samkerrworshipper

[samkerrworshipper]

How have you been?

good but so busy. deferred for uni cause i thought id get some peace and my life has gotten so much crazier in the past couple of months.

i’ve got a lot of trips and a lot of gymnastics stuff happening but my ankle is coming along and the intensive therapy i’m doing for it has been making stuff better.

counting down till october when i’m back at school

[samkerrworshipper]

what have you been listening to lately?

[samkerrworshipper]

dinosaurs and...sex? - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia's girlfriend is way too stressed out for her own good, so she puts matter into her own hands (fingers)

Word count: 2.2k

Warning: (+18) fingering and oral (r receiving) and at the end suggestive to oral (r giving) because we are all switches here at wosospacegirl

A/n: I think I've found my niche in fanfic and it's writing nerdy lesbian sex...sorry it's repetitive but it's just so fun to write them...

this is a scheduled post because I *actually* have a dinosaur test to study to and I don't have alexia to eat me out so--

..

"Can I come in, or are you still acting like a monster?" Alexia said from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. She was holding something, but you couldn't quite see what, mostly because your eyes had stopped functioning after reading the word Mesozoic for the ninth time.

You had decided to go to university.

 And now you carry that burden every day. Every. Single. Day.

It was finals week, and you were an absolute wreck. You were so stressed that you had caught the worst cold ever known to humankind. Why your immune system gave up on you at the slightest sign of stress, you didn't know.

Alexia had taken care of you and made sure you rested. But of course, that meant you hadn't been able to study for three whole days.

And now here you were, at Alexi's house, sprawled across her bed, surrounded by books that were open at completely random pages, with class notes you didn't even remember taking.

Your eyes hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurt. But mostly your soul, because you felt like you barely had one. Surely you had long lost it between the Jurassic and the Cretaceous period.

And when everything hurt, it made you angry, because you couldn't study the way you wanted to. And when you were angry, you were rude.

Alexia had shown up (to her room, in her house) and asked if the two of you shouldn't take a walk or do something relaxing. AKA: She was getting stressed from watching you mumble like a maniac about something called…Coelurosauria?

You, ever the sweet and understanding girlfriend, had snapped at her, questioning why the hell she was bothering you while you were studying.

It wasn't a "Hi, Alexia, I'm sorry, I can't talk right now."

It was a "Oh my fucking God, Alexia, can't you leave me alone for two whole minutes?"

Alexia–who was actually sweet and understanding– didn't say anything. She just stepped closer to where you were sitting, kissed the top of your head, and left a protein bar beside you before quietly walking away, probably heading for a lonely walk around Barcelona.

You cried while studying the skeleton of the Brachiosaurus because you felt guilty afterwards.

You didn't want to be mean, but finals brought out the worst in you. Still, Alexia wasn't the one to blame.

You knew Alexia was back when you heard the front door on the first floor opening and then closing. You heard her taking off her shoes and making her way upstairs.

You felt the mattress dip beside you, and when you turned around, Alexia was sitting there. You gave her your biggest, most apologetic eyes. 

"I'm sorry," you said, genuinely.

Alexia looked at you, cupped your jaw, and brought your mouth to hers. She kissed you sweetly. "It's okay," she murmured against your lips as you closed your eyes. 

"I know you get grumpy when you're overwhelmed with school. No need to say sorry."

"Yes, I do," you said, breaking the kiss and flopping back onto the bed, almost like a starfish. Your book was lying open beside you as you stared at the ceiling. "I was rude, that's not okay."

"It is okay," Alexia said, as she hovered above you, her hair tickling your cheek. "Because you sound hot when you're mad."

You rolled your eyes and pecked her lips. "Okay, now you're stretching."

"I'm serious," she said, getting off of you and sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. "You pout and your brows furrow…It's like  exactly the face you make when you're about to cum–"

"Okay!" you interrupted, throwing your book at her, your face burning. Alexia could be so crude when she wanted to.  "No talking about sex, or–"

"--you cumming?" Alexia teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," you groaned. "This is literally the most boring subject ever. It doesn't pair well with dirty talk."

Alexia stayed quiet for a few seconds, and you took that as a sign to return to your notes and re-read them. You were lying on your stomach now,  your paper was spread out in front of you, when you felt Alexia climb on top of you and drop all of her weight onto your back.

Out of the sudden, you had a book to your face as well–your zoology and evolution of dinosaur book.

Alexia cheekily snatched your notes, and before you could complain, her voice filled the room as she read the book.

"Thyreophora, often known as armoured dinosaurs, were a group of ornithischian dinosaurs that lived from the Early Jurassic until the end of the Cretaceous…"

You listened as Alexia spoke, and you couldn't help but feel as if she was… reading it erotically?

You felt her weight on your back, the way she held your book right in front of you, holding it with one hand while her other hand stayed pressed to your ribcage.

"Primitive forms had simple, low, keeled scutes or osteoderms," she continued, her voice low as she pressed more fully into your body like she was getting cosy, relaxing. "Oh, those are cool, right, bebé?" she said against your ear, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you.

You had known Alexia long enough to recognise when she was doing this on purpose.

Sometimes, you had the willpower to push her away and to fight back. You had to study, your exam was tomorrow!! But right now?

Right now, you wanted to be pliant.

"Most thyreophorans were herbivorous and had small brains for their size," she said, her hand slipping under your shirt, her cold fingertips grazing your skin just above your ribs. 

"Oh, does that mean they were dumb?"Alexia asked innocently, placing a kiss on the back of your neck.

"N-no," you stammered as you tried to move, but her body was still pinning you down. "Brain size doesn't really determine intelligence…"

Alexia hummed against your skin, letting the book fall onto the bed with a soft thud. 

Now her full attention was on your neck, she was licking your skin before sucking the it into her mouth.

"I thought the bigger the brain, the smarter?" she murmured.

She sat up from behind you and turned you over, leaving you flat on your back. Then she kissed you deep and slow, biting your lip.

"No, it doesn't mean that," you mumbled, lifting your arms as Alexia pulled off your shirt, leaving your torso bare. "W-what is intelligence, after all, right? It's a very human construct and we…."

Your breath hitched as Alexia kissed your stomach, slowly making her way down to your navel, then she gently tugged at the waistband of your pants.

You lifted your hips, helping her in the process of getting you naked.

"Keep going, amor, "Alexia said, kissing you just above your underwear. "I don't want to distract you from your studies."

Her fingers slid down to your centre, where the wet spot of your underwear was. Your eyes were closed now, but you knew Alexia was smirking.

"What were you saying about intelligence?"Alexia coaxed, her voice innocent, as if she wasn't doing anything wrong, as if she really was helping you study.

But thinking about dinosaurs or intelligence or anything was nearly impossible as she hooked her fingers into the sides of your underwear and pulled them aside, exposing you completely. She slid her fingers just above your cunt, spreading your weteness slowly around your folds, teasing you.

You moaned as Alexia pressed just the tip of your finger inside of your cunt, your hips moving, begging for more contact, but Alexia didn't give in. She wanted to make you work for it for a bit.

"If you don't talk," Alexia said sternly, kissing the inside of your thigh, "I'll stop. Keep going. Tell me about the subject."

You were in silence, your brain mush. It was like you forgot you even knew any words, let alone the evolution of ornithischian dinosaurs.

Although you were quick to remember it when Alexia took her mouth away from your body.

You clutched at her head, pressing her against your cunt. 

"Please, keep going–"you whined. "I-I was saying that intelligence is a human parameter, and we shouldn't judge other species based on it because it's honestly a very anthropocentric concept…"

"There she is, my smart girl, "Alexia purred. And just like magic, she slid her index finger inside of you, and your body welcomed it immediately. "What else can you tell me about those Thy… Thry…"

"Thyreophora," You breathed as Alexia slid another finger in, thrusting into you so slowly it made you want to cry. "There are two major groups, th-" 

You didn't even get to finish, because you felt alexia's hot breath against your cunt, her mouth touching your clit, wrapping her lips aorund itand sucking gently. "Fuck–more." 

Alexia slapped your thigh; it didn't sting, but it was a warning.

"Keep talking." 

So you did.

Alexia ate you out slowly as if she was savouring every single drop of your wetness. You were very aware she was enjoying herself way too much; you also knew she was doing it as a form of revenge, too.

But you didn't mind for her motives, not when she kept fucking you like that. She only stopped when you stopped talking. 

She really was taking your studies very seriously.

Alexia's tongue was thrusting inside of you. You didn't know how she had mastered the ability to penetrate you so deeply with her tongue, but you (once again) didn't care.

Her hands were pinning you down on the mattress, clutching your hip bones, not letting you move an inch as she continued to thoroughly pleasure (or maybe torture) you.

It took you a while to cum, but not because Alexia wasn't giving you what you needed, but because your body had trouble switching from stressed, anxious and overstimulated to relaxed.

Alexia didn't say a word about it. She didn't make you feel bad that it was taking longer than usual. She just kept her mouth on your cunt, as if she had all the time in the word.

And when you finally came, it felt like your body had truly relaxed for the first time in days. 

You felt as if all of your muscles relaxed all at once. Your eyes rolled back, and you yanked at Alexia's hair with a little more force than you were intending to, but she didn't complain. 

You were trying to catch your breath when alexia finally lifted her face from your cunt. 

She made her way up your body, kissing your stomach and your breasts before (finally) kissing you, and sliding her tongue in to let you taste yourself.

"See," Alexia whispered as she broke the kiss. She lay her head on your chest, her finger gently tracing your face. "I was right."

"Rigth about what?" You barely manage to say. 

"Your face when you cum," She said against your sking, kissing your collarbone. "The pout, the furrowed eyebrows."

You blink, still pretty much dizzy. "Did you make all of this... too prove a point?"

"Maybe," she said, smiling. 

"I hate you," you murmured, closing your eyes and letting your hands run through her hair.

"You don't," Alexia said. "You just came in my mouth, I think that was a love confession, actually."

