alexiaput3llas

[alexiaput3llas]

say goodbye

others can be found here :)

From the minute Oscar started trying solid food you were parked in the emergency room car park. An anxious first time mum was what you were but if he was to be allergic to any of the common allergens, the hospital was mere metres away. 

You did the same thing for Amelia, but thankfully, neither of them had any allergies. Or so you thought. 

When Amelia was eleven months old, you made cinnamon rolls as a yummy treat. Amelia reacted straight away. Her face turned red, hives started forming around her neck and shoulders and she was coughing, a lot. 

You were panicked. There was no one here to help you. Marisol was away on holiday, Alexia was at an away game and your papa was still in Switzerland. You rang the ambulance and thankfully, they were there within minutes. 

Amelia was fine, but you were not. The doctors said it was a severe allergy and gave a prescription for EpiPens. You put one in your bag, Amelia’s bag and Oscar’s bag, plus in the fridge at home. You told Leah every single time. 

“I know my fucking kid. Stop telling me.” 

So you stopped reminding her but unfortunately for you, that would ruin one of the most important nights of your life. 

—————————————————————————

Gala nights were always hectic. Running around getting yourself ready, as well as making sure the venue was set up. The kids were thankfully with Leah for the night so it was one less thing for you to deal with. Even though it took half the day to fly to London and back. 

You were extra nervous this time round because it was the unveiling of your newest project: something you had called the teenage compound. 

In short, it was a lot of unit type housing for those who were aging out of the system. They would pay a small amount for rent, unless they were at school, there would be a section for teenage parents, and hopefully in the future you would be able to expand it all. If it was successful in Spain, you’d then move to over to England. 

Funding for these kinds of things was crucial. It would cost a lot of money to build, maintain and furnish them, with very little in return. However you thought it would be beneficial for those in the system to learn how to properly look after themselves and their own homes. 

As you went up to give your speech, you gave Alexia your bag containing your phone and passport, you’d yet again lost your wallet so your passport was used as your ID. 

Unbeknownst to you, your phone was ringing constantly while you were up on stage. Alexia fished it out of your bag, confused by the caller ID. She passed your phone to Marisol who answered straight away. 

When you finished your speech, a round of applause was heard. You didn’t know there was a storm waiting for you. You spent a few minutes talking to some investors and then Alexia interrupted. 

“I am very sorry but I need to steal her for a moment.” She said calmly, a smile on her face. Something inside of you knew there was something wrong. Alexia wouldn’t interrupt for no reason. 

She dragged you, politely of course because alexia was always polite, out the venue. 

“Ale stop.” She kept going until you put up some resistance, “alexia. What happened? Is it the kids?” Her face dropped for a split second. 

“Amor…”

“No. What happened Alexia. Where are they?” 

“Amelia has had an allergic reaction, she is in the hospital. There’s a charter flight waiting for us but we need to leave now.” You let her pull you into the awaiting car, your mind was going crazy. Was Amelia ok? What is she now allergic to? Where is Oscar? 

“Call Amanda.” Alexia gave you your phone as the car took off towards the airport. 

“Amanda? What happened?” Alexia couldn’t understand much of what was being said on the other side of the phone, but from the way your mood switched from worry to anger she knew it wasn’t good. “What the fuck do you mean they had French toast! She can’t eat French toast!… she’s allergic to cinnamon Leah. How many fucking times do you need to be told that? Where is Oscar, put him on.” 

Alexia’s hand squeezed yours, you knew it was to try and calm you down but it wasn’t working. You needed to be in London right now. For you, the flight took forever. You were uncomfortable in your shapewear and dress, anxious about your daughter and son, but mostly mad. At Leah and Leah only. 

As soon as you touched down in London, you rang your lawyer. It was late but you didn’t care. “Joan. I need you to file an emergency hearing. Leah’s custody needs to be revoked immediately.” Alexia’s quiet support was all you needed, “she gave her a known allergen and now she’s in the hospital… no it wasn’t an accident she gave her French fucking toast… yeah okay I’ll text you the hospital room number.” 

You could feel the adrenaline coming down in your body. The closer you got to the hospital, the more your hands shook and the more nauseous you felt. Besides the fact that Amelia was in the hospital you didn’t know much else. 

It was like an out of body experience. Once you landed in London and got into the awaiting car, everything just blurred together. You wouldn’t allow yourself the luxury of crying until you had both your kids. 

Amanda was standing in the hall near the nurses station waiting for you. Leah and her girlfriend were not far behind and you felt the anger bubble over you when you saw you. 

“What the fuck is your problem Leah!” It was like the entire floor went quiet. 

“I didn’t know!” 

“Yes you did! I told you over and over again. I told you there was an EpiPen in her bag and in Oscar’s bag. You told me that you knew your kids so I didn’t have to continue to tell you.” 

Leah’s face fell but you didn’t stop. “You’re a piece of shit Leah. You put Amelia’s life on the line. She could have died!” 

“Amor.” The sound of alexia’s Spanish pulled you from your rant, the next thing you felt was tiny arms hugging you. 

“Mama!” Oscar looked up at you with his big eyes. “I told mummy the pen was in the bag! She-she didn’t listen and push me instead.” 

All you wanted to do was punch Leah in the face but with your son looking up at you, you had to contain your anger, “you did a good job baby. You listened and remembered.” 

“Mummy didn’t.” He said accusingly. If it was any other time you probably would’ve laughed. 

just as you were about to reply, you were interrupted but a group of people in suits. You knew exactly who they were. Child Protective Services. You were smart enough to wait for your lawyer, Leah was not. 

When your lawyer arrived, Alexia stayed with Oscar and you went to a conference room. They asked questions and you answered honestly. You showed them the messages with Leah reminding her about Amelia’s allergy and her response only a few weeks ago. 

At no point did you feel bad about throwing her under the bus. This was her fault and it could’ve been deadly. If Amelia had died, you would’ve pushed for charges to be brought against her. You didn’t care about her career or her reputation, you only cared about your kids safety. 

You listened to Oscar talk freely with Alexia in the room. He told them how he said no to French toast because it would make Amelia sick, how when she got sick Leah just gave her water and then when Oscar tried to help, he was pushed away. Your heart broke for him, he did exactly what was practiced and instead of being praised, Leah reprimanded him. 

The doctor pulled you aside at the end of it and explained what was to happen now. Amelia would need to stay in overnight to monitor her, hopefully the morning after she would get discharged but it would be a few days before you could fly back to Spain. Joan had informed you that the emergency custody order had been granted but there would be a proper court hearing in two weeks. 

As soon as you were done talking to those who needed, you went into Amelia’s room. She looked so small lying in that hospital bed, the frown had sesame street characters on it and an arm wrapped in tape to protect the IV she had. 

You aggressively wiped your tears and took off your shoes. Gently climbing into bed with her. You hated this. All of it. You wished you could wrap them up in bubble wrap forever but that wasn’t the case. 

It was some hours later when Alexia woke you up. “Amor, here, some comfortable clothes.” You let her help you up and take the dress off, redressing you in the clothes she must have just bought. 

“Where is Oscar?” 

“Jacob took him to his apartment for a boys sleepover. He said he’ll meet us at your house tomorrow.” 

Your house. The house you raised Oscar in, the house you and Leah shared years of memories in. A part of you wanted to just book a hotel but you knew the house would be more comfortable for the kids, even if it was uncomfortable for you. 

It held a different side of you, from a different life. Alexia didn’t know that person and truthfully, neither did you anymore. It was dark and musty when you entered. Amelia was back to her cheeky self and Oscar was happy they could play together again. 

You felt the pit in your stomach grow. You didn’t leave the house how you wanted. Just packing a few bags with clothes and essentials and leaving. That’s how the house stayed, haunted and empty. You knew that Alexia was intrigued by it. 

“Should I pop out and get us some clothes?” You hadn’t realised you were still standing in the living room until alexia spoke. 

“There’s no need. There’s a wardrobe full of them.” You caught the puzzled look on her face, “I only took one bag of my clothes when I left. Leah doesn’t have access to this house so they will still be in the wardrobe.” 

You walked towards the stairs, monitoring for alexia to follow. Alexia took in the size of the house, the photos of your family still littered on the walls, some from your wedding, birthdays and at Leah’s games. If she didn’t know any better she would think you were still married. 

It was an odd feeling for her. Being so out of place in a city that welcomed you. It was apart of who you were, it all was. Leah, Arsenal, London, that made you who you were and she loved you, so deeply that it scared her sometimes. 

Alexia followed you into what she could only assume was the main bedroom. A king size four poster bed sat in the middle of the room. A dress with jewellery and books sat at the opposite end. It was clean, neat and very different from the room you had now. 

“We are not sleeping in here tonight.” You said looking up from the dresser, “well you can but I’m not.” 

“I’ll sleep wherever you say.” Alexia didn’t move from the doorway. She watched as you fought back tears, either from the memories this house bought back or from the events of the day. 

That night, in the safety of Alexia’s arms you let go. The sobs were muffled by her shirt but she held you tightly the entire night. Alexia reassured you that the four of you were safe and soon you’d be home together. 

And two weeks later you walked into the court room hand in hand with alexia. She promised you she would be there and alexia never broke a promise. 

[alexiaput3llas]

cruel mistress

alexia's world feels like it's ending. you can't help laughing at her for it, because there's nobody more dramatic than her. (7.5k)

Waking up to an empty bed was not how Alexia wanted to begin her day-off. 

Even in her daze of just having opened her eyes, she knew it was roughly about 8am. Knew that, because if her bed wasn’t empty, she would roll over to find you, cuddle into you comfortably, and drift off for another two hours. That was how her free mornings were meant to go. 

She was not meant to lay there, arm behind her head so that she was leaning up enough to see the room, and stare through heavy eyelids at the light that came in through the crack in the bathroom door. Hair a mess. Sleep lines all over the right side of her face. Sheets pushed down on the empty side of her bed where you’d left them.

So, in the style of a woman on a mission, she pushed the sheets away in much the same fashion as you and swung her legs round to plant her feet on the floor. Yawned as she waited for her mind to catch up to her body’s movements. Then pushed up from the bed by her hands and stumbled upright. She could hear you in the ensuite, muttering to yourself, and huffed.

She wasn’t arrogant or anything, but surely there was nothing more interesting in the world to you than her in your shared bed.

“Oye,” She rasped, weakly knocking a knuckle on the door to grab your attention as she slumped against the door frame. “Dónde ‘stabas?” 

Your eyes met hers briefly in the mirror, before your attention went back to where your fingers were poking and prodding at your bottom lip.

“I have a cold sore.” You sighed, not a remnant of sleep left to be found. Even in her tired state, that disgruntled Alexia. So, back to her earlier ponder; there was no way you had more interest in a cold sore than sleeping the morning away with her.

“Qué quieres decir con ‘cold sore’?” One hand rubbed her eye in the manner of a toddler, and her shirt that hung off one shoulder and her shorts that were askew didn’t help her case.

“I had a feeling last night that I’d wake up with one. Lo and behold-” You turned to her and pointed at the red bump in the corner of your lower lip. “Ugly cold sore. Looks like a homing beacon on my lip. Just screaming for everyone to look at it.”

