Hey, this is an idea I had after watching videos of Kika Nazareth in a concert. How about a story where reader play's the drums in a girlband and Kika goes to the concert and follows her in IG from that moment on? And she's very bold and flirts sooo directly and reader is a shy mess
Let me clarify that it's perfectly fine if you ignore this prompt, and please excuse any spelling mistakes as English is not my first language 😁😁😁
Omg, I love this idea. I have changed into into a SMAU, I hope you don’t mind. And I’m so sorry this took so long to come out. I really hope you enjoy it.
Flustered
Kika Nazareth x Reader
Description: you’re not as cool as you see and Kika is a massive flirt
You were buzzing. You always were after a gig, but this one in particular — knowing it was your last one for a while. A blissfully free six weeks. No managers, no meetings, no appearances, nothing. Nothing but the Spanish sunshine pouring over tiled rooftops and salt in the air from the sea. The kind of freedom that made your skin feel too tight, like you might burst straight out of it.
Your ears were still ringing faintly, phantom cheers echoing somewhere deep in your skull. Sweat cooled along the back of your neck as you sprawled across the dressing room sofa, boots kicked halfway off, adrenaline refusing to settle. You could still see the crowd when you closed your eyes — hands in the air, lights flashing white and gold, your name chanted back at you like a promise.
“So, what are your plans?” your manager said.
David was… fine. He was nice enough and understood the need for time away, time apart from one another. But he hovered. Always. He liked to know what you were doing, where you were going and who with. He said it was for your own security, but sometimes it felt more like he was collecting pieces of you and filing them away neatly in folders only he had access to.
“I’m going to my Gran’s for a while,” Lucia answered, not looking up from her phone. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy from overuse tonight. She winced slightly as she swallowed, thumb still flicking across her screen.
David nodded, typing something on his laptop. The clicking of the keys felt too loud in the small room.
“Luisa?”
“Oh, um… I don’t have any plans, probably go home. Travel a little,” Luisa said, her voice floaty and light like she was already somewhere else entirely. She was leaning against the mirror, reapplying lip gloss with lazy precision.
You knew very well that Luisa had a lot of plans. Plans that involved sleeping her way through Europe until you were wanted back in Copenhagen for the next set of shows. She thrived in chaos, in strange hotel rooms and unfamiliar accents. David pursed his lips and muttered something under his breath, probably calculating risk assessments in his head.
“Ok, Rosa, I assume you’re heading home?”
Rosa nodded from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, guitar case beside her like a loyal pet. The guitarist was very much a homebody, often spending her time off with her family, disappearing into the quiet countryside where no one cared about sold-out venues or streaming numbers.
“And Y/N, what are you up to?”
“Oh.” You flopped further onto the sofa, arm thrown dramatically over your eyes. “I’m staying here in Barcelona.”
His typing paused.
“For the full six weeks?”
“Pretty much. I land in Copenhagen on the Tuesday before rehearsals start again.”
Your fingers started tapping your thigh unconsciously, your foot bouncing, a beat stuck in your head that refused to fade. It blended with the memory of tonight’s bassline, with the rhythm of the city outside, with the pulse that seemed permanently embedded in your bloodstream.
Barcelona felt different. Warmer. Slower. Here, you weren’t just a schedule or a headline. You could walk along the beach at midnight, hair tangled by sea breeze, and no one would ask you what your next single sounded like.
David watched you for a moment longer than necessary, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“And you’ll send me your address?” he asked.
You grinned without moving your arm. “Relax, David. I’m not disappearing.”
Your phone started to buzz, the influx of concert goers tagging you and the band as they posted to their social medias. The screen lit up relentlessly — flashes of faces in the crowd, shaky videos of you under stage lights, captions dripping in heart emojis and crying faces. Usually, you ignored it. Cleared the notifications in one ruthless swipe and powered the whole thing down before it could swallow you. Out of sight, out of mind.
Maybe it was the mood you were in. The high of it all. Finally free from obligations. No early call times. No interviews dissecting your lyrics like they were coded messages. Just six weeks stretching wide and golden ahead of you. So you scrolled.