You chucked at Alexia's words. 

Maybe it was the oxytocin running through your body stream, or maybe it was the quiet realisation that this was the first time you and Alexia were properly intimate in days, mostly because of your schedule at uni and her schedule at Barcelona.

You surprised yourself by lowering your head and kissing her again, your hands slipping under her shirt to trace the back tattoos you knew by heart.

Alexia kissed you back–and what was a sweet kiss–turned into something urgent.

"I want you," you breathed against her mouth, your hand curling around the back of her neck. "Now."

"Yeah?" Alexia smirked. "How?"

"On your back, legs spread open," you said.

"Okay," she simply said.

She did what you asked of her. 

She lay down, but she winced slightly when one of your pens dug into her back.

You watched her for a moment, admiring her, and then you undressed her completely. You took her shirt off, and then her training bra.

You wrapped your lips around her nipples, sucking them until Alexia was gasping, asking for more.

Without wasting another second, you pulled down her shorts and underwear in one go. 

You spread her legs apart with each of your hands and began kissing the inside of her thighs, biting them softly,  leaving teeth marks where no one would see them.

You were in your moment now.  Feeling hot and heavy, watching Alexia's cunt dripping right in forn of your face, how pretty her cunt looked, how ready she was for you.

But just as you were ready to taste her, Alexia said.

"Do you want me to read your notes out loud while you do it?"

You paused, your mouth still slightly open, looking up at her. You truly had a problem reading her facial expression.

At the same time that it looked like she was teasing you, it also seemed like the proposal was sincere, like she might actually do it if you said yes.

You glared at her, your eyes narrowing, trying to make your point across without having to use any words.

"Okay," she said quickly. "I guess that's a no."

..

A/n: Got the dino infos on Wikipedia!

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

[samkerrworshipper]

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒚 // 𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Let’s just pretend this didnt take a whole week to write. Spanish is in Italics.

It was nearly midnight when the front door swung open with significantly more force than necessary, followed by a loud thud and muffled giggling. You looked up from your book, a knowing grin quirking onto your lips. Alexia was home from the team celebration dinner, and apparently, she was absolutely wasted.

"My love I’m home" she calls out, her voice ringing through the apartment.

You set your book down and pad to the entryway, finding your wife leaning heavily against the wall, one shoe off, the other dangling precariously from her toes. Her blonde hair was tousled in a way that suggests she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly, something she only does when particularly relaxed or, in this case, incredibly intoxicated.

"Hey, baby," you say, unable to suppress your amused smile. "Looks like someone had a good time."

Alexia's face lights up when she see’s you, her eyes brightening as she pushes herself away from the wall only to immediately stumble forward. You move quickly, catching her before she could faceplant onto the hardwood floor.

“How beautiful you are!” she exclaims, her hands immediately finding your face, squishing your cheeks together. "My wife. The most beautiful in the world.”

You laugh, steadying her with an arm around her waist. "Thank you, but let's get your other shoe off before you break an ankle."

"No, no, no," she insists, pulling away from you and attempting what appears to be a twirl but looked more like an uncoordinated wobble. “Let’s dance first!”

"Dance?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "Baby, it's late, and you can barely stand up straight."

She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip jutting out in a way that was both ridiculous and endearing on her normally stoic face. "You never want to have fun with me.”

"That's not true and you know it," you reply, carefully guiding her to sit on the bench in the entryway. "We'll have plenty of fun tomorrow when you're not seeing double."

With surprising agility for someone so intoxicated, she catches your wrist and pulls you down onto her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist. “I missed you.” she murmurs against your neck, her breath hot and smelling strongly of tequila.

"I missed you too," you respond softly, brushing her hair back from her forehead and tucking it behind her ears. "How was the celebration?"

Alexia's eyes widen as she launches into an animated recounting of the evening, switching rapidly between Spanish and broken English, her hands gesturing wildly when they weren't firmly attached to some part of your body.

“...And then Mapi, she says that I can’t-that I cannot-drink three shots in a row, but I showed her...”

You listen with fond amusement, catching maybe half of what she was saying through her slurred speech and language hopping. Alexia, the usual dignified captain, was now a giggly, touchy mess, completely unreserved in a way only you and a select few others ever witnessed.

"Sounds like you put Mapi in her place," you comment when she pauses for breath. "Now, let's get you ready for bed, okay?"

Her hands slid under your t-shirt, fingers splaying across your bare back. "I’m not tired." She grins mischievously, attempting to look seductive but achieving something closer to comical with her slightly unfocused gaze.

"Mhmm, sure you're not," you retort, easing her hands out from under your shirt. "But I think a shower might help you feel better."

It takes considerable effort to extract yourself from her grasp and get her standing up again. You manage to remove her remaining shoe and begin guiding her toward the bathroom, one arm firmly around her waist.

"Wait, wait, wait," she says suddenly, stopping dead in her tracks. "It’s hot. Very hot.”

Before you can respond, she was tugging at the buttons of her blouse, her fingers fumbling with the simple task.

"Let me help you with that," you offer, reaching for the buttons.

She bats your hands away. "I can do it myself.”

You step back, crossing your arms as you watched her struggle for nearly a full minute before she lets out a frustrated groan.

"It’s broken," she declares seriously.

"The button aren’t broken, baby. You're just a little uncoordinated right now."

Her response was to simply grab both sides of her blouse and yank, sending buttons flying across the hardwood floor. She looks immensely pleased with herself as she shrugs out of the now ruined garment.

"Was that really necessary?" you ask, trying to sound stern but failing to hide your amusement.

Alexia doesn’t answer, instead focusing intently on removing her pants, which proved to be an even greater challenge. She hopped on one foot, then the other, nearly toppling over several times before finally kicking the pants across the room with a triumphant "Ha!”

Now standing in just her bra and underwear, she grins at you. “Are you going to help me with the rest?”

"Let's get you to the bathroom first," you suggest, knowing from experience that once Alexia was fully undressed, getting her to move anywhere would become exponentially more difficult.

You manage to corral her into the bathroom, where she immediately begins fiddling with the clasp of her bra.

"Shower time, baby," you remind her as you start the water, turning to adjust the temperature.

When you turn back around, Alexia has successfully removed both remaining items of clothing and was now completely naked, examining herself critically in the full length mirror on the back of the door.

"I think I need to work out more. she mutters, poking at her perfectly toned abdomen.

You roll your eyes. "You're literally a professional athlete in peak physical condition."

She continues as if she hadn't heard you. "Look at these legs. They're not strong enough.”

"Your legs are incredible," you assure her, guiding her toward the shower. "Now get in. The water's ready.

Alexia freezes, staring at the shower as if it had personally offended her. "No." The word was small but definitive.

"No? What do you mean 'no'?"

"don't want to shower.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking surprisingly intimidating despite her complete lack of clothing and slightly swaying posture.

"Baby, you smell like tequila and bar. A quick shower will make you feel better."

She shook her head vigorously. "No shower. I want the bed.”’

Recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw (the same expression she wears when arguing with referees on the pitch) you decide it would probably be best to just change tactics.

"Okay, no shower," you concede. "But let's at least put on some pajamas."

You leave her standing in the bathroom while you went to retrieve a clean t-shirt and sleep shorts from the bedroom. When you return, she was sitting on the closed toilet lid, looking dangerously close to nodding off.

"Arms up," you instructed, holding out the shirt.

Alexia's eyes snapp open, and she regards the clothing with sudden hostility. "No. Without clothes.”

"You can't sleep naked tonight, baby. You're going to get cold."

"I don’t want clothes.” Her voice rises dramatically, and to your shock, her eyes well with tears.

"Hey, hey," you said softly, kneeling in front of her. "What's wrong?"

"You’re ruining my dreams" she says, a tear spilling down her cheek as her lower lip trembles.”

You blink, thoroughly confused. "I'm...ruining your dreams? What dreams?"

"Of being naked. It's freedom.”

You stare at her for a moment, processing this declaration. "You have dreams about being naked?"

She nods solemnly, tears still streaming down her face. "It’s important.”

Fighting back laughter, you stroke her cheek gently. "I didn't realize nudity was so important to you, baby."

"It is," she insists. “Very important.”

Shaking your head, you decide this particular battle wasn't worth fighting. "Alright, no clothes. But you need to use the bathroom before bed, okay?"

Alexia considers this, then nods her agreement. You stand, offering your hands to help her up from the toilet seat. Instead of taking them, she simply stars at you, making no move to stand.

"Alexia," you prompt, "you need to get up so you can use the toilet."

"I can't.”

"What do you mean you can't?"

"My legs don't work.”

You sigh, realizing she had entered the "completely helpless" stage of drunkenness. "You were dancing around the apartment just fine a few minutes ago."

She shrugs dramatically, then lets her body go completely limp, sliding slowly off the toilet seat. You lunge forward, catching her before she hit the floor, but not quite managing to keep her upright. You ease her down, and her bare backside makes contact with the cold tile.

"¡AY!" she yelps., suddenly finding the strength in her legs again as she kicks them wildly in protest. "Cold! Cold!”

"I told you to stay on the toilet," you remind her, struggling to maintain your grip as she flails.

With considerable effort, you manage to haul her up, supporting most of her weight as you position her on the toilet. "Now pee."

Miraculously, she complies without further argument, looking up at you with an innocent expression like she hadn't just spent five minutes fighting you on this very issue.

You help her wash her hands, which turns into another ordeal as she becomes fascinated with the soap bubbles, attempting to blow them from her palms and giggling when they land on your face.

"Bed time," you announce firmly, putting an end to the impromptu bubble play.

"I’m not sleepy," she protests, but allows you to lead her toward the bedroom anyway.

You had just reached the hallway when she suddenly pulls away from you, a determined look on her face. "Where is the kitchen.” She demands.

"You know where the kitchen is. We've lived here for three years."

"I want ice cream.”

"We don't have any ice cream," you tell her, trying to redirect her toward the bedroom.

