuck.”

“im sorry, darling, what was that?” she coaxes, her thrusts softening to the point she’s grinding into you, the tip of her strap pressed just right against that spongey spot inside you. and you sputter out a moan, “im yours only mommy, p’ease, fuck only yours! let me come.”

“youre mine only? yeah?” and when you're nodding breathlessly, she presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. and you realise she’s 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.

“yeah, you’re mine baby. im the only one filling you up, f-fuck i’ll make you mine properly. i’ll put a shiny diamond ring on your finger and fuck you full of my cock every day. you’d like that? you want that?” your walls clench tight around her strap and she groans when she can’t 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 she’s nipping and sucking on your skin, “yeah, 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?”

and when you moan out, she chuckles against your jugular, “oh what a good girl, my good girl. fuck, you’ll be such a perfect wife, youre already so obedient. you’ll be at my beck and call.” and when you nod, lips parted to let out a silent groan, she nods along with you.

“perfect girl. my perfect girl.” she starts her thrusts again, her strap bottoms out and then she pulls out until the tip remains, just to slam back inside you. it’s enough to reignite that fire in the pit of your tummy. “m-mommy, close” and wanda traps your clit between her thumb and index, jerking it off slowly. you gasp, walls clenching tighter around her strap.

“you gonna cum around mommy’s cock princess?” and when you nod again, she leans to press a kiss against your lips, mumbling a ‘good girl’ 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 don’t 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, “there she is, oh there’s my girl.”

your cheeks flush more, and wanda, while still nestled inside of you, sheds her suit jacket and her shirt. “now, that ive given you your fun, it’s mommy’s turn.”

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 wasn’t 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 she’s 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. 

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 she’s 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, “oh baby, you are still dripping for me.”

she’s 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 doesn’t take your bra off. 

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.

it’s 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. 

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. 

“don’t think i’ll ever get enough, sweetheart.” she mumbles quietly, one hand on your waist while the other settles on your lower tummy, just over the slight bulge of her strap. 

“you feel that? that’s me-” and as if she’s proving a point, she presses down on the bulge, just enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. “im the one fucking you so deep, love. it’s your mommy.” 

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, it’s the only ringing in your ears. you’re gone. “mommy, c‘ose-”

you think you hear wanda’s whispers, something along the lines of ‘you feel so good around me, i swear you were made for me.’ 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. 

you let out a high pitched moan, fingers tangling in the sheets one more and youre soaking wanda’s 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. 

you love this position, because it forces wanda deeper inside you, and the angle kisses that spot inside you just right with every thrust. “f-fuck..” your voice is rough but 

your head tilts to rest against wanda’s 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 they’re oversensitive now because a rough pinch on them makes your back arch. “youre so, hah- fuck- come inside me, please”

wanda’s hips snap forward at your words, and you both moan in unison. “fuck, baby.” her voice is strained and gosh, it’s such a beautiful sound.

she likes that, you realise. and your hand mindlessly reaches back to tangle in her hair. “want you to fuck me full of your cum.” and wanda’s insane, she’s pushing you a little more on your stomach, and her thrusts are sharper now, harder. and you can't control your moans

“fuck, love. you're so sweet fo’me. i’ll breed you full, you'll feel me inside you for days.” and wanda’s rhythm starts to break, her voice becomes whiner and she’s almost grinding against your ass, chasing her own pleasure. 

“everyone’ll know you're mine, everyone will know- hah- fuck baby.” she’s babbling now, and you smile against the sheets, cute, you think. you can't help it, so snicker through your own groans.

“you gonna cum, just from the thought of fucking me full of your cum? you think it’ll stick the first time? or will we have to-to go a few rounds” 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. 

but wanda licks them up, licks your tears to pant against you ear again, licking your earlobe. “you don't know what you're talking about, little girl” 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. 

but wanda licks them up, she takes back her control. she licks your tears to pant against you ear again, biting on your earlobe. “you don't know what you're talking about, little girl” 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. 

but she grips your hips with a hand and forces you to meet her thrusts, and your vision goes hazy. “you think you could take it, doll? i’d keep you on my cock for days, jesus- youre still so tight?”

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.

“you’ve gone quiet now, gonna cum again, princess?” of course she notices, she chuckles against your skin, but it comes out more of an exhale “cmon, love. work for it”

that’s 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 “cant wait to fuck my cum back inside you over and over, until it does stick.”

and your vision goes white.

wanda slows her thrusts but doesn’t stop, her hips still moving as her arm wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against her chest. “good, my good girl. youre so perfect”

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.

“now, hands and knees, dear. ive heard it usually does the trick”

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

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[traveler-at-heart]

Like it rough

Summary: Wanda wants to try something new.

This is just smut - from an idea by @a-cat-on-titan

The thud of Wanda’s 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 Wanda’s 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.

“Hey, love” you say, walking up to her. Since she doesn’t turn around, you place your hand on her shoulder.

Wanda’s 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.

“Hey!”

“Hi” you say, laughing. “Gotcha”

“I was not prepared”

“Right. What are you doing here, anyway?” you stand up, offering your hand to help her up.

“Clint was going to help me train but he had to leave for an urgent mission”

“Wanna train with me, then?” you offer, but frown when you notice she hesitates. “What?”

“It’s just that… you pull your puches when we spar”

“I do not!”

“You kinda do” she tilts her head, scrunching up her nose in that way you find so adorable.

“I had you on your back and pinned to the floor just five seconds ago”

“Yes, and I quite enjoyed it” she teases, pulling you against her. You kiss her lips, but she can tell you’re moping a bit at her rejection. “We can train but you won’t pull your punches”

“Ok, fine. I didn’t know my girl liked it rough” you whisper teasingly, walking up to the mat.

That’s how you miss Wanda’s 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.

“This is better” you whisper against her ear and she lets you move her around. “Good girl”

“Stop”

“Mmm” you laugh, placing a kiss below her ear. “Ready?”

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.

“You told me not to…”

“I know. I’m ready” she says, more to herself than to you.

For a few minutes, you throw punches that Wanda manages to avoid, if only just barely.  That’s the issue with her fighting style; she can avoid getting hit, but she’s 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 doesn’t doble tap you to let her go, so you just stay there, hoping she remembers how to get off it.

“Easy” 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 she’s in pain, or complaining.

It’s a lot like the sounds she makes when you’re fucking her and she’s coming.

Your brain can barely catch up with the fact, though, because she’s throwing you with her powers across the room.

“That’s cheating” you say, out of breath.

Wanda’s 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. Wanda’s 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.

“We should probably…”

“No”

“Wanda”

“It’s stupid” 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.

“It’s not stupid. Just… talk to me? Please”

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.

“I… wouldn’t mind if sometimes, you were a little bit rough”

“During training”

“During sex” she clarifies, but catches up to the fact you were teasing her. “You said you wanted to talk, and now you’re making fun of me”

“No, hey, sorry. I’m 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 you’d enjoy. Maybe a safe word. This only works if we communicate, baby”

“You’ve done this before” Wanda tilts her head, and you know you’re 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.

“Well… I have experimented a bit. I just didn’t bring it up before because I was under the impression you were fine with what we have, Wands”

Your sex life wasn’t 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.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Well, first of all. Your pleasure is mine. So I was perfectly happy with fucking you in every possible way or eating you out, baby. Didn’t think it was something you wanted to explore. But now that I do…” you lean forward to kiss her softly, smiling at her. “Let’s just make sure that soundproof spell of yours actually works”

—

It’s been one of those weeks, where the weight of being an Avengers is almost too much to handle.

You’ve been in and out of briefing rooms, and by the time you’re back, Wanda’s already gone to another mission.

This also means that you can’t have a proper date night, or a conversation about the things she’s 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.

“I missed you” you say once she returns to your room, climbing in bed to cuddle.

“Me too”

“Want to get some sleep?” you offer, though it’s barely past seven. Wanda stays silent and you lift your head to look at her, concerned. “Baby?”

“Are you tired?”

Her tone makes you hesitate for a second. Honestly? You’re exhausted. But judging by the way she’s playing with the hem of your shirt, you know what she’s thinking.

“Tell me what you want” you say, kissing the column of her neck, until you reach her ear.

“I want to stop thinking. I just want to feel you… I want you to use me”

“Fuck, Wanda” you say against her skin, biting down and knowing that’s going to leave a mark. But she seems thrilled at the idea, moaning when she feels the rough contact of your teeth on her. “Out of these clothes before I rip them off”

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.

“On your hands and knees” you say, and she’s shaking with excitement as she settles in bed.

“Stay upright” 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.

“Green, yellow, red. Green is good, yellow…”

“Got it” she cuts you off. You chuckle, pinching her thigh and making her squirm.

“Smartass”

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 that’s dripping from Wanda’s core.

“Eager, are we?” you say, kissing her leg and going little by little, until your tongue darts out to lick a strip up her cunt.

“Fuck” 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. You’re so busy that it takes a minute to notice a hand that snaked down Wanda’s body. She’s playing with her clit while your tongue laps at her folds.

“No one said you could touch yourself” 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.

“What was that?” you say when she mumbles something. “Wanda”

“Spank me” she pleads, and you’re pretty sure your brain stops working at that point.

“Want me to teach you some manners?” you tease, your hand going to her ass, touching her softly.

“Fuck. Yes”

“What a dirty mouth. Will have to fuck that out of you” 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.

“Harder. Please, harder”

At her request, you falter. You really don’t want to hurt her and you’re worried about overstepping, since this is the first time you’re trying something different.

“I can take it, detka, please” 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.

“Fuck, you like this a little too much, don’t you?”

“Mmh”

“My little slut” the words leave your mouth before you can think it twice.

“All yours” she agrees, too far gone to even catch up to what she’s saying.

“You’re so wet, I think you’ll finally get to try my big cock. You want that?”

“Please”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me with your big cock” she answers with surprising clarity.

“Good girl, asking so nicely” 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 what’s next.

She’s expecting you to fuck her missionary, the way you’ve 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. It’s certainly one of the biggest you own.

“Do you remember the spell?” you say against her temple.

“T-the silencing spell?”

“No. The other one”

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.

“I don’t think I can do it” she says, tensing as one of your hands goes down, playing with her clit.

“You better. Otherwise you don’t get to come” you say, the other hand going to pinch her nipple harshly.

Wanda moans. She pleads, and all you do is tease her, until she’s 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.

“Fuck, baby” 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. She’s 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.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. So tight and warm. You like being my toy?”

“Yes” she moans, searching for your other hand, until she places it around her throat.

It seems like no matter how rough you are, it’s 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.

"You're going to kill me"

[just-aake]

Little Details

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has always been trained to notice the smallest details—the ones that reveal what people want, what they fear, what they hide. But when it comes to you, there’s one detail she can’t 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.

“What about Jenn from HR? She seems nice. Always says hi whenever she sees you.”

Beside you, Natasha doesn’t even glance up. She spears a bite neatly from her tray and answers flatly.

“She’s already seeing someone.”

You pause mid-chew, blinking at her in disbelief. 

“Seriously? Who?”

Natasha lifts her fork, tilting it just enough to indicate across the room without drawing attention.

“Carmen. From the front desk. They’ve been dating since last month.”

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 upward—straight toward Jenn in the line. When their gazes meet, there’s a secret smile, a tiny wave, something almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

“…Huh,” you murmur, reluctantly impressed.

Natasha only nods, as if it’s 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.

“You got a little something,” you say softly.

Natasha doesn’t even react in surprise at your touch. She just takes the napkin from you with a distracted “Thanks,” eyes still on her plate.

You lean back, resting your chin on your hand, studying her with something between admiration and exasperation.

“So how’d you figure that out?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, slicing into her food with precise care.

“Jenn’s lunch routine changed. She used to eat in her office, now she shows up whenever Carmen’s here. Plus, Jenn’s been wearing that silver bracelet Carmen wore every day until about three weeks ago. And whenever Carmen’s shift ends early, Jenn conveniently leaves a couple minutes later—even though she usually stays late.”

You blink, almost dropping your fork at the overload of detail.

“And you just happen to notice all of that?”

“It’s part of being a spy,” Natasha says, looking up with a faint smirk. “People tell you things without realizing it. All you have to do is watch.”

Before you can retort, a new group enters the cafeteria. You nudge her arm, pointing at someone in the middle.

“Okay, what about—”

“Crushing on Jeremy from IT,” she interrupts smoothly, not even bothering to turn her head.

Your jaw drops. “You didn’t even look.”

“I don’t need to,” she replies coolly, taking a sip of her drink. “She 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.”

You gape, then narrow your eyes at her.

“You say you’re not into romance,” you accuse, jabbing your fork toward her, “but you’re basically tuned into everyone’s relationship at SHIELD.”

Her smirk deepens just enough to be infuriating. 

“I don’t have to be into it to recognize it. Tells are tells. That’s all it is—patterns, shifts, little details.”

You hum, a grin tugging at your lips as something mischievous sparks in your chest. You lean forward, voice lowering with challenge.

“Alright then. Since you’re so confident…do me.”

Her brows rise. “Excuse me?”

You rest your chin in your palm, grinning excitedly. 

“Figure out my crush.”

For the first time, Natasha falters. Just a flicker—but you catch it. Surprise. Maybe confusion. Definitely something unsettled before she schools her features back into cool indifference.

“You have someone you like?”

You shrug, your smile turning smug. 

“Mmhmm. Guess you’re not as sharp with the little details as you thought.”

Her eyes narrow on you, and you don’t miss the way her grip tightens subtly on her fork.

“Give me until the end of the week,” she says finally, standing to gather her tray.

You smirk at her teasingly.

“You need that long?”

Her look turns flat. 

“We 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?”

You tip your head in mock consideration. 

“Multitask, Romanoff.”

Her huff is half amusement, half irritation as she adjusts her tray and tablet before attempting to grab her bag. 

“Fine,” she grunts, conceding the challenge.

You sweep the bag from her overloaded hands before she can manage it. 

“End of the week,” you call as you stroll away, flashing her a playful grin. “Let’s see how good the Black Widow really is…at noticing the little details.”

Natasha watches you go, eyes narrowing just slightly. 

You don’t 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.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha’s 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 you’re not alone. A weapons support tech she recognizes stands beside you, chatting animatedly while you respond with the same bright energy. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow when the other woman’s hand lands briefly on your shoulder before she departs with a smile. The touch is friendly, fleeting even, and yet irritating all the same. 

“You know she’s still tangled up in that on-again, off-again thing with Tess from legal,” Natasha blurts as she finally approaches.

You turn, one brow raised, clearly amused.

“Even I know that tidbit,” you tease, tugging your boots tight and rising to your feet. Hands settle on your hips as you tilt your head at her. “What are you suggesting, that she’s my crush?” 

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.

“No. She’s not your type.” 

You chuckle, leaning your shoulder against the lockers beside hers, arms folded loosely across your chest. 

“And what exactly do you think my type is?”

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. 

Irritation stirs in her chest at the gap in her knowledge. Her lips press thin before she finally mutters, “Just…not her.”

You hum thoughtfully at her clipped tone, pushing off the locker. 

“Well, you’re right again, Romanoff. She was just dropping something off for me.”

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.

“What—” 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. Natasha’s 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. 

“Got them to finish the repairs just in time,” you announce proudly, turning away toward your own locker.

Natasha releases the air she’d 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. 

Nothing to explain her reaction.  

Something slips from your locker with the next careless toss. 

Natasha stoops and picks it up—a photo, edges worn. It’s 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 aren’t looking at the camera. Your gaze is angled toward the three of them instead.

“Have you heard from any of them recently?” you ask casually, drawing her attention.

Natasha blinks, processing your question for a beat before handing the photo back. 

“Uh, no. Clint’s on vacation. And last I heard Stark’s still rebuilding.” 

You hum softly, sliding the picture back onto the inside of your locker door. 

“What about Rogers?”

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. 

“What about him?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, zipping up your duffel. “It must be tough, adjusting to the modern world all alone.”

The spark of irritation comes so suddenly that it makes her jaw clench. Natasha slams her locker closed harder than she means to. 

“He’ll manage,” she says curtly before adding. “We should focus on our own jobs.”

You only laugh, throwing your duffel strap over one shoulder and—before she could react—snatching hers as well. 

“Whatever you say, Romanoff,” 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 isn’t 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.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha lounges on the lush couch in the grand hotel lobby, ankle crossed neatly over her knee, a glossy magazine balanced in her lap. 

To the casual eye, she’s absorbed in the pages, but in reality, her gaze darts over the rim of the paper—tracking 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.

“Do you see our target yet?”

Natasha exhales a soft breath, flipping the page like she’s genuinely invested in the article. 

“Still no,” she murmurs. “Nothing has changed since you asked me five minutes ago.”

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.

“Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.”

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. 

But lately…lately the simple sound of your voice makes her pulse skip for some reason.

She clears her throat quietly, forcing her attention outward. 

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.

“I see him,” 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 you’re straightening in your seat.

“And the package?”

Her eyes flick between the security bodies and spot a slim metal case in the target’s hand. One of the guards moves to the front desk, and the target’s grip on the case shifts into perfect view. 

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.

“Nice work,” you say, approval warm in your tone. “It looks like that model requires a fingerprint scan to open.” 

Natasha lifts her phone to her ear, feigning a call as she considers the problem. 

Her gaze drifts toward the ballroom doors, where the staff are still bustling about.

At the threshold stands the event planner—clipboard 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.

“So we lift the prints at the party,” Natasha says calmly, already slotting pieces of a plan into place.

Your soft laugh filters through with a hint of skepticism.

“And how exactly do you suppose we get inside?”

Natasha’s eyes flick back to the planner, who sneaks another look at her before quickly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

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 it—an opening.

Natasha lowers her magazine just enough to murmur, “I’m working on it.” 

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.

“You’ve done a beautiful job with the room,” Natasha says, voice low and sincere.

The compliment lands instantly. The woman beams, shoulders straightening.

“Oh! Thank you—it’s been exhausting, but I think it’s finally coming together. Are you…a guest?”

Natasha shakes her head lightly. 

“Helping a friend who is. Their luggage got lost during the flight, so I came to make sure they had what they needed.” She lets the pause linger a beat, then adds smoothly, “Though I may be pressing my luck asking if there’s any chance of being a plus-one.”

The planner’s brows lift, interest sparking exactly where Natasha expects it.

“We might have last-minute passes,” she says quickly, flipping through her clipboard. “I could add a note to add you if you’d still like to come.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Natasha replies, resting a hand lightly on the woman’s arm, her smile just this side of intimate. “I hope that means I’ll see you there too.”

The woman chuckles, biting back a grin, before one of the staff calls her name. She starts to go, but glances back.

“What’s your name? For the list.”

Natasha gives the alias assigned to her mission. The woman scribbles it onto her notes, then flashes her a quick wave. 

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Natasha answers smoothly, watching as she disappears into the organized chaos of final preparations.

Once she’s gone, Natasha raises her phone again, pretending to resume her call.

“And now we have a way in,” she says softly, satisfaction threading her tone.

Silence answers. The accomplished warmth in her chest cools into tight concern.

“Hello? Is everything okay?” she asks, turning toward the exit, ready to head back to you if needed.

Finally, your voice filters back through the comm.

“All good. Just some connection problems. I’m back now.”

Natasha frowns faintly. Something in your tone is off. It’s no longer playful, but clipped. Before she can press, you clear your throat, steering the moment away.

“Can you figure out what room he’s staying in? I’ll sneak in and take the case while you lift his prints at the party.”

The frown deepens. She doesn’t like the sharp pivot or the stiffness in your voice.

“Are you sure you’re—”

“Natasha.”

The curt way you say her name stills her instantly.

“Focus on our own jobs, remember?” 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.

“…Yeah. Sure,” she mutters, though the word sits heavy in her chest.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

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 off—it has been off since the hotel lobby. She just can’t 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.

“Oi! Open up already! I haven’t got all day!”

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.

“Always a warm welcome with the two of you,” he deadpans, brushing past you into the room.

Natasha huffs, tucking her weapon away. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I called him,” you say, shutting the door and turning to Mason expectantly. “Did you get it?”

He presents the case with mock ceremony. 

“Here you are. Now we’re square, yeah?”

You take the case and tilt your head in consideration. 

“Is one favor really enough after what you put me through at that last safehouse?”

“Hey,” Mason protests with a hand raised, grinning, “I was trapped there with you, too.”

Natasha frowns, her gaze darting between you and him. There’s an ease in your banter with Mason—inside jokes, stories she isn’t part of. The space between you two is minimal also, too casual for her liking. She tells herself it’s nothing, but irritation prickles anyway.

The irritation grows as she realizes you’ve 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, she’s already stepping forward, pressing Mason back toward the door with a polite but firm hand.

“Alright, we need to prep for tonight,” she says briskly, ushering him over the threshold. “Thanks for the delivery. Until next time.”

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.

“That was a little rude,” you comment, a grin tugging at your lips when you glance at her. The teasing tone doesn’t match the way you immediately look back down, shutting her out again.

Natasha’s patience snaps. 

“Alright, what’s up with you?” 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. 

“That woman at the hotel,” you say flatly.

Natasha blinks in confusion. 

“What about her?”

“How did you know she was interested in you?” Your shrug is casual, but the words are sharp. “That’s why you went over, right? Because you already knew she’d say yes.”

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.

“I just…noticed,” she admits finally. “The little details. How someone looks, shifts, reacts. I can always tell when they like something—or someone.”

Your expression doesn’t soften. If anything, the slight clench of your jaw tells her she’s only made it worse. You hum, noncommittal, and turn back to the case.

Frustration knots in Natasha’s 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.

“I knew it would look good on you,” 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. “Now you can notice all the people interested in you later at the party.”

This time, the edge in your voice is unmistakable.

Natasha’s mouth opens to respond, but she falters. She doesn’t actually know what the issue is, only that she’s missing something, and the fact that she can’t 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 she’s 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 she’s failed to notice some detail that matters most.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha smooths her palms down the dress, the fabric gliding beneath her fingers. You were right—it 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.

“Can you help me with this?” Natasha asks quietly, turning her back to you and gathering her hair into one hand to bare the zipper.

“Sure,” 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.

“You look beautiful, Natasha,” you whisper faintly, almost as if you didn’t 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 can’t write off as heat or adrenaline. She knows this expression. The flicker of awareness, the telltale glow in the eyes, the way her pulse jumps—details she’s read a hundred times in others, but never noticed in herself.

Her head snaps over her shoulder. 

You’re 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. 

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. 

“Ready, Romanoff?”

Her throat tightens, and she forces herself to nod.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

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. 

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. 

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, he’s pliant in her hands. She passes him her glass under the guise of sharing. When she takes it back, her “slip” 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.

“I got the prints,” 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.

“That’s… great.” A grunt follows, then the crash of something breaking.

Natasha freezes, then picks up her pace. 

“What’s happening?”

More noise filters in—grunts, a muffled curse, the slam of bodies colliding. Your voice returns, breathless but firm.

“I’ve got the case too. Just…finishing up here.”

Natasha presses the elevator button repeatedly, muttering under her breath. 

“You could just admit you need help.”

Your laugh comes, dramatic and almost mocking, despite the strain. 

“What? Everything’s fine.” 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 raised—only 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.

“See? All good.”

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. Natasha’s jaw tightens. She grips your chin again, forcing your eyes to hers.

“Next time, just ask for help.” Her tone is sharp and low.

You only stare back, wide-eyed, lips parting without words. 

That’s 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. 

Your gaze flickers—downward, just for a breath, to her mouth—before darting away, and the color deepening on your face clearly isn’t just from exertion.

Her heart stutters. She recognizes this detail, too.

You pull back abruptly, her hand falling from your jaw.

“Let’s get moving before reinforcements show,” 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.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha drops the last strip of gauze into the first-aid box and snaps the lid shut, but she doesn’t 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 face—the window, the wall, the worn carpet. She notices every flick of your eyes, every shift of your shoulders. It’s not discomfort. It’s just nerves.

You sigh finally, rubbing at your palms. 

“Alright, I’ll call for back-up next time,” you mutter. “Just…stop whatever intimidation tactic this is.”

Natasha huffs, a low, amused sound. 

“This isn’t intimidation.”

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 it—the sudden flush rising under your skin, the slight hitch of your breath.

Her own lips curve, triumphant and almost disbelieving.

“I knew it,” she whispers, more to herself than to you.

Your brows furrow. “Knew what?”

Her smile deepens. She kneels onto the bed, closing the distance, until she’s almost straddling your thighs. 

You lean back instinctively, bracing yourself on your elbows as she hovers above you.

“The person you like,” Natasha murmurs, voice low, teasing yet fragile at the edges. “Is it me?”