The poor midfielder wasn’t taken in anything you said. All she could think about was bed and how you weren’t in it. 

“Put something on it.” She suggested gormlessly as she bumbled over to you. Her arms wrapped loosely around you, hands resting on your stomach, and she gracelessly buried her face in the back of your neck. “S’fine.”

It was not fine, she was soon to find out.

“I will. It just hurts, and it’s going to take at least a week to go away. Maybe even two. And they’re really contagious too, so you’re going to have to be careful. Or, I will, so that I don’t give it to you.” 

“Don’t give it to me then.” Alexia mumbled, the weight of her against your back growing by the minute as she seemed to be falling asleep standing.

“It’s not as easy as that.” You laughed gently. Then, you prepared to break the news to her. “You know what it means, Alexia?”

“No.” She grunted, blissfully unaware, half caught up in whatever dream she’d been having before unfortunately returning to the real world.

“Means I can’t kiss you until it’s gone.” 

The news didn’t register immediately. She hummed distractedly, every breath of air from her nose giving you goosebumps. 

However, about ten seconds later, she lifted her head back just slightly when your words registered in her head.

“Sure you can.” The brunette said, eyebrows knit together but her eyes still closed.

“No, I can’t.” You responded, tilting your head a little to look at her face in the mirror. “Unless you want one too, and let a cold sore be the thing that outs our relationship.”

She frowned. Pulled back a bit more. Stared at you, the cogs of her brain finally firing on for the day. “De qué coño estás hablando?”

“Us showing up on match day in front of all those cameras, both with cold sores? Or Carla filming us walking into training, both with cold sores?” You gave her a questioning look, watching as she pieced things together and came to a devastating realisation. Slowly, that was. Because you still had time to continue. “Exactly. And they hurt too, you definitely don’t wa-”

“I cannot kiss you on my day-off?” She snapped, suddenly sounding much more awake. Her voice was hoarse, still thick with sleep and now disbelief, as if you’d just told her she couldn’t kiss you ever again. Not just a couple weeks.

The revelation had much the same effect as having a bucket of ice cold water thrown over her. It might’ve been the worst news she’d had in months. Years. A decade. 

“Not unless you want a matching one.” You fought back a grin, though your lips twitched, as you pointed at the red bump again.

She stepped back, arms unwrapping themselves, and dragged a hand down one side of her face as the other went to her hip. Her eyes stared at your mouth and you had to resist the urge to roll your own eyes. Then she straightened up, both hands on her hips now, surprisingly determined.

“I can kiss you.” She argued stubbornly– voice, face, body language, all very sulky. Like a child refusing its bedtime orders.

“You can’t.” You countered, trying not to laugh.

“I can.” She insisted, grumpiness growing at an exponential rate. 

“You can’t.”

“I can!”

Stage 1 of grief: denial.

“Alexia.” You said in amusement, shaking your head.

Her eyebrows furrowed further than ever before and her lips scrunched into a petulant pout. An actual pout. And that’s when you finally cracked, because Alexia Putellas never pouted like that.

Your laughter spilled out with no inhibitions then, and the sound bounced off the bathroom tiles as her sharp scowl tried to come across as fierce when she realised you were laughing hard at her, yet had all the fury of a yappy, grouchy little chihuahua. All bark no bite.

“You think this funny?” She shot back, reaching new heights of irritation, even though the corners of her mouth twitched against her will. 

All you could do was laugh louder, and it made her groan as she threw her hands in the air. The news had certainly snapped her awake. But still, you really couldn’t take her seriously considering the severity – or lack thereof – of the situation. She turned abruptly and stomped out of the bathroom, muttering under her breath at how unfair it was, how she was being punished for nothing, and on her day-off too of all days.

You followed her loud footsteps to where she had started rifling through the drawers she kept her workout gear in, amused and intrigued in how she unceremoniously dropped some fresh clothes on the top of the unit and began to hastily undress herself. Your eyebrows shot up that time, in amusement and something else, and you didn’t look away for a second. She wouldn’t mind– didn’t mind, because she turned to you as she pulled on her sports bra and continued her glaring. Whilst maintaining that stare, she grabbed the t-shirt she’d got out, but ultimately decided against it for reasons unknown, before huffing and walking away again, swiping her airpods from her bedside table as she went.

“What are you up to?” You asked her, trailing behind her as she paced unnecessarily fast in the direction of the gym.

“I need time alone.” The brunette threw the door open, then slowed it before it slammed against the wall like something out of a theatre performance. You’d never seen such dramatics.

“You’re acting like you’re only with me to kiss me.” You commented with a shrug, watching as her shoulders tensed at the mention of the godforsaken thing she was so pitifully deprived of, and giggled again. 

Alexia waved you off, put her airpods in with so much force you feared for her eardrums, and stepped onto the treadmill. It beeped to life when she pressed it, and she held her thumb down on the speed increase button and just… didn’t let go. Until she was running at the speed of her life and staring dead ahead at the wall in front of her. 

You walked away from her with another shake of your head, your echoing laughter down the hall audible over her music. You heard her spam the speed button, only for it to beep repeatedly that it’d reached max speed, and how she groaned breathlessly in response.

There wasn’t much you could do about the cold sore (or Alexia’s dismay) apart from get some cream for it in the hopes it went away quicker. But you could try and cheer her up a little, as ridiculous as that idea was that she needed cheering up, but it came from a place of love, she was yours, and you wouldn’t have her any other way. Dramatics and all. 

So you did just that; you made a quick trip to the pharmacy down the road to pick some cream up as she had her alone time, and got her favourite protein shake on the way back too. Not much, not a kiss, but it was all you could do for the time being.

It wasn’t surprising to find her in the shower when you got back, the queue in the pharmacy longer than expected and the same for the cafe, and you had no qualms with heading straight in the bathroom as she did so. You applied the cream first, protein shake on the sink for when she was done. Though, as you assessed the situation to your lip again, you weren’t sure if she knew you were in there or not. 

Through the steam of the hot water that was slowly filling the bathroom, you went to the door of the shower and rapped on the glass a couple times. It wasn’t long until you were met with a grumpy face, after she had wiped away the fog with her hand to look at you.

“Still miserable?” You teased with a toothy grin, and her scowl returned instantly.

“I can’t look at you.” She sighed, before turning away from you and back to the water, letting it run over her face. That was about what you expected from her.

Cream applied and drink delivered, you decided to turn and leave the room. Wasn’t exactly like the situation with your lip could allow for any fun shower activities.

“There’s a protein shake on the sink counter for you if you can stop frowning for five seconds and use a straw, gruñonita!”

—

The situation did not improve throughout the day. And you started harbouring genuine concern for the wrinkled lines that might be left on her face once the next week or two had passed– she was truly, genuinely, completely miserable. In every essence of the word. Miserable and annoyed.

Not even the sight of you all dressed up for her as you went out for dinner that night could improve her mood. If anything, it might’ve worsened it. 

The reservation was at a recently opened restaurant that had a waiting list longer than the Bible, a place Alexia had wanted to try since she first heard the rumours of it coming to Barcelona. Not that anyone could tell considering the look on her face.

For the duration of your time there, there wasn’t any considerable stretch of time where she wasn’t staring at your face. Or, more specifically, your lip. Apart from when she meticulously read through the whole menu five times over before she decided what to get, ordering far more food than you both could eat, she didn’t look away from you. The knitted sleeves of her soft black collar covered her arms where they crossed over her chest as she slumped back in her chair, eyes solely on you. The poor waiter was hardly spared a glance either, of which you made a silent promise to yourself to tip him well afterwards in apology for your girlfriend’s behaviour. 

Attempts were made at conversation, and there was one or two occasions she cracked a smile and laughed at the stories both of you shared of your week and old memories, but aside from that, only a noise of acknowledgement and short sentences here and there. That, along with the sound of her cutlery scraping a touch aggressively against her plate. You grew tired of it.

“I dressed up nice for you, for date night, and all you can look at is the sore on my lip.” You deadpanned. She didn’t even flinch, just frowned impossibly more.

“Yes, because it is date night and I can’t kiss you.” 

If you asked her, it ran deeper than that.

She’d watched you get ready and couldn’t kiss you. Put your necklace on for you and couldn’t peck your lips like she normally did. Ordered a ton of food for the two of you, before you told her it was a bad idea to share meals just in case. Couldn’t shower with you because she could never keep her hands – and lips – to herself with you in there with her. Couldn’t try the drink you’d ordered for the night. All these things that were so normal between you both, ruined by a cold sore.

Alexia Putellas, two-time Ballon d’Or winner, three-time UCL winner, soon-to-be-not-enough-fingers-to-count league winner. Defeated by a cold sore.

“Maybe I’m glad I can’t kiss you when you’re like this.” You grumbled, not at all seriously, just playing into her own act, as you took a sip of your drink and rolled your eyes behind the glass.

“Take that back.” She scowled, sitting up in her chair, so utterly offended by the statement. 

Did you really not want to kiss her just as bad?

You did. But where was the fun in admitting that.

“Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I mean it.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Her reaction was unsurprising–

She frowned. Hard. Because, how dare you say that? Weren’t you struggling just as much as her?

Of course you were. And even though she was so ridiculously dramatic and grumpy, you never tired of how she endlessly made clear her attraction and adoration for you. Even if it showed in frowns and scowls instead of smiles.

Still, she felt compelled to ensure you knew about both those things. Her hand reached for yours across the table and she went to lift it to her mouth, before she paused.

“You will tell me I cannot kiss your hand too?” She asked seriously. 

You fought off a smile, trying to keep up your act, and shook your head solemnly once.

That act fell away instantly.

She held your hand and peppered gentle, soft kisses along your knuckles. Eyes on yours the whole time she did it, and the colours within them glowed with the candlelight of the room. Lips puckered in a way you knew all too well. And dammit, you just wanted to kiss her too.

“I love you, even when I can’t kiss you. Even when I’m grumpy and you laugh at me.”

You couldn’t kid yourself; this next week or two was going to be just as hard for you too. That was exactly the kind of declaration she’d seal by leaning over the table and leaving a lasting kiss to your mouth.

“Me and my cold sore love you too.” 

Your hand was dropped rather abruptly then, nearly throwing a plate of food to the floor in the process.

“You ruin it. All the time.” Alexia grumbled, looking away from you as she sighed and flared her nostrils without realising. It was a sight you always found funny, how over-the-top it was, though you spared her some dignity and opted not to laugh that occasion. 

“If I can’t kiss you, I’m going to tease you about it.” You shrugged cheekily, taking another sip of your drink. 

Alexia glared in silence, watching your every move. Senses heightened, attention sharper, too many things getting under her skin twice as much since she couldn’t do a thing about it. She still had her words, however.

“No puedo besarte, no puedo tocarte…” She leaned forward, elbows on the table as her eyes moved up and down from your own to where the table cut off the view of your outfit. In her pause, she tilted her head, gazed at you directly as a slow smirk grew, before her tongue wet her lips and her eyes landed on yours. “Pero aún así puedo dejarte retorciéndote sin hacer nada de eso. Don’t forget that, mi amor.”

That shut you and your teasing up.