But Alexia was a woman on a mission now, breaking free from your grasp and making a wobbly beeline for the kitchen, her naked form disappearing around the corner before you can catch her.

By the time you reach the kitchen, she has already opened the refrigerator and was reaching for something on the bottom shelf.

"I found the ice cream!" she announces triumphantly, holding up a stick of butter.

"That's not ice cream, baby," you say, quickly moving to intercept her before she could take a bite. "That's butter."

She frowns, examining the yellow block in her hand. "It looks like ice cream.”

"Trust me, it's not," you assur, gently prying the butter from her fingers and returning it to the refrigerator. "And even if we had ice cream, you shouldn't eat it right now. You'll feel sick."

Her bottom lip juts out in that dramatic pout again. "You're mean.”

"I know, I'm terrible," you agree, guiding her away from the kitchen. "The absolute worst."

She seems to accept this assessment, leaning heavily against you as you steer her back toward the bedroom. You were just starting to think you might actually get her to bed without further incident when she suddenly straightens up, her eyes wide with excitement.

"I have an idea,” she exclaims.

The gleam in her eye immediately sets off warning bells in your head. "What kind of idea?"

"Let's go swimming!”

Before you could process what was happening, she had broken free from your hold and was running surprisingly steadily for someone who'd claimed her legs didn't work minutes ago, toward the back door that led to your small fenced yard and pool.

"Alexia, no!" you call after her, giving chase. "It's the middle of the night, and you're naked!"

"I want to dip skinny" she shouts over her shoulder, fumbling with the door lock.

"You want to what?" you ask, momentarily confused by the mangled English phrase before realization dawned. "Oh, skinny dip. No, absolutely not."

But it was too late. She had managed to unlock the door and was now sprinting across the yard, her skin glowing under the moonlight as she makes a beeline for the pool.

"Alexia Putellas!" you yell, rushing after her. "Don't you dare get in that pool!"

She pauses at the edge, turning to face you with a mischievous grin that was visible even in the dim light. "Are you going to stop me?”

"Yes, I am," you say firmly, approaching her slowly as if she were a spooked animal. "Come back inside now, and we can go to bed."

She pretends to consider this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm...no." And with that, she turns as if to jump into the water.

You lunge forward, catching her around the waist just as she was about to leap. The momentum carriesyou both dangerously close to the edge, and for a heart-stopping moment, you thought you were both going in. Somehow, you manage to plant your feet firmly and pull you both back from the brink.

"Let me to!" she protests, squirming in your grip.

"Not happening," you reply through gritted teeth, tightening your hold as you begin half dragging, half carrying her back toward the house.

After a brief struggle, you give up on finesse and simply hoist her over your shoulder in a fireman's carry, one arm securely wrapped around the backs of her thighs to prevent escape.

"Put me down!" she demands, pounding her fists against your back.

"Stop hitting me, or I'll drop you," you warn, though you had no intention of actually doing so.

Her response was to deliver a sharp smack to your behind, followed by a delighted giggle.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" you asked, delivering a light swat to her exposed backside in return.

"¡Oye!" she yelps, though you could hear the laughter in her voice.

Somehow, you manage to get her back into the house and lock the door behind you. By this point, you were both breathing heavily from the exertion, and your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

"Alexia," you say, your voice deadly serious as you set her back on her feet. "We are going to bed. Now."

Perhaps something in your tone finally gets through to her, because she nods meekly. "Okay.”

Relief floods through you as you guid her toward the bedroom once more. You had almost reached the door when she suddenly stops, a familiar stubborn expression settling on her face.

"I’m not tired," she insists again.

That was the final straw. You'd been patient, you'd been understanding, but after chasing your naked, drunk wife around the house for nearly an hour, preventing her from eating butter, and stopping her from diving into a cold pool at midnight, your limits had been reached.

"That's it," you declare, changing course and steering her firmly toward the bathroom instead. "Shower time."

"No-“

But you were done negotiating. With a strength born of pure exasperation, you lift her into the shower stall, step in after her still fully clothed, and turn on the water.

The cold spray hits you both, and while you had been expecting it, Alexia clearly wasn't. She goes rigid in your arms, her back arching as she lets out a shocked gasp that quickly turns into a wail.

“COLD! IT’S COLD!” she cries, trying to escape the spray but finding herself trapped between the shower wall and your body.

"I know," you said, reaching around her to gradually adjust the temperature to something more bearable. "Just give it a minute."

As the water warmed, her struggles subsided, replaced by pathetic sniffles that tugged at your heartstrings despite your frustration.

"Yoire mean.” she says again, her voice small and wounded as she turns to face you, water streaming down her face mixing with what you suspect were actual tears. “I want a divorce.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the declaration. "You want a divorce because I made you take a shower?"

She nods solemnly, water droplets flying from her hair with the movement. "Very bad wife.”

"I see," you said, trying to keep a straight face. "Well, we can discuss that in the morning when you're sober."

She opens her mouth as if to continue her complaint, but then her gaze drops to your chest, where your white sleep shirt had become completely transparent under the shower spray, clinging to your skin in a way that left little to the imagination.

"Your boobs" she breathed, previous grievances apparently forgotten as she stares openly.

"Yes, thank you for noticing," you said dryly. "Can we focus on getting you clean now?"

But Alexia was thoroughly distracted, her hands moving to cup your breasts through the wet fabric with a look of awe that would have been comical if it hadn't been so familiar. For all her sophistication and poise in public, your wife turned into an absolute cliché when drunk. A shameless boob woman through and through.

"Beautiful," she murmurs, fingers kneading gently.

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all…standing fully clothed in the shower with your naked, drunk wife feeling you up as if she were discovering your body for the first time, despite having seen and touched every inch of you countless times before.

"You're ridiculous," you tell her affectionately, brushing wet strands of hair from her face.

She looks up at you with such earnest adoration that your irritation melts away completely. "I love you so mych," she says, suddenly emotional again.

"I love you too, baby," you reply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Now let's get you clean."

Taking advantage of her newfound docility, you quickly shampoo her hair and run a soapy washcloth over her body. She allows this without protest, seemingly content to stand under the warm spray with her hands still firmly attached to your chest.

Once she was reasonably clean, you turn off the water and wrap her in a large towel before quickly stripping off your own soaked clothing and grabbing another towel for yourself.

"Tired now?" you ask hopefully as you dry her off.

She nodded, her eyelids already drooping. "Bed.”

Not bothering with the pajamas that had caused such drama earlier, you guid her naked form to the bed and help her climb under the covers. You quickly towel off your own hair and slipp in beside her, immediately feeling her gravitate toward you in the darkness.

Her bare chest presses against yours as she tucks her face into the crook of your neck, one of her favorite sleeping positions despite her height advantage.

"This is nice," you murmur, thinking perhaps you had finally reached the end of the night's adventures.

You are wrong.

Just as you were drifting off, you feel the unmistakable sensation of teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Alexia," you warn, fully awake again. "Don't you dare bite me."

She ignores the warning, nipping sharply at your collarbone.

Without thinking, you deliver a quick smack to her bare backside, harder than the playful swat from earlier.

"Ay!" she yelp, pulling back to stare at you with wide, surprised eyes.

"It's bedtime," you say firmly, holding her gaze. "No biting. Sleep."

For a moment, you thought she might argue, but then her expression softens into a pout. "I’m sorry," she mumbles, settling back against you.

"It's okay," you reply, gently rubbing the spot you'd just smacked before starting to trace soothing circles across her back. "Just go to sleep, baby."

She nods against your neck, one hand sliding up to cup your breast again in what appeared to be her preferred sleeping arrangement for the night. "Goodnight, my love.”

"Goodnight, baby."

You feel her body gradually relax against yours, her breathing slowing to a steady rhythm...and then it happened. The first snore rumbles through her chest, vibrating against yours, a peculiar phenomenon that only occurrs when she was thoroughly intoxicated.

You roll your eyes and sigh, knowing from experience that the snoring would continue for most of the night. Yet despite your exhaustion and the guaranteed disruption to your sleep, you couldn't help but smile as you tightened your arms around her.

Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through the windows you'd forgotten to close in last night's chaos. You awake to find yourself in exactly the same position you'd fallen asleep in, though Alexia had slid down slightly, her cheek now squished against your breast while her hand still cupped the other one possessively.

You smile down at her sleeping form, taking a moment to appreciate how peaceful she looked. Her hair was a tangled mess, fanning out across your chest, and there was still a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye that hadn't quite washed away in the shower.

As if sensing your gaze, her eyelids flutter open, immediately squinting against the bright light. She groans, burying her face deeper against your chest.

"Why is there so mych sun?" she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," you reply, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. "How's your head feeling?"

She groans again in response, finally seeming to register her position and the fact that she was completely naked. Slowly, she lifts her head to look at you, wincing with the movement.

"What happened last night?” She asks cautiously, though her hand remains firmly in place on your breast, apparently comfortable there even in her confused state.

You grin down at her. "What's the last thing you remember?"

She furrowed her brow in concentration. "Dinner with the team. Mapi brought tequila...”

"And after that?"

"I got home?” she asks hopefully.

Your grin widens, “Oh, you definitely got home. And then you tried to eat butter because you thought it was ice cream, attempted to go skinny dipping in our pool at midnight, and told me you wanted a divorce because I made you take a shower."

Horror dawns on her face as fragments of memories apparently began to surface. "That's not true.”

"It absolutely is," you assure her. "You also cried when I tried to get you to wear pajamas because apparently clothing was 'ruining your dreams.'"

She groans, hiding her face against your chest again. "My God.”

"Don't worry, there's more," you continue cheerfully. "You refused to use the toilet until I physically put you on it, then acted like you hadn't just spent five minutes fighting me about it."

"Stop, olease" she begs, her voice muffled against your skin.

"And let's not forget how you became absolutely fascinated with my boobs in the shower, despite having seen them literally thousands of times before."

She raises her head just enough to glance down at her hand, still cupping your breast. With a sheepish expression, she starts to pull away, but you catch her wrist.