You blink in surprise, startled, your words stuttering in your throat. 

“How…?”

Natasha’s 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.

“I notice things. Always have,” she murmurs. “But somehow I missed the one right in front of me.”

Before you can answer, she tilts your chin up and presses her mouth to yours in a soft, tentative kiss—testing, tasting, a question asked with her lips.

For a heartbeat, you’re 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 she’s afraid you’ll pull away.

Instead, you slip one hand up from her hip to her lower back, drawing her closer until there’s no space left between you.

When she finally breaks the kiss, it’s 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 don’t look away. You keep her close, thumbs brushing soft circles over her waist, silently telling her the answer she already suspects.

“Sorry it took me so long to notice that little detail,” she breathes, her voice breaking faintly on the words.

A laugh escapes you, shaky but relieved. 

“What I feel for you is nothing little, Natasha Romanoff,” you murmur, brushing your lips against hers again.

This time, she doesn’t hesitate. The next kiss is deeper, hungrier—no 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 fades—the hum of the heater, the smell of antiseptic, the muffled city sounds outside—until there’s 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.

“Tell me if this is too much.”

You shake your head slightly, eyes locked with hers.

“Not even close.”

She smiles, a real, unguarded smile, before capturing your lips again—this 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.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n : thank you for reading!

[traveler-at-heart]

M(c)atchmaker

Summary: Natasha and you grow closer as she helps you keep a little secret.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

There’s never a dull moment in the Compound.

The sounds coming from your room are the only proof Natasha needs.

“Everything ok in there?” she says, knocking softly. Suddenly things get very quiet, and you only reply when she insists.

“All good… ah, damn it”

“I’m going in, Y/N” she says, worried.

“No, I’m naked!”

But the door is already opening and you’re 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 she’s not a threat, meowing innocently.

“She likes you!” you say, prompting Natasha to close the door.

The redhead doesn’t move, looking at you expectantly.

“Some dogs were chasing her, so I had to rescue her. Would an Avenger really turn the other side when someone’s in need?” you say, adding a flair of drama to your story. It may actually have been a single dog, and he wasn’t chasing the cat. Just looking at it while his owner held on to his leash.

Still, what if another dog came along?

“You know Tony said no pets” Natasha reminds you, though there’s some amusement in her voice as the cat climbs you, purring against your neck.

“Mmm, I know. It’s only for a few days, until I find her a home” you say, placing a small kiss at the top of her head. “Right, kitty?”

“So, am I an accessory now?” Natasha jokes, finally giving in and stepping closer. She’s 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.

“You can be an ally. With you on my side, I know I’ll never get caught”

“Fine. Just because she’s cute” she concedes, petting the fur ball.

“I knew you liked her too” you say, similing.

—

Plan is set.

In, out. Simple and clean.

You place the kitten inside a bag with a small ball, hoping that’s 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 you’re about to leave the kitchen when Wilson calls for you.

“Hey, you’re finally out of your room. We thought you were sick, girl”

“Uh, no… just tired. I have to go run some errands, though” you rush to say, walking backwards as you feel the cat jumping around in the bagpack.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Hey, Sam, I forgot to tell you. Laura from accounting said you were cute” Natasha comments, sipping from her coffee. “Maybe you should ask her to Tony’s party”

There’s no Laura from accounting, but that’s enough to distract Sam.

Before he can turn his attention back to you, you’re running down the hallway and into the garage.

Natasha’s already in the driver’s seat of your car, smirking.

“How…?”

“The vents”

You look up, but the chuckle that escapes Natasha’s lips is enough to tell you that’s bullshit.

“Oh, funny”

“Come on, let’s take your cat to the vet”

As soon as you open the bag, the cat meows loudly, upset at being kept inside for so long.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. Look out the window, look at all the cute trees and the pigeons” you say, trying to distract her.

“Not sure cats like to look out the window like dogs do” Natasha says, smiling as the thing settles in your neck, forgiving you for keeping it hidden. “No name yet?”

“Well, no. I think that would make it harder to give her away. And I’m not good with names either”

“We’ll figure something out” she says.

Natasha misses the way you smile. At most, you expected her to keep quiet about your little guest, but it seems like she’s determined to help you out, even if it’s clear she’s not a fan of pets in general.

A part of you also thinks it’s nice to share something with her, that no one else knows about.

The vet confirms everything’s in order, preparing the first of her shots.

“I can’t look” you say, turning your back and hiding in Natasha’s embrace. “Tell me when it’s over”

The Russian feels heat creeping up her cheeks at your proximity. It takes her a moment to speak, wanting to keep an even tone.

“It’s done, she was very brave”

“Poor kitty” you say, hugging her as soon as the doctor’s done with her. “It’s ok, mama’s here”

“So, you’re not naming her to avoid getting attached but you’re calling yourself mama” she points out when you’re on the way to the pet sore.

“Yes” you say. “That’s exactly it, Natasha”

“Ok, just setting the record straight” 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.

You’re holding two different toys, while the cat is perched up on your shoulders. She meows when you squeeze the one shaped like a fish.

“Ok, if you’re sure” you answer, apparently now fluent in cat.

Natasha just shakes her head, finding it equally endearing and dangerous that you’re so attached to the animal already.

“You going to Tony’s party?” she asks on the way back and you shrug your shoulders.

“Maybe. If little miss codependent lets me”

“Oh, sure, she’s the codependent one” Natasha smiles when you kiss all over her head.

“You sound jealous” you joke, though that’s somewhat true.

A part of Natasha wants to have all your attention.

Still, she’s surprised when you do show up for Tony’s party.

“Do you know Laura? From accounting?” Sam asks every person at the party and you have to hold back a laugh.

“Should we tell him there’s no Laura from accounting?” you say when Natasha approaches you. She shakes her head, amused.

“That should keep him busy for the night. I thought you’d be skipping the party”

“I figured everyone would be here so it would be safe to leave her alone. Only for a bit”

Still, Natasha’s not surprised when you claim to be tired and leave after just an hour. And truly, she’d like to stay and keep teasing Sam about a girl that doesn’t exist. But there’s something so endearing about you and that damn cat, that makes her follow you a few minutes later, knocking at your door.

“Everything ok?” but before Natasha can answer, the cat is meowing and you laugh. “I guess she’s saying please come in, Tasha”

“Ok, that’s so not how the scratcher should look, Y/N” Natasha says, looking at the giant thing in the middle of the room. The cat’s used it once and it’s already lose on many places.

“Well, she kept biting my fingers when I was trying to assemble it!”

“I guess I’ll fix it” she sighs, as if it’s a very hard thing that she totally doesn’t 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.

—

Natasha’s honestly impressed. It’s been a week and you’ve managed to keep the cat from the rest of the team.

She’s 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, she’s knocking on your door, and what she sees makes her heart melt a little. You’re 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.

“Hey, what’s up?” you say, looking up while the cat rubs herself against your cheek.

“Just checking up on you two”

“Well, she’s finally getting the hang of her sandbox!” you say excitedly. “Hopefully my mission won’t 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 I’m gone”

“Absolutely not. We’ll be fine, right?” she takes her from your shoulders, scratching behind her ears and sitting next to you. “You really should name her”

“I’ll think of something” you promise.

—

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, she’s 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.

That’s unfortunate.

Then it hits Natasha.

“Liho” 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. “Fine. You have a name now. Happy?”

It’s very obvious you’ve 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 Natasha’s body.

Luckily, you’re not gone for more than two days and once your debriefing is complete, you head straight to your room.

“Hey, you” you smile, picking up the cat and kissing the top of her head. “Missed you”

You also missed Natasha, but you’re not sure it’s a good idea to admit that out loud. And just when you’re about to go and find her, she walks inside, smiling as your eyes meet.

“Welcome back” she says, and you return her smile, your heart beating a little faster. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary. And, on the way home, I was thinking about names. Don’t hold back, I want your honest feedback…”

“Oh. I… well, she likes Liho”

“You already named her?” you say, trying really hard to sound annoyed.

“It just happened!”

“Fine. Liho” you hug the cat and she meows, as if confirming Natasha’s words. “What does it mean?”

Natasha’s smile disappears. Well, you’re not gonna like this.

“Natasha” you glare and she clears her throat.

“Misfortune”

“Natasha!” you repeat, this time full on judging her. You lift Liho in the air, sighing. “Can you believe your mom? Naming you misfortune. And you, liking it. Whatever will I do with you two, huh?”

You’re so busy with the cat, that you miss the way Natasha blushes.

—

Turns out, you were right. Naming the cat turned into a slippery slope. Because now Liho has a collar (though she’s too small to wear it) and a small tag with your phone number and Natasha’s.

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 she’s doing some mischief and share endless pictures whenever the other is away on a mission.

One time, you’re watching a movie while Liho plays with your feet, and you giggle at the ticklish contact. You turn your body in Natasha’s direction, smiling at her.

“She’s the cutest” you say and she looks at you a moment too long.

“Yeah”

You both are, she wants to say, but is afraid that it will be too much.

Natasha’s not good with pets and feelings. And right now she’s drowning in a little bit of both.

Still, when the movie’s over and you’re snoozing, she makes a motion to stand up, but you pull her close.

“Stay. We like it when you stay, Tasha” you say softly.

That’s 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 it’s a close call, and she thinks she might not make it, she decides that she’s going to tell you how she feels.

But as she returns to the Compound, and heads straight to your room, you’re in bed, back to the door. Liho looks over your shoulder, but then ignores Natasha.

“Hey, kotenok”

Natasha’s taken to calling you that, under the excuse that it means kitten and she’s addressing Liho. She can be a coward like that sometimes.

“She’s angry because you left” is all you say, scratching her head. “She missed you”

“I missed you too” she says, joining you in bed.

“Stay” you turn around, hoping that a single word is enough for Natasha to know what it is you’re 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 everything’s different when you’re gone.

“I’m not going anywhere” she says, and you nod.

“Good. Because you belong here” you say, smiling.

That’s all you need for now.

—

There’s the outside world, and then your own private one, with Natasha and Liho. You’re always looking at things for the cat, and Natasha insists that you spoil her too much.

As if she isn’t the one buying most of the stuff when you’re still showing it to her.

Right now, you’re 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, Tony’s stupid voice interrupts you. And then you notice, everyone, including Barnes, is looking at you two.

“Is there something you two want to share with the rest of the class?” Tony says.

You look over your shoulder, and Natasha just nods.

“Ok, so… we just didn’t 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 she’s the one that’s totally whipped now, if you ask me…”

“Oh, I totally believe it, considering how she looks at you” Steve says but you don’t listen, still rambling. Natasha does, though, her head tilting to the side.

Is he calling her whipped? For you?

“And she’s so cute, honestly! She loves it when I rub her little...”

“Ok, not to kink shame you, but what?” Sam interrupts.

“Kink… what? I’m talking about the cat! Isn’t that what you’re all referring to?” you look around the room.

“You got a cat?” Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. Liho, black cat, totally adorable, Natasha and I are coparenting”

“Right. Getting ready for actual kids. I give it a year before you have tiny humans, with the way you act around each other” 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.

“Shut up” Natasha says, taking your hand and leading you back to your room. “Don’t listen to them”

“Nat” you say when you step inside your room, still holding on to her hand. “I... I like the idea. Of us, dating”

“Don’t feel like you have to say that just because they…” she mumbles, always giving you a way out.

But that’s 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.

“Liho’s staring” Natasha says against your mouth and you smile.

“Maybe she’s happy for us. Or jealous that she’s not the center of attention” you add when she meows loudly, sitting between you two. “Hey, you’re still our number one girl. Right, Tasha?”

“Yes, detka. You both are my favorite girls” she says, and you peck her lips once more.

Liho will have to learn how to share.

[wandaparadise]

Lavender Marriage — Masterlist

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 it’s 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 don’t have permission to translate/repost my work anywhere. Please be respectful. Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated. MDNI — 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!

1. The Bachelorette

2. The engagement party

3. A place to call home

4. Sharing is caring

5. Big steps

6. The Club

7. One big family!

8. Road trip

9. Past & Promises

10. Letting the dust settle

11. Steve Rogers, at your service!

12. The Ring

13. Family tree

14. Tulips & Violets

15. Rewind

16. Truly, Madly, Deeply

17. Fuck fest?

18. Baby Fever

19. Hormones on the loose

20. Epilogue

➽ Poetic Touch — WandaNat One Shot

[wandaparadise]

Hangover

Summary: You woke up in a room that isn’t 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?

Pairing: married! Wandanat x fem! reader

Warnings(+18): alcohol, fingering, oral sex, strap on use, mommy kink, daddy kink, degradation kink, voyeurism, masturbation, pillow humping, praise kink, goofy! Natasha, flirty! Wanda, plot w porn I won’t lie, fluff

you don’t have permission to translate/repost my work anywhere. Please be respectful. Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated. MDNI — Regina

A/N: You guys won’t 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 🤪 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 hotel’s bar the night before.

You sighed. The headache wouldn’t go if you didn’t 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 wasn’t yours.

And your cheeks started burning.

(—)

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 wasn’t so sure at first but when her wife kissed her so seductively and whispered the filthiest things in her ear, Natasha couldn’t 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. Wanda’s jaw almost dropped and she swore she heard Natasha growl under her breath but it could’ve 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 Wanda’s hopes died when a tall blond man approached you.

He hugged you and your body relaxed under his touch. And Wanda couldn’t help when she sighed and turned to look at Natasha. But her wife was still looking at you, and if it wasn’t for her sunglasses, Wanda would’ve noticed the way Natasha’s 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.

“Luke, stop!” 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 Wanda’s trail of thoughts was interrupted with your scream and a splash, flinching a little when water reached her and she gasped when you weren’t 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.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked softly, not quite ready to let you go and unaware of your flustered state.

“Come on, sassy, stop pretending you don’t know how to swim” Luke interrupted the moment and you weren’t 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.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you” 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 redhead’s image. She was wearing a black bikini top and a pair of black shorts. But that wasn’t 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.

“Hey! Don’t be so mean” he grunted, placing a hand over his burning skin where your punch landed and you smacked him again “Stop!”

“That’s for pushing me, vipes” you huffed and he wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek “I’ll deal with you later” 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.

“I- we are sorry” you said softly, your eyes dancing in between them and you offered the redhead a grateful smile “Thank you for saving me, that was really kind”

“Yeah, saving you from your own stupidity” Luke teased but regretted it when both women glared at him as if they were trying to kill him on spot.

“Yeah, that too” you chuckled, a little amused that they made Luke squirm a little “But really, thank you”

It was like you weren’t ready to go, glued on your spot even when Luke was trying to make you keep walking. But you would’ve done anything to hear the redhead’s voice again and wondering how the brunette sounded.

And as if they could hear your thoughts, both smiled softly at you.

“It was nothing, just…” Natasha glanced at Luke for a moment and her eyes softened when meeting yours “be careful. It doesn’t matter if you know how to swim, games like that could end up badly”

Luke huffed like a scolded child behind you and you nudged him with your elbow making him yelp as you smiled and nodded.

“Tasha, don’t be so hard on them” Wanda scolded her wife softly and Natasha rolled her eyes playfully “Glad you are okay, sweetheart”

Your breath hitched at the sound of the brunette’s 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 didn’t like him, his little game turned out better than he imagined. Still, he cleared his throat and you flinched.

“Yeah, I- huh, thank you again” you finally said, trying to remember how to breathe and waved at them “Sorry for the trouble and I hope you keep having a good time”

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.

“Vipes, I swear to god-“ you grunted and he chuckled, starting to move as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Come on, sassy. I have a story to tell” 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.

“Do you think they-“ Wanda started and Natasha looked at her wife.

“I don’t think so, dorogaya” Natasha sighed and laid down, putting her sunglasses back on “I hope not”

“You hope?” Wanda smirked and Natasha scoffed “Don’t be like that, moya lyubov’. We are on the same team here” the brunette smacked her wife’s thigh playfully.

Natasha chuckled, wrapping her arms around her wife and pulling her over her lap. She kissed Wanda’s neck as Wanda tried to break free because Natasha was too cold for her hot skin.

“I know we are, but I’m not so sure we should be thinking that way” Natasha said softly and Wanda turned to look at her, letting her body curl over Natasha’s and pecking her lips softly.

“Maybe that’s what we need, Tasha”

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.

“Maybe, but she’s gone now, Wands” Natasha said softly. She kissed Wanda’s forehead and patted her side as she offered her wife a loving smile “But I can get creative tonight”

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.

(—)

“Do I really have to go? I’m tired” you whined, letting yourself fall onto the mattress as Maddison threw you a dress “Mads”

“None of that, baby girl, it’s Friday night” she shrugged and looked at you “Just tonight, the rest of the week you can ignore our pleads”

You sat straight and snorted “You always say that and for some reason, it keeps happening”

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 weren’t sure, though. By the way they talked, at least the little you heard, they seemed to be married but it wouldn’t 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 hotel’s bar since you weren’t 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 didn’t know.

You asked the bartender for a piña colada and Luke groaned.

“Dude, you are going soft” he glared at you and changed your order for something stronger a Moscow Mule.

“No, you are trying to kill me” you scoffed and Luke laughed “Vodka isn’t my cup of tea, vipes”

“Tonight it is” he shrugged and leaned over the counter “Your girlfriends are here, by the way”

At that, you straightened your back and Luke started laughing louder. You pushed him away when he tried to hug you and grunted.

“Shut up” your cheeks flushed and you thanked the bartender when he placed your drink before you and gave a long sip “They are not my girlfriends”

“But you wish they were” he teased, nudging your side playfully.

“She wishes what?” Noah chimed in, his arms wrapped around Maddison’s waist and you groaned, hiding your face in between your hands.

“That the hot women from earlier were her girlfriends or at least one of them. Hard to tell if they are together” Luke said tapping his chin in a thoughtful manner and you punched him.

“Are they here?” 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 didn’t even know their names and maybe it was for the best. But both women were extremely attractive, it wasn’t 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 would’ve ended up making a fool of yourself and you weren’t ready for that hit.

“Yeah, corner booth on your right” 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.

“Dude, they are one hundred percent lesbians” Noah said looking at you and you side eyed him “Mads is the only straight woman I believe is that beautiful, the rest are certainly lesbians”

“Nice wording, baby” Maddison kissed his cheek and he smiled proudly “But he is right. And they make me wish I was into women, like damn”

You sighed, loudly and dramatically. You were delusional but your friends always fuelled that side of you and this time you weren’t falling for it.

“Well, then they are married. Cheers to that” you said raising your glass and Luke patted your shoulder “Do not hit on me, Lucas”

He chuckled “I was gonna say, you could always try your shot”

You gulped again your drink, leaving your glass half empty and shook your head as you laughed.

“Last time you told me that, I found my best friend” Maddison laughed at that and cheered with you “And I’m not replacing her”

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 wasn’t 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.

“This cocktail is called ‘The Flirt’” he explained with a soft smile, gaining the attention of your friends as they turned to look at him with curious eyes “Tequila, brandy, cranberry juice and lime juice” he continued, focusing on you as you stared at the drink like it held all the answers in the world “From the ladies over there”

Your cheeks started burning as Noah and Luke high five and Maddison started laughing. The bartender offered you a friendly look but it didn’t help to soothe your nerves and you tried to give it back.

“I don’t think this is a good idea” you said shyly, finishing your drink and Luke wrapped his arm around your shoulder “Don’t”

“Sassy, it’s just a drink not a marriage proposal” he said softly, restraining himself from teasing you. He sniffed the drink and looked at the bartender “I want one, smells nice. Please”

“Take mine” you grunted and Luke ignored you, pleading silently to the bartender to go and he nodded “Lucas”

“No, we are not doing this” he said firmly and you turned to look at him “I know we tease you a lot but this is a sign, (Y/N)” you groaned and started shaking your head “Yes, 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 bed” Noah smacked the back of his head but Luke remained unbothered, almond eyes only focused on you and smiling softly “And I will do whatever you want for a month”

“You really want me to go over there, huh?” you giggled softly and his smile widened.

“It’s been six months, sassy girl” he pecked your cheek “Go and if you don’t like them, look at me and I will go and pretend I’m your jealous boyfriend”

You laughed and rolled your eyes playfully “You always want to play that role” he shrugged and you sighed “Fine, but I will make you suffer for a month”

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.

“Go, get ‘em tiger” he patted your shoulder and you sighed.

(—)

Surprisingly, the drink was Natasha’s idea.

But she had to do something because it couldn’t 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 wasn’t 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 Wanda’s 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.

“I think we over did it, moya lyubov’” 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 wasn’t any other thing that could soothe her worries like Natasha’s reassuring smile.

“Well, in that case we tried and I keep my word on getting creative tonight” Wanda giggled and Natasha’s smile widened “There you are, dorogaya”

“Yeah, you are right. Maybe my gaydar is broken” Wanda sighed, shrugging and Natasha laughed.

“Or maybe she’s not into us, Wands” Natasha teased and her wife offered her an offended look “Well, into me. My wife is extremely hot”

“Hey now! My wife is hotter” Wanda grinned and Natasha rolled her eyes playfully “But really, it’s okay. At least she got a free drink and…”

Natasha’s 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.

“Dorogaya”

“So I think we could just close the tab and…”

“Wands”

“I really don’t mind. In fact, I think I’m feeling tired. Aren’t you…”

“Wanda!” Natasha said louder and Wanda flinched, furrowing her brows a little hurt because her wife never raised her voice. At least not to Wanda “I’m sorry, my love, but look”

Wanda then looked your way. You were closer, walking too slow for Natasha’s liking but she was enjoying the view. And Wanda’s breath faltered as she squeezed Natasha’s 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.

“Hey” you said shyly “Thank you for the drink. Seems like I owe you big time now” you joked, trying to keep your nerves in check even when the alcohol was numbing you and still your skin was buzzing.

Natasha’s jaw was one movement away from dropping, you couldn’t look hotter even if you wanted to. It should be illegal or something. And Wanda wasn’t 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 didn’t mean to send you the drink? What if it was meant for someone else? What if they didn’t 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.

“Hey, sweetheart” she smiled softly and her voice electrified your skin “Did you like the drink?”

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.

“I- well I haven’t…” your cheeks flushed and you shifted your weight nervously.

“Why don’t you join us for that drink?” Natasha said sliding over the round booth to sit closer to Wanda and gave you space “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”

There was a hopeful edge on Natasha’s voice and your legs almost failed you because she sounded so sweet. But before you could accept, Luke’s arm wrapped around you protectively.

“What are you doing, baby?”

Wanda threw a ‘I told you so’ look to her wife. Natasha’s 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 didn’t 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.

“Why don’t you go with Noah and Mads, hm?” you asked softly and he frowned.

“What? But you…”

“You heard me, vipes” 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 “Lucas!”

You smacked his arm and he flinched. And finally, he reacted. Luke grinned and nodded, you could just wish he didn’t look that obvious to the beautiful women behind you as much as he did to you.

“Oh, yeah. Huh” he scratched the back of his neck and looked over you “Ladies, I think I never apologised. Sorry for the disturbance earlier and for…” you pinched his arm subtly and he grimaced “Yeah, for earlier. I’ll see you later, sassy” 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.

“Sorry about that, he just… well, it doesn’t matter” you bit your lip nervously, trying to gather your thoughts “So may I sit or should I just…”

“Please, I promise we don’t bite” Wanda said cheerfully “Unless you are into that, in that case we very much bite”

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.

“I guess it depends on who is biting, so we will see” you smiled softly, gaining confidence from god knows where but it was working.

“So sassy? Is that your name?” Natasha said casually, taking a sip of her drink and your cheeks flushed.

You were there already flirting with them and you didn’t even know their names nor they knew yours. But the redhead was smooth, you gave her that.

“God no” you giggled and Natasha almost choked on her drink, could you get even cuter? “Vipes calls me by my gamertag. I mean Luke, I also call him by his gamertag” 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 redhead’s final assessment. And she was right. Natasha Romanoff was always right.

“Gamertag?” Wanda tilted her head slightly and your cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red, making Wanda’s curiosity spike even more.

You probably sounded like a total nerd. Or that’s what you believed while Wanda was genuinely curious. Natasha was the gamer, not her.

“Yes, dorogaya. Gamertag, you know the name you use online when you play?” Natasha explained sweetly and Wanda raised a brow, clueless “Like mine? Black Widow?”

“Oh, I see” she giggled and looked back at you “You’ll have to forgive me, perhaps I’m old” 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 “And sassy is yours?”