…only for the rest of dinner though. 

The rest of the date went well, went perfect, really. It embodied everything about your relationship with Alexia; enjoying each other’s company, laughing, talking, somehow always touching the other to feel close, taking the long walk home to drag the night out. Even without the obvious, it was still exactly how you envisioned it to be. 

Though you got the distinct feeling, Alexia didn’t feel quite the same way at how the hours after the date looked like. You’d made your peace with it hours earlier, but your girlfriend, well… the same couldn’t be said. No amount of warning and no’s could drill the news into her head.

It was later than normal, nearing midnight, and you found yourself stood in front of the bathroom again just like that same morning, doing your skincare before going to bed for the night. Alexia, just like that same morning, was stood in the doorway sulking. Still dressed in her outfit, hoops in, hair still up. Shoes on, even. Almost as if she was still in denial about how the night wouldn’t end. 

“Get ready for bed, Ale. We have training early. I’m not being blamed for you being tired tomorrow just because you were too busy being a defiant toddler.” You told her, dabbing your face with a flannel after washing it.

“Is your fault.” She continued to whinge. You rolled your eyes, and if you rolled them again that day you worried about them getting stuck. 

“We can’t kiss, and therefore we can’t have sex, Alexia. Get over it.” 

If there was one thing the world knew about her, it was that she was infinitely determined. You saw that and experienced it in more ways than most, sure, but it also meant you had more experience with telling her when to shut up. You just had to be creative about it, and strike when the moment was right. 

You continued to wait for that moment, especially when she strode over to you with an air of too much confidence and slowly wrapped her arms low around your waist. Her hands pulled you carefully flush to her front, and she ducked her head down so that her lips hovered at the curve of your neck. The warmth of her breath dragged out the anticipation a little, but you didn’t flinch when she pressed her first kiss there, the bare skin of your shoulders on show where you wore just a towel after a quick shower.

She moved slowly and deliberately, brushing her mouth over the skin of your shoulder in a trail of soft grazes and lingering pecks. When she made her way back to your neck, she nuzzled her nose into the spot under your jaw, and it offered you a glimpse of her needing the closeness more than anything, the intimacy of the moment, which the lack of proper kisses had stolen from her. You carried on applying your products like she wasn’t there, like her impatience wasn’t showing in the way her hands drifted to your hips and tightened her grasp just slightly over the cotton covering your hips. Though, her kisses stayed slow, a mix of tenderness with hints of frustration seeping into them as her eyes dwelled on the way the knot at the side of the towel loosened just teasingly when her hands tightened once more.

By the time she placed her last kiss high on your temple, she rested her cheek against yours, chin on your bare shoulder. 

“Mmm, we could have sex, just no kissing.” 

And there was your moment. 

You turned your head to look at her over your shoulder, making sure she caught the full effect of your outraged expression.

“What, like I’m a whore?” 

Her entire body jolted in shock. The smugness from seconds earlier drained rather quickly. 

“No– no, no no, never! I didn’t mean–” The panic tumbled out of her, hands flying off your hips like they’d been burned and hovering helplessly until they landed awkwardly on her own. She stared at your face in the mirror, jaw tight, eyes wide, an embarrassed redness to her cheeks.

You watched her unravel with more amusement than concern. She looked at you, but she didn’t dare meet your eyes, as if she was ashamed of her own suggestion. Meanwhile you, well, you just went back to applying your moisturiser like nothing had happened. She was still floundering internally, and your unbotheredness seemed to only make her more desperate. 

“Never. Never, never, never. You’re not a– please. You know I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” 

She stepped forward again, back into your space, more carefully this time, and let her arms find their home around your waist once more. Her forehead pressed into your shoulder, hiding her face as her voice dropped to a mumbled, nervous whisper.

“You are not a whore. You are my everything.” 

You had to bite your lip to stop the laugh that was threatening to spill out, because she sounded so earnest, so sweet, so pleading, as though your jab had shattered her. And that sentence, how contradictory the claim was to the way she said it, and the sight of her grovelling sheepishly was nearly too much to bear.

Her arms squeezed tighter again and she let out a shuddery breath, as if both relieved you were letting her near you like that and also still terrified of your response. You finally let the laughter slip then. 

“Relax, Ale. I’m just teasing you.” 

The brunette groaned deeply, the sound muffled against your skin, like she’d never live it down whilst also clinging harder, beginning to see the humour in it too… now that she knew she hadn’t been relegated to the sofa for the night. Even if she did go to sleep with that same frown on her face because she couldn’t have her simple goodnight kiss.

—

Training the next day only made her overall mood worse. Alexia sulked through drills, the sharpness of her touches dulled by the permanent pout stuck on her face. Her passes were a tad too hard, her shots nearly breaking Cata’s hand with the sheer power of them. It took no time at all for the others to notice. 

Kika was the first to find the gall to poke the bear– she tossed a teasing remark Alexia’s way, only to receive a glare for her troubles. Not that it deterred her, or any of them for that matter, of course. By now, everyone in the squad knew the captain was the furthest thing from unreachable as someone could get. Because of that, Vicky joined in not so long later, delighted she had new ammunition to use against her. 

From where you were on the other side of the pitch, it was extremely entertaining to watch. You knew that if Alexia was truly annoyed by them all ganging up on her, she could tell them off with one quick demand, and they’d disperse like naughty school kids. No, she loved it. Loved that they felt comfortable enough with her to tease her about anything and everything, even though it was at her expense every time. Nevertheless, she refused to reveal why she was in such a mood.

By the time everyone had filed back into the dressing room, it was clear that the mystery of her grumpiness had become more than just a joke. It was gossip. And she should have known it would turn into that, really. 

Whispers bounced around the room for five, ten, fifteen minutes as people got showered and changed. Until someone finally cornered you with the question everyone wanted to know: what the hell was wrong with her?

You didn’t bother with an explanation, there was no need to; you lifted a finger and pointed to your lip. The realisation spread quickly on their faces, and as soon as one person started laughing, everyone lost it. To nobody’s surprise, Alexia simply grew grumpier, sinking lower into her cubby as the sound of the room increased, and you couldn’t help but join in as you grabbed your bag and headed over. Everyone laughed harder when you pursed your lips and patted her shoulder in feigned sympathy.

Karma was, unfortunately, something that loved to come back and bite you in the ass.

Because in a game a few days later when Alexia commanded the pitch like a classroom and schooled everyone with two goals and an assist, it was impossible to not stare at her… and her lips. Especially when she strolled back to the tunnel, hands on her hips, armband still tightly on, jaw clenched with all the post-game endorphins still running through her.

She was all you could look at for the rest of the night. It took everything you had to not just give in and press your lips anywhere you co–

No. You couldn’t have thoughts like that at such a dire time. 

You had to face away from her in bed that night. God only knew what might’ve happened if you faced her and saw her lying there, arm behind her head in just a bralette and shorts.

“I no sleep tonight.” Alexia hummed lowly, the hand that wasn’t behind her head tracing patterns over her own stomach since you weren’t doing it for her.

“You never do after a game. Tell me something new.” You responded, showing zero interest in her games even if you wanted to do exactly the opposite.

The sound of her dramatic huffs were like white noise by this point. You hardly blinked at the sound of them anymore. 

Didn’t stop her doing them though, because two more followed in the next couple minutes. Until she eventually grew tired of the lack of attention and stopped the shapes on her abdomen to nudge your back in irritation. 

“This is so unfair.” 

Everything bubbled over for you then. It couldn’t present in its usual way, but it was there.

You rolled over onto your other side and leaned up on one elbow, free arm reaching out to grab Alexia’s jaw. Your palm sat under her cin, thumb on one cheek and fingers on the other. You saw the excitement in her eyes, bless her, and had no choice but to dampen her spirits. 

“You think I don’t miss kissing you too?” You started, eyebrows raised, grip bordering on strong as her mouth parted at the contact. “You think I didn’t find it hard seeing you after the game and didn’t struggle to not kiss you?” 

Like clockwork, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards despite your stern tone. Of course she’d be smug about your outburst.

“I knew you wanted it too. Wanted me too.” She murmured, voice low and far too satisfied with herself.

You narrowed your eyes at her, but didn’t remove your hand from her jaw. Instead, you tilted her chin a fraction higher so she had no choice but to look at you.

“Wanting you isn’t the problem, Alexia. Keeping you from acting like a brat about it is.”

That wiped the smirk off her face for a second. She blinked, frowned, then scrambled to defend herself with a scowl to top it all off.  “I’m your girlfriend, not… un perrito.”

Your lips curled into a slow grin. You leaned in close, close enough that she surely felt your breath over her lips, and her eyes lit up again with the belief that you might actually give in.

“Then stop whining like one.” 

With that, you pulled back again. 

Her groan was so dramatic you almost laughed into her face. You flopped onto your back with a cocky smile and stole a glance at where her hands covered her eyes as she muttered under her breath, probably cursing you out with some ferocity. Still sulky, still petulant, in ways only she could be.

“Una semana más, y… I die.” She declared, linking her fingers together and resting her palms against her forehead as she stared longingly, yearningly, at the ceiling.

“You’ll survive.” You preened, tapping her cheek twice gently before rolling back over away from her again.

It was meant to be the end of it, where the two of you finally started trying to switch off after the game and rest. 

For Alexia though, silence meant defeat when you’d gotten the final word.

You felt the shift of the mattress as she shuffled closer, the press of her body against your back. Then came a few lightest of pinches to your waist, just enough to make you squirm and let out the smallest giggle you’d tried to swallow all night. Another quick squeeze later, and your laugh broke free. 

Her grin grew against the back of your neck, the beaming kind that always lit up her whole face. 

“You’re an idiot, Ale.” You spoke affectionately in a half-laugh, words slightly muffled by the pillow against your cheek. “Even without kisses you still get what you want.”

Her arms curled tighter around your middle and she forewent a reply, instead simply victorious in her silence.

“And I still love you.” You added quietly, leaving her with that before you slowly started to drift off.

—

Days passed at a terribly slow speed.

Each morning, Alexia would wake up and sit on the edge of the bed whilst she waited for you to assess the cold sore situation. And every time, she would deflate immediately and slump back on the mattress and either let out an uncharacteristic whimper, or fall straight back to sleep the second her head hit the bed.

But. Progress was being made RE: the healing of the cold sore, and that was the most important thing to her during such a dark period.

The hope grew. The desperation increased with every positive sign of recovery. 

She allowed herself to dream of what it’d be like to kiss you again, after depriving herself of those thoughts for so long like she was battling an addiction. She stared at your lips without inhibition, restriction, knowing she could have them again soon. Let herself reminisce of how they felt against hers, how soft and pliant you were when she kissed you just right. The quiet sounds she would swallow from you, how you loved it when she hummed into it and nipped at your lower lip. She ran through scenario after scenario of how she’d kiss you again, for the second-first time. 

On the tenth night leading into the eleventh day, she couldn’t contain her excitement. She thought day eleven, lucky number eleven, would be the day. Even whispered as such to you–

“Maybe… maybe tomorrow, will be gone.” 

–whilst half-asleep.

It was not.