"I didn't say I minded," you tell her with a playful wink.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth despite her obvious discomfort. “I’m sorry,”," she murmurs, her voice softand genuinely apologetic.

"For what specifically? There's quite a list to choose from."

She winces. "For...everything?“

You laugh, pulling her back down to rest against you. "It's okay. Though you owe me at least three uninterrupted bubble baths and a massage for the emotional labor of preventing you from diving naked into a cold pool."

"Did I really do that?" she asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"You really did. You're surprisingly quick when you're drunk and determined."

She was quiet for a moment, then asks in a small voice, “Did I really ask you for a divorce?*

You stroked her tangled hair gently. "You did, but only because I got you wet."

She looks up sharply, eyes wide. "What?”

"In the shower," you clarify, enjoying her confusion perhaps a bit too much. "You got mad because I put you in the shower with your cold water."

"Oh," she relaxes, then immediately tenses again. "Wait, you put me in the shower with cold water?”

"After you'd spent an hour running around the house naked, refusing to go to bed, trying to eat butter, and attempting to go swimming at midnight, yes, I did. And I got in with you, fully clothed, I might add."

She buries her face in her hands. "I'm an idiot.”

"No argument here," you agreed cheerfully. "But you're my idiota, so it's okay."

She peeked through her fingers at you. "You're not angry?”

"Baby, if I got genuinely angry every time you did something ridiculous when drunk, we'd have serious problems," you tell her, gently pulling her hands away from her face. "Besides, it makes for a great story to tell at team gatherings."

"You wouldn’t dare," she gasps, looking horrified.

"Try me," you challenge, raising an eyebrow. "I've got years of material stored up."

She pouts, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “You’re mean," she grumbles, echoing her drunken accusation from the night before.

"So you keep telling me," you reply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "How about I make us some coffee and get you some painkillers for that headache I know you have?"

"Yes, please.” she mumbles, reluctantly releasing her hold on you so you could get up.

As you slide out of bed, you glance back at her sprawled naked across the sheets, her hair a golden mess against the white pillowcase. Despite the drinking, despite the chaos of the previous night, despite the fact that you'd gotten maybe four hours of interrupted sleep, you couldn't help but feel your chest ache with affection.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, pulling the sheet up selfconsciously.

"Because I love you," you answer simply. "All versions of you. Even the one who tries to eat butter and calls me mean for not letting her skinny dip at midnight."

Her expression softened, a smile spreading across her face despite the pain you knew she must be feeling. "I love you too,” she murmurs softly. "Even though I'm apparently a nightmare when I'm drunk.”

"The best kind of nightmare," you assure her, heading for the door. "And definitely worth every minute."

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[samkerrworshipper]

no words can explain just how much this brightened up my morning tbh

Brunette Ale won

[samkerrworshipper]

my toxic trait is thinking that if i do my most intense core workout for 8 days straight then my abs will magically re appear just in time for holidays

[samkerrworshipper]

Proud X

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your reward for Golden Girl

The actual ceremony is a bit of a blur.

You don't remember any of it at all.

It's like you were in your hotel room and then you blinked and opened your eyes on stage.

You're saying something in Swedish but the words are coming out too fast for your brain to catch up with. Swedish melts into English as you thank your old club for giving you the platform to show the skills that gave you the opportunity to win the Golden Girl award.

After that, it's another blink and you're in the car.

The award is on your lap and your mothers are sitting either side of you and, for the life of you, you still can't understand what you said.

But if what Pernille says is accurate, it was a very good speech.

It's only when you're laying in your bed days later that you decide that you can't be bothered to rewatch it all.

You've seen clips of the ceremony on social media and Pernille, like she usually is, is right.

Your name was called for the award even though everyone already knew you would win. You stood and turned.

You gave Magda a hug. Pernille kissed your head.

You walked onto stage to receive your award. You stood by the microphone.

You thanked a lot of people in Swedish, your mothers, your coaches on the national team, your friends. You thanked everyone at Arsenal for pushing you as far as you could go and supporting you in the games. You even thanked the Bayern staff for their continued support.

All in all, it was a good speech. A humble speech which you think must have driven Magda crazy. She's always telling you to be more proud of yourself and your achievements.

You bring the award with you to training and smile in your Bayern kit as the media team make you pose and take pictures from as many angles as they possibly can.

"Look at you, golden girl," Georgia teases as you slump down into your seat next to her," Coming to mingle with the rest of us normal people?"

You roll your eyes as you poke at the pasta on your plate. "The only normal you are, G, is normally annoying. That's not a good thing."

Georgia clutches at her chest dramatically. "You wound me! I'm wounded! How will I ever survive?!"

"I'm sure you'll find a way," You reply dryly as you stare at your food.

"What is up with you today? You're all...depressed!"

"Y/n doesn't like too much attention," Pernille says as she takes the seat next to you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your seat as she does so," This award thing has thrown her a little bit."

You sputter out some unintelligible noises of indignation that Pernille smiles fondly at.

"It's the truth," She tells you," You'll have to get used to it, you know. You're a very exciting young player."

You groan and Georgia giggles. "Which journalist have you stolen that from?"

Pernille just laughs, pulling your plate towards her to pile more food onto it from her own. "You'll get over it soon. Just remember that this Golden Girl award is a good thing."

"Is it?"

Pernille nods with finality. "Yes. It is."

"How come?"

"You'll see."

Georgia whistles lowly. "Well that's cryptic."

Secretly, you agree with her.

In the coming days, you find her words playing on your mind again and again. It's amazing how the more time passes, the more Georgia's words seem like the best way to explain the situation.

Magda and Pernille are whispering every hour of the day. They're whispering to each other in the morning when you come downstairs for breakfast. They're whispering to each other when you all come home. You know they're whispering when you go to bed early and they stay up with their glasses of wine.

They're planning something and when the pair of them plan something, you stay on edge.

You can't quite work out what it could possibly be but you hope that it's not a party.

A party to celebrate your award sounds terrible right now.

You think they know you're suspicious too.

Magda does at the very least because she's started to dramatically creep around like she's in a cartoon when she sees you watching her.

You roll your eyes every time.

It looks like you'll have to be the mature one out of the two of you.

That's usually the case anyway.

Especially now when Magda's hands cover your eyes and guide you to sit on the sofa.

"Keep them closed!" She warns you.

"Well I can't exactly keep them open with you blocking everything out, can I?"

You hear her laugh and it makes the corners of your mouth poke up too.

"Okay," She says," Are you ready?"

"I don't know what I'm meant to be ready for."

Magda ignores you. "Okay, Pernille! She's ready!"

You strain your ears to hear Pernille's footsteps. They're slow and you frown.

"If this is a party-"

You don't get to finish though because something gets put into your lap.

It's kind of big and warm and...

Breathing?

Magda's hands leave your eyes and you look down at your lap.

"Baaa!"

A lamb looks up at you. White wool on its body but a perfectly round, black-wooled face.

"Baaaa!"

You look over in shock to your mums and Pernille hands you a bottle.

The lamb on your lap latches on perfectly, his little tail wagging as he feeds.

"Is...Is he?"

"Yours?" Magda hasn't stopped smiling. "Yeah. He's yours. Poor boy got rejected by his mum so he's going to need to be fed every few hours. You up for it?"

"What about training?"

"He's allowed to come with," Pernille says," We've already checked. You can bring him everywhere."

Your throat closes up like it always does when you're a bout to cry, completely overwhelmed by your mothers and this new little lamb that happily suckles on his bottle.

"I..." You fight to stop the tears from dropping down your cheeks. "Thank you. He's beautiful."

"Of course, sötnos. You deserve him," Pernille says with a warm smile.

Magda's got the same one on her face. "Just, er, make sure he doesn't sleep in your bed, okay? He's got his own."

You agree but you know the handsome boy in your lap is going to be sleeping in bed with you until he's too big to fit.

Magda doesn't need to know that though.

[samkerrworshipper]

Mallorca- Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia ruins your couple's vacation by inviting the girls to tag along with you. You decide to make her pay for it.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: (+18) a little bit of smut, suggestive; fingering (r giving)

A/n: because I'm a whore

..

You were going on a vacation to Mallorca with Alexia.

She had promised she would take care of everything: the hotel, the flights, the yacht, everything. 

She told you not to worry about a single thing. So you absolutely didn't. 

You just made sure to stay pretty, to pack the smallest bikini you had, to pack the strap, the lube, and the handcuffs into your bag.

Alexia had grinned while watching you pack. She came from behind, biting your earlobe and promising she would worship you every day of the vacation.

That she would put you in so many positions you wouldn't even remember all of them.

She said she would eat you out on the private beach she had booked.

That she would finger you in the middle of the ocean, have your mouth wrapped around her strap on the sun deck of the yacht.

You trusted Alexia deeply. So you thought she would keep her word.

Your face fell flat the second you arrived at the airport with her and saw not only Patri and Ona, but Jana and Bruna there too, suitcases in their hands and bright smiles on their faces.

You couldn't help but feel confused by the coincidence. 

They were travelling too? To Mallorca? Wow. Small world, right?

You were hesitant as you greeted the girls, but you did your best to be nice. They were, after all, your and Alexia's friends.

"I'm so excited!" Jana said as the little group made their way toward the flight. "It's been so long since I had a vacation."

Alexia's hand was on your back, but she was weirdly quiet. Too quiet.

"Oh yeah," you said, watching Alexia out of the corner of your eye. "You guys totally deserve this vacation. The season was really hard."

"Definitely," Patri said, smiling at you, the sound of her suitcase wheels somehow managing to irritate you. "I can't remember the last time we had a vacation with all of us together!"

You stopped in your tracks. Alexia bumped into you, her hand catching your waist so you wouldn't fall.

"Ay, amor," she said grumpily. "Qué fue?" [Love, what's wrong?]

"What do you mean… 'all of us together', Patri?" you asked in a very calm voice, very deliberate.

"Umm…" Patri looked at Alexia, then back at you.