“Something like that but my name is (Y/N)” you hummed and took a sip of your drink to soothe your nerves “And do you have names or should I just call you hottie one and hottie two?” your tongue ran before you could stop yourself and your eyes widened, coughing and not sure where to focus “I mean- god, I’m so sorry. I take it back. No, I mean I don’t take it back. You guys are hot but I say that respectfully and I didn’t want to…”

Natasha grabbed your hand and gave you a gentle squeeze, making you look at them. They were smiling a little amused but they weren’t judging. You bit your lip nervously, embracing the warmth of Natasha’s touch as she rubbed tender circles on the back of your hand.

“Thank you for the compliment, malyshka” Natasha started softly, as if she was trying to be careful of not scaring you away “I’m Natasha and this is my wife, Wanda”

“And I gotta say, you have a very cute name” Wanda added, smiling at you and almost climbing Natasha’s lap just to be closer to you because her wife got to touch you first and the brunette was competitive.

“You guys do too” you nodded, downing half the drink before you could keep talking and you made a bigger fool of yourself “You also make a lovely couple”

And they did. They truly did. It shouldn’t 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 didn’t keep you from feeling a little disappointed because the chances of them looking for a third were very thin.

“Oh, thank you. That’s really sweet, isn’t it moya lyubov’?” Wanda smiled at her wife and Natasha hummed, her eyes fixed on you even when her wife kissed her cheek.

“Is that… Russian or something?” you asked curiously and Natasha offered you a proud smile, one that made your heart flutter.

“It is. Good job, malyshka” Natasha praised and your arousal pooled between your legs “Wanda called my love and I just called you little one” 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?

“I’m not that little” you murmured and Wanda giggled “I’m twenty five”

“It’s not like that, sweetheart” Wanda explained with a soft smile “Although, for us you are little. In a cute way and maybe we are just older” your lips parted to ask but she tutted “It’s rude to ask a lady her age”

“She’s thirty five, I’m thirty seven” Natasha rolled her eyes playfully and Wanda smacked her arm. You giggled “You act like you are eighty or something, Maximoff”

“Says the woman that keeps complaining about her knee” Wanda scoffed and winked at you.

Their silly banter was refreshing. You weren’t sure how long they’ve 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.

“So, malyshka, what brings you here? To Cancun, I mean” Natasha asked grinning at you.

“For that, I think I’ll need another drink” you said shyly.

“As you wish” 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 couldn’t 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?

(—)

None of you were sure how long you’ve 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 wife’s 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 weren’t 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 didn’t 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 wife’s.

And you wished you could be jealous, even if you didn’t know of who or what, but it wasn’t 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 weren’t 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 weren’t sure where it was going, because they were taking their time, but you wouldn’t 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.

“Has anyone told you how pretty you are?” 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 wasn’t 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.

“I- well, I guess? I’m not sure” you stuttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and giving a sip to what seemed to be your tenth drink “but that’s fine. Not a big fan of feeding my ego”

Wanda giggled, a sound that was enchanting like a siren voice and your heart skipped a beat.

“Pretty and cute. I think you should feed that ego” Wanda shrugged, leaning back and crossing her legs as she played with a lock of her hair “After all, it’s true. Don’t you think, Tasha?”

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 weren’t 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.

“Wanda is right, malyshka” Natasha smiled and gave you a gentle squeeze before leaning back and placed her other hand on Wanda’s thigh “Not only is she always right” Wanda hummed proudly and you giggled “but it’s true. You are really pretty” her eyes danced over your face, stopping on your lips before they kept going down and your skin started burning “cute” the redhead bit her lip and looked back to your eyes “hot, I would dare to say. And incredibly smart. We like smart, don’t we dorogaya?”

You looked at Wanda. The brunette was also checking you out, biting her index finger as her eyes roamed your body. They weren’t 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 hadn’t 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?

“Very much. It’s why a fell in love with you” 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 didn’t 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.

“Everything okay, malyshka?” Natasha smirked, watching you try to merge with your glass and when it didn’t 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.

“Easy there, sweetheart” Wanda said with faux worry and leaned to grab your hand. You nodded, clearing your throat and trying to smile at them “Well, Natasha asked you a question. Won’t you answer? It’s rude to ignore”

Wanda ignored the small pinch her wife gave her. The brunette’s eyes darkened with more hunger as you squirmed on your seat. You weren’t 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.

“I- yes. Sorry” you managed to say and looked at Natasha “Everything is okay, Natasha. Thank you for asking” you glanced at Wanda for a moment, trying to see if she was pleased but when she didn’t move or say anything you looked back to Natasha “and sorry for ignoring you when you asked”

It should’ve been humiliating or that’s what you thought trying to make sense of the tingle in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t 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.

“Good girl. Such good manners” you held back a whimper as Wanda started playing with Natasha’s hair. You thanked the waiter for the drink and Wanda stopped him before he could leave “Perhaps we should close our tab, moya lyubov’”

But she wasn’t looking at Natasha, Wanda was looking at you and you choked mid-drink. You started coughing again and Wanda smiled with amusement.

“Yes, please. It’s time for us to go” 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.

“I guess that’s my queue to leave. Thank you both for the lovely night” you said softly, pulling out some money and offering it to Natasha that looked at you like you just insulted her “It’s not much but I can’t let you pay for all my drinks” 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.

“That’s not necessary, it was my pleasure” 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.

“We are not ready to let you go just yet” 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 “Such a pretty girl. So reacting”

Natasha appeared behind Wanda, arms instantly wrapped around her wife’s waist as she rested her chin over her shoulder and smiled at you.

“We were hoping for you to join us in our room” you looked at her in awe and for a moment, Natasha doubted herself but she forced herself to keep going “It’s okay if you don’t want to or you are uncomfortable. It’s just that booth is bad for my back and I’m sick of these clothes”

“I- I don’t want to impose myself” you stuttered, stepping back and regretting it when you lost Wanda’s touch “I’m sure you have more interesting things to do than entertain me” you forced a laugh but they both looked at you even more confused.

“Yeah, we have more interesting things to do with you” Wanda said closing the gap between you again and she grabbed your hand, giving you a gently squeeze and you relaxed “But if you don’t want to, we will understand”

“Just don’t leave because you think we don’t like you” 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, that’s 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.

“Are you guys sure? I really don’t want to…”

“Don’t finish that sentence, malyshka” Natasha said a little more firmly, a tone that told you there was no room for argument “We are sure. What about you?”

“Yeah. Fine, let’s do it” you sighed and both smiled proudly, like using your words was all they need “Let me go tell my friends”

Wanda stopped you before you could walk, her grip more firm as a silent command and you couldn’t 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 weren’t so sure now you wanted that freedom. Your body wanted to follow commands, would your mind like that too?

“I’m sure you can text them, right?” Wanda said softly and you tilted your head slightly “My feet are killing me, sweetheart” she explained and you smiled shyly.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. I’ll text Luke” you said pulling out your phone and they smiled proudly again, making your heart fluttered with satisfaction.

“Well, I guess then we go now” Natasha said softly and hoisted Wanda in her arms and the brunette gasped “for your feet, dorogaya”

“Always my hero” Wanda pecked her lips and then winked at you “Lead the way, pretty girl”

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 alcohol’s fault.

(—)

Natasha and Wanda’s 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.

“Oh, sweetheart, apologies for the mess” Wanda said softly next to you once Natasha put her down “Natasha forgets to clean after herself”

Natasha snorted, already standing next to bed and picking the phone “Yeah, me. Because I wear these” she said amused, showing her wife a red thong and your cheeks flushed when Natasha winked at you “Yeah, good night. I would like to order room service?”

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 didn’t 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 Wanda’s 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.

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” her voice was dripping with sweetness. A trap wrapped in silk and you shook your head “Nothing? Hm, interesting”

You bit your lip nervously, playing with your fingers as you tried to look down but Wanda wasn’t 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 couldn’t tell.

Your lips brushed against each other’s, you closed your eyes as your body buzzed with excitement and then Natasha broke the spell.

“Maximoff, leave her alone” Natasha said wrapping her arms around Wanda from behind.

For a second you were scared but when your eyes met the redhead’s she was amused and her eyes were darkened. She whispered something in Wanda’s ear, her eyes not daring to leave you and then it was Wanda’s turn to blush and bite her lower lip.

“Fine, I’ll behave” 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 that’s 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.

“I hope you don’t mind” 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 “I ordered some drinks and food, you can’t have an empty stomach with all the alcohol you’ve been drinking” your cheeks were burning, you weren’t sure that was going away anytime soon. And you tried to look away but Natasha tutted “None of that, malyshka. Don’t hide from me, please”

Your heart melted. The softness of her voice made you want to hug her but you weren’t 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.

“Why me?” you whispered, your tongue betraying your mind and Natasha furrowed her brows as her eyes clouded with confusion “Why are you guys being so nice to me? We just met”

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.

“Come sit, sweetheart” Wanda called you from behind and you walked towards the sofa, swallowing nervously as you sat down “You okay? Did Natasha say something? Romanoff!”

Natasha was walking behind a man as he pushed the small cart with food and drinks.

“What I do, dorogaya? I swear it wasn’t me” Natasha said softly, grinning at her wife that was glaring at her “Thank you, we will leave it outside when we are done”

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.

“She didn’t- Natasha didn’t say anything wrong” 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.

“Are you being honest, sweetheart?” Wanda asked trying to read your face and you nodded “Words, pretty girl”

“Yes, Wanda” 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.

“Saved by the cute girl” Wanda teased her wife and Natasha shrugged.

“What can I say? I’m a saint!”

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.

“You asked why” Natasha said softly and Wanda tensed slightly. Without having to look at her wife, Natasha leaned back to place her hand over Wanda’s knee “Wanda and I have been together since what? High school, my love?”

“Officially, since college. But yeah” Wanda smiled softly at Natasha and looked back at you again, her smile still on her lips.

“We were best friends, then lovers. We got married” Natasha’s gaze was soft, like she was trying to tell you everything she couldn’t with her eyes “And I love her with all my heart as much as she loves me” 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 “But something was missing. Well, not something. Someone”

At that, Natasha tensed up. You saw the moment her eyes clouded and she straightened up, her hands leaving Wanda’s 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 didn’t 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.

“We work perfectly, don’t we moya lyubov’?” Wanda smiled at her wife, her hand already rubbing circles over her thigh and Natasha relaxed and looked at Wanda “Everything is almost perfect” the brunette caressed her wife’s cheek.

“Almost” Natasha whispered and as much as you wanted to look away and give them space, you couldn’t. Natasha looked at you again “but 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 things” Wanda intertwined her fingers with Natasha and both smiled at you “Someone with enough power to make us feel more free”

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 couldn’t trust your own judgement. Still, your heart needed to believe.

“I don’t think I am that someone” you murmured and Natasha stood up “I’m flattered, really. You’ve been so sweet to me. You both are awesome but…”

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.

“We think you are. Yeah, we just met but look at us” she said softly “You are an attraction force. You didn’t leave our minds all day and then we talked to you and you sound so collected” Natasha leaned closer and you bit your lip “I don’t think you even know it. But if you are not comfortable, you can leave. We just needed you to know”

Your heart was drumming in your ears, your cheeks were burning but your mind went completely silent. Natasha’s eyes were twinkling with sincerity, a little fear and like she just opened her heart to you. So you did what you’ve 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.

“Not yet, malyshka. You are going to get me killed” she chuckled and you furrowed your brows.

“Killed? What do-“

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.

“If you dare to apologise, you will regret it” Wanda said firmly, sitting next to you and tapping her thigh “Come here, sweetheart”

Your mouth ran dry and you glanced at Natasha, that gave you a small nod and a reassuring smile. You straddled Wanda’s 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.

“You are so damn beautiful. Less than a day knowing you and our lives already shine” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “You are perfect, sweetheart”

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.

“Such an impatient pretty girl” Wanda teased you and pecked your lips again “Did you eat something before going to the bar or were you planning on getting wasted?”

You looked at her in awe. Her tone firm but sweet, another trap wrapped in silk. One you would’ve run straight into if Natasha didn’t stop you.

“I wouldn’t lie if I were you, malyshka” Natasha said amused, leaning closer to you “She smells the lies from miles away”

Wanda hummed in agreement and you bit your lower lip, slightly distracted by Natasha’s fingers over your thigh.

“I- I didn’t” you admitted shyly “But I’m not hungry, I swear”

Wanda squinted her eyes, making you squirm over her and Natasha laughed.

“Maximoff, leave her alone. If she wants to eat, she will do it” Natasha smirked and Wanda pouted, looking at her wife “No, you won’t get away with everything you want”

“But she will need energy” Wanda defended herself and you gasped, making both look at you “unless you don’t want to…”

You leaned and kissed her again. You couldn’t 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.

“What?” 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.

“Not so cocky now, are we?” Natasha whispered and you bit down your lip “You are really lucky it’s our first night, malyshka. Really lucky”

It wasn’t a threat. She wasn’t 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 wasn’t fully understanding how two women you just met, had total power over you. They weren’t forcing you, they weren’t pushing you. They kept giving you options and as free as you could feel, you didn’t 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.

“Sweetheart, breathe” 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 “Good girl. Now be nice to daddy and apologise for making fun of her”

You moaned at the title. Your cheeks flushing when your eyes met Natasha’s. The redhead was grinning, green eyes daring you to not follow Wanda’s order. But you wouldn’t dare even if you wanted to.

“Sorry, Nat-“ Wanda pinched your side and your cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red “Sorry, daddy”

“Such an obedient plaything” 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 weren’t enough.

Your fingers tugged Wanda’s hair when she bit your neck and the moment you moaned, Natasha’s 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.

“I’m not the first one, am I?” you asked carefully, watching the moment they shared a look and then went back to you “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I’m sorry if I overstepped”

“Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t” Wanda cradled your jaw and gave you a sad smile “I wish I could tell you, you are the first one but you are right, you aren’t”

“But you are the one we want” Natasha added and smiled “and before you dare to say again we just met, sometimes you just know. We can’t name what it is, but we know we want you”

Your heart fluttered “What happened to…”

“That’s a story for another day, sweetheart. Why don’t we move this party somewhere more comfortable, hm?”

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.

“Do you want us to stop?” Natasha asked softly and you shook your head “Remember what mommy told you, malyshka. Use your words”

You whimpered “No, daddy. I don’t want to stop”

“Good girl” 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t find in yourself to feel shy. Not when they were looking at you like you were a masterpiece.

“If you want to stop, you will say so. Understood?” Wanda whispered in your ear, tilting your head to the side and kissing your neck.

“Yes, mommy”

The praise came as a moan. Your words igniting Wanda’s 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 Natasha’s tongue over your skin as Wanda’s hands worked over your chest. Your teeth sank in her skin and the brunette growled when you started sucking.

Your hips bucked up when Wanda’s fingers were replaced with Natasha’s 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.

“Easy, malyshka” Natasha whispered in your ear “We are getting there”

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 Natasha’s pants and the redhead broke the kiss to looked down on you with curious eyes. You smiled innocently.

“Too much clothes, daddy”

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 wife’s 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 ‘I got you’ that felt like an oath.

“Who do you want to undress first, little one?” 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 brunette’s hand wrapped around your wrist. You looked at her and she smiled reassuringly.

“Perhaps our cute girl shouldn’t choose” Natasha suggested tenderly and your cheeks flushed. Her finger traced your collarbone and she smiled “it’s a huge decision, isn’t it malyshka?” you moaned at her tone. Natasha was stripping you from your freedom, the one that came with consequences and a lot of anxiety “Mommy and daddy will do it for you. Sit and watch”

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 Wanda’s dress and her tongue traced her wife’s spine. You weren’t 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. Natasha’s toned abdomen was calling you but Wanda’s 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.

“Dibs” Wanda said triumphantly and you looked at them confused as Natasha chuckled.

“No, you can’t call dibs. She gets to do it” Natasha said amused and you tilted your head with curiosity “Mommy wants to pick who goes first. Do you want her to pick, malyshka?”

You giggled softly and nodded “Yes, daddy” you looked at Wanda and grinned “You pick, mommy”

The brunette caressed your cheek and smiled proudly. She leaned to peck your lips, leaving a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Our perfect girl” she praised you and you smiled “Tasha, sit on the bed”

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.

“If you piss mommy off, I will let you cum sooner than later” Natasha teased and you gasped but Wanda smacked her thigh.

“Do not give her ideas” Wanda scolded and Natasha rolled her eyes playfully “Sweetheart come here, kneel before daddy”

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.

“Daddy is so beautiful, isn’t she?” Wanda purred and you nodded “Do you want to touch, little one?”

“Yes, mommy, please”

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.

“She will never say it out loud, but she loves being worshipped” Wanda murmured and you whimpered as she guided your fingers over Natasha’s clothed cunt “Natasha acts all tough and powerful, but she is a golden retriever in disguise. A woman that needs to be taken care of” your thumb pressed against her clit and Natasha moaned, a sound so heavenly that you thought you could come just by hearing it “Show her how much you want her, sweetheart. Make daddy feel good”

Natasha gasped when your arms hooked around her legs and you pulled her closer with strength you didn’t 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.

Natasha’s breath hitched as you kept leaving bruises over her body. She didn’t 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 you’ve been dying to taste her and own her, Natasha knew she was fucked.

Maybe you weren’t their first addition to their marriage. They’ve tried multiple times and as much as they gave themselves up, it never reached that point. Not because they didn’t 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 wouldn’t happen.

They just found you. They wouldn’t let you go any time soon.

Not when Natasha felt so safe. Not when Wanda’s 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.

“Take your time, sweetheart” Wanda cooed, her hand snaked between your legs. You whimpered when she tossed aside your underwear “I got you”

You swirled your tongue over Natasha’s 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 Wanda’s 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. Wanda’s 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.

“Fuck, malyshka” Natasha whimpered, forcing herself to watch you and when she met your eyes she moaned louder “You look so perfect like this. I’m almost jealous, thinking your tongue worked on someone else” you grunted and Wanda fastened her movements, a possessive rhythm took over with Natasha’s words “Yes, baby, just like that. Don’t stop”

You pushed your hips back, trying to get Wanda to move faster. And she complied, her mind deciding she couldn’t 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.

“I’m so close, please don’t stop” Natasha begged, feeling her abdomen tightened and her knees clasped in your head “Fuck”

Wanda licked your shoulder and smirked “You will come when she does, sweetheart. So it’s up to you”

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.

“You made her a mess, sweetheart” Wanda whispered and you pressed your right cheek on Natasha’s thigh, moaning as Wanda kept pumping her fingers and her thumb rubbed circles on your clit “Mommy is so proud of you, little one. You are such a good girl. Cum, baby, claim your reward”

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 Wanda’s.

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 wife’s fingers, tasting you and moaned. You watched her mesmerised, noticing the way her eyes rolled back when Wanda pressed her fingers down her tongue. Natasha’s lips popped when Wanda pulled out her fingers and smiled.

“You taste better than I imagined, malyshka” your cheeks flushed and she signalled you to get closer “And that pretty mouth does wonders, mommy will love it” her knuckles caressed your cheek “Our perfect girl”

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 couldn’t name but it sat right on your bones.

Wanda stood up, leaving you both as you made out. Your body hovered Natasha’s 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.

“You are perfect too, daddy” you leaned and kissed her neck “So perfect”

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.

“I’ll buy a new pair, don’t worry” she grinned and you giggled.

Natasha’s heart skipped a beat, founding you extremely cute. It was a balance, silly things during an intimate moment that warmed her heart. Someone that didn’t expect her to be cold and heartless but actually enjoyed her goofy self.

“Tasha!” Wanda gasped and you both turned to look at her “It was such a nice piece. Why you do it, moya lyubov’?”

“My hands have mind of their own” Natasha grinned and Wanda chuckled “I see you brought the big guns”

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 Wanda’s turn and Natasha was going to show you the right way to treat her wife.

“You are so tight, sweetheart. I think you deserve to be stretch out” you moaned as she brushed your lips with the tip of the toy “Sadly, it won’t be me doing it. Daddy doesn’t like to share her toys” she pouted and Natasha chuckled under you.

“Malyshka, sit closer to the headboard. I’ll show you how to treat mommy, hm?” Natasha instructed and you looked at her “And since it’s our grand opening night, I will let you enjoy the show as you please”

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 wife’s 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 couldn’t 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.

“Mommy’s tongue ran a little earlier, don’t you think?” Natasha smirked and looked down to her wife “Telling our perfect girl how much I love being worshipped, how soft I can be, how to hold power over me” you and Wanda moaned. Natasha’s smirk widened and she turned to you “I’ll pay back the favour. Here’s the secret, malyshka” her hand grabbed the toy and she brushed it against Wanda’s lips. Her wife opened her mouth and Natasha pushed it gently “Mommy looks so collected, so expensive, you wouldn’t even dare to think how much of a slut she is” your hand landed between your legs as Wanda bobbed her head “She walks around the world pretending she doesn’t like to serve, to please, but her inner slut always comes out to play in the bed. Isn’t that right, my love?”

Wanda and you moaned. The brunette’s 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 couldn’t be nice to everyone, it wasn’t in her nature to trust any stranger and yet, she trusted you. Natasha was willing to let you see every part of herself.

“Malyshka, be a dear and toss me a pillow” Natasha asked gently and you moved to complied. She smiled gratefully and dropped the pillow before Wanda “Come on, my love. Put on a show for our girl. Ride it as you suck my cock”

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 Natasha’s 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 wouldn’t 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 couldn’t 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 wasn’t vulnerable. Wanda didn’t 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 wife’s 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.

“Seems like our girl is liking the show, Wands” Natasha grinned at you, her fingers tugging the brunette’s hair and you moaned when Wanda choked on the strap “Who would’ve thought? You are a slut just like mommy, hm?”

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.

“Keep moving, Wands” she ordered and Wanda whimpered, hands steadying herself over the floor as she was grinding her hips “But look at her. Look how much she loved watching you being a slut for me” Wanda’s eyes met yours and you both moaned, your abdomen tightened and you tossed your head back as you came around your fingers “I wish I could take the credit, my love. But you did that, don’t you love it? Someone finally matched your slutty ass”

And with that Wanda fell apart, her orgasm crashing over her bones. Natasha’s 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.

“Thank you, mommy” you whispered “you looked amazing”

Natasha smiled softly, watching the interaction as her heart raced. You were giving them all they needed, all they craved and you didn’t even know. They cracked open before you and you weren’t 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 ‘see me as much as I see you’.

“You really are perfect” Wanda whispered after she let go of your fingers “Now, let mommy and daddy take care of you”

“I just had two-“

“It’s really not about how many times, malyshka” Natasha explained and you looked at her confused “Lay on your back and let us have you, yes?”

“Yes, daddy”

“Such a good girl you are” 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 wouldn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

“I want to try that pretty mouth of yours, is that okay little one?” Wanda whispered, brushing her lips against yours and then tracing your cheek with her nose as she inhaled your scent.

“Please, mommy” you murmured, closing your eyes as you felt Natasha’s 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.

“If you could only see what we do” Wanda said softly, smiling as she brushed her lips against yours “We waited for you for so long, sweetheart. This will work out, I promise” 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 “Easy. The night is still young” she pecked your forehead “Now, if you make mommy cum, daddy will let you cum” she leaned closer to your ear “but I’m not like daddy, I don’t like sloppy work” 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.

“Okay, malyshka. You better make mommy cum. Tap her thigh if you need us to stop” 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 Wanda’s 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 Wanda’s 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.

“You are so perfect, malyshka. So tight” she breathed out in your neck and you whimpered “We are not letting you go”

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.

“Do you like when daddy fucks you, sweetheart?” you looked up and Wanda’s 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 didn’t want the night to end. And when Wanda started rubbing your clit, you screamed with pleasure.

“Daddy, mommy, please” you whined, feeling so close again and Natasha grunted “I’m so close, don’t stop please”

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. Wanda’s hand tugged your hair as Natasha started grinding her hips faster, erratic, with her fingers between your legs.

“Come, detka. Show me how much you love daddy’s cock” 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 didn’t slow down, she went faster and rougher. Her fingers working over your sensitive clit and your nails started digging into Wanda’s thigh like she could save you.

“Tasha, I think-“

“No” Natasha grunted, looking at Wanda with hungry and possessive eyes “She can take it, right malyshka?” you moaned and Natasha pulled you up, pressing your back against her chest and bit your neck.

Your eyes met Wanda’s 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 didn’t take that long for you to come again, one hand tugging Wanda’s hair and the other one tugging Natasha’s.

And the redhead slowed down, but she wasn’t 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 didn’t want to let them go either.

(—)

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.