“I wouldn’t consider that gone, Alexia. It needs to be fully healed for it to not be contagious and it’s still there. Just a bit.” 

The normally calm and composed captain, stoic and domineering wall in midfield, attacking architect, could have punched the life out of her pillow then. Could have kicked it so hard at the window it would smash the glass. 

She took a deep breath. Held it as she tried to re-collect herself, until she heard the cap from that fucking cold sore cream clink against the sink counter, and sighed sharply. Inhaled another breath. Let it out just as quickly. Then again, and again, and agai-

“I’m sorry, Ale.” You sighed, padding over and sitting beside her where she stared at the wall in front of her. Picturing putting her fist clean through i- “It’s so close to being gone but I’m not risking it.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep the night before. Maybe it was the build-up of all the feelings and frustrations that had accumulated over the past fortnight nearly. 

It wasn’t even about the kiss anymore to her. Well, it was, but at this point, she just wanted to feel close to you again. Nothing had changed between the two of you relationship-wise, but there was something missing. Intimacy, closeness, connection. Kisses were such a staple in all relationships and finding herself in one without them was dreadful. Not just for those needs, for every essence of your dynamic too. 

She shifted slightly, and crossed her arms over her chest like she was trying to hug the strangely empty feeling out of her. She missed you. As ridiculous as it sounded.

Even as she leaned against you then, shoulder to shoulder, the physical closeness she now realised she’d taken for granted, it didn’t feel… right. She could feel you, your presence, sure, and that comfort was undeniable, but she missed the brush of your lips as you whispered something just for her. The soft affirmation a kiss provided that quieted her mind so easily. A simple kiss had always been more than just a kiss. It was a reassurance. A quick reminder of what you both meant to each other. 

She found herself needing that reminder more than ever, even if nothing had changed otherwise.

The brunette let out a quiet, irritated sigh, eyes still staring distantly. She wanted to pin down the frustration that had been growing for days so that she could explain it to you. And, maybe, see if you felt the same way. Or if she was being truly ridiculous for a woman her age.

“I don’t just want the kiss,” She started, barely audible and slightly embarrassed at herself. “I want to feel close to you again. I hate not being able to.” 

You leaned closer with no hesitation. Head resting on her shoulder and hand taking hers to intertwine your fingers, then resting them in your lap. You let her feel the warmth of you next to her, silently comforting.

“I know. I get it. We are close, Ale, we are. Still us. And it’ll be back to normal so soon.” You said, turning to kiss her shoulder lightly. 

You glanced at her and saw the faintest smile, enough for you to see it, and felt the tension in her body loosen a little. Her eyes drifted closed momentarily, and you saw the second where she let the acknowledgement and reassurance soothe that ache she felt. She made a home for the hope again, letting it take root once more, and reminding herself that this right there was closeness. Understanding each other and taking on the hard task of warding off a cold sore was closeness.

The final sentence from you, ‘it’ll be back to normal soon’, got her through the day. She kept distracted. Looked at you at various points throughout and felt peace settle within her each time. Barely let you out of her hold if she could help it. Stared at your lips like her life depended on it, glared at the cold sore in warning. 

Day twelve came. And with it, the cold sore finally fucking left.

Alexia woke first. Like her body and mind knew.

She was slow to come to her senses. Shifted onto her back and rubbed her eyes awake, not bothering to look at the time considering the amount of light coming through the curtains. Slowly started to piece together that her world felt different. 

Glanced over to where you slept beside her, on your side, face half eaten by the pillow. That still left the other half, however– the half that was missing the red beacon that’d plagued her life for almost two. weeks.

Her eyebrows shot up, and her eyes widened unhurriedly since they were still heavy-lidded with sleep. But suddenly, she couldn’t care about sleep or anything to do with it. You needed to wake up, and you needed to wake up now.

One hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you gently. Her wide eyes, which nearly popped out of her head, could have been strong enough to bring you back to consciousness.

“Amor! Fuck, wake up.” She grunted, grimacing as you whined quietly and buried your face further in the pillow to get away from her incessantness. She realised that probably wasn’t a graceful way to wake you. “Sorry. But also, get up. Please. It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” You croaked, rolling onto your back and sighing. She could have screamed.

“The cold sore! Amor,” She whined at your dopiness, more impatient than ever as she moved to hover above you in hopes of speeding up the process. 

You wiggled your hand free from under her and touched your lip with your fingertips, and there it was. Or, wasn’t. Smooth, healed skin. Not even the faintest trace left. Though she already knew it was gone, she gasped in reaction to you confirming it was indeed healed when you nodded. It made you laugh, though your throat was still hoarse and raspy.

“You’re really giddy right now, it’s weird.”

She ignored the teasing entirely, not a care in the world for it. She draped more of her weight over you, chest against yours, hair falling forward to curtain the two of you. Her eyes were bright, brighter than they’d been in about twelve days.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? How insane you have made me?” Alexia whispered, dramatic yet serious at the same time. You knew exactly how long and how insane, because you felt the same. 

You smiled up at her, indulging both her and you, hand stroking up and down her back as she leaned above you like she might combust if she didn’t act on the need consuming her. 

“It’s first thing in the morning. My breath will be horrible.” You dragged the moment on, expecting to receive some kick-back in response. 

When you didn’t get that, you were shocked for a second. Until you soon realised it was because she knew she was going to get exactly what she wanted now, whether you liked it or not. And that made your heart rate pick up just a bit.

“Don’t care. Really don’t care.” She hummed, inching closer, nose brushing against yours. 

Even if you wanted it as much as she did, you didn’t want to rush the moment. Didn’t want to forget it, exactly, either.

So, you lifted your hand again, and it found its place against her jaw. Her skin was still warm from sleep, and slightly flushed with anticipation. Her pupils were already so blown they nearly eclipsed the hazel of her irises where she gazed down at you. You found yourself smoothing your thumb over her lips, feeling them and their softness, slightest of shivers down your spine and hers at the contact. You lingered on her lower lip and tugged gently, you staring at her mouth and her gazing at your eyes. 

“I missed it too.” You commented lowly, saying what was on her mind and finally looking back up at her again. 

She soaked up the moment briefly, smile lazy and crooked, reserved only for you, always for you. Then she dipped down a little closer, forehead against yours.

“I will kiss you now, okay?” She said, nodding for you, because she gave you no time to respond.

The words were barely out before her lips were on yours, but the relief was dizzying. She pressed her mouth to yours with an air of astonishment, tentative and careful like she was easing you both back into it, and couldn’t quite believe it was happening again. You held it like that for a few seconds, until you leaned up into it more. Everything within her broke loose then.

She pressed harder, her head tilting as her mouth slanted over yours with a desperation that made your breath hitch. Carefully, she lay all her weight on you then, because she needed to hold you. Needed to feel you. One hand anchored itself on your waist whilst the other pushed beneath your pillow to cradle your head.

Wasn’t long before she pulled the first soft sound from you, and it ruined her completely. She groaned in response, lips parting against yours as she kissed you deeper, fuller, trying to make up for all twelve lost days in one go. She was relentless in the way she chased your mouth each time you leaned back for air, peppering quick kisses along your upper lip, then your lower, before diving back into the centre of it all with a hum.

It was clumsy and lackluster, but it was what you’d missed and what neither of you could go without again. You laughed, then she followed, lips still locked after her nose bumped into yours and when she nipped too hard at your lip. There wasn’t a single pause, just the two of you huffing and rediscovering the intimacy and closeness you’d craved for too long. 

Though, the kiss turned slower again, just like it had started off as your thumb grazed her jaw to keep her grounded (and remind her to breathe), lips still moulding perfectly together despite the smiles that tried to break it. Alexia’s chest was heaving with breathlessness, but she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to let go.

“Missed this–” She mumbled into your mouth between kisses. “Missed you–twelve days, amor– nunca más.” 

Then the morning alarm blared. 

Disrupting the moment so cruelly.

You broke the kiss, finally, who knows how long later, to get her to turn it off.

“Off, Ale–” You started, only for her mouth to seek yours almost immediately. You giggled into her lips, and pushed her back by her shoulder. “Turn the alarm off, Alexia. Now.” 

The sight of your swollen lips, the warmth of your breath mixing with hers, your fingers tugging gently at the baby hairs at the nape of her neck– she had missed every single second of it, and she wanted to devour the familiarity, you. Needed it, needed you, like oxygen. 

“Alexia!” 

She blinked, snapped out of her thoughts when you pinched her arm, and scrambled to turn the screeching noise off. Her hand snapped at her phone aimlessly, eyes still caught up on the sight of your pink lips that glistened ever so slightly in the early morning light.

As soon as the sound stopped, she kissed you again. And did so for the next ten minutes, with wandering hands, clothes being tugged, losing an item or two and setting the sheets askew around the bed.

Until the alarm went off again.

“Fuck!” She shouted, grabbing the noisy device and going to power the whole thing off before she realised what it was actually for. “Training. Oh, joder.” 

“You’re kidding.” You said breathlessly, hand paused just under the waistband of her shorts. 

You didn’t get the chance to remove it yourself, because she rolled off of you and sat on the edge of the bed, hands planted on the mattress. You saw her knuckles turn white as she gripped the sheets, shoulders moving up and down with deep breaths as she tried to contain herself. 

“Fuck my life!” She shouted once more, smacking her palm hard against the mattress before dragging herself to stand up and get ready for training that began in a mere half hour. The drive was fifteen.

The brunette turned to look at you, herself shirtless, and you too. Teasing her by letting the sheets sit just too low on your torso. Both your lips still shining, still pink, still kiss-bruised.

“Twelve days, Alexia.” You started, stretching for good measure as you spoke. “And this is how you use your freedom?” 

Her fists clenched at her sides. She glared at you with a look that promised retribution. Eyes wide, pupils just as so. No reply came from her, because she knew if she opened her mouth to retort back, she’d end up in bed with you and not leave for the day. Even if every ounce of her wanted to do nothing more. The captain’s armband was a blessing and a burden.

Instead, she turned and headed into the ensuite. Let the door slam shut behind her to block out the sound of your teasing laughter.

[alexiaput3llas]

She just looks so much younger with brunette hair

[alexiaput3llas]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Glow

The hum of the dishwasher was the only sound in the apartment besides the quiet patter of rain against the windows. Seattle felt extra soft tonight, the city lights beamed through the droplets on the glass.

Nika leaned against the kitchen doorway, a towel draped over her shoulder, her hair still damp from her post practice shower. She was supposed to be putting away dishes. Instead she found herself frozen, watching you in the living room.

You were curled up on the couch in one of Nika’s old Storm hoodies, your legs tucked to the side, your hand resting absentmindedly on the gentle swell of your belly. The other hand was busy holding a plastic dinosaur while your two year old daughter sat cross legged in front of you on the rug, making very serious sound effects that were… questionably dinosaur like.

Nika’s chest tightened, and not in the way she used to feel before a big game. This was different…heavier and warmer, like her heart was trying to memorize everything at once.

You glanced up, catching her staring, and your face instantly softened in that way she hated you knew you could get out of her so easily.

“What?” you asked, a small smile playing at your lips.

She shook her head slowly. “Nothin’. Just… you.” Her voice was low, like speaking any louder might wake her from this dream.