"Us? Like me, you, Alexia, and the girls? We were so happy when Alexia called and asked us to tag along, it's hard only seeing each other at training…we need some quality time together as a team"

Quality time together as a team?!

Your world shattered right in front of you. 

You always thought people were being dramatic when they said they saw red when they were angry.

But you were definitely seeing red now, maybe because the capillaries in your eyes were expanding as your heart started hammering against your chest.

You felt your nails digging into your skin as you turned to Alexia.

"I think I'll go to the bathroom before we board," you said, not looking at anyone as you left your suitcase behind and walked off. You didn't even know where the bathroom was, you just…walked.

You just knew you needed to be alone, or else you would scream at Alexia in the middle of a crowded airport, and you didn't want to make a scene.

Alexia clearly didn't realise that you wanted to be alone for her own well-being, because she followed you like a puppy.

"Amor…espera, por favor," she said, walking after you. [love, wait, please]

If it were you, you would be out of breath by now, but because Alexia was annoyingly fit, her breathing and tone were perfectly normal.

She also caught up faster than you would have liked, her hand wrapping around your wrist as she pulled you into some corner of the airport.

You were alone now, but it felt like the room was crowded because the air was thick.

It was hard to breathe, like your lungs were collapsing. You often felt that when you held your anger in. It hurt your chest.

So you decided to snap, finally.

"What is your problem?" you asked, furious.

Alexia didn't even try to defend herself. Guilt was scattered all over her face as she leaned her back against the wall, her hands were still holding your wrists.

You didn't like being restrained (not like that), so you tried to set yourself free, but she didn't budge.

"You said it was an us vacation. As in, you and me, not you and your teammatmes."

"Lo siento…" she said, pouting in a way that made you want to bite her lips off (not romantically). [I'm sorry]

"I asked Patri for a cool hotel to stay in, and she asked why, and I told her we wanted to go on a vacation," she explained, as you kept trying to set yourself free.

"Then she said she and the girls were also planning a vacation there, and she looked so excited, and I didn't have the heart to tell her not to join us."

You didn't bother to answer Alexia.

In the end, you walked back to where the girls were still standing, waiting for you and Alexia to return. If they noticed anything weird between the two of you, they didn't say a word.

The flight was annoying.

Nothing bad happened.

There wasn't a crying infant. No kid was kicking your seat, and the food was actually good. But you were still so mad that you couldn't see anything good about it.

Alexia kept quiet–she was smart when she wanted to be.

She did, however, try to keep her hand on your thigh for most of the flight.

Every time she did, you would take it off and place it back in her own lap without saying a word. Without giving her any sort of attention.

When you got to Mallorca, you were still silent.

You only spoke to the other girls, asking Jana how she was doing, asking Bruna how her season in London was.

You didn't even bother to grab your suitcase or any of the other bags.

Alexia walked behind you like a camel, slower than everyone else, because she was carrying all the weight, but you didn't care.

Alexia had ruined your vacation, and you were going to make her pay for it.

Day One.

You arrived at the hotel. And of course, there were problems with Jana and Bruna's room.

In the end, Jana had to share the room with you and Alexia for the night while the staff sorted it out.

The lights were already off. Alexia was lying on the left side of the bed, and you were on the right.

You made sure to build a pillow wall between you (to Alexia's disappointment) to create some distance. 

At one point, Alexia tried to sneak a hand onto your waist, but again, you gave it a little snap, and she retreated to her side of the bed with a quiet whine only you could hear.

Jana was curled up on the loveseat on the other side of the room, wrapped in a duvet.

Even in the dark, you could see the guilt written all over her face.

"I am so, so sorry," she said, her voice slightly muffled by her pillow. "I told the staff I could sleep in the lobby, but they said they couldn't allow it."

"It's okay, Jana, don't worry about it," you said, closing your eyes, trying to forget this whole trip was happening.

You should have listened to your sister. You should have gone on a family vacation. At least then, you wouldn't have created so many sexual expectations that were clearly not going to happen.

Now that it was night and you couldn't distract yourself anymore, you realised you weren't just annoyed.

You were sexually deprived.

You hadn't had sex with Alexia in two fucking weeks because of her stupid football calendar.

You had had to make do with your hand most nights, and it absolutely wasn't the same.

Now you were stuck on an island with Alexia and her teammates, and one of them was literally sleeping in your room.

You were just a girl with needs!! It was only fair that you felt this way.

The room was silent for a while, and you thought you might finally be able to sleep.

You even prayed that you would have a sex dream… Maybe then, you would get to experience some kind of sexual activity on this supposed vacation.

But apparently, Jana was not done making her point.

"But really," Jana continued, "I'm very sorry. If I knew the bugs in my room's mattress would mean I would be intruding on your and Alexia's privacy, I would have just slept there."

"With the bugs?" you asked, a bit grossed out by the idea.

"Yes," Jana replied seriously, as if she were ready to make that sacrifice. "I'm so, so–"

"Jana," Alexia said sternly, "shut up, please."

You felt yourself getting wet at Alexia's tone.

You liked it when she was stern. You liked it a lot. Although, of course, you weren't going to say it.

Day 2

You were at the hotel's pool.

Alexia was lying on the sun chair beside you.

She looked so incredibly delicious in her orange bikini that you wanted to put your mouth on every inch of her body.

You wanted a taste of her, and by the way she was looking at you, she wanted it too.

You watched as Bruna, Ona, Jana, and Patri played some kind of pool game; they were splashing water around and laughing like little kids.

That was when you felt Alexia's hand slide onto your waist.

In one swift motion, she pulled you into her chair, your was back pressing against her chest as she peppered your neck with light kisses.

It was intimate but not scandalous.

"Estás tan guapa," Alexia murmured in a low voice. "Muy, muy guapa." [You look so pretty/very, very pretty]

You hummed, tilting your neck to the left to give her more space. You felt her grinning against your skin.

"Fui una idiota por invitar a las chicas," she added. "Lo siento por eso." [I was an idiot for inviting the girls/I'm sorry for that]

You wanted Alexia so much.

There was nothing you wanted more than to grab her hand, drag her back to your shared hotel room (thankfully, the staff had fixed Jana's room situation that morning), and finally get Alexia all to yourself.

But no.

You couldn't get her off that easily.

As if Alexia were just an annoying little bug on your neck, you stood up suddenly, pulling her hands off your body. And, without a word, you threw yourself into the pool, completely ignoring her.

Alexia stayed behind in the sun chair, looking confused, but you didn't care.

You swam straight toward the girls.

"Are you guys playing Marco Polo?" you asked, wiping water from your cheeks. "I wanna play too."

..

You all decided to go out and eat at one of those restaurants on the beach. 

You and Alexia got ready without saying a word. Well, Alexia tried to talk to you. You just weren't the one responding.

You were putting blush on when Alexia apologised for the ninth time that day.

"I'm sorry, bebé," she practically whined, which was a great contrast to the way she looked.

She was wearing a long, white dress, and her hair was in a bun. She looked deliciously mature.

"I'm not talking to you," you said, not even glancing at her reflection in the mirror as you continued to do your makeup.

"But it's our vacation," Alexia said. "You can't be mad at me forever."

"Not forever," you replied, putting on some red lipstick. "I'll be mad for the number of days I find necessary."

Alexia went quiet again, and you continued to get ready.

You put on your earrings, then your necklaces.

You were too preoccupied checking if your dress matched your silver accessories to realise Alexia had once again pressed herself to your back.

"Me gusta cuando te pones así, tan brava," Alexia whispered, her lips brushing soft kisses along your jaw. "Me pone tan mojada." [I like when you get mad/It makes me wet]

She took your hand and slipped it under her dress.

Your breath hitched when you felt the warmth of her inner thighs, and then she lifted your hand even higher, until you were cupping her cunt.

Her bare, very wet and very warm cunt.

"Te quiero tanto ahora, amor," Alexia said, pushing your hand further inside until your fingers were inside of her. [I want you so much right now, love]

You slid one finger in, then another.

You wanted to pull away (no, not really), but you couldn't take your eyes away from the mirror; you couldn't look away from the way Alexia's face was filled with pleasure behind you, as if she needed this.

Maybe she wasn't the only one who was sexually frustrated out of the two of you.

You started moving your fingers deeper each time, reading her expression to know what she needed.

If the frown between her brows tightened, then you would slow down, but if her mouth fell open, you would push in deeper.

You angled your fingers slightly, hitting that spot inside her that made her hips stutter, that made her sound a little less dominant, a little more dumb, a little more helpless.

"Por favor…" she murmured, her lips brushing the back of your neck. "Lo necesito…" [Please/I need it]

"I'll get you to the edge," you promised her, "but you're not gonna cum. Not tonight."

"No," Alexia shook her head as you pushed your fingers harder. "No, por favor…"

"Shhh," you whispered. "Enjoy it, baby."

Whenever you felt Alexia contract around you, you'd pull your fingers away, taking them to your mouth.

You would lick them clean, tasting her sweetness, then you would slide them right back inside her.

You edged her more times than you could count. You even felt a little sorry for her.

When her makeup was a complete mess on her face, and when tears began falling from her eyes, you finally decided to put a (partial) end to her misery :)

You pulled your fingers away completely without a warning. Alexia whined, but you didn't put them back this time.

You let Alexia lean against your back. Her thighs were still shaking.

You turned around and kissed her face, her cheeks, her jaw, her lips.

"Yo–amor!" she breathed, eyes fluttering closed. "Necesitaba correrme–" [I-, love, I need to cum]

"Later," you promised. "We'll go to dinner, you'll behave, then we'll come back to this hotel and you're gonna fuck me with the strap until I drench the sheets, okay?" You took her jaw into your hands, making eyes contact with her.

"And then I'm gonna fuck you so good I'll have you squirting all over me. How does that sound?" 

Alexia looked at you with those soft hazel eyes.

"Sounds great, mi vida," She said, sounding a little dizzy. "Anything you want."

..