“Don’t sleep yet, sweetheart. It’s time to eat before bed” 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 “None of that, pretty girl. You need to hydrate and eat”

“Mommy, please” you pouted and Wanda giggled, brushing your hair “Sleep now”

“She’s a little brat” Natasha grinned, straddling your lap and offering you a water bottle “Come on, malyshka, don’t get on mommy’s bad side”

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.

“Sandwich first” Wanda ordered and you rolled your eyes, Natasha held back a grin.

“Daddy is more fun” you groaned and took a small bite of the sandwich as Natasha bit a fry and wiggled her brows, amused.

“You say that now, until she is the one mad” Wanda whispered in your ear and nip your earlobe “And if you keep being a brat, I’ll show you the real deal”

Natasha laughed and fed you a fry, then she offered her wife a bite of sandwich and Wanda looked at her gratefully.

“She’s right, I’m more fun” 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.

“Thank you for trusting us, sweetheart” she whispered and nudged your nose with hers “You did good”

“Thank you, mommy” you murmured and pecked her lips again.

Natasha laid behind you, covering Wanda’s body with the sheets and then hers. Her arm wrapped around your hips and pulled you closer, leaving a kiss behind your ear.

“Let’s rest, malyshka. Tomorrow we can talk about everything” 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.

(—)

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 wouldn’t ruin this for yourself with insecurities. You couldn’t 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.

“Dude, where the fuck are you?” Luke’s voice was on the other end and Wanda beckoned you and your body moved on its own, you could swear on that.

“I’m a little… busy” you said softly and Wanda raised a brow with amusement “Why? What do you want?”

“Breakfast? Open the door, I’ve been knocking” your best friend groaned as you crawled over the bed and sat on Wanda’s lap.

And if Wanda’s mood wasn’t enough to prove you they were planning on keeping you, her lips sure did because they found their way to your neck soon enough.

“I’m not there, vipes” you bit your lip as Wanda licked your throat “But I’ll meet you at the restaurant”

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.

“What do you mean you are not here? Oh wait!” he started laughing but you couldn’t snap at him, not when Wanda kept roaming your body with her hands “You still with them? Naughty girl!”

“I’m not telling you shit” you smirked but it faded away when Wanda mouthed ‘language’, you rolled your eyes and she slapped your ass again making you whine.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just tripped” you lied and Wanda giggled, pecking your lips “Anyway, see you at breakfast like in…” you looked at the screen but Wanda blocked your view and you frowned “Yes, Wanda?”

“You are not leaving” she sentenced and you looked at her in awe.

“But I’m hungry” you pouted and heard Luke screaming on the phone “Lucas, give me a minute. Shut up!”

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.

“What?” Natasha grunted, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Then her eyes found you and she squinted “Why is your phone in your hand, malyshka?”

“She’s trying to leave” Wanda replied and your jaw dropped, you grabbed the pillow from Natasha’s hand and punched her with it “Watch it, little one”

“That’s not- I’m not trying to leave, I swear” you looked at Natasha “I’m just hungry” Luke shouted your name again and you groaned “Luke, I said shut the fuck up! Give me another…”

“Luke, right?” Natasha said after snatching the phone from your hand and you looked at her stunned and Wanda smirked “Yeah, Natasha here. I don’t think she will make it to breakfast” the redhead hummed as she smacked your hand away and Wanda went back to kiss your neck “I see, yeah. When are you leaving?” she grabbed her phone and looked at the hour “Sure, we will join if that’s alright with you and your friends?” she hummed again and typed something in her phone, showing it to Wanda and her wife nodded “Yeah, see you then. Thank you”

Natasha hung up and placed your phones together over her nightstand and your jaw dropped. You weren’t sure if you heard right, but apparently the redhead already decided they weren’t going to leave your side.

“What did he tell you?” you asked as Natasha kissed her wife and looked at you amused.

“Something about a trip to Women Island?” she shrugged and leaned to kiss you “Hope you don’t mind if we tag along”

“I- I don’t but I don’t think you want to hang with four strangers and-“

“We are hanging out with you and may I remind you this stranger made you moa-“ you clasped your hand over her mouth as your cheeks started burning and she raised a brow.

“Fine, three strangers. They are stupid and teasing and…” Natasha licked your hand and you moved it away “Hey!”

“Oh so now you don’t like my tongue? Wasn’t she asking me to never stop using it last night, dorogaya?” Natasha asked to Wanda and the brunette laughed.

“Yeah, I remember that” she teased and you groaned, trying to get off Wanda’s lap but she kept you in place “What I don’t remember is giving you permission to move”

“Is this my new life? Am I gonna get teased for the rest of my life?” you said without really thinking about your words but when realisation settled, you panicked “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Yes, that’s what you should expect for the rest of your life” Natasha smiled and grabbed your hand “And we don’t mind hanging out with your friends. It will be good getting to know them since you know… you are kinda stuck with us now”

“You make it sound like a threat, moya lyubov’” Wanda laughed and you bit your lip “We don’t have to go if you don’t want us to”

You looked at them, like really looked. Their eyes were twinkling softly, their smiles didn’t waver and they kept one hand touching you as the other were linked.

They made it look like you’ve been part of them all their lives, as if they didn’t meet you the day before but like you belonged there already. And your heart melted.

Maybe you didn’t take the best choices in the past, but this felt right. They felt right. So what if you just took a leap of faith?

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do it” you smiled and leaned to kiss each one of them “and I mean all of it, if you guys still want me” you whispered shyly and Wanda caressed your cheek.

“I know a way or two to show you how much we want you” she purred and you whimpered “What do you think, Tasha?”

“Yeah, I know what you are talking about?” the redhead smirked and you moaned.

“Again?” you grunted when Wanda pushed you down in between their bodies and their lips were already on your neck.

“Again. And again after that” Natasha whispered and you bit your lip but your stomach growled and the redhead laughed.

“Or not. I guess she really is hungry” Wanda chuckled and you groaned, looking down to your abdomen.

“No, no, I’m not hungry. Come back” you whined but Wanda was already picking up the phone to order room service “She won’t let it go, will she?”

Natasha patted your thigh “You get used to it, now come back to my arms and wake me up when food is here”

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 didn’t matter.

You really could do that for the rest of your life.

[itsnotyouithink]

AQUAMARINE (13)

Chapter Thirteen: Summer Lovin’

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary: Being royalty doesn’t stop you from being hunted. On land, you’re 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 “monster” as something powerful, something yours.

word count: 4.9k

author’s note: very excited to write s2

Previous Part | Next Part

—————————

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 — 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 — 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 I—" 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.

"It’s 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.”

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.

———-

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 Enid’s 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 — of course — 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.

Now she was your ally, your shadow, your dare.

She was finally and officially you.

[ceesimz]

paper tigers

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!)

“She left mid-date again? Really? Another one?” The stifled laugh down the phone was not what you wanted to hear at that moment. “Tía, what the hell are you doing to these women?” 

You weren’t 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 weren’t even sure if Jana was actually your cousin or not at this point. 

“Because I don’t speak their language and I mess things up every time! It’s not funny, Jana, it really hurts.” 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 date’s order came wrong twice, your non-alcoholic cocktail had alcohol in it, and the owners blasted music so. loud. that you couldn’t 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 didn’t 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 ‘This is my first date since my divorce.’ 

It was no surprise she walked out afterwards.

“Maybe you’re cursed or something.” Jana offered helpfully, wincing when you scoffed sharply.

“No, it’s not me, it’s them! Where are you finding them?”

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 wasn’t 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 ‘family problem’ 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.

“Well, Vicky came up with an idea-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Do I even want to know?” 

“We made a Tinder profile for you.” 

You wished you never asked.

But, that did explain the strange pool of people you’d been paired with. Turns out it was just blind leading the blind. And your final date was a classic Tinder pull. 

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. 

“Jana… this is getting ridiculous. I can’t even speak to most of them. Whether it’s because of a language barrier or because I just make a fool of myself, not a single second of the dates goes right.” 

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. 

“Well, I told you to ask Ale to teach you some things in return. Spanish is not hard to learn, you know.” 

That’s right. Alexia.

Thankfully you didn’t 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 you’d moved to the city on a whim for a year of your studies. You’d 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. 

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 Jana’s 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.

“Hola.” She’d smiled, awkwardly first, then brightly when you reciprocated it. “You… Jana’s prima? Yes?”

The bar hadn’t 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 weren’t sure.

You’d nodded anyway, still smiling. “That’s me.”

She hesitated, unsure where to go next. All she knew was that she couldn’t tear her eyes away. 

“I… see you, in games, the year last. You very loud.” 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 hadn’t been wrong then, when referring to the few trips you’d made to watch Jana and the team, and she still wasn’t 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, children’s education. Not for a 31 year old two time Ballon d’Or winner.

…not that it stopped you from saying yes.

“I 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.” 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. 

“What kind of things?” 

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 Jana’s question. 

There was a variety of random things; phrases that didn’t exactly align with her goal of learning English for the sake of interviews and networking. 

“Well… I don’t know, just odd and out of the blue. Last time she asked me to tell her how to say ‘I like spending time with you’ in English. Same with ‘you are beautiful’ and ‘I feel comfortable with you.’ Why does she want to say all this to journalists? Does she have a thing for them or something?” 

The sound of a light slap came over the phone line– you, blissfully unaware it was Jana putting a hand over her eyes in speechless disappointment. 

“No, tía, she does not have a thing for journalists.” She sighed, desperately holding herself back from blurting the one thing that would save everyone a considerable amount of time. 

The blind dates? Merely a tactic to wear you down whilst Alexia could be there to pick up the pieces. Alexia wasn’t 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 team’s 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 intervention– for the sake of Alexia’s sanity, and your confidence.

“Then why is she asking them?” 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 – because she had a habit of doing so – you spoke again. “You know what? I don’t want to know, and I don’t 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 don’t want them anymore. I’m done.”

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 you’d be thanking her on your wedding day.

“Look, you are not getting any younger.” 

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. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” All you could hear was the smirk on her face as you resumed your walk home, steps slow and precise through pure anger.

“No. I don’t want any more blind dates set up by teenagers.” You scowled at the laugh that burst out of her, loud enough that you had to pull your phone from your ear once more.

“We’re not teenagers!” 

“You are compared to me!” You snapped, shaking your head at her continued laughter. “I’m old!”

“Oh, please.” Jana paused. Her grin grew. “Alexia is only a few months older.” 

“Don’t bring her into this.” You muttered. Ears turning red before you could do anything about it.

“Mmhm. Sure.” Jana’s voice was sly, the kind of tone that made you want to hang up and never answer her call again. “Anyway, you can yell at me all you want, but we’re not the problem here.” 

You groaned at her, cursing her under your breath, and reached into your bag for your keys as you entered your apartment building. “Whatever. I don’t care. No more dates. I mean it, Jana.”

“Fine, fine.” Another pause. “I’ll make sure next week’s date is a good one. I’ll speak to y-”

“Oh no, sorry- I’m about to get into the elevator, the signal is going! Bye, Jana.” You hung up and rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Fucking kids.” 

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. It’d 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. 

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. Wasn’t the only thing that had given up on you that night, or the last few weeks. 

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 Alexia’s English work on it, leftover from the previous night. 

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. 

Are you free right now? I am, if you’d 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. 

Por supuesto, gracias :)

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. 

You’d changed your clothes whilst you were waiting for her, hence the-

“You… comfy.” 

-that she greeted you with, along with a relaxed and fond smile you’d 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.

“I’ve told you, the more you tease, the less chance I’ll go easy on you.” You warned lightly, stepping aside to let her in.

“No, no easy.” She preened, competitive and determined as ever. She went to head towards your lounge like she always did before your hand out stopped her.

“Did you bring any of your things?” 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. “...I forget.”

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 suit– 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. 

“Lo siento, profesora.” 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. 

“You’re lucky I still have some here. Take this, this, and lean on that.” You handed her a sheet she left half-finished last time – the pair of you may have ended up watching a film instead – as well as a pen and a random book you paid no mind to when picking it. Apparently, she did.

“‘How to… raise a toddler.’” 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. “You have something to tell?” 

For a moment, you stared at her blankly. Until you realised what she was hinting at.

“I don’t have a child, you idiot. It’s just extra reading for my studies.” 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. “Come on, concentrate. Get through that and we can move on.”

There was probably all of two minutes of her pen scribbling on the page before she hummed, like she sometimes did before speaking.

“How was your day?” She wondered, head dropping back against the cushions as she looked at you.

“Fine. Thank you. Now work.” 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.

“I am practicing. Conversation.” She argued, practicing her act of faux innocence with the way she shrugged her shoulders blamelessly.

“You can practice your conversation after you’ve done that sheet.” 

With a dramatic huff, she turned back to her sheet. 

“You no ask for my day.” She grumbled under her breath rather theatrically. 

That time, you didn’t bother to hide it. The smile came easy, and your voice softened just the slightest bit when you finally returned the question.

“And how was your day, Alexia?” 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.

“Fine. Thank you. Now, I do the work.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at her. Alexia didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 wasn’t 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 weren’t 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 yours– deliberate or not, you couldn’t tell. She didn’t move away though, and after a brief moment of internal panic, you didn’t either. Instead, you let the contact exist. Let yourself enjoy it, even. 

Alexia’s pen paused again, her brows furrowed in concentration. She bit her lip as she read back what she’d written, and you caught yourself watching the curve of her mouth before forcing your gaze away. It wasn’t the first time you had caught yourself doing that, and so what if you didn’t 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?

“Terminado.” 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 wasn’t on purpose, it was completely accidental. You didn’t like it because it was funny, you liked it because it was so very human of someone so perfect in her stardom.

“Ale, you’ve done it again. Every time!” You laughed gently, pointing to three different lines of the page where she’d made the mistake. Each instance where she had to translate ‘and’ she forgot, instead just keeping the ‘y’ 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. 

“It is more easy! More quick! And sound better!” She argued, shoulders up to her ears as her hands waved about like she was stating her case against a referee. 

“You’re right, but you’re not correct.” 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. 

“I do well?” She asked, hopeful through her humour, and it made you smile.

“You did. Very well. You’re getting better.” 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. 

“Gracias, profesora.” 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. “You are good teacher. After Uni, you will be good teacher. Very good. Best.”

“‘The best’ is high praise from the best.” You teased, watching how she chuckled and glanced away at the fellow praise. You saved her her dignity and moved on quickly. “Since we’ve no more sheets for you because you forgot to bring them, we can do some more phrases if you’d like. Your random phrases that make it sound like you’re flirting with journalists.”

Alexia tried to hide her gawping at your claim. How were you still so oblivious that they were for you? The night before, she’d asked for the translation of her proudest compliment yet, the most truthful one. And it was so painfully lost on you.

“How I say… me siento cómodo contigo?” She’d 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-

“Aw, that’s so sweet that you have a journalist you feel like that with.” You’d responded, before giving her the answer. “I 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.

“Why do you want to know all these odd phrases anyway?” 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 weren’t really expecting much of an answer from her apart from the one you’d already had– that they were just for interviews and things like that.

Alexia decided, there and then, that she’d had enough. 

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.

“For you.” 

That, of course, was the furthest thing from what you expected to hear her say. 

You blinked at her. She blinked at you. 

“What do you mean?” You asked delicately, voice a slightly higher pitch than normal.

Alexia had to hold in a groan that desperately wanted to escape.

“I ask these things… for you. No journalists. You.” 

Given that you hadn’t had much of a negative reaction yet, she took that as a good sign. So, she shuffled closer again, Alexia’s shoulder pressing against your elbow that still rested against the sofa cushions. In your shocked silence, her confidence grew slightly. 

Time to put her practice to good use.

“You are beautiful.” She started. You swallowed a quiet gulp at both her words and how she was looking at you. “And… 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.”

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. 

“You… like me?” You whispered, breathless, wanting to ensure you hadn’t misread the situation. 

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. “I like me.”

You both paused. Alexia frowned like she knew something wasn’t quite right about that declaration, but couldn’t figure it out immediately. 

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.

“No! I like you. Not me. I have a… crush.” 

You laughed with her, not at her, and she joined in almost instantly. Couldn’t resist when you sounded like you did. 

After the bravery she’d built up to to tell you that, the hard work she’d 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.

“I like you too, Alexia.” You reciprocated, catching her slightly off-guard and delighting in the shy smile she gave. That shyness then carried over into her next words.

“How to say… ‘he querido besarte desde que nos conocimos.’” Still shy, but full of intent. You felt like you must have been red from head to toe with how much you were blushing.

“I have wanted to kiss you since we first met.” You told her. The grin she replied with, as if she’d just scored a blinder of a free-kick, was rather unexpected.

“Really?” She teased with an eyebrow raised, and you realised then that you had been played. 

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. Alexia’s 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.

“I have wanted to kiss you since we first met.” 

The statement didn’t 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, until…

“Hang on.” You blurted out, suddenly covering her mouth with your hand. “You’ve had over three weeks to prepare yourself to kiss me. I’ve had about three minutes.”

Alexia chuckled into your palm, not at all annoyed, and gently took your hand away with a fond shake of her head. “You are ridiculous.”

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.

“So, I kiss you now?” The midfielder asked politely. You couldn’t exactly speak, though, due to your frozen nature. You just stared. In turn, that made her frown again, wondering if she’d gotten her words confused again. “...beso?”

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. 

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 didn’t 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 you’d 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. 

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.

“I can’t believe you’ve wanted to kiss me since the bar. We could have done this a month ago.” 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. “What is it?”

“Your blind dates…” She started timidly. “Jana want me to do… be first.” 

You stared at her, wide-eyed, the realisation settling in rather quick. 

“You could have been my first blind date? That was Jana’s real plan with all that?” She nodded solemnly, and you huffed. “So I could have had a nice date with you instead of the embarrassing three I’ve had?”

The midfielder, smart in her ways, chose to ignore your outrage and take the pair of you down a different avenue.

“Nice, eh?” 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. “So these English lessons were just a ploy.”

Her face pinched in confusion that you weren’t exactly surprised by– it was a rather weird word. 

“Ploy?” She repeated, testing it out on her tongue and wondering what on earth it could mean.

“An excuse. A strategic tactic.” Of course football terms resonated with her.

“Un poco.” She shrugged initially, before softening. “I want know you. No blind date. Just… normal.” You couldn’t fault her for that. “But also… is helpful. The lessons. I enjoy them. Because is with you.” 

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 with– it often led to you teasing her. Which it did.

“Are you going to ask me to tell you how to say ‘I want to take you on a date’ now?” You grinned, thinking you’d caught her out. Even in another language, she was always one step ahead of you.

“You already tell me, just now.” She was proud of that one, and you didn’t 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. “I want to take you on a date.”

There was no hesitation with your answer. “Then take me on a date, Alexia.”

—

i don't normally write short things like this so be nice if it's really terrible🤠 nevertheless i had fun writing something new so thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed <3

[femini-nomenon]

Easier With You

Alexia Putellas x Reader

2.4k WC | Fluff | GIF not mine

Summary: Words don’t 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 Giráldez had greeted her warmly, introducing her as “our new forward” with that bright coach’s grin that made it sound like a celebration. The girls had clapped, some calling “Bienvenida!” or “Welcome!” 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.

She’d 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 wasn’t that she didn’t 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 wasn’t 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. She’d 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.

Alexia’s smile softened, an unspoken “hello” in it. “Hola,” she said, voice warm.

Y/N nodded, unsure why her pulse had jumped. She should move on. She should…

“Eres nueva, ¿no?” Alexia asked gently. You’re new, right?

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.

“Yes,” 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.

Alexia’s smile widened. “Bienvenida, Y/N.”

For the first time since she had arrived, Y/N felt the knot in her chest ease.

Y/N didn’t plan on going back to the physio room the next day.

In fact, she’d told herself she wouldn’t, she didn’t 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 they’d barely spoken.

“Hola, Y/N,” Alexia said, like they were already friends.

Y/N blinked, the sound of her name unexpectedly grounding. “Hi,” 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.

“How are you settling in?” 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.

“It’s… good,” Y/N said quietly. She could feel her own surprise at how easily it came out. “Still… learning names.”

Alexia chuckled. “It’s a big team. And we talk too fast.”

That made Y/N’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. “Sometimes.”

For a moment, silence settled, but it wasn’t awkward. It was… easy.

Alexia tilted her head. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

The question wasn’t judgemental. It was an observation, almost gentle. Y/N looked down at her hands. “Not… with most people.”

“With me?”

She shouldn’t answer. She didn’t have to answer. But her throat didn’t close up the way it usually did. “You’re… easier,” she admitted.

Alexia’s brows softened, and something flickered in her expression, not pity, but understanding. “Then we’ll talk more.”

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 players’ lounge after training. She’d 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.

“You drink coffee?” Alexia asked, holding up an extra mug.

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Sit,” Alexia said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll make you one.”

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 didn’t feel the usual pressure to fill the silence, Alexia seemed perfectly fine just… existing next to her.

“You live close?” Alexia asked eventually.

“Ten minutes’ walk.”

“That’s good. Easier after late games.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “If I ever play.”

Alexia’s eyes crinkled. “You will. I’ve seen you in training. You don’t need to rush.”

They fell into a rhythm after that.

Sometimes they’d 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 she’d talked to anyone in years. Little things, what she’d 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, Alexia’s hand brushing Y/N’s arm as they turned a corner. It was such a light touch, accidental but it left a strange, warm pulse in Y/N’s chest.

Another time, Alexia had leaned close to point something out on Y/N’s phone, their shoulders pressed together. Y/N could smell her perfume; something soft, floral, and distractingly pleasant, and she’d barely caught a word Alexia said.

If Alexia noticed, she didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 “Haz ese truco que te enseñé!” Do that trick I taught you!

Y/N, without even thinking, shot back a quick reply, “I’ll never do it as well as you!”

The ball rolled between her legs while she was distracted, but the reaction around her wasn’t laughter about the missed tackle.

It was… silence.

Patri froze mid-pass. Mapi’s eyes widened in mock shock. Mariona’s jaw dropped so dramatically it could’ve been a comedy sketch.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mapi said, pointing at Y/N. “Did you just talk? Out loud?”

Y/N blinked, caught in the headlights.

“Sí, sí, I heard it!” Mariona gasped. “And to Alexia, no less!”

The teasing started immediately.

“Ohhh, so that’s the secret.” “Only speaks when the Queen speaks.” “Careful, Ale… she’s breaking her silence just for you.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat, but before she could retreat into herself, Alexia cut in smoothly. “Maybe she just has good taste,” she said with a smirk.

That only made the chorus of “Ooooh!” 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 “romantic gestures” 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 wasn’t quiet with Alexia.

One afternoon, after another round of teasing, Y/N mumbled, “They’re never going to stop, are they?”

Alexia smiled, walking beside her toward the exit. “Probably not.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Alexia’s tone was light, but there was something in her eyes; a spark, a question she didn’t voice.

Y/N didn’t answer. But she didn’t 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/N’s 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 wasn’t 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/N’s shoulder.

“Estàs bé? Are you okay?”

Y/N nodded quickly, embarrassed, but her throat was tight for reasons that had nothing to do with pain. “I’m fine,” she managed, voice low.

“You scared me,” Alexia said, and there was nothing casual in it. Her eyes searched Y/N’s 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/N’s 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.

“You have to be careful,” Alexia said quietly, almost scolding, but the softness in her tone made it feel more like worry than reprimand.

Y/N swallowed. “You’re one to talk.”

That earned her a faint smile, but Alexia didn’t look away. “I mean it.”

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 Alexia’s 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 slightly…

“¡Buen trabajo!” 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. “You know she sprinted, on crutches, when you went down?” she said, eyebrows waggling. “That’s love, amiga.”

“It’s not, she was just-” Y/N started, but Mapi cut her off with a dramatic gasp.

“You spoke a full sentence! And defending her! This is getting serious.”

The others joined in: Mariona humming a mock love song under her breath, Ingrid dropping a folded note into Y/N’s hand (“From your secret admirer… hint: it’s not that secret”), even Cata whispering, “Just ask her out already.”

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.

“Hi,” Y/N said quietly.

“Hi,” Alexia returned. She patted the spot beside her. “Come sit before Mapi steals you for more teasing.”

Y/N sat, tucking one leg under herself. “They’re… relentless.”

Alexia smirked. “Because they’re not wrong.”

That made Y/N’s heart trip over itself. “About what?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Alexia didn’t hesitate. “That I like you.”

For a second, Y/N forgot how to breathe. Alexia was watching her closely, but not nervously, like she already knew the answer.

“I…” Y/N began, then stopped. But her throat didn’t close. Her voice didn’t vanish. She looked down at her hands, then back up at Alexia. “I like you too.”

The relief in Alexia’s smile was almost dizzying. She reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face, her fingers lingering against her cheek.