You laughed, leaning back against the cushions, that pregnancy glow radiating off you even under the dim lamplight. “You’re staring again.”

“I know” she admitted shamelessly, walking over and sinking down on the couch beside you. Her arm went around your shoulders automatically, her other hand finding its place over yours on your stomach. She felt the faintest kick against her palm and let out a breath that was laugh and disbelief.

“This is crazy,” she murmured. “Two years ago, I was running around trying to figure out my rookie season. Now…” Her eyes flicked between you, your daughter babbling about the dinosaur’s “big stompy feet,” and your growing belly. “Now I got… this. My whole world in one room.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder, your smile soft. “You sound like you still can’t believe it.”

“I can’t,” she said honestly. “I mean… you look like you were made for this. For her. For us. And me? I’m just lucky you let me stick around.”

You tilted your face toward hers, catching that hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “You’re not ‘sticking around” Nika. You’re the reason this works. The reason we work.”

Her throat felt tight. She pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there a second longer than necessary, breathing you in. The faint smell of your shampoo, the way your hair brushed her cheek, the quiet thump of little feet on the rug…she wanted to bottle it all.

Your daughter toddled over then, holding up the dinosaur. “Mama, RAWR!”

Nika grinned, taking it from her and making an exaggerated growl that made the little girl squeal with laughter. You watched them, your hand still resting on your belly, and felt it again…that unshakable truth that this was home.

Nika glanced back at you mid growl, her eyes catching the light, her expression still caught between awe and joy. And in that moment, you knew…she’d never stop looking at you like that.

[alexiaput3llas]

I’m sorry but the fact that she was so proud of her kick and no one says anything 😭😭😭 don’t hurt my baby like that

She even looks around smiling 🥲

[alexiaput3llas]

Todo por la criatura

[alexiaput3llas]

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.”

[alexiaput3llas]

meeting the family

other parts can be found here :)

It’s a little explicit at the start but the rest is not.

The one and only time you had met Alexia’s mami Eli was at a charity event. It was a quick and simple chat, nothing in depth but enough for you to know she loved her daughters. 

You were supposed to be meeting Alexia’s family officially at her mamis house after her game. Your two kids were off having a sleepover with your papi, leaving the two of you alone for two nights. 

Alexia always had a routine before a game. She’d wake up, do some light stretching, have a coffee and usually a nap. But with you laying naked, your boobs fully on display, she let her routine be damned. 

Slowly, she dragged her fingers up and down your stomach, watching the goosebumps appear. She wanted so badly to just latch onto one of your boobs, but she always wanted to take her time. 

Alexia’s hand continued to trace, moving up and down your stomach, to your jaw then back down to your thighs. It felt nice, a light tickle. And as your slowly woke up and opened your eyes all you saw was an angel. 

The morning sun painted Alexia in a golden light. Her darkening hair flowed freely and her face bare of any make up. You liked her like this, free and happy. 

“Bon día mi amor” her voice was husky, laced with tiredness and admiration. 

“You’re awake early.” You mumbled as you turned towards her, the sheet falling down further. You awoke as Alexia’s eyes trailed further down your body. 

The night prior you had barely made it to the bed. It has been a few weeks since you had uninterrupted adult time with Alexia so as soon as her apartment down closed, you pounced. 

“I woke to the best view. Couldn’t go back to sleep after that.” Her hand came to rest on your cheek and you couldn’t help but move to kiss it. 

It moved slowly at first, hands gripping each other, alexia’s leg slotted between yours. But then it got messy. You both came like that, legs mixed, soft and loving but you wanted more. 

“I want to ride you.” You breathed out, coming down from you high. If you weren’t so horny and desperate, you would’ve laughed at how fast alexia moved. 

It didn’t take long for you to sink down onto the strap. This was your favourite position, alexia looked at you with nothing but love and admiration and it turned you on even more. 

Alexia hands moved from your waist, one to you boob to squeeze and the other to your clit. You were so close, chanting her name as if it was the only thing you knew how to say. Just as you were about to cum, the bedroom door slammed open. 

“Alexia, I’ve been calling your name- OH MY GOD” it was her mother. The mother you were yet to meet officially. 

You tried to move quickly, but as the same time alexia shoved you and you ended up on the ground with a loud thud. 

“Mami!” 

“Déu meu. Ho sento molt.” Eli turned and left. 

“For fuck sake.” Alexia mumbled, working to pull the strap off and try and regain some composure. “Are you okay?” 

“No.” You groaned into the floor. “Your mother, the person you love the most in this world, just saw me riding you like a dirty whore. Do you really think I’d be ok after that?” 

Alexia helped you get up and redressed. As you walked out together into the loungeroom, she shielded you from her mami. 

“Mami, what are you doing here?” 

“I came to ask if this girl you were bringing tonight had an allergies. So do you?” The last part was directed at you. 

“No mami she doesn’t. You could’ve texted me.” 

“I did. And I rang. You didn’t answer so I was worried. Then you didn’t answer the door so I let myself in.” She rolled her eyes at Alexia, making her way towards your slightly hidden body, “I am Eli. Alexia has said so much about you so I’m glad to meet you!” She smiled, it was a proper welcoming smile. 

“I’m so sorry. I promise I’m not a whore.” You slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as you said it and alexia just groaned loudly. 

“Oh Querida, I didn’t think that for a second. Sex is normal, completely natural. How else do you think Alexia and Alba were born? You know, me and their papi-“

“Enough! For the love of god, enough. Mami, you got your answer and I have a game to get ready for so please.” 

“I will see you both tonight.” With that Eli was gone. The embarrassment and shame never left either of you though. 

“Next time, we are sleeping at mine.” 

“Agreed.” 

By the time you made it to Alexia’s mamis house, she had seemingly forgotten what had taken place this morning. You hadn’t though. It was still very clear in your mind. The look of horror on Eli’s face, the embarrassment on Alexia’s. 

Everyone greeted you both warmly, her Tio immediately talking about the game she just played and how the team was playing well. 

Then Alexia’s little sister Alba came over. 

“Hi, you must be the cowgirl I’ve heard so much about.” You knew exactly what she was talking about straight away and your face flushed red. 

“Huh? She isn’t a cowgirl?” Alexia was confused. 

“Oh that’s weird? I could’ve sworn mami she said was riding something this morning.” The pin dropped for Alexia right at the moment. 

“Alba I swear to god.” Alexia gritted through her teeth, the hand that was wrapped in yours squeezing tightly. 

“Im joking!” She threw her hands up in defence, “I swear I know a lot about you besides your bedroom activities.” Eli walked past right at that moment, clipping Alba in the back of the head. 

“Enough Alba. The poor girl is nervous enough. It is good to see you again querida. I hope you’re hungry.” 

All you could do was nod nervously. 

The night moved on and thankfully there was no more jokes or comments about the earlier event. The food was fantastic, and alexia’s family all made you feel welcome. They asked you questions, wanted to see photos of your kids and actually made you feel like you belonged. Your earlier anxiety had completely disappeared. 

It was almost midnight by the time you made it back into Alexia’s car. You were beyond tired but so happy you were finally able to meet them. You watched Alexia and her mami from the passenger seat. When Alexia looked over at you with the biggest love sick smile she could manage, you knew they were talking about you. 

You were at least half way through the drive before alexia spoke, “Did you have fun?” 

“I did. Your family are lovely. They really care about you.” 

“My mami liked you. A lot.” She looked over at you, with the stupid love sick smile you loved so much, “and she promised not to bring up what she saw again.” 

—————————————————————————

You had imagined the way this would go, Alexia meeting your kids officially. They knew her, they liked her, but you were still nervous. 

The night before Oscar casually asked you while you were getting him ready for bed, “mama is ale your girlfred?” His speech was coming along but there were still some words that he didn’t quite pronounce correctly. 

You were caught off guard, “yeah she is my girlfriend. Is that okay with you?” 

“Yeah! I like ale but mummy says no.” 

“What do you mean babe?” 

“Mummy says that ale isn’t allowed to be your girlfred. Only mummy.” 

The thought of Leah having conversations like this with your kids never crossed your mind. It was funny, in an evil way, Leah was allowed to ruin your family, break your heart into a million pieces and move on with her affair partner but you weren’t. 

“Your mummy has a girlfriend yes?” He nodded, “well it’s just like that. Mummy had a girlfriend and mama has a girlfriend. Just because we have different girlfriends doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.” 

Oscar got an incredibly serious look on his face before saying “will you still love me when I have a girlfred?” 

You laughed as you tucked him into bed, “I will still love you. I’ll never stop mi amor.” You kissed his forehead and watched as his eyes closed. 

As your kids got older and they had access to the internet, you knew the types of conversations you would have to have. Leah wouldn’t make it easy, but you needed to reminded yourself and them, that you can love someone and still deserve better. 

Oscar had no problem running straight over to Alexia the next morning in the park. She had come prepared: coffees for the both of you, a bag of snacks and most importantly a football. 

Amelia’s love could be bought through food, Oscar’s could be bought through playing with him. By the time Amelia’s nap rolled around, Alexia has worn Oscar and herself out. 

The walk back home was quick, Oscar was so excited that Alexia would see his ‘new room’, completely forgetting it had only been a few months since she had since it last. 

Alexia wouldn’t dare to disappoint him so she let him drag her all through the house. Showing his room, Amelia’s room, your room and the spare room. Reminding her the dogs names and that she had to be careful on the grass because of the dog poop. 

The sight you walked into after finally settling Amelia down, simultaneously broke your heart and put it back together. Alexia, the 5’8 professional footballer was fast asleep with your three year old son on her chest. 

Whatever worries you had about Alexia and your kids were gone. You knew from that moment that she would put them first, she would love them and care for them just as you did. Sure, it would be rocky and sometimes Alexia would feel a bit out of place, but you would both find your way. 

—————————————————————————

The next phase you meeting the family, was for Alexia to meet yours. Expect you didn’t consider people family in the tradition sense. 

Marisol and her husband and kids were your family, Miriam and her boyfriend, your papi and kids were of course your family. Your papi didn’t have any siblings, his parents were dead. It was the same with your mami. 

Wednesday dinners were a usual thing at your house. It was always chaos but it bought everyone together. This time, Alexia would be joining. 

When the doorbell went off, Oscar was the first to look at the intercom system, “ale is here! Ale!” He yelled out. 

Oscar ran off to get his new Barça jersey so he could be matching her on game days. Alexia was standing there, flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

You ushered her inside with a quick kiss before Oscar reappeared with both dogs behind him. 

“Look!” He shoved it in her face as she knelt down, “we will match all the time!” 

“Wow Oscar! You will be the coolest 3 year old in the stadium!” 

“Three and tree quarters thank you.” He said seriously. You couldn’t help but laugh at him. The voices of Miriam and Marisol floated down the hallway and it reminded Oscar that he needed to introduce his new favourite person. “Come meet everyone they here for you!” 

Alexia handed you the flowers and the bottle of wine before allowing herself to get dragged through the house. The first most important introductions (if you asked Oscar) was the dogs. Bean and Sally. Bean was a big Rottweiler, and sally was a disabled Rottweiler. They were a bonded pair and the best of friends. 