Smile tugging at your lips, you tapped through stories. Fans screaming your name. Someone crying during the bridge. Someone proposing in the back row. Your chest warmed.
Then you froze.
The handle caught your eye. Verified. Tagged. That blue tinted profile pic you knew a little too well.
“Holy fuck,” you shouted, cutting straight across whatever Rosa was saying mid-sentence.
You all but launched your phone across the small room like it had burned you, like it was seconds away from catching fire in your palm. It clattered against the table and skidded.
“What the-?” Lucia reacted first, pushing herself up and grabbing your phone from where you’d slammed it down, squinting at the screen.
“Holy shit.”
Lucia didn’t look away from the screen as she said it, which somehow made it worse. She knew. Of course she knew. She knew all about your not-so-little crush on the Barcelona forward. Barça had been your childhood team, despite you not growing up anywhere near the city. You’d defended them in playground arguments, worn their colours through awkward teenage years, and plastered your bedroom walls with posters. And safe to say the women’s team had been a significant part of your sexual awakening.
You looked down slowly at the blaugrana striped shirt currently clinging to your top half, damp with sweat from the show. The irony was cruel. You’d worn it tonight for luck. For fun. Not expecting the universe to take that as an invitation.
“Oh my god,” Luisa breathed, already abandoning her mirror to peer over Lucia’s shoulder. “She was here?”
“Who was here?” Rosa asked absentmindedly, still cross-legged on the floor, fingers lazily picking at her guitar strings. She hadn’t sensed the seismic shift in the room yet.
“Kika Nazareth.” Lucia and Luisa said it in unison, wicked grins spreading across both of their faces like they’d just been handed front row seats to your humiliation.
“Oh, my god, stop,” Lucia cut you off, shoving the phone closer to her face. “She’s tagged you in her post.”
The air left your lungs.
“What?”
You crossed the room in three strides, heart hammering against your ribs so hard you were sure they could hear it. Lucia tilted the screen just enough for you to see it.
There it was.
A photo from the crowd. The stage awash in light. You, mid-song, eyes closed, hair wild. And tagged.
Her username sat there in clean, undeniable text. Verified. Real. Caption in Spanish.
“She said ‘football, friends, music, vibes’,” Luisa translated dramatically. “And only tagged you. Not the band. You. That’s basically a love confession.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, but your face was burning.
“Oh no,” Lucia whispered.
“What?”
You looked just in time to see Luisa’s thumb hovering over the screen.
Too late.
“What did you do?” you demanded, lunging forward.
Luisa blinked at you, completely unbothered. “Relax.”
From your account, neatly posted beneath Kika Nazareth’s photo, sat a freshly sent comment.
You stared at it in horror. Your stomach dropped to your knees.
“You absolute menace,” you breathed.
Lucia burst into laughter. Rosa let out a low whistle.
And somewhere, not that many miles away, Kika Nazareth had just received a notification from you.
Thankfully, the notification came whilst you were back at the hotel you had booked just outside of the city centre, where it was quieter. Calmer. The kind of place with soft lighting and neutral décor that tried very hard not to be memorable. You were halfway through wiping off your stage makeup when your phone buzzed against the marble countertop.
You swore you almost died when you saw it.
Her name.
In your notifications.
Direct message.
Your stomach dropped so violently you had to grab the edge of the sink to steady yourself. For a split second you considered not opening it. Preserving the fantasy. But your thumb betrayed you.
You stared at the message.
Read it again.
And again.
There was a smiley face at the end. Casual. Teasing. Like she wasn’t currently short-circuiting your entire nervous system.
“You’re joking,” you whispered to your reflection. The girl in the mirror looked pale. Slightly unhinged.
What did you even say to that?
You weren’t good at flirting. Yes, you might have been in one of the biggest girl bands this side of the millennium, but you weren’t a flirter. That was Luisa’s department. She could turn ordering room service into foreplay. You were the drummer. You didn’t have to talk very much — that was Lucia’s job. She charmed interviewers like it was a sport.
You just… existed.
You drummed your little heart out and said a final few words to the crowd before disappearing behind the others again. You weren’t the funny one — that was Rosa. You weren’t the mysterious one. You weren’t the loud one.