“I was going to wait until you were ready,” Alexia murmured. “But you’ve been ready for a while, haven’t you?”

Y/N’s chest felt warm, not tight, not anymore. “With you, yeah.”

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. Mapi’s voice carried above the rest: “FINALLY!”

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in Alexia’s shoulder, but she was smiling. And she didn’t feel the need to hide anything else.

[femini-nomenon]

Sparks Fly (Literally)

Alexia Putellas x Firefighter!Reader

6.7k WC | Fluff | GIF not mine

Summary: She’s captain of FC Barcelona, twice a Ballon d’Or 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.

“Small kitchen fire,” the man explained quickly, gesturing toward the facility’s cafeteria building. “It’s under control, but protocol says we call you.”

“Good call,” you nodded, slipping on your helmet. “Let’s make sure it’s really out.”

As you and your crew moved inside, you could feel eyes on you. The reason became clear almost immediately, half the Barça Femení 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 didn’t 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 should’ve 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 León, who was rambling about something with a mischievous grin.

“Everything under control?” a staffer asked you.

“Yeah,” you said, voice casual, though you were very aware of the weight of certain eyes on you. “You’re all safe now.”

You should’ve 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, you’d 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 players’ side. Not just laughter, teasing laughter, the kind that comes with a good-natured roast.

“Alexiaaa,” Mapi’s voice carried across the courtyard. “Why are you standing there like a statue, eh? Say something to the bombera before she leaves!”

You froze, suppressing a smile. Oh, this was getting good.

Another voice, Patri’s you thought, chimed in, “You’ve been staring since she arrived! Poor girl’s going to think you’re a creep.”

“I have not,” Alexia muttered, but her defensive tone only made her teammates howl harder.

You risked another glance. Sure enough, Alexia’s 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 who’d 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 teammates’ teasing and, apparently, your presence.

Adorable.

As you climbed into the truck, you made sure your voice carried just enough across the courtyard.

“Stay safe out here,” 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:

You’d definitely caught her staring.

And you weren’t about to forget it.

The cafeteria fire was forgotten within a day. For the players, anyway.

For Alexia, it was not.

Her teammates hadn’t 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.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Mapi laughed in the locker room the next morning, towel slung over her shoulder. “Blushing like a schoolgirl. I didn’t know our captain could get shy.”

“I wasn’t shy,” Alexia muttered, shoving her training kit into her bag with a bit more force than necessary. “And I wasn’t blushing.”

Patri raised an eyebrow from across the room. “You looked like a tomato, tía. If that wasn’t blushing, then I don’t know what it was.”

The younger players snickered. Even Cata, usually so quiet, was grinning as she tied her shoes.

Alexia ran a hand down her face. They’ll forget. Give it a few days, and they’ll drop it. That’s 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 firefighter’s confident stride and easy smile.

But her teammates didn’t give her the chance.

“Imagine,” Mapi said, grinning wickedly, “if the fire department had to come back here again. Maybe a small accident… like, oh, I don’t know, someone ‘accidentally’ setting a cone on fire?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Patri added with a laugh. “At this point, I’d do it just to watch Alexia lose her cool again.”

“I do not lose my cool,” Alexia snapped, though the faint pink on her cheeks betrayed her.

Aitana, lounging nearby, smirked. “You’re the calmest player I’ve ever met on the pitch. But one firefighter smiles at you, and suddenly you forget how to breathe.”

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 might’ve stung if it weren’t… 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 you’d 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 didn’t even know you.

And yet, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her mind.

Meanwhile, across the city, you weren’t 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 hadn’t told your own crew about it. They’d 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 teammates’ relentless teasing.

“Captain Putellas,” you murmured to yourself with amusement. “You’re adorable.”

It didn’t take long for fate, or perhaps Mapi’s 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:

“Look who it is!” Patri’s voice, gleeful. “The bombera!”

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 weren’t about to complain.

“Alright, everyone, gather round.”

Your captain’s voice carried easily across the grass, drawing the Barça women’s 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. “We’ll keep this quick. Just some basics, what to do if there’s smoke, how to use an extinguisher, and how to avoid setting your kitchen on fire again.”

That earned a round of laughter. Even Alexia cracked a smile, though she ducked her head quickly, pretending to tie her shoelace.

“Who wants to volunteer first?” you asked, gesturing to the fire extinguisher your crew had set up.

Immediately, Patri shoved Alexia forward. “Our captain! She loves being a role model.”

Alexia stumbled a step, glaring over her shoulder at Patri, but it was too late. Twenty expectant eyes were already on her.

“Uh…” Alexia’s 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. “Don’t worry, it’s easy. Come here.”

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 she’d rather disappear into the turf.

“First,” you said, holding up the extinguisher nozzle, “you pull this pin.” 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 she’d touched a live wire, and she nearly dropped the extinguisher.

The team howled with laughter.

“Smooth, capitana!” Mapi crowed. “You handle footballs better than fire equipment.”

“Shut up,” Alexia muttered, ears blazing red as she finally managed to tug the pin free.

You leaned in slightly, voice gentler now. “Good. Now, squeeze here, and aim low at the fire.”

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.

“There you go,” you said, and couldn’t resist adding softly, “Not so scary, right?”

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.

“Why don’t you thank the nice firefighter, Alexia?” Aitana teased as the demo wrapped up. “You’ve been staring the whole time.”

“I have not,” Alexia shot back, voice sharp with embarrassment.

“Sí, you have,” Patri said, grinning ear to ear. “We all saw it.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but her ears gave her away again, pink as ever.

You couldn’t 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: Don’t worry. I see you. And it’s 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 players’ bench.

“You’ve got to talk to her,” Mapi insisted.

“No.” Alexia’s voice was low, firm.

“Why not?”

“She’s… busy. A professional. And I…” A pause. “…I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

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, wasn’t she? Clumsy, even, when it came to something that wasn’t 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 didn’t expect to see her again so soon.

It was a quiet Saturday morning, one of the rare days you weren’t on shift. You’d thrown on a hoodie and jeans, hair pulled back, and wandered down to your favourite café 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 she’d tried to disguise herself, but the moment you spotted her, you knew.

She hadn’t 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, “Y/N! Hola!” with a grin, and Alexia’s 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. “Hey,” you said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world to run into her here.

“Hola,” Alexia murmured, voice soft, almost uncertain.

You ordered your drink, then turned slightly toward her. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

She shrugged, shifting her weight. “I come sometimes. When… I have a free morning.” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away, fiddling with her card like it might save her.

You bit back a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover. Captain Putellas deserves her coffee in peace.”

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 didn’t glance away immediately. Her eyes were warm, cautious, but curious too.

Then the barista slid her drink across the counter. “Café con leche, for Alexia.”

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. “Relax. It’s fine. No one’s going to bother you.”

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 café.

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.

“¡Mierda!” she cursed under her breath, scrambling for napkins.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Not meanly, just light, warm, a little teasing. “Careful, Captain. You’re dangerous with fire extinguishers and coffee.”

Her cheeks went scarlet. “I…I don’t usually…” She trailed off, clearly mortified, and you reached over to grab napkins, helping mop up the spill.

“Don’t worry,” you said gently, bumping her hand lightly with yours as you cleaned. “I won’t report you to the coffee police.”

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 she’d 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.

“So,” you said eventually, leaning back in your chair. “Do your teammates always tease you that much, or was that just special treatment for me?”

Her eyes widened. Then narrowed in mock betrayal. “You heard them.”

“Hard not to.” You grinned. “They seem to think you were staring.”

“I wasn’t-” she started, then stopped, realising she’d trapped herself. Her blush returned full force. “…I mean…I was just-”

You let her flounder for a beat, enjoying the sight of the unflappable captain completely undone. Then you softened, tilting your head.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mind.”

Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. And for the first time since you’d met her, she didn’t look away.

Neither of you noticed the time slipping by until the café started filling with the late-morning crowd.

Alexia glanced at her phone and sighed. “I should go. Team lunch.”

You nodded, hiding your disappointment. “Duty calls.”

She stood, hesitating for a moment, then said, “Maybe… we’ll see each other again?” Her tone was tentative, like she wasn’t sure if she should ask.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

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.

“So,” Mapi drawled, “how was coffee?”

Alexia froze. “What?”

“Coffee,” Patri echoed sweetly. “With our favorite bombera.”

“I don’t-” Alexia started, but Aitana cut her off, waving her phone like a sword.

“Funny thing about Barcelona,” she said. “Small city. Lots of people around. Lots of phones. Lots of Instagram stories.”

She turned the screen toward Alexia. And there it was: a blurry photo from some random café-goer, captioned ‘Didn’t expect to see Alexia Putellas having coffee this morning 👀☕️’.

Alexia’s stomach dropped.

In the corner of the photo, just barely visible, was you, smiling across the table at her.

“¡Joder!” she groaned, dragging a hand over her face.

The locker room erupted into chaos.

“You sat with her?!” Patri gasped, clutching her chest in mock drama.

“You had a date?” Mapi demanded, practically vibrating with excitement.

“It was not a date,” Alexia muttered, ears already turning pink.

“Oh, it was definitely a date,” Aitana said firmly. “Look at your face! You’re smiling like a lovesick teenager.”

“I smile all the time,” Alexia protested weakly.

“Not like that,” Patri sing-songed.

Even Cata chimed in, voice soft but teasing: “You spilled your coffee, didn’t you?”

Alexia’s head snapped up. “How do you know that?!”

“Because you’re clumsy around hot people,” 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 weren’t done.

During rondos, every time the ball got near her, someone muttered, “Careful, don’t spill it!”

During sprints, Mapi jogged past her with a wicked grin. “Better hurry, or your firefighter’s going to leave without you.”

Even their coach, gave her a puzzled look when the laughter refused to die down. “What is going on?”

“Nothing!” Alexia snapped, glaring at the team. Which, of course, only made them laugh harder.

Meanwhile, you had no idea what storm you’d inadvertently unleashed.

After your coffee with Alexia, you’d gone back to the station, in a good mood that your colleagues immediately noticed.

“You’re smiling,” one of them teased. “Who’s the lucky one?”

“Shut up,” you said, but you were smiling even wider.

Still, you had no idea that Alexia’s 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: 🔥🚒 Patri: Capitana, when’s 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 hadn’t 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 😉

She hovered over the send button, heart racing. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed it.

Seconds later, the little “delivered” 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 doesn’t want to answer. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe…

Then your reply popped up.

Anytime, Capitana. Though I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone panic so much over a latte 😏

Her face went hot. She groaned out loud, burying her face in her pillow. Of course you’d tease her. Of course.

Before she could overthink it, another message came through:

But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Firefighter’s 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. You’d called her cute.

Alexia dropped her phone again, groaning into the pillow. She was the captain of FC Barcelona, twice a Ballon d’Or 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 couldn’t 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. She’d 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 you’d pushed too far, until finally:

I do.

Just that. Simple. Bare. Honest.

Your chest warmed.

Then let’s make it happen. You’re in charge of picking the place though. I don’t want to be blamed if you trip over a table or something 😉

Her response took longer this time. You pictured her pacing her apartment, fingers hovering over the keyboard, overthinking every word.

Finally:

Deal. Just… don’t expect me to be smooth about it.

You grinned.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Back in her apartment, Alexia set her phone down with trembling hands. She couldn’t believe she’d actually agreed. She couldn’t believe you’d actually said yes.

And she couldn’t believe how giddy she felt, like she’d 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 didn’t take long for the team to notice.

“Who are you texting, capitana?” Aitana asked innocently one morning, jogging beside her to get some water during warm-ups.

“No one,” Alexia said quickly, slipping her phone back into her bag.

“Mmhm.” Aitana smirked. “That’s why you’re smiling like that?”

“I’m not smiling.”

“Yes, you are.”

Before Alexia could retort, Mapi jogged past, sing-songing, “Probably the firefighterrrr.”

Alexia groaned, covering her face with her hands. She should’ve 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:

There’s 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, Alexia’s phone buzzed in her locker. She grabbed it quickly, shielding the screen from curious eyes.

But not quickly enough.

Patri’s sharp gaze caught the little notification banner. “Dinner Friday?” she read aloud.

Alexia froze. “¡Patri!”

The room went silent. Then erupted.

“Dinner?!” Mapi gasped, clutching her chest. “With HER?!”

Alexia’s ears turned crimson. “Mind your own business.”

“Oh no,” Aitana said gleefully. “This is our business. Our captain is going on a date!”

“It’s not a date,” Alexia muttered, shoving her phone deep into her bag.

“Uh-huh,” Patri said, smirking. “Then what is it?”

“Just… dinner.”

“Dinner,” Mapi repeated dramatically. “At a restaurant. With the firefighter who makes you blush every five seconds.” She clasped her hands together. “Sounds exactly like not a date.”

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. They’d probably follow her to the restaurant just to spy.

And yet… she couldn’t 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 hadn’t felt in a long time.

So, despite her nerves, she texted you again:

Friday, 8 pm. I’ll 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 Alexia’s car pulled up, you almost laughed out loud.

It wasn’t the sleek sports car you might have expected from a Ballon d’Or 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.

“Hi,” she said, voice a touch breathless.

“Hi yourself,” you teased lightly. “You clean up well, Capitana.”

Her ears turned pink immediately. “You look… good. I mean…really good. Beautiful.” 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. “Thank you. Shall we?”

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. “Careful. I thought we agreed you weren’t going to spill anything tonight.”

“I haven’t spilled yet,” 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.

“Relax,” you said gently, leaning on your hand. “It’s just dinner.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours, warm but nervous. “Yeah. Just… dinner.”

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. “Mierda.”

You laughed, sliding your own napkin across the table. “You really are determined to spill something every time we’re together, aren’t you?”

Her face flamed as she took the napkin. “I swear I’m not usually like this.”

“I don’t know,” you teased. “Kind of feels like your thing now.”

Despite her embarrassment, a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Glad I can make an impression.”

“You definitely have,” 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 you’d been sitting there for nearly three hours.

Alexia leaned back, sipping the last of her wine, finally relaxed. “This was… nice.”

“Even with all the accidents?” you teased.

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me.”

You reached across the table, gently tugging her hands down. “Hey. I liked it. All of it. Even the disasters.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not.”

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. “I should, um… get you home.”

You smiled, leaning back. “Okay, Capitana. But only if you promise not to spill me out of the car on the way.”

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. “You know, Alexia,” you said softly, “for someone so clumsy, you’re doing pretty well.”

Her lips curved into a shy smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then you stepped back, giving her a little wave as she drove off, leaving her grinning like she’d just won another trophy.

Alexia should’ve known she wasn’t going to get away with it.

For one glorious day, she thought she had. She’d 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.

“Good morning, capitana,” Patri sang as Alexia walked past. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Alexia narrowed her eyes. “Like normal.”

“Oh, normal,” Mapi said, tapping her chin. “Is that what we call ‘smiling at your phone until midnight’?”

Alexia froze. “How do you…”

Aitana popped up beside her, phone in hand. “Because Barcelona is a very small city, and restaurants have windows.”

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.

“Who took that?!” she demanded.

“Does it matter?” Mapi teased. “Look at your face!”

The photo wasn’t 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.

“Delete it,” Alexia muttered, shoving her bag into her locker.

“Too late,” Patri said. “Already in the group chat.”

Alexia groaned, dropping her forehead against the cool metal of the locker.

The teasing that day was merciless.

During warm-ups: “Don’t trip, Alexia, you might spill spaghetti!”

During passing drills: “Careful, don’t drop the ball like you dropped your fork!”

Even the coaches were raising their eyebrows, though wisely they didn’t 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. Don’t 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 ❤️

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 didn’t spill water all over herself, don’t believe her.

You grinned, shaking your head. Poor Alexia.

That evening, Alexia texted you, clearly frazzled.

My teammates know.

Of course they do.

They won’t stop teasing me.

Of course they won’t.

This is a nightmare.

No, this is adorable.

There was a long pause. Then:

Adorable?

You smiled.

Yeah. I like that they know. Means I’m not imagining this.

Another pause. Then, slower this time:

You’re 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? “Thinking about the firefighter again?” She slipped during sprints? “She’s sweeping you off your feet, capitana!”

By Friday, she was this 🤏🏽 close to losing it.

But then something happened. Something small, but important.

She realized she didn’t 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 she’d 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. I’d 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 won’t stop teasing you?

Alexia groaned out loud.

Yes. But only if you promise not to join them.

No promises 😉

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.

“La bombera!” Mapi crowed, standing up and spreading her arms. “Finally! We’ve been waiting for you!”

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.

“Don’t scare her,” Alexia muttered.

“Oh please,” Mapi said, flopping back into her seat. “She runs into burning buildings. I think she can handle us.”

Patri leaned across the table with a grin. “Welcome. You know, you’re basically a legend already. We’ve heard so many stories.”

You arched a brow, sliding into the chair next to Alexia. “All flattering, I hope.”

“Depends who you ask,” Aitana said slyly, sipping her drink. “According to Alexia, you’re terrifying.”

“I never said that!” 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, “Relax, Capitana. They like me already.”

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.

“Alexia’s the most composed player on the pitch,” Patri said dramatically, waving her fork. “But then you show up, and suddenly she’s dropping forks and spilling coffee.”

“Don’t forget the fire extinguisher,” Mapi added. “She almost took out half the team trying to impress you.”

You grinned, resting your chin in your hand as you watched Alexia cover her face with both hands. “Honestly,” you said, “I find it kind of adorable.”

The table erupted again.

Alexia peeked at you through her fingers, mortified; and maybe, just maybe, a little pleased.

By the time dessert arrived, you’d laughed until your cheeks hurt.

And Alexia, though flustered, red-eared, and endlessly teased, looked lighter than you’d 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.

“Thanks for coming.”

You tilted your head. “Sure you don’t regret inviting me into the lion’s den?”

Her smile was small but certain. “Not even a little.”

And for once, when your eyes met, she didn’t look away.

[arabella-syntax]

Not Just A Meet Cute (One-shot)

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Femme!Reader (You)

Summary: You move to Barcelona after five years in Hong Kong and a burnout that left you allergic to Slack notifications and emotional intimacy. You’re expecting a slower life, decent bread, and maybe a little peace. What you’re 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

Word count: ~ 20k

————————————————————————

You arrive in Barcelona smelling like airplane peanuts and your own bad decisions.

There’s a ghost of turbulence still clinging to your spine, your carry-on’s 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. You’re 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 — which, as it turns out, is a maze designed by people who’ve never met a flat surface or a straightforward street sign in their life.

You’ve 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 café 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 that’s when the car almost hits you.

It comes out of nowhere — a sleek black SUV, turning into the narrow lane like it owns every square inch of it. There’s 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 — 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 driver’s elbow appears first, then a flash of blonde hair pulled into a low bun, sunglasses pushed up over her head like she’s just walked off a runway shoot for “Women Who Don’t Know They’re Icons Yet”.

She looks… annoyed.

And then confused.

And then, when she sees your dazed expression, something like concern flickers across her face.

“¡Joder!” she mutters. Then, softer, “¿Estás bien?”

Her voice is gravel and honey — 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:

“I think I just met God, and she drives like a maniac.”

She stares at you. You stare back.

There’s a beat. Two.

Then — inexplicably — she grins.

A slow, crooked, aggravatingly charming grin that curls at the edges of her mouth like it knows what it’s doing. She leans out of the car window, head tilting slightly.

“Good first impression, no?”

You scowl at her. It lacks commitment.

She taps her temple like she’s saluting your sarcasm, then shifts the gear and pulls forward.

You’re ready to exhale, to curse her in three languages, to drag your battered dignity across the last stretch to your new apartment — 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 — unfortunately — 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.

You’re 3A.

Of course.

Of course she’s your next-door neighbour.

Of course you almost got killed by a woman who lives a wall away.

You mutter something that might’ve been “this is fine” but comes out closer to “Jesus Christ,” and roll your last suitcase across the street, head down, as she disappears inside.

——————

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 (“press, hold, then beg it to function”).

The flat is… decent. Small but sunlit, and the kind of charm you’d call “rustic” 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 “Welcome to Spain!” message from your new job’s HR chat. There’s also a note from your best friend in Hong Kong:

Don’t 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 — hair wet, limbs aching — 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:

“Barcelona. Day one. Drama: already delivered.”

You fall asleep smiling.

——————

The evening tastes like dust and canned anchovies.

You’ve 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.

You’ve got music playing faintly off your dying laptop — some sleepy indie track that sounds like rain and unresolved childhood trauma — when someone knocks at your door.

Twice.

Not three times. Not once. Twice.

It’s 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, it’s her.

Hot SUV girl. From earlier. Your personal near-death experience in high-top sneakers.

She’s changed into an oversized hoodie and loose denim shorts, and she’s holding a bottle of wine — the casual kind of bottle that says, I may be hot, but I’m also capable of civilised guilt.

“Hola,” she says, almost sheepish. Then adds in English, “Hi. Again.”

You don’t respond. Just lean against the doorframe, one brow raised.

“I was… maybe rude earlier,” she offers, raising the bottle. “This is an apology. For almost, uh… flattening you.”

You glance at the wine. Then at her.

“Apology accepted. Offer pending.”

“Pending?”

“Depends. Is that Rioja or just some tourist trap Tempranillo from the shop around the corner?”

She actually looks embarrassed. It’s a bit adorable.

“…I didn’t check.”

You sigh. “Amateur.” Then step aside. “Come in before the hallway starts judging us.”

She blinks. Then smiles. Walks in.

Your flat is still in the early stages of not-quite-home — 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.

“I’m Alexia, by the way,” she offers, leaning a hip against the counter.

You don’t look up. “Like, just Alexia? Or like, Alexia?”

The name clicks — faintly familiar.

You remember your late-night stalk, the vague “I’ve seen her somewhere” itch.

Probably Instagram. Or a billboard.

She hesitates. “Uh… just Alexia.”

“Cool,” you say, pouring the wine. “I’m Y/N. Just Y/N.”

She laughs. “We sound like Bond girls.”

“Speak for yourself. I look like I’ve been buried in a suitcase for hours.”

Alexia takes her glass and clinks it against yours, gently.

“To near-misses and new neighbours.”

You take a sip. It’s… actually good wine.

Suspiciously good.

She watches you. You notice — vaguely — that she’s got this oddly charming air of someone who doesn’t quite know how to be cool in real life, despite very obviously being cool on paper.

“So, you just moved in?” she asks.

“This morning. From Hong Kong.”

“Wow.” She nods, then adds, “I’ve never been. What’s it like?”

You pause. Shrug.

“Loud. Fast. Delicious. A little like living inside a neon headache, if the headache could make Michelin-starred dumplings.”

Alexia laughs. It’s a good laugh — open, unselfconscious.

“And now Barcelona.”

“And now Barcelona,” you echo. “You?”

“Born here. Left for a bit. Came back. Family’s still close.”

“And your hobbies include hitting pedestrians?”

“Only the cute ones.”

You blink.

Oh.

So that’s how she flirts.

Weirdly.

Badly.

Endearingly.

You raise an eyebrow. “So I should be flattered I almost died?”

She smirks. “Depends. Would you have remembered me otherwise?”

“Probably not. I have a very low threshold for chaos.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky I’m not subtle.”

There’s a beat.

Your glass is half-empty. Her fingers linger on the stem like she’s fighting the urge to say something else.

“What do you do?” she asks.

“Tech. Product design. Trying to live slower.”

“And Hong Kong was…?”

“Fast. Always fast. I burned out. Left. Now I make less money and hopefully fewer ulcers.”

She nods like she understands. Maybe she does. You’re not sure.

“And you?” you ask.

“Football,” she says, simply. “I play.”

“Ah,” you say, noncommittally. “Professionally?”

“Yeah.”

You wait for elaboration. It doesn’t come. Which is either mysterious or evasive — you haven’t decided yet.

She looks around your flat. Takes in the still-sealed kitchen appliances, the wall of books you haven’t unpacked, the single plant you’ve named “Desperation.”

“Still settling in?”

“Still figuring out where the trash goes.”

Alexia chuckles. Then says:

“It’s downstairs. Past the bikes. The door with the broken handle.”

“You learn this the hard way?”

“I’ve lived here four years. I still get it wrong.”

You find yourself smiling.

It’s been less than an hour, but the air between you is already warmer. Comfortable.

Until she glances at her phone, winces, and says:

“I should probably go. Early training.”

“Of course. Training for… football things.”

“Football things,” she repeats, amused.

She walks to the door. Then pauses.

“Hey,” she says. “I meant it — I was really sorry about earlier. I don’t usually drive like that.”

“And I don’t usually throw myself into traffic. So let’s call it even.”