With every introduction, Oscar included a fun fact about them. Miriam didn’t know dinosaurs but she was learning, Luke her boyfriend was British, that’s all he got, your papi was called a marshmallow because he had hard arms and a soft belly. Something that made everyone laugh. 

After a few minutes Alexia joined you in the kitchen. The goofy smile plastered on her face, “Oscar likes you.” You said as you reached for her hand. 

“I like him. He’s a cool kid.” 

“Everyone in this room is my family. I know it’s untraditional but they are. You wanted to meet them so here we are.” 

“Oscar introduced me to Miriam as if we haven’t been best friends for 15 years.” You laughed at her. 

Laughter filled the house for the rest of the night. Half way through, Amelia forced herself onto Alexia’s lap and never left. Oscar made her build LEGOs and they discovered another mutual friend; Matteo, Irene and Lucinda’s son. 

As usual, it was divide and conquer, you put the kids to bed and everyone else helped tidy up. You didn’t have any qualms about leaving alexia downstairs with your family, they were the least intimidating people you knew but as you said your goodbyes to Alexia at the door she made a revelation. 

“Miriam and your papi corned me.” You raised an eyebrow, “told me that if I hurt you, hurt the kids, they would hurt me. Miriam has never been so serious and your papi is kind of scary.” 

“I don’t think they have anything to worry about. Especially after tonight.” 

After kissing you goodnight, alexia left you standing in the doorway with the love sick smile she usually wore. 

You hoped she was in it just as much as you were. 

[alexiaput3llas]

AQUAMARINE (7)

CHAPTER SEVEN: A Repeated Cycle

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary: When your fake girlfriend asks someone else to the Rave’n, your uneasy truce starts to fracture. Between courtly pressure and whispered gossip, you’re left wondering what will break first - the arrangement, or you.

word count: 5.9k

author’s note: can’t wait to tell my grandkids all abt the wenclair lore in 2088

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

——————

Wednesday Addams was never - and would probably never - be good at feelings.

Emotions, to her, were just another kind of trap. Invisible, sticky, and far more insidious than any of the bear claws she'd studied in wilderness survival or the time she hibernated with a few when she was twelve. They slowed the mind, dulled the edge, turned even the most rational person into something trembling and unrecognizable. Which is why she had no interest in learning how to handle them - not yours, and certainly not her own.

The silence between you had calcified into something with shape and weight after the joint-vision at the old meeting house. At first, it was simply the product of busyness - her vanishing for days under the excuse of leads she "couldn't afford to let go cold," you retreating into your balcony calls and hours spent listening to oceanic council members bicker about diplomacy, territory rights, and whispers of war.

Then came the Rave'n preparations. Being the academy's official royalty meant Principal Weems had roped you into chairing the entire set-up committee. It was more than just selecting flowers and tablecloths - you were mediating budget disputes between the treasurer and the decorating team, settling quarrels over the DJ’s setlist, approving mock-ups for invitations, and signing off on the custom ice sculpture delivery. Every free moment not swallowed by your oceanic duties was consumed by making sure the school's most anticipated event didn't collapse into chaos.

Meals together became rare. Evenings in the library were abandoned entirely. The most you'd offer each other now was a brief nod in the hallway or a neutral glance in the quad, each pretending you didn't notice the other lingering just a second too long before looking away. She told herself it was strategy - you told yourself it was survival.

Enid noticed, of course. She always noticed. Wednesday was pulling her boots on one evening, the dorm quiet except for the distant hum of laughter from the common room, when Enid - lounging on her bed with a magazine - said it.

"You know," she began casually, "when couples stop talking, it usually means they're about to break up."

Wednesday froze for half a second before resuming the slow lacing of her boots. "Couples also stop talking before committing homicide, Sinclair. Your point?"

"My point is," Enid said, leaning forward, "you've been ignoring her for days. She's been ignoring you and if you don't want that to mean something, maybe stop acting like it does."

The words followed Wednesday out the door, heavy and irritating in a way she couldn't quite shake. By the time she made it to her typewriter that night, the logic had already begun to calcify in her mind. If the two of you weren't speaking, if this was the slow erosion of whatever fragile alliance you'd built, then she would adapt. She would pivot. She would prioritize the investigation.

Which was exactly how, the following afternoon, she found herself standing in a small art shack, begrudgingly asking Xavier Thorpe if he would accompany her to the Rave'n. Not for romance, not for spectacle - purely because his proximity to her suspect list made him useful.

It was during the chaos of the third set-up meeting that you noticed it - low, slippery murmurs following you like a tide you couldn't see, just hear.

You were crouched by the far wall, marking where the table skirts would hang, when two freshmen from the decorations team drifted past with armfuls of streamers. "Apparently she just walked right up to him..." one whispered.

"...poor Y/N - do you think they're still together?" the other hissed back.

You kept your eyes on the tape in your hand, pretending you hadn't heard, but their voices tangled with others in the gym. Little fragments caught on the air - Wednesday... Xavier... Rave'n date - and no matter where you moved, they followed.

By the time Yoko strode over from the snack table committee, you'd already pieced together enough to know you weren't going to like what she said.

"So... apparently your girlfriend asked Xavier to the Rave'n," she murmured, crouching beside you like she was delivering a diagnosis. "No explanation. Just straight-up asked him. Everyone's talking about it - the sound crew, the DJ, even Bianca."

Your grip on the tape roll tightened, the plastic edge biting into your palm. "...When?"

"This morning outside somewhere," Yoko said, watching your face. "Guess she didn't think it was worth telling you herself. Xavier certainly can’t shut up about it."

The comment landed heavier than you wanted it to, but you pushed the feeling down. Around you, the committee buzzed on - paper snowflakes being strung, extension cords being dragged, someone shouting about a missing box of candles. You had work to do, a job to finish, and an event plan to execute.

Still, every time another pair of students passed, their voices seemed to dip, eyes flicking toward you like they'd been waiting to see the look on your face. And you couldn't shake the thought that whatever her reason was - if there even was one - she'd chosen to keep it to herself.

By the time you got to Ophelia Hall, the Rave'n committee clipboard still clutched in your hand like some kind of warped shield, your pulse had climbed into your throat. You didn't even remember crossing the quad, just the blur of students still whispering, their faces all blurring into that same quick, pitying glance you'd been collecting all day.

You didn't knock.

Wednesday was at her desk when you came in, posture perfect, typewriter in front of her, the clacking of keys slicing the air in steady bursts. She didn't look up.

"I'm assuming this is about your clipboard, not an emotional breakdown," she said, without stopping her typing. You always believed she had eyes in the back of her head somehow, underneath the tight braids and brushed hair.

"How dare you," you said. It came out sharper than you expected - closer to a blade than a voice.

She paused only long enough to finish the sentence she was on, then pulled the page free from the typewriter. "How dare I what?"

"Ask Xavier to the Rave'n." You shut the door behind you, harder than necessary. "You couldn't even tell me yourself? You just let me find out because the entire school decided it would be fun gossip?"

Finally, she turned to face you, her expression infuriatingly unreadable. "Our arrangement was mutually beneficial, but lately it has been... skewed. Toward you."

"Skewed?" You let out a humorless laugh. "I'm sorry, is playing your fake girlfriend while I juggle actual oceanic council calls and running the Rave'n committee - because of my status - somehow a luxury vacation in your eyes?"

"You've gained social insulation," she said flatly, like she was presenting a piece of evidence in court. "And credibility with certain students who might otherwise treat you as a novelty. Your father has left you relatively alone. I, on the other hand, have gained very little in the past few weeks beyond the occasional ability to enter staff-only areas under the guise of your royal privilege."

"God, listen to yourself." You shook your head. "I'm sorry I can't harness my full abilities on command for your investigation, Wednesday. I'm sorry I'm not a convenient little supernatural bloodhound you can keep on a leash until you need me. I've been trying to keep this school from collapsing into Rave'n chaos and deal with political tensions under the fucking sea - but guess what? That doesn't pause just because you've decided I'm not useful enough."

Her gaze didn't waver, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "My work requires precision. Focus. And as of late, you have been... distracted."

"And whose fault is that?" Your voice cracked - not from weakness, but from the sheer effort of keeping it from shattering entirely. "You pull away without a word, you get me involved in your… visions. You bury yourself in your typewriter, in your suspects, in anything but this - us. And then you have the nerve to act like I've somehow taken advantage of you."

"You agreed to this knowing what I am," she said, standing now, her voice cool but carrying that undercurrent of something you couldn't name - something sharp and fraying at the same time. "I am not sentimental. I do not indulge in dramatics."

You stepped closer, holding her gaze. "I don't care if we're a mess in this school," you said, every word deliberate, steady, "but when Parent Weekend comes... we are a happy, loving couple. No cracks. No cold shoulders. No one gets to see this fall apart but us."

Her silence was worse than anything she could have said. She didn't break eye contact, didn't move - just let the weight of your words settle like ink bleeding into paper.

You turned for the door before you could say anything else. This time, she let you go. Again.

But you could still feel her eyes on your back the whole way down the hall.

———————

The moment you shut the door behind you, the façade cracked. You tossed the Rave'n clipboard onto your desk with enough force to send a pencil rolling off the edge, then kicked your shoes off so hard one landed halfway under the dresser.

Moro lifted his head from his nest of blankets by the window, sea-glass eyes blinking slow and lazy before narrowing, like he could smell your bad mood. His tail flicked once against the floorboards.

"Don't start with me," you muttered, dropping into your chair.

He made a low, questioning trill in his throat - the sound he used when you came back from council calls in a mood.

"She asked him to the Rave'n," you told him, rubbing both hands over your face. "Didn't tell me. Didn't even think I should hear it from her. Just—”You gestured vaguely toward the air, as if Wednesday might step out of it, typewriter and all. "—let the entire school have a free buffet of gossip at my expense."

Moro huffed, stretching his neck toward you, nostrils flaring like he wanted to catch the scent of whoever you were mad at.

"She's making it sound like this whole thing only benefits me," you went on, voice sharper now. "Like I'm leeching off her when I'm the one bending over backwards to keep up appearances while juggling my actual duties. I give her access to whatever she wants. Last week, she wanted the Master-Key to the police station - and I got it for her! And for what? So she can go play detective with her shiny new date? Xavier of all people!”

You turned toward your desk - and froze. Sitting neatly in the center were three glossy photographs you hadn't seen before, stacked like a gift you never asked for.

"What the hell..." you murmured, picking them up.

Each one was a portrait: three unfamiliar men, well-dressed, all roughly your age. The backs had names, ages, and brief descriptions - handwritten in your father's precise, royal script.

"'Strong swimmer, fluent in Waves.'" You read one aloud in disbelief. "'Comes from a good tide-worshipping family.'"

Moro's tail thumped once - hard - against the floor, like even he didn't approve.

"These are potential husbands," you told him flatly, tossing the stack onto the desk like they might burn you. "He's been circling the subject for months, but now he's sending... headshots? Like I'm supposed to pick one out before midterms?"