You were just… you.
And now Kika Nazareth was in your DMs.
You paced the length of the hotel room, rereading her message like it might rearrange itself into something less dangerous. She’d been at your show. She’d watched you. She’d noticed the shirt. She’d tagged you. She’d messaged you.
This was not a drill.
Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
You typed: “We would’ve rolled out the red carpet.”
Deleted it. Too eager.
You typed: “Did you want them?”
Deleted. Too desperate.
You typed: “You should’ve said hi.”
Deleted. Too bold. Or not bold enough. You couldn’t tell.
You groaned and dropped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like it might offer guidance.
Keep it simple.
Simple was safe.
You sat up again, heart pounding in your throat.
One word.
Controlled. Casual. Giving nothing away.
You stared at it. It looked ridiculous. Cryptic. Slightly unhinged.
Perfect.
You hit send before you could overthink it.
The message whooshed away.
And just like that, the ball was back in her court.
You tossed your phone onto the bed beside you and immediately regretted it, snatching it back up as if she might reply within seconds. Your pulse refused to settle. Six weeks of freedom stretched ahead of you.
Apparently, they were about to get a lot more interesting.
Your phone buzzed again.
It had been a month since Kika went to the concert. A month since she saw her name splashed across your back under blinding white stage lights. A month since she got slightly tipsy, bold off cheap cava and adrenaline, and tagged you in her post like it was nothing.
It had been a month since she messaged you.
A month since you replied.
Somehow, in the space of thirty days, you had quietly threaded yourself into the fabric of her everyday life.
Kika had never felt like this before.
She’d had crushes. Obviously. She’d had flings that burned hot and fizzled quickly, teammates’ friends and fleeting almost-somethings that fit neatly around her schedule. But she’d never had that rush of butterflies that felt like they were trying to claw their way out of her chest. She’d never had the uncontrollable smile that crept across her face at the most inconvenient times.
But she had it now.
It started small. A buzz during recovery. Her phone lighting up with your name while she was icing her ankle. She’d tried to ignore it. She lasted twelve seconds.
Then it was during team bonding, half the squad crammed around a long table, someone telling a story that had everyone howling with laughter. Her phone vibrated against her thigh and her stomach flipped so violently she almost dropped her fork.
“Who is that?” Cata nudged her, catching the blush that climbed straight up her neck.
“No one,” she lied terribly, already typing back.
It didn’t matter where she was. Training. Meetings. At home, curled up on the sofa with her dog asleep at her feet. In the passenger seat on the way to an away match. Whenever and wherever she was, she was messaging you.
You had become her favourite distraction.
It had taken her three days of non-stop messaging to ask for your number. Three days of voice notes and teasing replies and carefully timed responses so she didn’t look too eager. Three days of staring at her screen, rewriting sentences before sending them.
When she finally typed, “Can I steal your number? Typing is getting boring,” she’d thrown her phone across the bed like it might explode.
You’d replied within two minutes.
“Bold.” Followed by your number. She’d grinned so wide her cheeks hurt.
It took her another two days to gather the courage to call you. She’d paced her kitchen beforehand, thumb hovering over your contact like it was a penalty kick in a final.
When you answered, your voice had been softer than she expected.
“Hi.”
Just that.
And something in her chest shifted.
You were quieter on the phone than you were over text. Less guarded. There were pauses where she could hear you breathing. Little nervous laughs when she teased you.
“You’re not as confident as you pretend to be,” she’d said lightly.
“I never pretended,” you’d shot back, but your voice had dipped shyly at the end.
Another day passed before she upgraded it to FaceTime.
You had hesitated for a full ten seconds before answering.
When your face filled her screen - hair messy, hoodie pulled over your head, eyes wide - she genuinely forgot what she was about to say.
“Oh,” she’d breathed before she could stop herself.
You’d blinked. “Oh?”
“Nothing,” she’d lied, smiling.
You were soft and sweet in a way she had never expected. Not the untouchable, cool drummer she’d watched command a stage in front of thousands. You were shy. Easily flustered. Your eyes went wide whenever she leaned closer to the camera. You bit your lip when she said anything remotely flirtatious, and it drove her insane.