She grins. That same cocky tilt.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

“You’re my neighbour, Alexia. You kind of have no choice.”

She opens the door, glances back once, and leaves.

You close it behind her. Lock it.

Then grab your phone. And google “Alexia Footballer Barcelona.”

And — 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 d’Or. 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 it’ll be interesting.

——————

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.

“Putellas.”

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 “I brought you wine because I almost ran you over.”

Photos flood your screen. Alexia in red. Alexia in blue and claret. Alexia with the Ballon d’Or. Alexia looking like she moonlights as the final boss in a sports anime. Alexia, stone-faced on the pitch, and then another photo — one from just a few months ago — where she’s 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 “Caffeine Dependent Life Form.” She saw your socks. One had a hole.

You drop your phone onto your chest and groan.

Somewhere, God is laughing.

——————

When you finally crawl out of bed, it’s 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.

You’re staring at your laptop screen — pretending to onboard for your new job while mostly thinking about your neighbour — 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.

She’s feeding a cat.

Or trying to, anyway.

The cat — a fluffy orange menace with the energy of a disgraced monarch — is sniffing her fingers with the kind of caution usually reserved for explosives and bad Tinder dates.

“Messi,” she calls out, voice gentle.

The cat looks offended.

You lean out your.

“Is it actually named Messi or are you projecting?”

She glances up, blinking like she hadn’t realized she had an audience.

“His name’s Messi. I didn’t name him. He adopted me. Out of pity, I think.”

“Pity’s a good motivator,” you say. “It’s why I feed most of my exes compliments.”

Alexia grins. “Tough crowd.”

“You brought me wine. You’re at least a crowd favourite.”

She tosses a bit of what looks like tuna toward the cat, who considers it, then immediately walks away.

“He hates me,” she says.

“You almost ran over his emotional support human. That’s bad PR.”

Alexia chuckles. Her face softens in the morning light, the hard lines you’ve seen in photos softened by sleep and domesticity.

“What are you doing today?” she asks, casually. Like you’ve been neighbours for years. Like this is normal.

You sip your coffee.

“Trying not to get fired before I even start. Remote onboarding. Software demos. Minimal crying.”

“Ambitious.”

“And you?”

“Recovery day,” she says. “No training. No media.”

“So you spend it begging stray cats for affection?”

She shrugs. “They’re honest. Mostly.”

You pause. Then lean out your window a bit more.

“So… are you famous-famous? Or like, just Barça-famous?”

Alexia smirks.

“Define famous.”

“People make Twitter threads about your ankles.”

She squints. “Have you been Googling me?”

You feign innocence. “I would never.”

She hums. “They talk about my ankles?”

“In great detail.”

“Weird.”

“Right? I mean, they’re fine. You’ve got… efficient ankles.”

She laughs. “Efficient?”

“Functional. Athletic. I can’t believe I’m reviewing your ankles before noon.”

“I’m flattered. I think.”

You’re both quiet for a moment.

She shifts on the rooftop, tugs her hoodie sleeves down like she’s suddenly shy.

“I don’t usually tell people right away.”

“That you’re a global icon?”

“That I play. Most people already know. You didn’t.”

“Sorry I failed the test.”

She laughs again. It’s a sound you’re already starting to like. Too much. Too soon.

“What do you do when you’re not playing?” you ask.

“Try to be normal,” she replies. “Fail at it. Make playlists.”

“Playlists?”

“I’m very serious about my playlists.”

“That’s a red flag.”

“You’re judging me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you want to listen?”

You blink.

“Is that a line?”

“Maybe.”

You glance at your inbox. Three new onboarding emails and a calendar invite from someone named Klaus.

“I could be convinced,” you say.

She grins.

“Meet me on the rooftop. Bring coffee. I’ll bring trauma bonding via music.”

You hesitate. Just a second.

Then you say, “Give me ten minutes.”

——————

You bring her coffee in a mismatched mug that says “World’s Okayest Human,” which feels apt.

Alexia greets you on the rooftop like this is some regular Tuesday thing, like you’ve been rooftop-coffeeing for years, not barely thirty-six hours since you first made eye contact while almost becoming one with her car’s 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 she’s bracing for disaster.

“You made this?”

“I don’t believe in weak coffee or weak-willed baristas.”

She takes a sip. Then another.

“Okay. Fine. You get to stay.”

“Big honour.”

“Huge.”

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: “If I died right now, would you even miss me?”

You give her a look. “Do you only listen to women who sound like they ghostwrite poetry for divorcees?”

She grins. “Yes.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And you’re proud of this?”

She nods. “Extremely.”

The playlist continues. There’s a soft remix of Rosalía 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.

“You always this dramatic with strangers?” you ask.

“Only the cute ones who almost get hit by my car.”

“Still milking that, huh?”

“Absolutely. You’re never letting it go, are you?”

You smirk. “Depends on how good this playlist is.”

She switches songs. A reggaetón beat kicks in — loud and obnoxious.

“That’s cheating,” you mutter.

“It’s culture.”

You both fall quiet for a while, watching pigeons flirt on the next rooftop over like it’s a telenovela.

She eventually says:

“It’s weird. I don’t usually like new people.”

You blink. “Thanks?”

“No, I mean—” she hesitates, frowns at herself, then shrugs. “I’m private. My world is… intense.”

You nod. You get it, even if you don’t fully get it yet.

“Too many eyes?”

“Too many expectations.”

“And here I am, mocking your playlists.”

“Keeps me grounded.”

You smile. Sip your coffee again to buy time. She’s not looking at you anymore, just the skyline, like she’s counting rooftops.

“Back in Hong Kong, I didn’t talk to my neighbours for five years,” you say. “One of them may have been in the triad. Never confirmed.”

“That’s dark.”

“That’s urban living.”

She turns back to you. Her eyes are lighter up close. Hazel with flecks of something unreadable.

“Why Barcelona?”

You think about lying. Saying something airy like adventure or love of architecture. But she’s being honest, so you match it.

“Burnout. Five years of too much. Needed to not shatter.”

She nods. “That’s fair.”

“And also the bread.”

“The bread is elite.”

A pause. She lifts the speaker, scrolls through her phone.

“Okay. Game.”

“Game?”

“I play a song. You tell me what you think it says about me.”

“This feels like a trap.”

“Coward.”

“Fine. Play your little vulnerability mixtape.”

She hits play.

It’s a melancholy acoustic thing with lyrics about running from feelings and climbing rooftops to scream.

You listen. Wait. Then say:

“You’re secretly a softie.”

“Hmm.”

“You write dramatic text drafts you never send.”

She laughs. “Maybe.”

“You once cried during a Pixar film.”

“It was Coco. That doesn’t count.”

“Counts more, actually.”

She grins. Then hits play on the next song.

And that’s how you spend your afternoon — 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:

“You’re easy to talk to.”

You look at her. “That’s not always a compliment.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it is with you.”

And that’s 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 — briefly — sniffs your chair, then leaves again.

You’re not sure what this is.

But you know it’s not nothing.

——————

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 Inglés. 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. I’m making food. Kind of. Come over?

There’s a beat. Then a second message:

Alexia:

There will be wine. And witnesses.

You blink.

You:

Who’s coming? Am I being sacrificed?

Alexia:

Bring snacks. Wear something cute. You’re meeting the squad.

Ah.

So you’re meeting her friends.

No pressure.

No big deal.

Just the people who’ve probably watched her drag herself through injuries, heartbreak, and a hundred post-match meltdowns. People who call her by nicknames you haven’t earned. People who’ll know—instantly—if you’re 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 wasn’t fully expecting you to show.

“You came.”

“There’s wine, isn’t there?”

She grins. Steps aside.

Her flat is brighter than yours — partly because it’s on the corner, partly because her walls are covered in chaotic photo collages.

And there — perched on the couch like they own the building — are three women.

One of them looks up first.

Bleach-blonde. Piercings and tattoos. A smile that screams trouble.

“So,” she says, voice thick with mock innocence. “This is the American.”

Alexia shoots her a look. “Mapi, be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Mapi León says, standing up and pulling you into a surprisingly warm hug. “Unless you hurt her. Then I’m feral.”

“Noted,” you say, patting her back. “The threatening is very clear.”

Another girl waves from the behind Mapi. Petite, sunny, chaos behind the eyes.

“I’m Jana,” she says. “Alexia’s emotional translator.”

“She has one?”

“Yes,” Mapi deadpans. “Because she communicates like a scared house cat.”

From behind Jana, another girl leans over with a glass of vermut and a raised brow.

“And I’m Patri. The normal one.”

“She’s lying,” Mapi mutters. “She once flirted with a DJ by sending her a PowerPoint.”

Patri shrugs. “Google Slides. And it worked.”

Alexia is watching you. Carefully. Like she’s waiting to see if you’ll bolt or burst into flames.

You walk further in, drop your snack contribution (a sad cheese board) on the counter, and say:

“So. Surveillance squad. How do I score?”

Mapi claps. “She’s funny. Keep her.”

Alexia hides a smile behind her glass.

——————

You all settle in. There’s wine. There’s tortilla that Alexia claims she made (Jana mutters “her mom made it”), and pan con tomate that’s genuinely good enough to forgive the fact that Mapi keeps calling you “Silicon Valley.”

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 referee’s 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 she’s watching you laugh.

Somewhere around the third glass of wine, Jana elbows you.

“You like her?”

You blink. “Subtle.”

“I don’t do subtle.”

You glance at Alexia, who’s arguing with Patri over how many syllables Rosalía can fit into a verse.

“I like her,” you say. “Enough to be terrified.”

Jana smiles. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Because she’s already gone for you.”

You look back at Alexia. Her eyes meet yours. She smiles — soft and crooked.

Yeah.

You’re probably gone too.

——————

Barcelona rarely does full drama with its weather.

But when it does?

It’s 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.

You’re sitting cross-legged on your couch, laptop dimmed, pretending to work while actually watching rainwater pool in the courtyard below.

You’re 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.

“Power’s out,” she says, voice pitched like it’s not a big deal.

You blink. “Okay. And?”

“Can I charge my phone?”

You cross your arms. “This couldn’t wait?”

She shrugs. Rainwater drips from her sleeve.

“I got bored.”

You open the door wider. “I feel emotionally manipulated.”

“You like it.”

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.

“Kitchen,” you say. “Far right socket. It’s the only one that doesn’t spark when you use it.”

“Comforting.”

“We like to live on the edge here.”

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.

“What were you doing?” she asks.

“Considering whether I’m a functional adult or just cosplaying one.”

“Any conclusions?”

“None I’d put in writing.”

She smiles and flops down beside you on the couch, stealing your throw blanket without asking. Her knee brushes yours.

“You’re not working,” she observes.

“Neither are you.”

“I’m technically on rest.”

“And technically trespassing.”

She stretches, arms overhead, hoodie riding up just enough for you to regret having eyes.

“You’re not kicking me out.”

“Unfortunately.”

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.

“You always this casual about home invasions?” you ask, settling back beside her.

“Only when the victim is cute.”

“Stop.”

“Can’t. It’s a condition.”

“Chronic awkward flirt disorder?”

“Diagnosed and proud.”

She sips her coffee. You try not to watch her mouth too closely.

Outside, thunder rolls again. The rain picks up.

“Did you really get bored,” you ask, “or was this your excuse?”

She’s quiet. Just for a second.

Then:

“I like being here.”

You glance at her. She’s not looking at you, just staring at her hands like they might answer for her.

“Why?” you ask, gently.

“It’s easy. With you.”

The words hang in the air — fragile, stupid, enormous.

You swallow. “It’s not always easy.”

“I know. But it’s… good. Still.”

You shift closer, knee now fully pressed against hers.

“You could’ve picked anywhere to spend a storm.”

“I picked here.”

You don’t kiss her.

Not yet.

But the distance between you shrinks to something stupid and brave.

And when the lights flicker — briefly, then stay on — neither of you moves.

——————

There’s something about proximity.

You see Alexia everywhere now — not just physically, but in the way her presence has quietly colonized your routines.

There’s 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.

There’s her toothbrush, now living in your bathroom like it has rights.

And then there’s the key.

You give it to her one night — not during a grand gesture, just while she’s ranting about forgetting her charger again and you’re trying to butter toast.

“You might as well have a key,” you say, tossing it onto the counter. “You spend more time here than in your own flat.”

She stops mid-rant. Looks at the key. Then at you.

“Really?”

“Unless you prefer dramatic rooftop entrances.”

She smiles. Soft. Almost shy.

“No. I like this.”

You don’t say what this is. You don’t 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 she’s 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.

——————

She does ask you to come to a match.

Doesn’t make a big deal of it. Just drops it into conversation while you’re both folding laundry like a soft-domestic gay rom-com.

“You should come Saturday,” she says.

“To the game?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You asking me to see you sweaty and aggressive?”

“I thought that was your thing.”

“Only if you win.”

“Now the pressure’s on.”

You go.

You sit next to Patri and Ona in the stands - they are injured, surrounded by fans wearing her name on their backs. It’s surreal, a little overwhelming — the chant of Alexia, Alexia bouncing off your ribs.

She plays like she’s part electricity.

Sharp passes. Clean tackles. That signature posture of intensity that you now recognise as her default setting when she’s trying not to overthink.

When she scores, she doesn’t celebrate toward the cameras.

She glances up at the stands.

Looks for you.

Finds you.

Smiles.

You don’t even realise you’re smiling back until Patri nudges you.

“You’re in trouble,” 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.

“I forgot my key,” she says, smirking.

“Or you wanted to be invited in.”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

You let her in. Make tea. Sit close.

This time, when she leans in — slowly, like she’s checking the temperature of the room, of your breathing — you don’t wait.

You meet her halfway.

Her mouth tastes like mint and something warm. She kisses like she plays — 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 it’s new.

But because it already feels like home.

——————

You find her outside the stadium long after the last chants have faded. Your second FC Barcelona Femeni game.

She’s 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 she’s 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.

“Hola,” she says.

“Hola, superstar.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. There’s mud on her shin and a smear of sports drink on her sleeve. It’s unfair how hot she looks.

“You scored.”

“We won.”

“You waved at me in front of thousands of people.”

She pretends to consider. “You look very good. It would be criminal not to wave at you.”

She opens the passenger door of her car and gestures.

“Come on. You need churros.”

“Is that an order?”

“More like a recovery plan.”

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.

“Do you always take girls for post-victory churros?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

She snorts. “Only my neighbour from 3A.”

You grin. She grins wider.

——————

The xurreria is a neon-lit corner shop that looks like it hasn’t changed since the ’90s — fluorescent lights, scuffed floors, a grumpy man at the counter who doesn’t even blink when Alexia walks in like she owns the place.

“You’re a regular here?” you ask as she orders for both of you.

“Post-match ritual.”

“Your teammates know?”

“Only Jana. She hates that I eat sugar. Calls me weak.”

“She’s not wrong.”

Alexia hands you a paper tray of churros and a plastic cup of thick, sinful chocolate.

“Weakness,” she says, taking a bite, “is relative.”

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. You’re not.

“You good?” she asks.

“Better than good.”

She nods. “You looked happy.”

“At the match?”

“When I found you after.”

You pause.

“I was.”

She licks chocolate off her thumb, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and then says:

“You looked like home.”

You blink.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, suddenly looking at her hands. “Forget it.”

You don’t.

——————

Back in the car, she leans her head back against the seat.

“You wanna come over?” she asks.

“You’ve already invaded my flat.”

“Then come invade mine.”

“Is this a sleepover?”

“Could be.”

“Should I bring pyjamas?”

“Only if they’re ugly.”

“I own exclusively ugly pyjamas.”

She smiles. “Perfect.”

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, they’re steady.

“I like you,” she says.

Soft. Like she doesn’t want it to break.

You exhale.

“I know.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.”

“Is this fast?”

“A little.”

“Do you mind?”

You reach over, curl your fingers into hers.

“Not even a little.”

————————

It happens slowly, then all at once.

Not the falling.

That part’s done.

You fell the moment she said “you looked like home” with sugar on her fingers and rain still tangled in her lashes.

No, what happens now is everything after the fall — the quiet continuity, the dangerous softness of staying.

She’s in your bed one morning, half-buried under your duvet, wearing that ratty grey Barça hoodie you once called “an insult to fashion and fibre,” and she’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re brushing your teeth when she walks in, sleep-puffy and barefoot, muttering:

“You stole all the covers.”

“You stole all my serotonin.”

She wraps her arms around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder.

“You make a good radiator.”

“You make a good disaster.”

She hums. Doesn’t let go.

——————

You both brush your teeth together — 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.

“Don’t judge me.”

“You have a playlist called ‘running from feelings while hot.’”

“It’s accurate.”

You make her a new one.

You call it ‘standing still for once.’

She listens to it three times that week.

——————

Mapi comes over to drop off something — 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 it’s instinct, and says:

“So… this is happening.”

You nod. “I think so.”

Alexia bumps her knee against yours. Doesn’t say anything.

Mapi grins. “Finally.”

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.

“Ets preciosa,” she says one night, voice low.

“What’s that?”

“It means you’re messy and you stole all my hoodies.”

“Liar.”

“It means you’re beautiful.”

You go quiet.

“Say it again,” you ask.

She does. Into your neck. With her hand on your hip. And you believe her, even when your brain can’t quite translate it.

——————

The night it clicks, fully, is a Tuesday.

You’ve had a long day. Meetings that could’ve been emails. A migraine forming behind your eyes. Rain again, heavy and constant.

She comes over with pan con tomate and a movie you’ve seen a dozen times.

You fall asleep with your head in her lap.

When you wake up — just barely, just for a second — she’s brushing hair from your forehead and whispering something soft in Catalan you don’t understand.

You ask her to say it again.

She doesn’t.

She just leans down and kisses you like it’s the only thing she’s ever been sure of.

——————

You don’t remember how long it’s been.

Weeks. Months. Or maybe just the kind of days that stretch in all directions — soft-edged, infinite.

There’s no “official” start date.

No declaration on Instagram.

No line in the sand.

But you know it now.

In the way she brings you tea when you’re 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 hadn’t met her yet.

——————

The thing about slow mornings with Alexia is that they don’t feel slow.

They feel like time has stopped — paused, just for you.

The shutters are half-closed, the room washed in that golden light that only Barcelona mornings know how to deliver. She’s 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 don’t dare move.

You just watch.

She eventually blinks awake, stretching with that lazy athletic grace that reminds you she’s a professional athlete who somehow also drools slightly in her sleep.

“You staring at me?” she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

“Just considering my life choices.”

“And?”

“They’re excellent so far.”

She smiles into the pillow. “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You laugh, and she rolls over, hooking her arm around your waist like she’s afraid you might slip away.

Later, while you’re both nursing mugs of coffee on the balcony, she says:

“I told my mami about you.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“Just… mentioned. Casually. That I have a neighbour. Who’s smart. And funny. And…”

She shrugs, as if the rest doesn’t need words.

You lean back against the railing, trying to process the casual weight of

that confession.

“And she said…?”

“She wants to meet you.”

You blink. “We’ve known each other, what? Two months?”

“Feels longer,” she says, sipping her coffee. “In a good way.”

There’s 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.

——————

You walk to the market together later that morning — 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 who’s still learning where the best panadería is.

People stare, sometimes.

She doesn’t flinch.

She just reaches for your hand when you least expect it.

“Are we…?” you start, hesitant.

“What?”

“Soft-launching?”

She grins. “You want hard launch?”

“Maybe after another month of churros.”

“Deal.”

——————

That night, she invites you over for dinner — 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.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she says, halfway through.

“It’s… alright.”

“So bad.”

“Overcooked,” 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.

“You know,” she says softly, “I never do this.”

“Cook?”

She laughs. “Hey! You’re mean. But I mean… this. Letting someone in.”

You trace a small circle on her arm with your thumb.

“Why me?”

She hesitates. Then:

“Because you didn’t care who I was. Not at first. You just… made fun of my playlists.”

“They were terrible.”

“And you stayed.”

You swallow. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

She tilts her head up, eyes bright, as if she’s trying to memorize you.

“Good,” she whispers.

——————

Later, when you’re back in your flat, lying in your own bed, you hear her laugh through the wall — that soft, unguarded sound that made you fall in the first place.

You smile into your pillow.

Because this isn’t just a meet cute anymore.

It’s late-night groceries and key exchanges.

It’s bad cooking and soft confessions.

It’s the quiet, wry, campy miracle of finding someone who feels like home.

——————

You’re 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 she’s 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 it’s a modeling shoot. Hoodie. Shorts. Morning hair. Looking at you like you’re her favourite sunrise.

“Stop staring,” you mutter, failing to butter the toast evenly.

“You’re cute when you struggle,” she replies.

“Tell that to my carbs.”

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. “You’ve been practicing.”

She grins. “Alba made me. Said if I was gonna date a woman with standards, I should know my way around gluten.”

From across the room, Alba yells, “I stand by that!”

——————

It’s 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 — not because of seniority, but because no one was brave enough to interrupt your soft-couple bubble during the room grab.

Everyone knows you’re together now.

Even the older auntie walking her dog by the beach yesterday said, “Ah, les novias,” with a knowing smile when you held hands.

No hiding. No soft-launches. No pretending.

It’s nice.

At lunch, Miriam pulls you aside while the others are setting up the table on the terrace.

She’s shorter than Alexia, a little louder, a little more self-assured in her vibe. She’s got the air of someone who’s known Alexia since braces and scraped knees.

“You make her happy,” Miriam says, handing you a bowl of olives like it’s a peace offering and a judgment tool all in one.

“I try,” you say.

“She was different before you. More… closed.”

You nod. “She still closes sometimes.”

“And you stay.”

“Of course.”

She watches you a moment longer, then nods like she’s decided something.

“Good.”

You feel like you’ve passed a test you didn’t know you were taking.

——————

Later that night, there’s 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.

“A year,” she murmurs.

“Twelve months,” you confirm, mock-serious.

“Fifty-two weeks of tolerating your playlists.”

“Hey—”

“And your three-hour match analysis breakdowns.”

“That was one time—”

“And the socks you leave in the kitchen.”

“Okay, that’s on purpose.”

You look at her. Smiling. Soft.

“Still the best year of my life.”

She leans in, kisses you. Gentle. Warm. Certain.

“Me too.”

From behind you, Mapi shouts, “STOP BEING CUTE, YOU’RE RUINING THE FIRE’S EDGE!”

Jana adds, “Confirmed — still gay, still yours!”

You break the kiss, laugh against her mouth.

She doesn’t let go.

——————

Later that night, as everyone trickles back toward the house, Alexia wraps an arm around your shoulders and whispers:

“Next year, same place?”

“Same people?”

“Same us.”

You glance up at the sky — stars heavy above, sea whispering below.

“Yeah,” you say. “Same us.”

She squeezes your hand.

And you know — this is what home feels like now.

————————————————————————

A/N: Thanks for reading!

[arabella-syntax]

Not Just A Meet Cute (One-shot)

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Femme!Reader (You)

Summary: You move to Barcelona after five years in Hong Kong and a burnout that left you allergic to Slack notifications and emotional intimacy. You’re expecting a slower life, decent bread, and maybe a little peace. What you’re 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

Word count: ~ 20k

————————————————————————

You arrive in Barcelona smelling like airplane peanuts and your own bad decisions.

There’s a ghost of turbulence still clinging to your spine, your carry-on’s 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. You’re 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 — which, as it turns out, is a maze designed by people who’ve never met a flat surface or a straightforward street sign in their life.

You’ve 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 café 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 that’s when the car almost hits you.

It comes out of nowhere — a sleek black SUV, turning into the narrow lane like it owns every square inch of it. There’s 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 — 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 driver’s elbow appears first, then a flash of blonde hair pulled into a low bun, sunglasses pushed up over her head like she’s just walked off a runway shoot for “Women Who Don’t Know They’re Icons Yet”.

She looks… annoyed.

And then confused.

And then, when she sees your dazed expression, something like concern flickers across her face.

“¡Joder!” she mutters. Then, softer, “¿Estás bien?”

Her voice is gravel and honey — 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:

“I think I just met God, and she drives like a maniac.”

She stares at you. You stare back.

There’s a beat. Two.

Then — inexplicably — she grins.

A slow, crooked, aggravatingly charming grin that curls at the edges of her mouth like it knows what it’s doing. She leans out of the car window, head tilting slightly.

“Good first impression, no?”

You scowl at her. It lacks commitment.

She taps her temple like she’s saluting your sarcasm, then shifts the gear and pulls forward.

You’re ready to exhale, to curse her in three languages, to drag your battered dignity across the last stretch to your new apartment — 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 — unfortunately — 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.

You’re 3A.

Of course.

Of course she’s your next-door neighbour.