Moro slithered closer, putting his chin on your knee. The weight of him was grounding, but it didn't stop the tight coil in your chest. "If I ignore it long enough, he'll get bored. Or distracted. Or… something.”

Moro let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through your leg. You reached down, scratching the scales behind his ear fins. "Yeah," you said quietly. "I'm already taken anyway."

You didn't say by who.

But you didn't have to.

———————

Wednesday sat at her desk, ink still drying on the latest page of her case notes, when Thing climbed up beside the typewriter. He didn't bother with subtlety - just landed with a solid thump and pointed toward the door you'd stormed out of not twenty minutes ago.

"I assume you've come to dispense some sort of moral wisdom," Wednesday said, not looking up from her notes.

Thing tapped quickly - You're pulling away from her.

"I am focusing on my work," Wednesday corrected, adjusting the paper in the typewriter. "She has her duties, I have mine. It's efficient."

Thing made a disbelieving wave, followed by a jab toward her chest - Not efficient. Cowardly.

Her fingers stilled over the keys. "If this is another attempt to get me to acknowledge... feelings," she said the word like it was a medical diagnosis, "then you're wasting both our time. I am not pulling away. I am creating distance to preserve focus."

Thing signed a sharp, impatient flurry: She's under pressure. Family. Duties. Father.

That finally made her glance at him. "I am aware of her father's expectations," she said, the edge in her voice making it clear she was more than aware. "But I fail to see how my proximity would alleviate that burden. If anything, my presence tends to exacerbate tension."

Thing jabbed at the desk for emphasis: Exactly why she needs you.

Wednesday's jaw tightened. The idea of being needed made something coil unpleasantly in her chest, something she didn't have the vocabulary for and didn't want to acquire. "I am not the comforting type," she said flatly.

Thing leaned in, his fingers curling slowly - You don't have to be comforting. You just have to be there.

That sat between them for a long moment, the soft tick of the typewriter carriage the only sound. When Wednesday finally spoke, it was quieter. "She knows where to find me."

Thing tapped once - For now. - and then scuttled off the desk, leaving her with her case notes and the creeping suspicion that, for once, he was right.

Wednesday believed her visions were messy, unreliable, and intrusive. A storm breaking into the mind without knocking first, leaving everything soaked in images that weren't hers. They were a reminder that, despite all her control, there were parts of her existence that could be breached.

But that day in the old meeting house had been... different.

The moment your hand touched hers, the vision had swallowed you both. She'd seen Joseph Crackstone, the acrid scent of smoke and burning wood thick in her lungs, the weight of centuries-old hatred pressing down like a suffocating tide. She'd felt your heartbeat spike beside her, too fast, too loud, almost drowning out the echo of her own.

She'd also felt something she hadn't prepared for.

Most people, when swept into a vision with her, tried to yank away - instinctively retreating from whatever horror had pulled them under. But you didn't. Your fingers had curled tighter around hers, nails biting into her palm, and you'd met the flood head-on. Even as your breath stuttered, you stayed anchored to her.

And in that collapsing moment - smoke, fire, screaming - she realized she was anchoring herself to you, too.

She hadn't told you, of course. She doubted she ever would. But the aftermath of that vision lingered, as much in her as it did in you. She remembered the way your eyes had darted around the empty meeting house after it was over, like you were checking for threats only she could see. She remembered the faint tremor in your hand before you dropped it from hers.

And she remembered - most irritatingly - that she had wanted to reach for you again. Not for information, not for the investigation, but simply to confirm that you were still there.

That you hadn't drifted away. And yet, here the two of you were. Ignoring one another and pushing each other away for the sake of your what? Dignity?

It was the kind of impulse she had spent her entire life excising from herself. The kind of impulse that now made it impossible to pretend your absence didn't leave a space she could feel.

Wednesday turned back to her typewriter, the blank page glaring up at her. Words should have come easily - there was still so much evidence to catalogue, leads to cross-reference, more chapters of Viper’s story to create - but instead, her mind kept circling back to you in that meeting house. The way you'd stood beside her, the way the vision had forced you both to see what the other saw.

Thing's words from earlier pricked at the edge of her thoughts. You don't have to be comforting. You just have to be there.

She hated how they lingered.

Because the truth was, you had been there - for her - long before the arrangement, long before Rave'n committees and whispered gossip in the quad. You had been there in the visions, in the woods, in the silences that most people found suffocating but you seemed to breathe just fine. You were in the chapters of her novel as Viper’s secret admirer - the girl who had eyes that killed with just a glance. And now, with the distance stretching wider between you, she could feel something she didn't want to name pressing in on her.

It wasn't guilt. She didn't do guilt.

It wasn't regret. She didn't waste time on hypotheticals.

It was something else entirely.

Wednesday adjusted the carriage on her typewriter and set her fingers on the keys. She told herself it was because she needed to make a note before she forgot it, because evidence had to be preserved. But what came out instead wasn't a line of case notes - it was your name.

She stared at it for a long moment before tearing the page out, crumpling it, and dropping it into the wastebasket.

She would talk to you. Soon.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she couldn't stop thinking about that meeting house - and the way your hand had fit in hers.

————————

The tailor's room in Jericho smelled faintly of lavender and old wood polish, the kind of scent that clung to the air no matter how many bolts of fresh fabric were brought in. Afternoon light slanted through tall, dust-flecked windows, spilling across rows of gowns in muted pastels and inky jewel tones. A few swayed gently on their hangers, shifting shadows against the far wall.

You stood in the center of it all, balanced on a low pedestal while the seamstress circled you like a shark. She had a mouth full of pins, a silver measuring tape draped like a sash across her shoulder, and a pair of sharp scissors glinting in one hand.

The dress was only half-complete, a constellation of chalk marks and loose stitches. Light silk clung to your frame in soft ripples, the hem still raw, brushing just above your ankles. The bodice fit close, boning pressing lightly against your ribs, and the neckline dipped in a way that made the seamstress hum to herself about "proper posture for a princess." You held still as she pinned another dart into place, even as the metal brushed a little too close to your skin.

On a nearby chair sat a pile of discarded swatches - deep ocean blues, white like an angels wings, a pale grey that caught the light like moonlit water. You'd chosen the light blue, of course. The shade your advisors always said photographed well for formal events, the one that nodded to your heritage without looking like you'd been draped in a flag.

The seamstress stepped back to assess her work, and for a moment you were left alone in the mirror's reflection - your face framed by the half-finished gown, hair falling loosely down your shoulders, expression somewhere between regal composure and exhaustion. You took a sip from your salt-water bottle while the seamstress yelled at you for moving.

The bell above the shop door jingled. You didn't look over - until a familiar, bright voice cut through the quiet hum of the sewing machine in the back.

"Y/N?”

You turned your head just as Enid Sinclair stepped inside, a paper shopping bag hooked over one arm, her curls catching the light like spun gold. She blinked when she saw you, her gaze flicking from your face to the dress and back again.

"Whoa," she breathed, stopping a few steps away. "Okay, you look... I mean, wow. That's your Rave'n dress?"

You smoothed a hand over the silk and the corset, the fabric cool under your fingertips. "It's not finished yet."

Enid laughed softly. "If this is unfinished, I'm terrified of what you're going to look like when it's done." She stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. "Wednesday's going to combust."

You kept your eyes on the mirror, adjusting the set of your shoulders. "She's going with Xavier."

That wiped the smile from Enid's face. "Yeah, I... heard." She hesitated, then offered a small shrug. "Doesn't mean she's not going to explode."

The seamstress returned, pin cushion in hand, and Enid stepped back, watching quietly as the woman added more pins to the skirt, lifting and draping until the fabric fell in smooth, deliberate lines. The room was quiet except for the hiss of the iron in the back and the occasional snip of thread.

When the seamstress finally stepped away again, Enid caught your gaze in the mirror. "Whatever's going on between you two, just... don't disappear on her, okay? You've got that whole mysterious princess thing down already. You don't need to add vanishing act to the list."

You didn't answer, just kept your eyes on the reflection - the silk, the pins, the unfinished seams - trying not to think about how much easier it was to stand perfectly still for a stranger with a handful of sharp objects than it was to stand in front of Wednesday Addams and ask her why she'd pulled away.

You'd been fitted for more gowns than you could count in your life, but the Rave'n dress still felt different - less like armor for a royal function, more like a costume you'd chosen for yourself. It wasn't meant for diplomatic photo ops or formal dinners where the wrong posture could spark rumors in court. It was for one night, one dance, in a place where - at least in theory - you got to decide who you were.

Growing up, choice was rare.

Your earliest memories were of marble halls that echoed when you ran through them, the sound bouncing off columns carved with sea creatures whose eyes seemed to follow you. The floors were always cold under your bare feet, even when the water was warm, and the light filtered down from the surface in fractured gold. It made everything look like it was already fading into memory, even as it happened.

Your father's voice carried in those halls, deep and measured, every word precise enough to cut. He didn't raise it - he didn't need to. Commands landed like anchors, immovable once spoken. For the good of the kingdom. Your duty comes before your comfort. You'll understand when you're older. His presence was a current you couldn't fight, even on the days you wanted to.

Your mother's voice had been different - softer, lilting, full of tide-pool stories and secret smiles. But she was gone before you could cling to more than fragments: the outline of her hair drifting like ink in the water, the scent of crushed coral on her hands, the sound of her laughter echoing off the reef.

After that, the ocean was both sanctuary and prison. You learned to swim before you could walk, to recite tide-law before you could write your own name. Your lessons were peppered with warnings about dangerous alliances, treacherous tides, and the sharp smiles of rival courts. You learned to listen more than you spoke, to observe before you acted.

The human world was dangled before you like a shimmering lure - something to approach for diplomacy, never to linger in, always to treat as foreign. That changed at fourteen, when the currents of your life shifted overnight. An accident - one your father never discussed in full - left you standing in front of him as he pronounced that you would be spending a year at Nevermore Academy. He framed it as a gesture of goodwill toward the surface. You understood it as an exile.

Still, you adapted. You always did. You learned the rhythms of Nevermore, the way students here divided themselves into cliques not unlike the courts back home. You survived the gawking, the whispers, the people who wanted to see the princess, not the person. You perfected the kind of composure that made it impossible for anyone to tell if you were a novelty or a threat.

And then there was Wednesday Addams.

She hadn't cared about the title, just the privileges. She hadn't cared about the stories. If anything, she'd seemed mildly irritated by the attention you got, which was a relief in itself. The arrangement - as fake as it was - was the first thing here that felt even remotely on your terms. Mutual benefit. A shared understanding. A tether in a place that constantly shifted under your feet.

Until it wasn't.

The walk back from the tailor was short, but your thoughts stretched it into miles.

The afternoon air was sharp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke, the kind that clung to your clothes and hair. Students passed in small clusters, carrying books or trailing laughter, and you wondered - not for the first time - what it would feel like to be one of them. Just another face in the crowd. No titles. No whispers. No arrangement.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, drifted back to the meeting house. To the way your hand had fit in Wednesday's during the shared vision, and how - afterward - she'd looked at you. Not quite wary, not quite curious. Just... assessing, as if she was cataloguing you the way she might a suspect.