“You’re doing that thing again,” she’d teased once.
“What thing?”
“The lip.”
You’d immediately stopped, mortified.
“Don’t,” she’d added quickly. “I like it.”
The way your face had flushed pink stayed with her for days.
After a week of calls that stretched long past midnight, of good morning texts sent before training and goodnight messages whispered into pillows, Kika realised she didn’t want this to stay inside a screen.
She wanted to see you.
Properly. Not pixelated. Not frozen mid-laugh when the connection lagged.
So she asked you out. Properly.
There had been no teasing this time. No casual tone to hide behind.
“There’s a small coffee shop near my house,” she’d said over FaceTime, trying and failing to sound relaxed. “It’s quiet. Away from the crowds.”
You’d gone very still on the other end.
“Like… a date?” you’d asked carefully.
“If you want it to be.”
There was that lip bite again.
She watched you consider it. Watched the way your eyes flicked away from the camera, like you were trying to steady yourself.
“I’d like that,” you said softly.
Her heart had kicked violently against her ribs.
The days leading up to it were unbearable. She overthought everything. What to wear. Whether to hug you. Whether to kiss you. Whether that was insane. She replayed your conversations in her head while she trained, nearly missing a pass because she’d been wondering if you preferred oat milk or almond.
Her teammates noticed.
“You’re distracted,” Pina said after she skied a shot over the bar.
“Am not.”
“You’re smiling at your phone again.” Vicky added.
She didn’t deny it this time.
The night before your date, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, your last message glowing faintly in the dark.
“See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
She felt sixteen again. Nervous. Giddy. Terrified in the best way.
Because this wasn’t just a crush anymore.
It wasn’t just a celebrity fantasy built on stage lights and social media tags.
It was you. The girl who got flustered when she complimented her. The girl who pretended to be cool but melted under the slightest bit of attention. The girl who had worn her name across her back without knowing she’d be watching.
And now, in less than twelve hours, she would be sitting across from you in a tiny coffee shop, close enough to reach out and touch.
For the first time in a long time, Kika Nazareth felt nervous walking into something that wasn’t a match.
Talking about having a baby with Kika had always been all over the place, a bit chaotic even. Conversations would always be left half-finished, jumping from topic to topic. But in the end one thing was clear, you both wanted to start a family.
When Kika transferred to Barça, the team where you had already been playing for a few years, you both knew it was the perfect time to start trying for a baby. You had both decided that you would carry, so Kika could settle into her new club. Never had you thought that you would get pregnant so quickly though, it was only the second try when you had gotten a positive result on the pregnancy test. While you hadn’t expected it to be so soon, the both of you were over the moon to get the news.
Your first trimester has been going great. You told the club, your teammates, and family, they were all super excited when they heard the news. The club setup a training plan for you to be able to continue light training for a while. They had honestly been a big help in figuring everything out regarding your help.
The hardest part so far hadn’t been morning sickness, or anything else you had been prepared for from reading up on the first trimester. No, it had been something that had taken you fully by surprise. The doctors had recommended you to stop taking your ADHD medication during your pregnancy. You wanted what was best for the baby, so of course you listened to their advice. But it has really been a struggle in your day to day.
Your meds usually help keep your mind on track. Now, without them your thoughts were all over the place. Taking your vitamins, drinking enough water, all the small things that were really important, just slipped your mind so much easier without your medication. It was like a constant puzzle in your mind, that you did not have enough energy for to solve.
It was really frustrating, not just because it was a struggle, but because you knew you were capable of these things. Over the years you had found ways to work with your brain, your own system to do everything you wanted to and needed to, but now that system just would not stick.
Luckily, Kika had been incredible with it all. When she was home, she made sure that your vitamins were already next to your breakfast plate. She left filled water bottles all around the house when she noticed that you would drink more if they were just there. Every appointment was neatly organised in your shared calendar by her, including notifications.
When she wasn’t at home, because she had to leave early for training, she left a trail of post-it notes. You would find more and more each day. Don’t forget to hydrate! or The baby says good morning and is hungry for some toast. Little reminders you would find throughout the day. Some were on your phone, so it would be the first thing you saw in the morning, others were on the fridge, the mirror, or the door before you would head out yourself. You loved finding the little reminders around the house. They made life a little easier, she made life a little easier. It was nice knowing that even when she wasn’t there, you weren’t alone in this.