Of course you almost got killed by a woman who lives a wall away.

You mutter something that might’ve been “this is fine” but comes out closer to “Jesus Christ,” and roll your last suitcase across the street, head down, as she disappears inside.

——————

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 (“press, hold, then beg it to function”).

The flat is… decent. Small but sunlit, and the kind of charm you’d call “rustic” 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 “Welcome to Spain!” message from your new job’s HR chat. There’s also a note from your best friend in Hong Kong:

Don’t 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 — hair wet, limbs aching — 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:

“Barcelona. Day one. Drama: already delivered.”

You fall asleep smiling.

——————

The evening tastes like dust and canned anchovies.

You’ve 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.

You’ve got music playing faintly off your dying laptop — some sleepy indie track that sounds like rain and unresolved childhood trauma — when someone knocks at your door.

Twice.

Not three times. Not once. Twice.

It’s 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, it’s her.

Hot SUV girl. From earlier. Your personal near-death experience in high-top sneakers.

She’s changed into an oversized hoodie and loose denim shorts, and she’s holding a bottle of wine — the casual kind of bottle that says, I may be hot, but I’m also capable of civilised guilt.

“Hola,” she says, almost sheepish. Then adds in English, “Hi. Again.”

You don’t respond. Just lean against the doorframe, one brow raised.

“I was… maybe rude earlier,” she offers, raising the bottle. “This is an apology. For almost, uh… flattening you.”

You glance at the wine. Then at her.

“Apology accepted. Offer pending.”

“Pending?”

“Depends. Is that Rioja or just some tourist trap Tempranillo from the shop around the corner?”

She actually looks embarrassed. It’s a bit adorable.

“…I didn’t check.”

You sigh. “Amateur.” Then step aside. “Come in before the hallway starts judging us.”

She blinks. Then smiles. Walks in.

Your flat is still in the early stages of not-quite-home — 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.

“I’m Alexia, by the way,” she offers, leaning a hip against the counter.

You don’t look up. “Like, just Alexia? Or like, Alexia?”

The name clicks — faintly familiar.

You remember your late-night stalk, the vague “I’ve seen her somewhere” itch.

Probably Instagram. Or a billboard.

She hesitates. “Uh… just Alexia.”

“Cool,” you say, pouring the wine. “I’m Y/N. Just Y/N.”

She laughs. “We sound like Bond girls.”

“Speak for yourself. I look like I’ve been buried in a suitcase for hours.”

Alexia takes her glass and clinks it against yours, gently.

“To near-misses and new neighbours.”

You take a sip. It’s… actually good wine.

Suspiciously good.

She watches you. You notice — vaguely — that she’s got this oddly charming air of someone who doesn’t quite know how to be cool in real life, despite very obviously being cool on paper.

“So, you just moved in?” she asks.

“This morning. From Hong Kong.”

“Wow.” She nods, then adds, “I’ve never been. What’s it like?”

You pause. Shrug.

“Loud. Fast. Delicious. A little like living inside a neon headache, if the headache could make Michelin-starred dumplings.”

Alexia laughs. It’s a good laugh — open, unselfconscious.

“And now Barcelona.”

“And now Barcelona,” you echo. “You?”

“Born here. Left for a bit. Came back. Family’s still close.”

“And your hobbies include hitting pedestrians?”

“Only the cute ones.”

You blink.

Oh.

So that’s how she flirts.

Weirdly.

Badly.

Endearingly.

You raise an eyebrow. “So I should be flattered I almost died?”

She smirks. “Depends. Would you have remembered me otherwise?”

“Probably not. I have a very low threshold for chaos.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky I’m not subtle.”

There’s a beat.

Your glass is half-empty. Her fingers linger on the stem like she’s fighting the urge to say something else.

“What do you do?” she asks.

“Tech. Product design. Trying to live slower.”

“And Hong Kong was…?”

“Fast. Always fast. I burned out. Left. Now I make less money and hopefully fewer ulcers.”

She nods like she understands. Maybe she does. You’re not sure.

“And you?” you ask.

“Football,” she says, simply. “I play.”

“Ah,” you say, noncommittally. “Professionally?”

“Yeah.”

You wait for elaboration. It doesn’t come. Which is either mysterious or evasive — you haven’t decided yet.

She looks around your flat. Takes in the still-sealed kitchen appliances, the wall of books you haven’t unpacked, the single plant you’ve named “Desperation.”

“Still settling in?”

“Still figuring out where the trash goes.”

Alexia chuckles. Then says:

“It’s downstairs. Past the bikes. The door with the broken handle.”

“You learn this the hard way?”

“I’ve lived here four years. I still get it wrong.”

You find yourself smiling.

It’s been less than an hour, but the air between you is already warmer. Comfortable.

Until she glances at her phone, winces, and says:

“I should probably go. Early training.”

“Of course. Training for… football things.”

“Football things,” she repeats, amused.

She walks to the door. Then pauses.

“Hey,” she says. “I meant it — I was really sorry about earlier. I don’t usually drive like that.”

“And I don’t usually throw myself into traffic. So let’s call it even.”

She grins. That same cocky tilt.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

“You’re my neighbour, Alexia. You kind of have no choice.”

She opens the door, glances back once, and leaves.

You close it behind her. Lock it.

Then grab your phone. And google “Alexia Footballer Barcelona.”

And — 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 d’Or. 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 it’ll be interesting.

——————

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.

“Putellas.”

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 “I brought you wine because I almost ran you over.”

Photos flood your screen. Alexia in red. Alexia in blue and claret. Alexia with the Ballon d’Or. Alexia looking like she moonlights as the final boss in a sports anime. Alexia, stone-faced on the pitch, and then another photo — one from just a few months ago — where she’s 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 “Caffeine Dependent Life Form.” She saw your socks. One had a hole.

You drop your phone onto your chest and groan.

Somewhere, God is laughing.

——————

When you finally crawl out of bed, it’s 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.

You’re staring at your laptop screen — pretending to onboard for your new job while mostly thinking about your neighbour — 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.

She’s feeding a cat.

Or trying to, anyway.

The cat — a fluffy orange menace with the energy of a disgraced monarch — is sniffing her fingers with the kind of caution usually reserved for explosives and bad Tinder dates.

“Messi,” she calls out, voice gentle.

The cat looks offended.

You lean out your.

“Is it actually named Messi or are you projecting?”

She glances up, blinking like she hadn’t realized she had an audience.

“His name’s Messi. I didn’t name him. He adopted me. Out of pity, I think.”

“Pity’s a good motivator,” you say. “It’s why I feed most of my exes compliments.”

Alexia grins. “Tough crowd.”

“You brought me wine. You’re at least a crowd favourite.”

She tosses a bit of what looks like tuna toward the cat, who considers it, then immediately walks away.

“He hates me,” she says.

“You almost ran over his emotional support human. That’s bad PR.”

Alexia chuckles. Her face softens in the morning light, the hard lines you’ve seen in photos softened by sleep and domesticity.

“What are you doing today?” she asks, casually. Like you’ve been neighbours for years. Like this is normal.

You sip your coffee.

“Trying not to get fired before I even start. Remote onboarding. Software demos. Minimal crying.”

“Ambitious.”

“And you?”

“Recovery day,” she says. “No training. No media.”

“So you spend it begging stray cats for affection?”

She shrugs. “They’re honest. Mostly.”

You pause. Then lean out your window a bit more.

“So… are you famous-famous? Or like, just Barça-famous?”

Alexia smirks.

“Define famous.”

“People make Twitter threads about your ankles.”

She squints. “Have you been Googling me?”

You feign innocence. “I would never.”

She hums. “They talk about my ankles?”

“In great detail.”

“Weird.”

“Right? I mean, they’re fine. You’ve got… efficient ankles.”

She laughs. “Efficient?”

“Functional. Athletic. I can’t believe I’m reviewing your ankles before noon.”

“I’m flattered. I think.”

You’re both quiet for a moment.

She shifts on the rooftop, tugs her hoodie sleeves down like she’s suddenly shy.

“I don’t usually tell people right away.”

“That you’re a global icon?”

“That I play. Most people already know. You didn’t.”

“Sorry I failed the test.”

She laughs again. It’s a sound you’re already starting to like. Too much. Too soon.

“What do you do when you’re not playing?” you ask.

“Try to be normal,” she replies. “Fail at it. Make playlists.”

“Playlists?”

“I’m very serious about my playlists.”

“That’s a red flag.”

“You’re judging me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you want to listen?”

You blink.

“Is that a line?”

“Maybe.”

You glance at your inbox. Three new onboarding emails and a calendar invite from someone named Klaus.

“I could be convinced,” you say.

She grins.

“Meet me on the rooftop. Bring coffee. I’ll bring trauma bonding via music.”

You hesitate. Just a second.

Then you say, “Give me ten minutes.”

——————

You bring her coffee in a mismatched mug that says “World’s Okayest Human,” which feels apt.

Alexia greets you on the rooftop like this is some regular Tuesday thing, like you’ve been rooftop-coffeeing for years, not barely thirty-six hours since you first made eye contact while almost becoming one with her car’s 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 she’s bracing for disaster.

“You made this?”

“I don’t believe in weak coffee or weak-willed baristas.”

She takes a sip. Then another.

“Okay. Fine. You get to stay.”

“Big honour.”

“Huge.”

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: “If I died right now, would you even miss me?”

You give her a look. “Do you only listen to women who sound like they ghostwrite poetry for divorcees?”

She grins. “Yes.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And you’re proud of this?”

She nods. “Extremely.”

The playlist continues. There’s a soft remix of Rosalía 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.

“You always this dramatic with strangers?” you ask.

“Only the cute ones who almost get hit by my car.”

“Still milking that, huh?”

“Absolutely. You’re never letting it go, are you?”

You smirk. “Depends on how good this playlist is.”

She switches songs. A reggaetón beat kicks in — loud and obnoxious.

“That’s cheating,” you mutter.

“It’s culture.”

You both fall quiet for a while, watching pigeons flirt on the next rooftop over like it’s a telenovela.

She eventually says:

“It’s weird. I don’t usually like new people.”

You blink. “Thanks?”

“No, I mean—” she hesitates, frowns at herself, then shrugs. “I’m private. My world is… intense.”

You nod. You get it, even if you don’t fully get it yet.

“Too many eyes?”

“Too many expectations.”

“And here I am, mocking your playlists.”

“Keeps me grounded.”

You smile. Sip your coffee again to buy time. She’s not looking at you anymore, just the skyline, like she’s counting rooftops.

“Back in Hong Kong, I didn’t talk to my neighbours for five years,” you say. “One of them may have been in the triad. Never confirmed.”

“That’s dark.”

“That’s urban living.”

She turns back to you. Her eyes are lighter up close. Hazel with flecks of something unreadable.

“Why Barcelona?”

You think about lying. Saying something airy like adventure or love of architecture. But she’s being honest, so you match it.

“Burnout. Five years of too much. Needed to not shatter.”

She nods. “That’s fair.”

“And also the bread.”

“The bread is elite.”

A pause. She lifts the speaker, scrolls through her phone.

“Okay. Game.”

“Game?”

“I play a song. You tell me what you think it says about me.”

“This feels like a trap.”

“Coward.”

“Fine. Play your little vulnerability mixtape.”

She hits play.

It’s a melancholy acoustic thing with lyrics about running from feelings and climbing rooftops to scream.

You listen. Wait. Then say:

“You’re secretly a softie.”

“Hmm.”

“You write dramatic text drafts you never send.”

She laughs. “Maybe.”

“You once cried during a Pixar film.”

“It was Coco. That doesn’t count.”

“Counts more, actually.”

She grins. Then hits play on the next song.

And that’s how you spend your afternoon — 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:

“You’re easy to talk to.”

You look at her. “That’s not always a compliment.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it is with you.”

And that’s 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 — briefly — sniffs your chair, then leaves again.

You’re not sure what this is.

But you know it’s not nothing.

——————

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 Inglés. 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. I’m making food. Kind of. Come over?

There’s a beat. Then a second message:

Alexia:

There will be wine. And witnesses.

You blink.

You:

Who’s coming? Am I being sacrificed?

Alexia:

Bring snacks. Wear something cute. You’re meeting the squad.

Ah.

So you’re meeting her friends.

No pressure.

No big deal.

Just the people who’ve probably watched her drag herself through injuries, heartbreak, and a hundred post-match meltdowns. People who call her by nicknames you haven’t earned. People who’ll know—instantly—if you’re 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 wasn’t fully expecting you to show.

“You came.”

“There’s wine, isn’t there?”

She grins. Steps aside.

Her flat is brighter than yours — partly because it’s on the corner, partly because her walls are covered in chaotic photo collages.

And there — perched on the couch like they own the building — are three women.

One of them looks up first.

Bleach-blonde. Piercings and tattoos. A smile that screams trouble.

“So,” she says, voice thick with mock innocence. “This is the American.”

Alexia shoots her a look. “Mapi, be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Mapi León says, standing up and pulling you into a surprisingly warm hug. “Unless you hurt her. Then I’m feral.”

“Noted,” you say, patting her back. “The threatening is very clear.”

Another girl waves from the behind Mapi. Petite, sunny, chaos behind the eyes.

“I’m Jana,” she says. “Alexia’s emotional translator.”

“She has one?”

“Yes,” Mapi deadpans. “Because she communicates like a scared house cat.”

From behind Jana, another girl leans over with a glass of vermut and a raised brow.

“And I’m Patri. The normal one.”

“She’s lying,” Mapi mutters. “She once flirted with a DJ by sending her a PowerPoint.”

Patri shrugs. “Google Slides. And it worked.”

Alexia is watching you. Carefully. Like she’s waiting to see if you’ll bolt or burst into flames.

You walk further in, drop your snack contribution (a sad cheese board) on the counter, and say:

“So. Surveillance squad. How do I score?”

Mapi claps. “She’s funny. Keep her.”

Alexia hides a smile behind her glass.

——————

You all settle in. There’s wine. There’s tortilla that Alexia claims she made (Jana mutters “her mom made it”), and pan con tomate that’s genuinely good enough to forgive the fact that Mapi keeps calling you “Silicon Valley.”

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 referee’s 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 she’s watching you laugh.

Somewhere around the third glass of wine, Jana elbows you.

“You like her?”

You blink. “Subtle.”

“I don’t do subtle.”

You glance at Alexia, who’s arguing with Patri over how many syllables Rosalía can fit into a verse.

“I like her,” you say. “Enough to be terrified.”

Jana smiles. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Because she’s already gone for you.”

You look back at Alexia. Her eyes meet yours. She smiles — soft and crooked.

Yeah.

You’re probably gone too.

——————

Barcelona rarely does full drama with its weather.

But when it does?

It’s 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.

You’re sitting cross-legged on your couch, laptop dimmed, pretending to work while actually watching rainwater pool in the courtyard below.

You’re 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.

“Power’s out,” she says, voice pitched like it’s not a big deal.

You blink. “Okay. And?”

“Can I charge my phone?”

You cross your arms. “This couldn’t wait?”

She shrugs. Rainwater drips from her sleeve.

“I got bored.”

You open the door wider. “I feel emotionally manipulated.”

“You like it.”

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.

“Kitchen,” you say. “Far right socket. It’s the only one that doesn’t spark when you use it.”

“Comforting.”

“We like to live on the edge here.”

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.

“What were you doing?” she asks.

“Considering whether I’m a functional adult or just cosplaying one.”

“Any conclusions?”

“None I’d put in writing.”

She smiles and flops down beside you on the couch, stealing your throw blanket without asking. Her knee brushes yours.

“You’re not working,” she observes.

“Neither are you.”

“I’m technically on rest.”

“And technically trespassing.”

She stretches, arms overhead, hoodie riding up just enough for you to regret having eyes.

“You’re not kicking me out.”

“Unfortunately.”

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.

“You always this casual about home invasions?” you ask, settling back beside her.

“Only when the victim is cute.”

“Stop.”

“Can’t. It’s a condition.”

“Chronic awkward flirt disorder?”

“Diagnosed and proud.”

She sips her coffee. You try not to watch her mouth too closely.

Outside, thunder rolls again. The rain picks up.

“Did you really get bored,” you ask, “or was this your excuse?”

She’s quiet. Just for a second.

Then:

“I like being here.”

You glance at her. She’s not looking at you, just staring at her hands like they might answer for her.

“Why?” you ask, gently.

“It’s easy. With you.”

The words hang in the air — fragile, stupid, enormous.

You swallow. “It’s not always easy.”

“I know. But it’s… good. Still.”

You shift closer, knee now fully pressed against hers.

“You could’ve picked anywhere to spend a storm.”

“I picked here.”

You don’t kiss her.

Not yet.

But the distance between you shrinks to something stupid and brave.

And when the lights flicker — briefly, then stay on — neither of you moves.

——————

There’s something about proximity.

You see Alexia everywhere now — not just physically, but in the way her presence has quietly colonized your routines.

There’s 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.

There’s her toothbrush, now living in your bathroom like it has rights.

And then there’s the key.

You give it to her one night — not during a grand gesture, just while she’s ranting about forgetting her charger again and you’re trying to butter toast.

“You might as well have a key,” you say, tossing it onto the counter. “You spend more time here than in your own flat.”

She stops mid-rant. Looks at the key. Then at you.

“Really?”

“Unless you prefer dramatic rooftop entrances.”

She smiles. Soft. Almost shy.

“No. I like this.”

You don’t say what this is. You don’t 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 she’s 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.

——————

She does ask you to come to a match.

Doesn’t make a big deal of it. Just drops it into conversation while you’re both folding laundry like a soft-domestic gay rom-com.

“You should come Saturday,” she says.

“To the game?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You asking me to see you sweaty and aggressive?”

“I thought that was your thing.”

“Only if you win.”

“Now the pressure’s on.”

You go.

You sit next to Patri and Ona in the stands - they are injured, surrounded by fans wearing her name on their backs. It’s surreal, a little overwhelming — the chant of Alexia, Alexia bouncing off your ribs.

She plays like she’s part electricity.

Sharp passes. Clean tackles. That signature posture of intensity that you now recognise as her default setting when she’s trying not to overthink.

When she scores, she doesn’t celebrate toward the cameras.

She glances up at the stands.

Looks for you.

Finds you.

Smiles.

You don’t even realise you’re smiling back until Patri nudges you.

“You’re in trouble,” 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.

“I forgot my key,” she says, smirking.

“Or you wanted to be invited in.”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

You let her in. Make tea. Sit close.

This time, when she leans in — slowly, like she’s checking the temperature of the room, of your breathing — you don’t wait.

You meet her halfway.

Her mouth tastes like mint and something warm. She kisses like she plays — 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 it’s new.

But because it already feels like home.

——————

You find her outside the stadium long after the last chants have faded. Your second FC Barcelona Femeni game.

She’s 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 she’s 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.

“Hola,” she says.

“Hola, superstar.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. There’s mud on her shin and a smear of sports drink on her sleeve. It’s unfair how hot she looks.

“You scored.”

“We won.”

“You waved at me in front of thousands of people.”

She pretends to consider. “You look very good. It would be criminal not to wave at you.”

She opens the passenger door of her car and gestures.

“Come on. You need churros.”

“Is that an order?”

“More like a recovery plan.”

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.

“Do you always take girls for post-victory churros?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

She snorts. “Only my neighbour from 3A.”

You grin. She grins wider.

——————

The xurreria is a neon-lit corner shop that looks like it hasn’t changed since the ’90s — fluorescent lights, scuffed floors, a grumpy man at the counter who doesn’t even blink when Alexia walks in like she owns the place.

“You’re a regular here?” you ask as she orders for both of you.

“Post-match ritual.”

“Your teammates know?”

“Only Jana. She hates that I eat sugar. Calls me weak.”

“She’s not wrong.”

Alexia hands you a paper tray of churros and a plastic cup of thick, sinful chocolate.

“Weakness,” she says, taking a bite, “is relative.”

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. You’re not.

“You good?” she asks.

“Better than good.”

She nods. “You looked happy.”

“At the match?”

“When I found you after.”

You pause.

“I was.”

She licks chocolate off her thumb, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and then says:

“You looked like home.”

You blink.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, suddenly looking at her hands. “Forget it.”

You don’t.

——————

Back in the car, she leans her head back against the seat.

“You wanna come over?” she asks.

“You’ve already invaded my flat.”

“Then come invade mine.”

“Is this a sleepover?”

“Could be.”

“Should I bring pyjamas?”

“Only if they’re ugly.”

“I own exclusively ugly pyjamas.”

She smiles. “Perfect.”

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, they’re steady.

“I like you,” she says.

Soft. Like she doesn’t want it to break.

You exhale.

“I know.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.”

“Is this fast?”

“A little.”

“Do you mind?”

You reach over, curl your fingers into hers.

“Not even a little.”

————————

It happens slowly, then all at once.

Not the falling.

That part’s done.

You fell the moment she said “you looked like home” with sugar on her fingers and rain still tangled in her lashes.

No, what happens now is everything after the fall — the quiet continuity, the dangerous softness of staying.

She’s in your bed one morning, half-buried under your duvet, wearing that ratty grey Barça hoodie you once called “an insult to fashion and fibre,” and she’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re brushing your teeth when she walks in, sleep-puffy and barefoot, muttering:

“You stole all the covers.”

“You stole all my serotonin.”

She wraps her arms around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder.

“You make a good radiator.”

“You make a good disaster.”

She hums. Doesn’t let go.

——————

You both brush your teeth together — 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.

“Don’t judge me.”

“You have a playlist called ‘running from feelings while hot.’”

“It’s accurate.”

You make her a new one.

You call it ‘standing still for once.’

She listens to it three times that week.

——————

Mapi comes over to drop off something — 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 it’s instinct, and says:

“So… this is happening.”

You nod. “I think so.”

Alexia bumps her knee against yours. Doesn’t say anything.

Mapi grins. “Finally.”

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.

“Ets preciosa,” she says one night, voice low.

“What’s that?”

“It means you’re messy and you stole all my hoodies.”

“Liar.”

“It means you’re beautiful.”

You go quiet.

“Say it again,” you ask.

She does. Into your neck. With her hand on your hip. And you believe her, even when your brain can’t quite translate it.

——————

The night it clicks, fully, is a Tuesday.

You’ve had a long day. Meetings that could’ve been emails. A migraine forming behind your eyes. Rain again, heavy and constant.

She comes over with pan con tomate and a movie you’ve seen a dozen times.

You fall asleep with your head in her lap.

When you wake up — just barely, just for a second — she’s brushing hair from your forehead and whispering something soft in Catalan you don’t understand.

You ask her to say it again.

She doesn’t.

She just leans down and kisses you like it’s the only thing she’s ever been sure of.

——————

You don’t remember how long it’s been.

Weeks. Months. Or maybe just the kind of days that stretch in all directions — soft-edged, infinite.

There’s no “official” start date.

No declaration on Instagram.

No line in the sand.

But you know it now.

In the way she brings you tea when you’re 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 hadn’t met her yet.

——————

The thing about slow mornings with Alexia is that they don’t feel slow.

They feel like time has stopped — paused, just for you.

The shutters are half-closed, the room washed in that golden light that only Barcelona mornings know how to deliver. She’s 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 don’t dare move.

You just watch.

She eventually blinks awake, stretching with that lazy athletic grace that reminds you she’s a professional athlete who somehow also drools slightly in her sleep.

“You staring at me?” she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

“Just considering my life choices.”

“And?”

“They’re excellent so far.”

She smiles into the pillow. “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You laugh, and she rolls over, hooking her arm around your waist like she’s afraid you might slip away.

Later, while you’re both nursing mugs of coffee on the balcony, she says:

“I told my mami about you.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“Just… mentioned. Casually. That I have a neighbour. Who’s smart. And funny. And…”

She shrugs, as if the rest doesn’t need words.

You lean back against the railing, trying to process the casual weight of

that confession.

“And she said…?”

“She wants to meet you.”

You blink. “We’ve known each other, what? Two months?”

“Feels longer,” she says, sipping her coffee. “In a good way.”

There’s 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.

——————

You walk to the market together later that morning — 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 who’s still learning where the best panadería is.

People stare, sometimes.

She doesn’t flinch.

She just reaches for your hand when you least expect it.

“Are we…?” you start, hesitant.

“What?”

“Soft-launching?”

She grins. “You want hard launch?”

“Maybe after another month of churros.”

“Deal.”

——————

That night, she invites you over for dinner — 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.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she says, halfway through.

“It’s… alright.”

“So bad.”

“Overcooked,” 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.

“You know,” she says softly, “I never do this.”

“Cook?”

She laughs. “Hey! You’re mean. But I mean… this. Letting someone in.”