You'd tried to shake it off, but the thought had lodged somewhere deep: maybe you'd been too much. Too much history. Too much baggage. Too much trouble for someone who thrived on precision and control. Wednesday didn't like mess, and you - no matter how carefully you folded yourself into clean lines and cool expressions - were nothing but mess beneath the surface.

Your family. Your duties. The quiet way you sometimes froze when people touched you unexpectedly. The calls that came at midnight, dragging you back into a world Wednesday could never fully understand. The suitors your father kept sending like clockwork, reminders that your life here was temporary, conditional.

Maybe she'd seen it all in that vision or a vision you weren’t there to witness. Maybe she'd decided, right then, that you were more liability than ally. And maybe asking Xavier to the Rave'n had nothing to do with investigation strategy and everything to do with quietly replacing you.

You told yourself it didn't matter. You told yourself it was just an arrangement. That everything in the past few weeks had been what it started as: fake. But the knot in your chest didn't loosen, and the memory of her hand on your back still burned like salt in an unhealed cut.

When the day of Rav’n came, your dorm looked like a shipwreck had washed ashore and decided to stay.

Bolts of fabric and half-emptied jewelry boxes cluttered the bed, your desk was a graveyard of open compacts and curling ribbons, and the faint scent of sea-salt perfume drifted through the air. Your roommate, Yoko, was busy at her girlfriend’s dorm doing whatever they did - you never asked. You sat in front of the mirror, shoulders squared but eyes unfocused, as Isla rummaged through a box of hairpins like she was preparing for battle.

"I swear," she said, her voice carrying the easy authority of someone who had dressed for more state events than she could count, "if you don't stop glaring at your own reflection, you're going to give yourself worry lines."

"I'm not glaring," you muttered, though your face in the mirror betrayed you. “And we don’t get worry lines.”

"Right," Isla drawled, stepping behind you to part your hair into clean, deliberate sections. "And the ocean's not wet." She worked with quick, practiced precision, her fingers warm against your scalp as she began to braid, tucking in strands with a gentleness you hadn't expected.

The dress hung from a hook on the wardrobe door - finished now, the silk light and gleaming, every seam smoothed to perfection. Even from here you could see the way it caught the lamplight, the blue shifting like the skin of deep water.

"You've been quiet all day," Isla said after a moment, her tone softening just enough to slip past your guard. "Which either means you're nervous, or you're overthinking something you can't change."

You almost said both, but bit it back.

She secured the braid with a silver clasp shaped like a cresting wave, then leaned down to meet your eyes in the mirror. "Whatever it is... just remember the Rave'n isn't for them. Not for your father, not for the council, not even for whoever's decided to test your patience this week." She hesitated - just a beat, but you caught it. "It's for you."

You glanced at the dress again, then at the small pile of accessories Isla had laid out - pearl-drop earrings, a delicate bracelet, the gold arm cuff you always wore for formal events back home. It all looked right. It all felt wrong.

When she moved to retrieve the dress, you stood automatically, letting her unzip the garment bag and hold the silk open for you. The fabric was cool against your skin as you stepped in, the skirt whispering around your ankles. Isla fastened the laces at your back tightly, smoothing the bodice into place before stepping away.

"There," she said, smiling faintly. "Now you look like the princess they all expect to see."

You swallowed. "And if I don't feel like her?"

Isla's smile tilted into something knowing. "Then tonight... you fake it until you do."

Her words followed you to the mirror, where your reflection stared back - poised, polished, perfect. You knew it was an illusion. You wondered if Wednesday would see through it instantly.

The night air had a bite to it, crisp enough to make the silk of your dress feel thinner than it had in the tailor's room or even your own dorm. Ophelia Hall's windows glowed faintly behind you, golden light spilling over the stone steps before fading into the deep shadows that pooled along the quad. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint thud of bass from the gym where the Rave'n committee was already testing the sound system.

You were halfway across the lawn when a small figure caught your eye, moving with quick, deliberate steps toward the tree line.

"Eugene?" you called, your voice low but carrying.

He froze mid-step, shoulders hunching like he'd been caught red-handed. Slowly, he turned, flashlight in one hand, the strap of a small, overstuffed messenger bag digging into his shoulder. His jacket, patterned with tiny embroidered bees, seemed almost too bright under the pale wash of moonlight.

"Oh - hey, Y/N." His smile was thin, nervous, the kind you gave when you were trying to play something off.

Your gaze dropped to the bag. "Please tell me you're not skipping the Rave'n for bee business."

"Not... exactly bee business," he said, adjusting the strap. "Just checking on something. In the, uh, woods.”

The woods.

Your stomach tightened at the word. "That's off-limits, Eugene."

"Yeah," he said, already shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting toward the shadows at the edge of the quad, "so's half the fun stuff around here."

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. "And you're going alone?"

"I won't be," he answered a little too quickly, glancing away. "I've got my smoke bombs, my bug spray, and if things go south, I'll just—uh—run really fast. Like... Olympic fast."

Despite yourself, you felt your mouth tug into the beginnings of a smile. "That's your plan? Speed and bug spray?"

He grinned back, sheepish. "It's worked before."

You studied him for a moment, tempted to press harder, to tell him that whatever he thought he might find in the woods, it wasn't worth the risk. But something in his expression - an eagerness that edged into stubbornness - reminded you too much of yourself when you'd decided to follow Wednesday into the woods for the first time.

You knew Eugene had a hard time finding things he enjoyed outside of bee-keeping. The hives were his world, and you’d always respected that, but it made you worry about him in the quiet ways you never said out loud. You’d always seen him as a little brother—someone you wanted to protect, even if he didn’t think he needed it. He had a way of talking about bees like they were old friends, but when the conversation shifted to anything else, he’d retreat behind that shy smile of his, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged. The thought of something happening to him - of that gentle smile disappearing - made something sharp twist in your chest.

You didn’t think you could stand the idea of the sweet boy you knew getting hurt.

"Good luck tonight, by the way," he added, his gaze flicking to your dress. "Seriously, you're gonna... knock 'em dead." He winced immediately. "Metaphorically, of course.”

"Right."

You let him go with a nod, watching as he turned back toward the trees. His flashlight cut a narrow path through the dark, the beam swaying with his steps until it disappeared completely into the shadows.

For a long moment, you stood there, the cold creeping into your skin, wondering if you should follow him. It would be easier, in some ways - easier to chase after trouble in the dark than to step into the Rave'n and face Wednesday Addams in front of the entire school.

But trouble had a way of finding you no matter where you went.

So you turned toward the gym, the bass growing louder with every step and let Eugene have fun doing whatever he set out to do. You remember him telling you he liked to watch the stars at night sometimes, it made him feel more comfortable in the Nevermore Academy environment.

The Rave'n had transformed the gym into something unrecognizable.

The walls were lost beneath layers of cascading silk - stormy greys, deep ocean blues - that caught the shifting spotlights like moving water. Glass orbs and mirrored shards turned lazily overhead, scattering constellations of fractured light across the crowd. Beneath it all, the bass thudded slow and steady through the floorboards, a pulse that synced with your heartbeat whether you wanted it to or not.

It was beautiful. It was exhausting.

You'd spent weeks in the middle of this chaos - approving decorations, mediating arguments over table placement, wrangling delivery schedules - and now, standing in the finished space, you should have felt some kind of pride. Instead, you felt strangely apart from it, like you were watching the Rave'n happen through glass.

All you wanted was a pat on the back.

The student body had dressed like they were auditioning for a scene in a music video. Sequins flashed like fish scales under strobe lights, white fabrics floated as couples moved past, and here and there you caught bolder choices - someone in a full white feathered raven mask, another in a suit lined with tiny LEDs that winked in the dark.

You navigated the room in slow, deliberate steps, the silk of your dress whispering around your ankles. People looked - of course they did - but their attention skimmed over you like the surface of the water, never lingering long enough to pierce the shell you'd built.

Enid passed you on the dance floor in a whirl of silver glitter, her laugh carrying over the music. Bianca stood posted at the edge of the room, arms crossed, gaze scanning the crowd with her signature brand of calculated disinterest while she waited for someone to hand her a cup of spiked punch. Yoko waved from the refreshment table, a cup in hand.

It was almost easy to pretend you were just another face in the crowd - until the music shifted, and the doors opened again.

She didn't arrive with Xavier.

Wednesday walked in wearing black so sharp it seemed to slice through the haze of the room, her hair perfectly braided up, her expression perfectly unreadable. But it wasn't the outfit that caught you off guard - it was the fact that she wasn't alone. Tyler Galpin stood beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, smiling in that easy, open way that made half the girls in Jericho lean closer without realizing it.

The sight hit harder than you wanted it to.

Instinctively, you glanced towards Bianca who was thanking Xavier for getting her a drink, her hand on his back like it was meant to be there.

Oh, yeah, you were sure this was hell.

There’s no way to spin this without it sounding absurd.

Xavier - the guy who purposely wrecked things between you and Bianca - likes your current fake girlfriend. He almost took her to the Rav’n, but that fell apart. Now he’s here, at the event you planned, but now with Bianca - the same ex who cheated on you with him.

And your fake girlfriend didn’t come with you. She’s here with the barista who’s openly obsessed with her instead - a normie who’s everything you secretly wish you could be: normal, simple, boring, and entirely human.

You needed a fucking drink.

But instead, you didn't move. Just watched as they stepped into the crowd, Wednesday's gaze sweeping the room in that calculating way she had, like she was taking inventory of potential suspects instead of attending a dance. Tyler said something to her, something casual, something that made his grin widen, but her reply was hidden behind the noise of the music.

It didn't matter. You knew it wasn't you she'd chosen to stand beside tonight.

Someone brushed past you, jolting you back into motion. You forced yourself to turn away from the door, to focus on the glittering orbs above and the cool weight of your bracelet against your arm, to remember Isla's words from earlier - It's for you.

But no matter where you moved, no matter who you passed, you could feel her somewhere behind you, that dark, magnetic presence cutting through the heat and the noise like a cold current.

And every time you glanced over your shoulder, she was still there, not standing beside you like planned but instead standing beside him.

[alexiaput3llas]

I started a wip alongside the Kika fic

It’s about Alexia manhandling Malcriada with those muscular arms of hers😮‍💨

[alexiaput3llas]

She really said “here, have a little something something after Barça decided to fuck us all up”

[alexiaput3llas]

alexia and olga are having a vacation off, there is no way the full moon thing alexia posted is just another coincidence. they both are kinda hilarious, lesbian breaks up are so special.

Lmfao I the last thing I was expecting Alexia to be was petty if I’m being honest, however my chismosa heart is having a great time with the lesbian drama. 😂

Honestly I am living for this Alexia, she’s been so quiet and behaved her whole life it’s nice to see her exhibiting signs of being slightly unhinged 🤪

[alexiaput3llas]

wdym alexia’s the only one left? they were supposed to lead after her

[alexiaput3llas]

I never got over this pic...the glasses...the belly...blonde hair...small purse...

[alexiaput3llas]

Pere you are a home wrecker 😭😔💔

[alexiaput3llas]

This one hurts 😭

[alexiaput3llas]

Alexia is losing Jana , her child

we are ripping families apart 😭 jana should've been a future captain.