While you were getting dressed for training, you heard Kika make all kinds of noises in the kitchen that had gotten you very curious. “What are you working on there?” You asked as you rounded the corner. She turned to you with a bright smile, holding up a glass willed with a green liquid. “I made you a smoothie.”
“A smoothie?” You questioned, you had never before had a smoothie before training, so you wondered where her idea had come from. “Yeah, spinach, banana, avocado, yoghurt, chia seeds, and some other ingredients.” She walked towards you with the glass, “It’s good for the baby, drink up.” She kissed your cheek after handing you the glass.
You took a sip, a little weary of the random ingredients Kika just listed, but you trusted her judgement. “Hm, that’s actually really good.” You tell her. “Of course, when have I ever made you something that didn’t taste good?” She said with a slight smirk on her face. “You’re right, darling, thank you.”
Kika drove the two of you to training. While you had your own light training session, you were still able to travel together today, and Kika would not let you drive anywhere if she was able to drive you. “I’m not carrying the baby, so I want to do as much extra stuff as I can to help out.” She had said, and of course you would not deny her feeling more useful during your pregnancy.
You talked with a few of the girls in the locker room before heading to your own training. While you were very grateful for the way the staff had been accompanying you during your pregnancy, you really missed not being out on the pitch with the rest of the girls. But you knew that no contact training was what was best for you right now, and you would do whatever was best for your baby.
Once you were done with some warm-up exercises, you headed to a separate pitch with the trainer. The rest of the girls were a couple of fields over, you could hear them playing around, which was a little distracting, but the trainer tried his best to keep your focus on your drills.
Then like clockwork, Kika showed up at your training. Not once since you had started your separate sessions, had she not shown up to check in. You shake your head at her when you see her leaning against the railing on the side of the field.
“Mind if I take a quick break?” You ask your trainer, who by now must have been used to Kika showing up mid-session as well. He nods, “Yeah, go reassure her.” After sending him a thankful smile, you make your way over to Kika.
“Don’t you have your own training to be at?” You say jokingly. “Maybe.” She answers and pulls you in for a quick hug. “You know you don’t have to keep checking up on me, right? I’m in good hands here.”
“I’m not checking on you.” Kika says. “I’m checking on the baby.” She moves her hand onto your stomach. “Need to make sure someone is looking after them as well.” You smile and hold your hand over hers. “Don’t you worry, I’m always looking after them.”
Then for the first time ever, you felt something move in your stomach. For a second you were thrown off, but then Kika spoke up. "Did the baby just kick?" She had felt it too, and the moment she asked that, you knew she was right. “Yeah, I think so.” You say as your eyes well up.
Kika lifts one of her hands up to your cheek, “Our baby just kicked, and we both got to feel it for the first time.” Her eyes were filled with love, and you were so happy to have experienced this first together with her.
Then Kika’s smile turned into a smirk, “See, me checking in makes the baby happy.” She proudly pecks your lips. You chuckle and shake your head, “Of course it does, the baby loves you. I love you.” Kika smiles, “I love you, and our little bean.”
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Hi my lovelies. So I got this idea in my head. No, it’s not my birthday but I thought it was cute ahaha
Birthday
Kika Nazareth x Reader
Description: it’s your birthday party
It was pure chaos. The kind of chaos that vibrated through the room, loud and alive with a sense of euphoria so dizzying it made everything else feel insignificant. The kind of joy that hung thick in the air, a palpable warmth that swept away all the day’s worries. You were on the other side of the table, navigating it all with a grace that could’ve fooled anyone into thinking you weren’t managing multiple conversations at once.
On one side, Patri was next to you, chattering away in rapid-fire Spanish, her voice an excited blur as she peppered you with questions about your plans for winter break. On the other side, Ewa was grilling you, demanding a detailed rundown of exactly how you were caught red-handed , or more accurately blaugrana-handed, in the the Real Madrid dressing rooms last season.