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

A/n: 😝😝😝😝😝😝

[samkerrworshipper]

hows your weekend been?

busy but good :)

lots of sports events and driving but overall very good. june for me is always the busiest month, most of my close friends are winter babies so it’s been very busy so far this month

[samkerrworshipper]

side bar for a women’s basketball feature because this might just be the best hard launch i’ve ever seen

[samkerrworshipper]

filling the void (11) || a.putellas

latest installment in fresa's filling the void universe ft some sol @girlgenius1111 filling the void (11) || a.putellas

“mija! ¿necesitas algo?” you sighed as suddenly the paragraph you’d been furiously scribbling down disappeared from memory at the interruption. “to be left alone.” you mumbled under your breath with a roll of your eyes.

“no mami, gracias!” you called back within earshot now for the tenth time in an hour, finally allowed to study in your room, however the door had to be open and you may as well have been anywhere else with how often you were interrupted and the lack of any privacy.

you knew your mami meant well but every time she yelled for you your concentration was broken, and you’d barely made a dent into this report which was supposed to be submitted in a few days and counted quite significantly toward your overall grade for the semester. 

you knew if you asked for an extension you’d be granted one, but with nothing else to do (not allowed to do anything else with your ankle really) you were determined to get it done by the deadline. especially with the champions league final this coming weekend you wanted to have it submitted and out of mind before you all packed up and headed to bilbao.

frankly you were shocked you were even being permitted to go with your boot and crutches. you could get around just fine having somewhat gotten the hang of it, even with the purple bruises beneath your arms which were starting to be spottled with green and yellow. 

you knew alexia had her opinions on the matter given it was all the pair of you had gone back and forth about at dinner last night, until eli stepped in and firmly put a cork in the matter, banning the topic all together. 

that hadn’t stopped you however from threatening to stab your eldest sister in the hand yet again, and alba very subtly moving your cutlery out of reach now that dinner was done. but come this morning it seemed there was some finality, your ticket on the bus secured and the itinerary your uncle made for everyone for the weekend sat in your email inbox.

spying your airpods case sat on your bed you used your good foot to push away from the desk, the roller chair you were sat on gliding across your carpet with ease causing you to grin, having found a few new ways to get around without assistance the last couple of days.

your attention was diverted by the repeated pinging of your phone, airpods in hand and once again using your good foot to push off your bed and go spinning back toward your desk, you pulled yourself back into position in front of your open laptop. 

your eyebrows furrowed seeing a flurry of texts from the last person you’d guess to be responsible for them, the grumpy norwegian who despite your firm protests almost carried you back up to the front door after dropping you home post study session earlier this week.

‘hey peg leg’ your eyes rolled reading the first one, knowing she would have found the nickname hilarious despite how lame and unfunny you found it. ‘how is the boot?’was she asking how you were? ‘heavy. itchy. ugly. aren’t you in class?’

you realised the time and frowned a little, realising it wasn’t quite midday on a week day and solstrale should have been in school.

‘i skipped’‘

“to study. before you get on my ass about it.’

of course she skipped, your eyes almost rolled out of your head but before you could respond your phone pinged again with another two messages.

‘this book is missing the last two pages’ *picture attached*

a tiny smile graced your features looking at the all too familiar faded yellow cover, and maybe a little at the fact that for all her protests solstrale was actually reading the childrens books you’d instructed her to, but only a tiny bit.

‘so does the puppy make it home?’ the frown returned at that, eyebrows furrowed curiously as a few little dots appeared and you waited for another message, only as you started to type your reply, they disappeared.

‘puppy? did you even read it engen.’ you replied, leaning back in the roller chair and tucking your good leg up to your chest, wincing a little as you tried to roll your other foot that was cramping, encased in the stuffy itchy horrible awful boot with no sense of relief. 

‘yes? its about a dog that runs away. i’m not stupid dr putellas’ the smallest puff of air left your nose at that, potentially mistaken for a snicker at the other much more familiar nickname.

‘...are you sure? did you mix the books up? are you colour blind?’ you fired off the questions in a few short texts, smiling at yourself as the three little dots appeared again and you could almost see the look of annoyance etched into the norwegians features on the other end of the line.

‘no. this is red, right?’ *picture attached*

a involuntary bark of laughter left your lips at the picture of the very green book, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth at the joke. exiting out of the text thread your smile grew, eventually sending back an image of your own.

*picture attached*

you smirked as the dots popped up and went away again, having sent her a messily photoshopped screenshot of a booked in fake eye test, fingers drumming your desk as you awaited her reply. 

slightly offended she hadn’t found your joke as funny as you did, with a soured mood you put your phone down and exhaled, focus locking back into the half completed report, your curser blinking at you obnoxiously.

you fingered through the stack of papers to your right, trying to find a particular case study you remember seeing when you’d organised these last night. though that hadn’t lasted long and they were entirely out of order again.

your eyes darted back to your phone as it pinged, tapping the screen and leaning across to unlock it with your face, the text thread open again now with a new addition.

‘ha ha. i’ll leave that to you, four eyes.’

then it dawned on you just who you were actually texting and you mumbled something less than complimentary under your breath, huffing and picking your phone up again, paper once more abandoned in front of you.

‘you know the book is about a rabbit. not a dog, idiota.’

‘coneja = rabbit’

the reply came right away and your eyes almost rolled back into your head once they read it.

‘i thought the dogs name was coneja. its about a rabbit? why would a rabbit run away from home? thats dumb.’

“she’s dumb.” you mumbled to yourself, the norwegian seemingly able to get on your nerves from all the way across town.

‘its for ages 3-5, clearly too advanced for you.’

your attention was redirected by your stomach grumbling loudly. deciding you’d pick this back up after some brain food you reached over to close your laptop, placing your phone back down on the stack of papers you made a mental note to reorganise later.

with a grunt you stretched to grab your crutches, twisting around in the roller chair and pushing off, using the crutches like makeshift oars to propel the chair forward, out of your room and making your way down the hallway.

“fresa.” your mami sighed with a shake of her head as you came into view, coming to investigate the strange noise as you clunked and rolled your way toward the kitchen. “easier than walking.” you shrugged, stabbing at the sofa with one of your crutches and grinning as your chair spun around and flew backwards. 

wheels almost catching on the small lipped edge of the tiled kitchen floor and tipping backwards, you were already bracing to fall but jolted with surprise as hands steadied the back of your chair, quickly saving you from toppling over.

“¿qué haces? ¡estúpido!” you whined as one of those hands smacked the back of your head, sheltering yourself as your crutches went cluttering to the floor and green eyes glared down at you as you spun around. 

“mami she hit me!” you protested, still protecting your head as alba raised her hand again, eli clicking her tongue in warning as she lowered it, your older sister settling for flicking you sharply in the forehead instead and stepping back as you tried to swing back at her.

you heard the front door open and more footsteps enter, quiet murmur of a hushed conversation floating into the room. trying to grab one of your crutches to stab alba she quickly kicked them out of reach and shot you a smug smile.

rolling your chair now carefully over the bump in the tiles you stopped in the pantry, grabbing a bag of popcorn and pushing backwards out of the pantry, scooting yourself out of the kitchen as alba watched on with a weird look.

“pequeña why are-” alexia started with a sigh as she dropped her keys on the bookshelf and eyed you up in the roller chair, olga wandering in not long afterwards. “ale she hit me!” you immediately piped up, finger pointing accusingly at your other sister whose eyes rolled.

“such a baby.” alba mumbled, alexia moving to collect your crutches for you, eyes narrowed toward her younger sister who hurried to practically hide behind eli as olga hugged her hello. “no! estoy bien.” you smacked away the blondes hands who tried to manhandle you up and out of the chair.

“the idiota came flying in here and almost hit her head on the tiles.” alba now snitched you in as once again a hand smacked the back of your head and you hissed, sheltering yourself again and scoffing as alexia moved to kiss eli’s cheek.

“if you push me closer i will send you two photos of ale from the folder.” you whispered to olga whose hand squeezed your shoulder in hello, the older girl quirking an eyebrow curiously as you nodded. the little locked folder in your phone hardly a secret, filled with all sorts of unflattering and embarrassing photos of both your sisters you’d collected over the years for blackmail purposes.

hand moving to the back of the chair olga subtly rolled you a little closer as you gripped one of your crutches like a baseball bat, swinging it as soon as you were in striking distance and collecting alba across the back of her legs with a slap that echoed around the room.

your sister yelped in pain and spun toward you with venom in her eyes and curses dropping from her lips aimed at you, your own gaze narrowed at her challengingly with the crutch held up defensively like a sword, daring her to come any closer.

“oye! you, leave your hermana alone she is already in a boot. and you, stop using it as a weapon or i will take it away.” your mami raised her voice, staring the pair of you down as you huffed, lowering the crutch to lay across your lap.

“sí take them away, make the little worm crawl its way around.” alba taunted, flicking your ear as she passed and eli wasn’t looking, a smirk settling on your lips as alexias foot shot out from where she’d settled at the dining room table, leaving alba to stumble and almost fall flat on her face.

“why are you here? tienes casas?” you accused your sisters, alba moving to make herself comfortable on the sofa and flicking on the tv. “mami has work and you need supervision.” alexia answered, attention captured by her phone as you groaned loudly, head thumping back against the chair.

“you do not want to hang out?” alexia scoffed in offence as you mocked her under your breath. “not with you, olga can stay.” you shrugged honestly as your sisters girlfriend grinned. “pequeña!” alexia huffed as again you only shrugged.

“i need to study. so leave me alone, por favor!” you all but begged, alba already engrossed in some trashy reality show you’d probably join her watching if you didn’t wish to avoid yet another night of being fussed over and babied.

“but hermanita-” “i am rolling away.” you announced, using one of your crutches again like an oar to propel your rolling chair back out of the room, ignoring alexias calls after you. 