You trace a small circle on her arm with your thumb.

“Why me?”

She hesitates. Then:

“Because you didn’t care who I was. Not at first. You just… made fun of my playlists.”

“They were terrible.”

“And you stayed.”

You swallow. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

She tilts her head up, eyes bright, as if she’s trying to memorize you.

“Good,” she whispers.

——————

Later, when you’re back in your flat, lying in your own bed, you hear her laugh through the wall — that soft, unguarded sound that made you fall in the first place.

You smile into your pillow.

Because this isn’t just a meet cute anymore.

It’s late-night groceries and key exchanges.

It’s bad cooking and soft confessions.

It’s the quiet, wry, campy miracle of finding someone who feels like home.

——————

You’re 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 she’s 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 it’s a modeling shoot. Hoodie. Shorts. Morning hair. Looking at you like you’re her favourite sunrise.

“Stop staring,” you mutter, failing to butter the toast evenly.

“You’re cute when you struggle,” she replies.

“Tell that to my carbs.”

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. “You’ve been practicing.”

She grins. “Alba made me. Said if I was gonna date a woman with standards, I should know my way around gluten.”

From across the room, Alba yells, “I stand by that!”

——————

It’s 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 — not because of seniority, but because no one was brave enough to interrupt your soft-couple bubble during the room grab.

Everyone knows you’re together now.

Even the older auntie walking her dog by the beach yesterday said, “Ah, les novias,” with a knowing smile when you held hands.

No hiding. No soft-launches. No pretending.

It’s nice.

At lunch, Miriam pulls you aside while the others are setting up the table on the terrace.

She’s shorter than Alexia, a little louder, a little more self-assured in her vibe. She’s got the air of someone who’s known Alexia since braces and scraped knees.

“You make her happy,” Miriam says, handing you a bowl of olives like it’s a peace offering and a judgment tool all in one.

“I try,” you say.

“She was different before you. More… closed.”

You nod. “She still closes sometimes.”

“And you stay.”

“Of course.”

She watches you a moment longer, then nods like she’s decided something.

“Good.”

You feel like you’ve passed a test you didn’t know you were taking.

——————

Later that night, there’s 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.

“A year,” she murmurs.

“Twelve months,” you confirm, mock-serious.

“Fifty-two weeks of tolerating your playlists.”

“Hey—”

“And your three-hour match analysis breakdowns.”

“That was one time—”

“And the socks you leave in the kitchen.”

“Okay, that’s on purpose.”

You look at her. Smiling. Soft.

“Still the best year of my life.”

She leans in, kisses you. Gentle. Warm. Certain.

“Me too.”

From behind you, Mapi shouts, “STOP BEING CUTE, YOU’RE RUINING THE FIRE’S EDGE!”

Jana adds, “Confirmed — still gay, still yours!”

You break the kiss, laugh against her mouth.

She doesn’t let go.

——————

Later that night, as everyone trickles back toward the house, Alexia wraps an arm around your shoulders and whispers:

“Next year, same place?”

“Same people?”

“Same us.”

You glance up at the sky — stars heavy above, sea whispering below.

“Yeah,” you say. “Same us.”

She squeezes your hand.

And you know — this is what home feels like now.

————————————————————————

A/N: Thanks for reading!

[2truthsand1lie]

Spanish or Dating?

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 other’s 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 you’re not sure how you got here.

Okay, well, that’s 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 Barcelona’s interest skyrocketed them to the top of your consideration list come contract negotiation time. Arsenal was not happy to lose you. But they couldn’t 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, it’s still such a major change in your life. Debilitating really. The language. The food. The tardiness. Seriously – how is it that every single Spaniard you’ve 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 won’t work for you. Or your perpetually 10-minute ahead of schedule self. You’d 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. You’re 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.

You’re taken aback. The team is friendly. Very, very friendly. With each other and with you. You are not sure if you’ve 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 you’re 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 midfielder’s 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 Patri’s lap in the first place!

Your eyes snap to Ingrid who you find smiling, not at all upset. What the hell? Patri’s hand is basically snug between Mapi’s 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.  

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 world’s best female footballer.

She’s nothing like you thought she would be. Not cocky. Not loud. Not competitive (well except on the field). She’s 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.

She’s 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 it’s only been 8 weeks. You can see why Lucy once told you that Barcelona was the best place she ever played football. That they’re a family in a way no other club she’s 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 Alexia’s 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 Alexia’s small smirk from the corner of your eye. It’s 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.

“Hola,” she says, drawing attention her way. “I’m Lucía,” she says, looking at you.

You smile back politely, already turning away to study if the way Ingrid’s fingers are clenched around her glass is because the condensation is making it slippery or secretly a tell at Patri fondling her girlfriend.

“Would you like to dance?” the woman asks, voice hopeful.

“She’s taken,” 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.

“Yeah, they’re dating,” 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 she’s 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.”

“Well tell me the difference then! It all looks the same.”

Alexia leans in, lips close to your ear. “I do not want to take my friends to bed,” 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. “If we’re dating, why haven’t you kissed me?” you ask breathlessly.

“We’ve kissed,” she asserts.

You roll your eyes. “I thought you Spaniards peck everyone on the lips! Your friends, your teammates, your family, the local bus driver, the busboy, the dog walker.”

She rolls her eyes at your dramatics. “I was waiting for you to indicate you were ready for more. You’re a little bit like a bird.”

“A bird?” you ask confused.

“Flighty,” she smiles. “Fluttery wings that take a few times to land and stay in one place. Easily scared off at quick movements.”

Okay, you feel only slightly attacked for her mentioning your erratic habits. But her gentle smile soothes that burn of truth.

“We’re dating?” you ask again, confusion still infused in your words.

“Sí”

“We’ve been on dates?”

“Sí”

“What dates??”

“That vineyard? That new restaurant with the rooftop garden where we held hands? The road trip up the coast? The farmer’s market? The private boat ride at sunset? I took you to my uncle’s birthday party, the family party?” She states, eyes imploring you to stop her at any point as she racks up all the different dates you’ve been on.

“What! I thought you were just being super friendly because I’m new to the team.”

“Cari, no!” she laughs. “Nobody gets invited to my family parties, not even Irene. I keep football and my personal life pretty separate.”

Oh, that changes your perspective a little. But how were you supposed to know that? What she’s 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.

“Well shit, I’ve been dating Alexia Putellas this entire time and had no fucking clue,” you state in disbelief. “How’d I pull that off?”

She chuckles and pulls you into her side by your belt loops, hip nestling up against hers as her arm slides over your shoulder. “I didn’t realize you English were so oblivious.”

“Hey!” you say in mock irritation. “We’re 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.”

“What game?” she murmurs, face close.

“Are they just Spanish or are they dating?”

She laughs into the crook of your neck, body shrugging up and down with her chuckles.

And you’re thinking that if you are dating Alexia, it’s 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, you’re 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. It’s one of the things you found most endearing about the legendary captain when you first joined Barça. Lucy had mentioned that you’d find the atmosphere different from the English clubs you’ve both filtered through in your careers.

So, you were expecting a bit of a closer relationship between these long-standing players. But you weren’t expecting her, Alexia. She’s an untouchable figurehead in recent years with her Ballon d’Or wins and countless others – Champions League, Nations League, World Cup.

You aren’t 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. You’ve 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 can’t even claim that. And you’re 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 hadn’t 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 you’ve 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, you’re 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 it’s risen.

Enough. It’s time for you and the girlfriend you've just been informed you have to have a little bit of alone time. You’ve 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. "¿Qué?"

"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. "Sí," 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. "Tocamé."

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.

[purplereina11]

Based on this request

You’ve 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 it’s about time you started focusing on yourself again, especially when it comes to dating. She’s always loved to meddle in your love life, and now she’s pushing harder than ever.

The problem? The person she’s nudging you toward is her sister, charming, cocky, and exactly the kind of complication you’re not sure you’re 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 weren’t supposed to be here for long. Just a quick coffee stop before work, in, out, and on your way. The tiny café 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.

“Long time, no supermarket.”

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. “Do you just… appear in places like some sort of overly confident apparition?”

Alexia’s smirk widened. “Only when fate calls for it.”

“That’s twice now you’ve used fate as an excuse,” you countered, stepping forward as the line moved. “Starting to sound like you believe it.”

“Maybe I do,” she said easily, eyes still fixed on you. “Or maybe I just like the idea of running into you in random places.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, more amused than you wanted to admit. “If this is your way of trying to make it look like you’re not stalking me, you might want to work on your subtlety.”

Her gaze flicked over you once, deliberately slow, before she took a sip of her coffee. “Oh, I’d be much more obvious if I was stalking you.”

You raised an eyebrow, equal parts unimpressed and intrigued. “Good to know.”

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.

“You on your way to work?” she asked.

“Yes,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Some of us have normal jobs that don’t involve stadium lights and screaming fans.”

“Normal’s overrated,” she replied, falling into step beside you as you pushed open the café door.

You shot her a sidelong look. “Are you following me now?”

“I’m walking the same way,” she said, her tone deliberately innocent, though the glint in her eyes told you otherwise. “Coincidence.”

“You really don’t like losing, do you?” you asked.

Her answering smile was slow, deliberate. “Not even a little.”

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.

“So,” she began, “what’s the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done at work?”

You frowned, glancing at her. “At work? I’m a teacher. My version of rebellion is using the good stickers when the school says they’re for ‘special occasions only.’”

Her mouth quirked up. “Risk taker. Dangerous.”

“And you?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. “What’s your wildest workplace rebellion? Wearing mismatched socks to training?”

Alexia grinned, that confident edge still there but softened with genuine amusement. “I once told the manager I had a physio appointment... I went for pancakes.”

You snorted. “Wow. The danger. The deceit.”

“I know,” she said gravely, but her eyes were sparkling. “I live on the edge.”

The two of you fell into a rhythm your teasing met with her quick wit, her stories punctuated by your dry commentary. You hadn’t 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.

“Well,” you said, nodding toward your street, “this is me.”

Alexia tilted her head, studying you for a beat longer than necessary. “Guess I’ll have to rely on fate again, then.”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched. “Or, you know, you could just… not.”

Her smile deepened, just enough to feel like she’d scored a small victory. “Where’s the fun in that?” she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your coffee and the realisation that you were still smiling.

👧🏼

It happened three days later.

You’d 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.

“Either you’ve got a habit of showing up in my favourite places,” came a familiar voice from behind you, “or we’ve got some very cooperative fate on our hands.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know. “Starting to think you’ve got a GPS on me, Putellas.”

When you glanced up, she was already settling onto the other end of the bench, effortlessly comfortable like she’d been invited. She was in training gear this time, hair still damp, clearly fresh from practice.

“No GPS,” she said, leaning back with a little smirk. “Just really good timing.”

You closed your book halfway. “You realise this is bordering on suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Or… convenient?”

You gave her a look. “Depends on your definition of convenient.”

She grinned, but this time there was a softness under it. “Mine’s getting to talk to you without having to bribe my sister into arranging it.”

That caught you off guard the ease in her voice, the way she wasn’t hiding behind the usual cocky quips. “So this isn’t just your standard charming athlete routine?” you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully.

Alexia chuckled. “I mean… I can still be charming if you want. But no. I’m just trying to get to know you.”

You studied her for a moment, weighing the sincerity against the smooth delivery. But it didn’t feel like an act. "Alright,” you said slowly, closing your book. “One question. That’s it.”

She looked like she’d just been handed a penalty kick in an empty net. “Only one?”

“Make it count.”

Alexia leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving yours. “What’s the one thing you’d drop everything to do, if you could?”

It was so far from the flirty banter you’d 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. “Drop everything? As in… no responsibilities, no planning, no consequences?”

“Exactly,” 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. “I think… I’d get on a train. Just pick a direction and go. No destination, no schedule. Just… see where I ended up.”

Her lips curved, not quite a smile but close. “That’s… very you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Very me? You barely know me.”

“Not true,” she countered. “I’ve noticed things. You like control, but you crave a little chaos. You’re careful… but you’d jump if the moment was right.”

The accuracy made you blink. “That’s oddly specific for someone who’s talked to me, what, three times?”

She shrugged, but her eyes held yours without wavering. “I’m a good observer.”

“And what about you?” you asked, tilting your head. “If you could drop everything?”

Her answer came without hesitation. “Travel, but not for football. Just for me. Somewhere quiet, somewhere no one knows my name.”

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. “Guess we’re both running away in our hypothetical scenarios,” you said lightly, trying to pull the mood back before it got too heavy.

She chuckled. “Maybe, or maybe we’re just picking the kind of freedom we can’t usually have.”

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. “Alright. I’ll let you get back to your book before you accuse me of stalking again.”

You smirked. “No promises I won’t.”

Alexia’s grin flashed as she started walking backward down the path. “See you around, mystery train girl.”

And then she was gone, leaving you with the faintest, most inconvenient thought. You wanted to see her again.

👧🏼

It happened yet again the following week, and completely by accident.

You’d ducked into a small, hole in the wall café near the school for a much needed caffeine boost before tackling the last of your marking. It wasn’t 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.

“Careful, you’re going to start making this a habit.”

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. “If you’re about to claim this is your café, too, I’m starting to think you’ve been following me since the supermarket.”

“I told you, no GPS,” she said, stepping past you to greet the barista by name. “Just fate being generous.”

“Generous isn’t the word I’d use,” you said, but you couldn’t quite hide your smile.

When you reached for your card to pay, the barista shook their head. “She got it,” they said, nodding toward Alexia, who had already tapped her own card on the reader without you noticing.

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Consider it a public service,” she replied, taking both cups when they were ready. “You looked like you needed this more than I did.”

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 didn’t.

She slid one cup across to you when you sat down. “So, mystery train girl… what’s on your schedule today besides marking papers and accidentally running into me?”

You sipped, pretending not to notice the amused glint in her eyes. “I’m starting to think you’re the one accidentally running into me.”

Alexia leaned back in her chair, a lazy confidence in her posture. “If I were trying, you’d know.”

“Cocky,” you said.

“Accurate,” 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.

You’d known she could be charming. You hadn’t expected her to be genuinely funny, the kind of funny that snuck up on you and made you forget you’d been tired, or stressed, or wary of her attention in the first place.

By the time the rain had eased outside, you realised you’d been sitting there for nearly an hour and worse you weren’t entirely ready for it to end.

You glanced at your phone mid-laugh and felt your stomach drop. The time glared back at you.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, already gathering your bag.

Alexia’s brow lifted. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m late,” you said, standing so fast your chair scraped against the floor.

“Late for what?” she asked, leaning forward like she expected a real answer.

But you weren’t about to explain. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got to go. Thanks for the coffee really” You were already halfway to the door, shrugging into your coat. “I’ll, uh… see you around.”

You didn’t 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. She’d 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? You’d 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 Alexia’s ridiculous cooking story had been so funny you’d 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.

“You late,” she announced as soon as you stepped inside, hands going straight to her hips.

“I’m two minutes late,” you said, holding up your fingers for emphasis as you signed her out with the staff.

“Still late mama,” she countered, shaking her head like she was deeply disappointed in your life choices. “I was the third last one here.”

You bit back a smile. “Tragic.”

“Is tragic,” she said with all the gravity of someone announcing the end of the world, before brightening as she grabbed her bag. “But… I made you something.”

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.

“See? Now you forgiven,” she added as if she was the one doing you a favour.

“Lucky me,” 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 you’d made it in time, even if just barely.

Alexia and her smirk could wait. Aurora came first. Always.

You step inside your apartment with Aurora’s 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 night’s 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 it’s 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, it’s 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 isn’t 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. Tonight’s story is one of magic and kindness a tale she’s 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. Aurora’s eyelids flutter closed, the day’s energy finally spent.

“Goodnight, my little star,” 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.

👧🏼

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.

“Knock knock,” Alba teased, appearing at the door with her trademark grin.

You looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Morning. What’s up?”

She sauntered over, dropping her bag by your desk. “So… about your little coffee date with Alexia.”

Your head snapped up, surprise flickering across your face. “Date? It wasn’t a date. We just happened to be at the same café, that’s all.”

Alba laughed softly, clearly amused. “Uh-huh. That’s what you say, but apparently, you caused quite the stir.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was just coffee.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Yeah, well, Alexia’s been asking about you. Wanting to know if you're ok after your sudden quick exit”

You shook your head, trying to keep your tone steady. “Look, Alba, you know I’m not interested in anything right now. I barely have time to breathe, let alone date someone like her.”

Alba’s grin softened. “Fair enough, but you’re not as good at hiding things as you think.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She gave you a playful nudge on the shoulder. “Anytime. Now, let’s get through the day before Alexia shows up with another surprise visit.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as Alba left the room, already plotting her next move.

👧🏼

By the time you got Aurora into bed that night, your patience felt like it had been stretched paper thin.

From the moment you’d 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 wasn’t that she was bad, she was four, but today, she’d 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 wasn’t 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 weren’t home and actually answering it. Whoever it was, you weren’t 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 you’re 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 you’d seen splashed across sports headlines. In one hand, she’s holding a bottle of wine. She doesn’t 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. You’re 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 she’s 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 she’s in her own place. You’re 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.

Alexia’s already found two glasses from the cupboard, impressive, considering you’d 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 doesn’t 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. There’s 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 that’s half a laugh, half a sigh. "Something like that."

She doesn’t push, just nods and takes her own drink, leaning a hip against the counter like she’s perfectly content to wait you out and maybe that’s what makes you stay put instead of retreating to your sofa. Because right now, with her here, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy.

Alexia tilts her head, studying you like she’s trying to work out the exact balance between giving you space and pulling you out of whatever knot your day tied you into.

“So,” she says, her tone lighter now, “do you always look like you’ve just survived a small natural disaster, or is tonight special?”

You glance at her over the rim of your glass, managing a dry laugh, “If you’re trying to cheer me up, that’s… one way to go about it.”

A smirk tugs at her mouth. “Hey, I didn’t say you look bad. Just like someone who needs a wine.” She swirls her wine, watching the liquid as if the answer might be in there. “I’ve 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 you’ve got no clean socks. That sort of day.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You? The Alexia Putellas? Bad days?”

She shrugs, feigning modesty. “Hard to believe, I know, but even the greats have moments where the universe conspires against them.”

You lean an elbow on the counter, warming to her unexpectedly easy humour. “So what’s your cure for those days?”

“Wine helps,” she says, lifting her glass in a mock toast. “But mostly? Good company. Distracts you before you start plotting revenge against your own laundry.”

You arch a brow. “And you decided I’m good company?”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, steady and confident. “I decided you needed someone to remind you you’re not alone in it. The ‘good company’ bit is just a bonus.”

It’s cocky, sure, but there’s 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.

“You know,” she says, her voice low and teasing, “you’re different.”

You tilt your head, wary but curious. “Different how?”

“Most people…” She steps closer, slow, deliberate. “…don’t talk back to me the way you do or they try too hard. You don’t do either." Another step, and she’s close enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume something warm, subtle, and ridiculously distracting.

“I’m not most people,” you say, though your voice comes out softer than you meant.

Her lips quirk, like you’ve just confirmed something she already knew. “No. You’re not.” The air between you shifts charged now, thick with something you don’t quite have a name for. She leans in a fraction, her eyes locked on yours, and murmurs, “Tell me to stop.”

She’s so close you can feel the warmth of her breath against your skin.

You don’t.

Instead, you stay perfectly still, your heart thundering in your chest, and when her lips brush yours, it’s like a thread snaps. You close the distance, the kiss slow but certain, tasting of wine and something you can’t place something entirely her.

Her hand comes to the side of your face, gentle but grounding, like she’s making sure you’re 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.

Alexia’s 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 you’d had, the exhaustion, everything.

When she finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to look at you. Her eyes search your face like she’s memorising it. There’s a faint smirk still on her lips, but softer now, tinged with something you can’t quite name.

“You didn’t tell me to stop,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

You huff a laugh, trying to sound more composed than you feel. “I'm very aware of that.”

“Good,” 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. “Better than wine?” she teases, one brow raised.

You meet her gaze, still catching your breath. “I’ll need another sample to be sure.”

That earns you a low chuckle, and her smirk returns in full. “Dangerous answer.”

“Maybe,” you reply, though you’re 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 it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing, not with the way she’s watching you.

There’s 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 don’t speak. You don’t need to.

Your fingers find hers slowly, deliberately, slotting together until your palms are flush. Her grip tightens, gentle, but sure, like she’s testing if you’ll pull away. You don’t.

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.

You’ve 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 shouldn’t.

Alexia follows without hesitation.

The soft creak of your bedroom door feels deafening in the stillness, and for a brief second, you wonder if you’re 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. It’s dim only the soft spill of light from the hall catching the edge of her cheekbone, the curve of her mouth.

She doesn’t 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.

You’re 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 there’s 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 she’s 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.

It’s intoxicating, her scent, the quiet hum in her throat, the way her fingers flex against your spine.

You’re not thinking about tomorrow, or the fact that this is wildly out of character for you. You’re just feeling the softness of her lips, the heat of her body, and the dizzy realisation that you don’t 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 don’t 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 there’s 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, she’s 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 it’s 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 that’s almost dizzying.

“Comfortable?” 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 she’s learning you, committing each reaction to memory and you’re letting her.

Her kiss deepens, her body pressing flush against yours, and the heat between you builds until it’s 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 it’s 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 she’s savouring every noise you make.

She moves slowly, as though there’s no where she’d 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 weren’t so close. She says it like it’s 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, she’s looking at you with that same impossible reverence, like you’re made of flame and she’s 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. Alexia’s 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. 

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 she’d 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 you’d 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 you’d fly apart. Light sparked behind your eyelids. She sucked softly, then harder, her tongue flicking so fast and precise you couldn’t bite back the noise she pulled from you, a sound you’d 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 Alexia’s 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.

Alexia’s 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 didn’t 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 she’d 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 Alexia’s 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.

Alexia’s 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.

Alexia’s 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.

“That’s it,” she hissed, voice raw and feral, “rub against me, fuck, you’re so wet for me.” 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 you’d 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. “You want me to make you scream?” 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. 

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 couldn’t 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.

“Fuck,” she gasped, hips rolling, “I can feel you, oh god, yes, right there, rub it right—shit, yes, just like that” 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. Alexia’s 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 couldn’t 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. Alexia’s 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.

Alexia’s 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 couldn’t 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.

“Oh my god,” Alexia said. “Did we both just—” 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. “I can’t feel my legs. I think you broke me.”

You rolled over, face pressed into the damp pillow. “You started it,” 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, “Are you okay?”

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 didn’t 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.

“Not just physically,” she said softly. “I mean… are you okay?”

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.

“I’m… yeah,” you said after a beat, the words slow, deliberate. “I’m just… processing.”

Her mouth curled into a small, wry smile. “Processing as in ‘what the hell just happened’ or processing as in ‘I regret this’?”

You let your arms drop, turning fully to face her, the sheet slipping to your waist. “Not the second one.”

That earned you a grin, the cocky kind you’d seen on her before, but it softened quickly. “Good,” she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Because I’m not in the mood to regret anything tonight.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward it was full. Heavy with the knowledge of what you’d just shared, and the possibility of what it meant. Finally, you exhaled a small laugh. “You really can’t feel your legs?”

Her smirk returned, playful now. “I’m not exaggerating. You’re carrying me to breakfast tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “We’ll see if you’ve earned it.”

Alexia’s hand found yours under the sheets, fingers lacing without hesitation. “Oh, I think I have,” 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. “You’re hard to read,” she murmured eventually, eyes flicking up to yours.

You huffed a laugh. “That’s by design.”

“Mm.” She didn’t push. Instead, she reached over to tug the sheet higher around your shoulders, like she’d decided it wasn’t 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.

“You’re staring,” you said, a little embarrassed at the weight of her gaze.

She grinned. “Can’t help it. You look… different.”

“How?”

“Like you’ve stopped pretending you don’t like me.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” 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.

👧🏼

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 you’d 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 shouldn’t matter, she wasn’t yours, there had been no promises, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if leaving without a word was her way of keeping it that way.

It hit harder than you’d 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. “Stupid,” 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 hadn’t 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.

That’s 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.

Alexia’s 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.

“…and that’s Bluey, and she’s a blue heeler, and her sister is Bingo, and”

Alexia nodded along like she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact conversation. “And Bluey’s the main one, right?”

Aurora grinned. “Yes! She’s the big sister! And she’s really, really funny.”

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. “Morning Mama! Alexia’s watching Bluey with me!”

You blinked at her, then at Alexia. “Yeah… I can see that.”

[severepeanutartisanhands]

Who’s gonna tell them they’re so gae