Kika watched you from a distance. Normally, she would’ve been the one to dominate the room, the life of the party with her endless banter, the loud, playful voice that cut through all others. But tonight? She couldn’t compete. Not when you were effortlessly juggling everything - keeping track of conversations in three languages, none of which were your native tongue, ensuring that every person in the room felt like the center of attention, while also giving them just the right amount of space. You were smooth, almost impossibly so, and it was hard to take your eyes off you.
It was your birthday, after all. A day Kika knew would be etched in everyone’s memories. You had rented out a bar tucked away somewhere in the heart of Barcelona. Dim, sultry lighting and mahogany countertops that seemed to exude sophistication. The guest list was a Who’s Who of the footballing world. The entire Barça squad was there. Friends from past clubs, a few former Barça legends, some girls from your national team. The kind of guest list that made it feel less like a party and more like a red carpet event.
Kika had felt almost honored when you looked at her with those thick lashes and that signature pout, telling her, “Of course, she had to come,” and that she “was the first name on the list for invites.” She’d laughed it off at the time, but deep down, it made her feel something soft, something that lingered a little too long.
Kika wasn’t surprised, though, that you’d captured her heart. It was like you’d walked through the doors and passed the guards, just like you already owned it.
You had been at Barça for two seasons before Kika had arrived, but she remembered you from her time at Benfica. Even back then, you had a way of charming people. Your soft hands brushing against hers as you shook hands before the game, your presence always so calm and effortless. She remembered how you smelled like vanilla back then, a scent that had always clung to her memory. But now? It was different. Now, it was a warm, woody scent that lingered on your hoodies, and Kika couldn’t get it out of her mind no matter how hard she tried.
She didn’t mind, though, that you weren’t focusing all your attention on her tonight. Sure, she would’ve loved for your eyes to be locked onto hers, to hear that magical laugh aimed her way, or to feel the warmth of your hand resting on her thigh or sweeping her hair from her shoulder. But Kika could survive. After all, she had been the one you woke up with this morning. She would be the one you’d fall asleep next to, too.
“You’re staring,” Keira said, breaking Kika’s reverie. She had flown in to the sunny coastline after receiving one of your signature invitations, delivered with such elegance it made everyone else’s feel like a hastily written note. Keira had mocked you for it, asking why you couldn’t have just sent out a group text like everyone else. “Do I look like someone who does group invites?” you had responded, and Kika could practically hear the playful tone in your voice. You had informed her, with an air of finality that gave no room for argument, that, you wouldn’t take no for an answer and her, Lucy, Mariona, and Jana would be on the flight from Gatwick, or else, well, there’d be hell to pay.
“Okay,” Kika murmured, her gaze never straying from you. She wasn’t even trying to hide it.
“You’re like a girl with her first crush,” Keira teased, her voice full of amusement.
Kika simply shrugged. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. Oh, she cared … far too much. But she didn’t care if people knew. Let them think what they wanted. She was smitten, head-over-heels, hopelessly in love, and she wasn’t going to apologise for it.
Keira’s words barely registered in Kika’s mind. She was too lost in the sight of you, too caught up in the way you moved through the crowd, weaving effortlessly between friends, keeping the energy high without breaking a sweat. Even as the night carried on, as people drifted to the dance floor and the chatter began to grow louder, Kika remained rooted in place. She barely noticed the meal ending or the wine glasses being refilled. Her attention never wavered from you.
At some point, Pina and Cata had pulled you away from your seat, dragging you into the crowd, forcing another drink into your hand as they tried to coax you onto the dance floor. You had locked eyes with Kika just before they swallowed you up, and in that brief moment, Kika felt something electric, something unspoken.
“You know,” Salma began, leaning in as you wedged yourself between her and Vicky. “Kika’s been staring at you all night.”
“And?” You barely blinked as you took a sip of your drink, well aware that Kika’s gaze had never left your frame. From the moment you had slipped into that shirt of hers and pressed a messy kiss to her lips, her eyes had been glued to you. It was the kind of gaze that made you feel like you were the only person in the room, and honestly? You didn’t mind.
It was too many hours later. Far too long without Kika near you that you had finally managed to disentangle yourself from Pina and slip towards the bar.