“oh mami woke up with an ache in her chest today, and would not call the doctor.” you poked your head around the hall and announced loudly, diverting the attention off yourself as sure enough both of your sisters pounced, an argument errupting that for once you were not apart of as you quietly closed your door with a small sigh of relief.

rolling yourself back into your desk you grabbed your phone and opened your laptop, eyes scanning the incoming texts from solstrale that you’d missed while out of your room.

‘yeah i prefer picture books, no words.’

‘so does the rabbit make it home?’

‘you know since you, little miss intelligent, gave me a book…missing the last two pages.’

‘???’

‘im sorry for saying your book is dumb (it is)’

‘but i do have to know what happened to the rabbit. did it die?’

‘good life lessons for kids; the cycle of life, your pet will eventually die.’

‘except for scout, scout will never die.’

‘did you happen to take AP history, dr putellas?’

a small snort left your mouth and you shook your head, nails you noted desperately needed a new manicure tapping against the screen as you chalked up another mental note to con alba into taking you to the salon before bilbao.

‘yes. the rabbit dies. good job engen, very perceptive.’

‘you better take care of those books or the next thing you study will be my sisters fist in your face, they are hers’

‘what is a scout?’

‘i did. why?’

you placed your phone down and your gaze switched back to the laptop screen in front of you, cursor still blinking mockingly at you, eyes flickering down to your phone every few seconds awaiting a reply. 

you huffed when you realised you were doing so, grabbing your phone and tossing it onto your bed with a thud, shaking your head and shifting in your seat, grabbing the case study you needed and flicking open your airpods.

connecting them to your laptop you clicked shuffle on your study playlist, finally finding a rhythm as the sound of typing filled the room, missing the repeated knocks on your door and squealing as a pillow hit the back of your head.

“he dicho que me dejes en paz!” you huffed as alexia leant in the doorway and you pulled out one of your airpods. “come watch a movie nena, alba wants to watch love island and i need another vote.” your sister nodded behind her pulling a face of disgust as you rolled your eyes.

“what about olga?” “she left, pilates.”

“well i’m busy. go away!” you retorted, spinning back around and ignoring the huffs and grumbles of your sister as she retreated, though not before asking about five questions about your foot and pain levels and stretches and blah blah. 

“alexia, the door!” you yelled after her when she left it open. “stays open.” the older girl called back as you silently screamed up at the roof. “i will be back in ten for your stretches fres. mami said you have to walk around and you can’t use the chair all day!” rolling yourself over to the bed you very ungracefully flopped yourself out of the chair, burying your face in a pillow and yelling.

your previous motivation now gone you winced as you realised your phone was tucked under you, awkwardly pushing up with your good foot to grab it, seeing solstrale had replied and a few of your friends had also reached out to see how you were doing and that they missed you at work.

with a smile you replied to those first before clicking into your thread with the older girl and scanning her texts.

‘your sister doesn’t scare me’

‘but yes your precious books are safe putellas, dead rabits and all’

‘scout is not a what, he is a who’

‘are you busy today?’

“a who?” you mumbled to yourself as you quickly typed your own messages back, eyebrows creased with confusion.

‘WHO is scout?’

‘yes me and my one foot on house arrest are very very busy.’

‘again, why?’

you didn’t need to wait as the three dots appeared again, calling out you were fine as alba yelled if you needed anything, barely five minutes having passed since alexia had come to bother you and you sighed realising you had hours of this to look forward to.

‘this is scout. he is an angel. (and he is very offended you forgot about him)’

*picture attached*

‘sorry peg leg i forgot your social calendar is jammed.’

you watched as the three dots popped up, and went away, and popped up, and went away again, the girl on the other side of the line taking her time as you started to write a reply to her previous messages. 

the photo was of a scruffy but adorable black and white cattle dog beaming at the camera and caused a smile to tug at your lips. you’d admittedly forgotten solstråle had a dog, or that his name was scout, but she had indeed shown you a photo of him before when she’d driven you to the library.

‘i have an exam tomorrow. would you be free for like an hour to help me study?’

‘if you can’t its fine.’

‘you probably have your own stuff to do.’

‘sorry forget i asked.’

or, maybe you wouldn’t be imprisoned here for hours after all, erasing your previous message and immediately clicking send on a new one.

‘pick me up in ten.’

you didn’t wait for a reply, instead spending the next few minutes trying to change out of the fluffy pyjama pants you’d lounged about in all day, determined not to ask for anyones help, especially either of your sisters.

“fresita! ven a ayudar con la cena.” you heard alexia call out for you, a little shocked she hadn’t just come and rolled you there herself, grabbing your crutches once you’d wrestled a sneaker onto your free foot.

your laptop and papers neatly stacked in your bag you awkwardly slung it over your shoulder best you could, tilting your body so it wouldn’t slide off as you very audibly crutched your way out of the room and down the hall.

alexia motioned you over as soon as you were within sight, alba still sprawled out on the couch glued to her reality show which given her shocked gasps every few seconds must have been good.

“i’m going out.” you announced, both of your sisters heads snapping up and eyes training on you, tv paused and alexia staring you down with a knife in hand, stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables.

“no, you are going to cut these. your ankle is broken, your hands work.” your eldest sister ordered gesturing to a few peppers sat on a cutting board on the dining room table. “no. i’m going out.” you held firm, straightening up slightly and jutting your chin out with a small huff.

“to do what? estás roto.” albas foot lightly tapped against one of your crutches as she passed you, disappearing into the pantry and ignoring alexias warnings not to eat anything before dinner, her motherly tone having you roll your eyes.

“to study with solstrale. you wanted me to help her ale, ¿sí?” you reminded with raised eyebrows, your sisters own eyes narrowing as she hummed, clearly displeased to have her own words used against her.

“sí, bien. alba will drive you then!” alexia announced, your other sisters head popping out of the pantry with a scowl, hand disappeared in a bag of popcorn as alexia told her off and threw a chunk of carrot at the younger girl which bounced harmlessly off her shoulder.

“solstrale is picking me up.” you informed, quickly checking your phone and noting the two new messages that the norwegian was in fact already here from a few minutes ago, eyes widening slightly. 

“save me some food!” you ordered pointing sternly at your eldest sister who couldn’t help but snicker at the demand, agreeing with a curt nod of her head. but before anyone else could say a word there was a knock at the door and you turned, starting to hobble your way there and groaning as a blur of blonde shot past you on two good feet.

clearly the norwegian wasn’t expecting alexia as you watched surprise fill her face, your sister glaring down at the younger girl who greeted her awkwardly. “¡muévete!” you elbowed alexia out of the way with a huff and a glare of your own shot toward her. 

“she cannot walk without the crutches. she must be home before dark. she cannot lift anything heavy. she cannot-” your sister started to rattle off stern warnings to solstrale who nodded along, grabbing your bag for you despite your assurances you had it.

“i know. your mami told me last time, i’ll make sure she is safe, stays off her ankle, and home on time.” solstrale promised, the confidence in her voice wiping the scowl temporarily off your sisters face and causing a slight smile to flicker across yours, alexia clearly shocked she hadn’t terrified the girl as much as she was clearly trying.

“solstrale no-” you started to protest but before you could even finish the sentence the girl had effortlessly lifted you, hands on your hips and carefully making her way down the front steps as you sighed.

“have fun pequeña.” alexia snickered and you turned your head to shoot her a dirty look as the norwegian gently placed you down. “i can walk!” you huffed the moment your feet touched the ground again, crutching away from her down the driveway toward your car. “you’re welcome.” the older girl muttered with a roll of her eyes.

“i can-” you started defensively as she hurried to catch up, leaning over to open your door for you. “you can open the door, i know putellas. but i have the keys to unlock it!” solstrale chuckled, pushing the key in the door and twisting, gesturing for you to open it yourself.

“do you need help?” the brunette mocked with a smile of amusement, watching you struggle to bend over and slide into the car with your crutches. “no! your car is just…too low.” you huffed, giving up and abandoning your crutches which clattered onto the cement, sliding in as sol ducked down to pick them up.

“well you’re low to the ground too.” she commented dryly, opening the back door and placing your crutches on the backseat before making her way around to the drivers seat as you scoffed. “was that a short joke?” you accused with raised eyebrows as she settled in and started up the car.

“sí, lo era.” “oh now you speak spanish?”

~

“oh por dios!” you groaned in disbelief, stopping in front of the double doors to the library and seeing the bright yellow closed for cleaning sign on the front. “what do they need to clean in a library?” solstrale commented from behind you with a frown and you gave her an annoyed look, turning around and starting to crutch your way back to the car.

“like do the books get dirty?” the girl continued to question as you rolled your eyes. “they are probably cleaning the carpets idiota, not the books! how would you clean a book eh? it is made of paper.” you scoffed, not protesting this time as solstrale took your crutches and opened the passenger door for you.

“well you obviously don’t use water. aren’t you supposed to be smart, dr putellas?” the norwegian accused as she slid into her own seat and you mocked her under your breath. “i liked it better when you were quiet.” you grumbled, but if the girl across from you heard she made no move to acknowledge it.

“are you hungry?” solstrale asked suddenly, car roaring to life as you gave her an odd look. “did you not want to study? your exam solstrale?” you reminded as the taller girl shrugged. “well i’m hungry. i can’t study on an empty stomach.” the brunette shoved her keys into the ignition as the engine spluttered to life.

“this is…eh how do you say it? kidnapping!” you struggled for a moment before finding the right word in english, solstrale rolling her eyes and you grimaced as her arm shot behind your seat so she could lean across and look over her shoulder while she backed out.

“you asked me to come and get you. so maybe you kidnapped me?” the girl mused, turning back to face the road as she pulled out of the library parking lot. “you are the one driving!” you scoffed with an annoyed scowl, the often stoic girl beside you seemingly well out of character today as she snickered.

“well i could just take you home to your sisters and-” “no! its fine. take a left, i know somewhere good to eat.”