“Just getting a drink,” you waved haphazardly behind you, ignoring the moans from the group.
You weren’t really drinking tonight. You had set yourself a limit of three. Just enough to be buzzed, to let loose and actually enjoy your party, but not enough to forget anything. It was still mid-season, you had told yourself. But you knew your real reason. You wanted Kika underneath you by the end of the night, and you knew that would never happen if you were drunk.
But Kika was resting against the bar, her second bottle of the night resting next to her. She was also not drinking much tonight. She had told you it was in case she needed to drive anyone anywhere. But she definitely had ulterior motives made incredibly clear when she pulled on that one blue shirt that had you feeling a very particular type of way.
“Olá,” hello, you whispered as you snuck up behind her. You smiled as she jumped slightly, feeling your arms wrap around her waist and your fingers find the soft skin of her belly.
Kika turned her head, her hair brushing against your cheek. There was that smirk again, the one that never failed to pull at something low in your stomach.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” she murmured, her voice smooth but teasing, eyes glinting under the dim lights.
You hummed against her shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume; citrus and salt and something warm that was just her. “Course not, bubba,” you admitted, letting your hands linger where they rested. The music behind you thumped low, the bass vibrating through the floor, but here, by her, it felt quieter. Closer.
Kika reached for her bottle, took a slow sip, and tilted her head back to look at you properly. The soft glow of the bar lights caught the edge of her jaw, tracing the curve of her neck and the faint sheen of warmth on her skin. Her lips curled, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner.
“You look good tonight,” she said simply, almost offhand, but there was a rough edge under the softness.
You grinned, eyes flicking over her face, then down to the deep blue shirt that had been tormenting you all evening. “You’re one to talk,” you murmured, your voice low, nearly swallowed by the thrum of the music. “You wore this on purpose.”
Kika shrugged, feigning innocence. “What, this old thing?” But she knew exactly what she was doing. That shirt was soft, thin, the fabric stretching over her shoulders in a way that made your mouth go dry.
You laughed quietly, the sound vibrating against her back. “Yeah, that old thing you know drives me insane.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. The world around you blurred into laughter and music and clinking glasses, but it all felt far away. Kika’s eyes softened, her playful composure faltering just slightly, like she was letting you glimpse something she didn’t often show.
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” she said, though you both knew it was a lie.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear. “I notice everything about you.”
Her breath hitched, just barely. It was a small, unguarded sound that sent heat crawling up your spine.
Kika turned slightly in your arms, her body fitting against yours like she was made just for you. “You really shouldn’t say things like that,” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice that didn’t quite hide the way her pulse jumped under your touch.
You raised an eyebrow, fingers tracing lazy shapes over the curve of her hip. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said, turning fully now, your hands naturally finding their place at her waist. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Flirting with my girlfriend at my own birthday party? I think I’m allowed.”
Kika’s laugh was quiet but full, slipping between you like something intimate. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and studied you for a moment, the way your eyes reflected the amber light, the slight flush on your cheeks. “You’re dangerous when you talk like that.”
You smiled, leaning in until your noses almost brushed. “Good thing you like danger.”
Her lips curved, amused and adoring all at once. “I like you more.”
The noise of the bar swelled around you. Music, laughter, the clinking of bottles, none of it really touched the small pocket of space the two of you had carved out. You reached up, fingers brushing her jaw, thumb resting at the edge of her lip. She didn’t move away.
“You’ve been staring all night,” you murmured.
“Maybe I just like the view,” she countered.
You laughed softly, and it made her grin widen — that grin that always gave her away, the one that made you feel like gravity was something optional.
A shout from the dance floor pulled your attention briefly. Pina waved you both over, gesturing wildly in a complicated mime. You caught Kika’s eye again, silently asking if she wanted to go.
“In a minute,” she said, her tone final, hand slipping up to rest against the back of your neck. “Just… stay here a bit longer.”
You did. You always would when she asked like that.
Her thumb traced along your collarbone, absent-minded, affectionate. “Happy birthday, baby,” she whispered, the words melting into the hum of music.
You pressed a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, slow and unhurried. “Best one yet,” you said against her skin.