~

“do you know the answer yet?” solstrale asked impatiently causing you to lose your place in the book, slowly lifting your eyes and narrowing them in her direction. “you ask me two minutes ago engen!” you accused, grabbing a fry and throwing it at her with a huff, the girl insisting on getting burgers despite your protests there were plenty of other good places around for more local tastes.

she won out when yet again she threatened to just take you home, causing you to slump into the passenger seat with a silent but simmering anger that she’d so easily figured out a way to manipulate you, hating that she seemed to have the upper hand.

“you said you read fast.” the norwegian defended herself with a grumble, busying herself finishing off your burger when you’d taken your attention off of it for a few seconds and she’d deemed you were finished.

which you were, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that as you’d still yelled at her for it in spanish, knowing she understood most of what you said even if she pretended not to as she took a large bite and returned her attention to her phone.

you were interrupted from scanning her history textbook when solstrale let out a noise of disgust, spitting out a mouthful of food causing your face to scrunch up in disdain at the action. “you got pickles on yours?” the norwegian asked in disbelief, quickly opening the leftover burger and flicking the remaining two off as if they were an active bomb.

“¿sí? son la mejor parte.” you defended, dropping the pickles into your mouth as solstrale faked a gag. “i hate pickles.” the brunette shook her head, shoveling the last bite of burger in her mouth and wiping her hands on her pants. 

“vale! this chapter, read it and take notes.” you finally found what you were looking for, nails tapping on the page as you turned the book back around and slid it across the table. you were expecting pushback or for her to ask you to read and answer it for her, but to your surprise solstrale actually did what you asked.

you were pulled from your thoughts by your phone chiming a few times, rolling your eyes when it was alexia checking in for easily the fifteenth time since you left the house. you’d think you’d gone international and weren’t about twenty minutes away.

“alexia?” solstrale guessed at the sour look on your face as you only hummed, ignoring your eldest sisters request that you share your location with her and exiting out of your message thread. “puta!” you swore suddenly as your eyes scanned the texts from alba, eyebrows furrowing angrily as your nails clacked furiously against your phone screen.

“what engen?” you could feel her eyes piercing into your forehead as you stopped and looked up, solstrales cheeks flushing slightly pink as your gaze locked momentarily. “what solstrale?” you asked a little less aggressively and with a sigh, picking up that clearly she wanted to ask something.

“do you not understand or-” you motioned to the textbook as the norwegian shook her head. “no i just-don’t worry.” she shook her head and dropped her eyes down to the page as you didn’t bother to press her for it, resuming your very sharp tongued message to your older sister.

“what?” you felt her eyes on you once again as you clicked send and dropped your phone to the table, raising an eyebrow as her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “those.” she nodded down to your nails with a slight frown.

“those…” you repeated as you weren’t quite following what she was getting at. “they’re kinda sharp? or like…long? how do you…” she made a few hand gestures as your eyes widened finally clicking what it was she was trying to say. “wipe my ass? like a normal person does sol! i do not stick them up there, dios mío!” you cringed at the insinuation as it went quiet.

then all of a sudden you heard some strange noises, glancing up and seeing the girl across from you bite down hard on her bottom lip, clearly trying to suppress herself from laughing. But it must have been contagious as then you felt your own lip twitch, a hand coming to cover your mouth but a slight snicker leaving it before you could.

within seconds the pair of you gave up on that, solstrale breaking first and you joining in right away, your laughter echoing around the small park you were sat at in the sun, books and food sprawled across a picnic table you’d commandeered. 

“i knew you had a stick up your ass putellas.” solstrale smirked once you both got a little more control over yourselves. “shut up and do your homework engen.” you snarked back but there wasn’t any bite behind it, tossing a cold fry at her head as she batted it away and looked back to her textbook still with a small smile.

you sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, eyes closed and head tilted backward, soaking up the last of the mid afternoon sun while you rolled your boot encased ankle and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt, knowing the moment you got home alexia would be on you in a millisecond about your rehab exercises you’d not yet done today.

“so why is alexia a puta?” you were pulled from your thoughts, cracking an eye open and shielding your face from the sun. “not alexia, my other hermana alba. we watch a show and normally we sit and watch together but she watched ahead without me!” you puffed air from your nose with annoyance, your sister texting you the spoilers for the last two episodes you had been waiting for her to watch with you.

“then she texted me spoilers and i have been avoiding them all week but they are everywhere. so now i know anita cheated on montoya and i will have to catch up alone because alba will not watch it again with me!” you huffed, crossing your arms and glaring off into the distance.

“temptation island?” solstrale spoke without realising, colour filling her cheeks again as your head whipped toward her like lightning. “la isla de las tentaciones. you watch it?” you gasped, solstrale scoffing and shaking her head no immediately.

“no! ingrid and mapi watch it.” she rolled her eyes as you looked on unconvinced. “but you know the contestant names?” you asked with a small smile as the norwegian mocked you under her breath. “you so watch it. admítelo engen!” you grinned as she shot you a glare, snapping her textbook closed and starting to hastily shove her things into her backpack.

“vamos, you are throwing a tantrum?” you mocked with a pout, solstrale again shooting you a dirty look as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and rounded the table. “no. its almost your curfew, peg leg.” the older girl grumbled, a slight squeal leaving your mouth as she grabbed your hands and hauled you up, steadying you on your crutches which almost slipped.

“so which couple do you think will last?” you asked as she took off and you crutched after her across the park toward the car, loving that this was clearly getting under her skin and she was obviously trying to hide the fact she enjoyed spanish reality shows.

you asked a few more questions teasingly but all remained unanswered as solstrale stayed silent, opening the door and helping you into the car without a word, tossing your crutches in the back as you did up your seatbelt.

your opportunity to annoy her further was smothered as solstrale plugged her phone in and turned the volume of the sound system right up, having you wince slightly as the car engine roared and she pushed the hand brake down.

you were shocked that a few of the songs which played during the ride home you actually knew, a couple you even liked enough that they already sat on rotation in some of your playlists, but you wouldn’t let her know that.

you took the chance where there was a break in between songs and you were almost back home, leaning forward and turning down the sound as solstrale gave you a look and reached to turn it back up, surprise flickering across her face as you smacked her hand away when she tried.

“my car. my music. don’t touch putellas!” but again when she tried to turn it up you slapped at her hand. “i need to ask you something. it is important.” you warned seriously, solstrale turning onto your street and nodding slowly for you to continue, intrigued by whatever it was you had to say.

you let out a sigh as if collecting yourself for a moment, the norwegian pulling into the driveway and if you’d been looking you’d have seen your eldest sisters head pop through the curtains like a guard dog at the sound of the engine.

“well?” solstrale waved for you to speak as you turned to look at her, inhaling deeply as her eyebrows furrowed together with slight concern. “do you think montoya will cheat on anita for revenge?” you asked seriously, solstrales face morphing into a scowl as yours perked up into an innocent smile.

“get out.” the norwegian sighed with a roll of her eyes as your smile grew, sufficiently satisfied you’d gotten under her skin again. “do not help me! i have it.” your smile dropped as you heard her unbuckle herself to get out, huffing in determination and though it took a minute or two managing to shuffle out of your seat.

balancing on your good foot you hopped a couple paces to the left, opening the back door and reaching in for your crutches, steadying yourself on them and kicking the door closed again with your good foot.

“well…adiós.” you spoke a little awkwardly, unsure quite what to say as solstrale simply gave you a small salute, you crutching your way down the driveway before she could have had the chance to say anything, watching to make sure you got inside okay before she took off home.

the front door was already open and alexia leant across the frame the moment you got out of the car, sending your sister a fierce glare when she stepped forward to help you up the stairs once you were closer. “i will stab you with them alexia.” you warned seriously when your first look went ignored.

“la actitud.” the older girl muttered with an unapproving shake of her head, but of course still ignoring you, an arm wrapping around your torso and practically carrying you up the stairs and back into the house.

“a la mierda!” your sister cried out when she let go of you and true to your word you suddenly jabbed her in the ribs with the end of one of your crutches, alba laughing from the sofa behind you as you turned and held up your crutch threateningly, your sister ooohing sarcastically.

though before you could launch the crutch at alba like a javelin it was snatched from your grasp, causing you to lose your balance and lurch to the side, collapsing into your eldest sisters awaiting grasp as she helped you slowly make your way around to sit down.

“you can have these back later.” the blonde warned seriously, confiscating your crutches you muttered something less than kind under your breath as she took them away. “boot off pequeña! do your exercises!” her voice echoed in from the kitchen as you groaned, body sliding down the sofa until you were slumped over in a weird angle, well aware you had maybe two or three minutes to do so of your own free will before it was done for you.

“how was your study date diablillo?” alba questioned from the other end of the sofa, eyebrows raised curiously as you scoffed. “it was not a date!” you emphasized, pulling a face that had your sisters lips curling up into a smirk.

“i did not mean it was a date.” your sister started, turning around a little more to look you over as you rolled your eyes, reaching for the remote which sat between you and scowling as her foot kicked out to knock it away and out of reach.

“did you want it to be a date?” your older sister continued to question with a teasing tone, crossing her arms and grinning as you chose to ignore her, pushing your torso up to grab your phone from your back pocket.

“are you going to text your date hermanita?” aba pouted mockingly as you gave her a filthy look. “date? who went on a date? you went on a date? when? where? with who?” alexia practically flew into the room as you exhaled heavily, dropping your phone onto your stomach and sliding even further down the sofa.

“no. la idiota is talking about solstrale, ingrids sister.” alexia seemed to relax at that, telling off your other sister for teasing you and smacking her legs out of the way, occupying the empty seat between you. “ale!” you protested as she grabbed your legs, manhandling them into her lap and unlacing your sneaker and starting to undo the velcro clasps of your moon boot.

but your protests fell on deaf ears as sure enough your sister expertly started to roll and rotate your broken ankle, knowing your rehab plan like the back of her hand as you gave in with another deep sigh, reporting back how the pain was out of ten after each exercise.

“oye! ¿para qué era eso?” alba accused with a groan as you grabbed your now unlaced sneaker from your good foot and threw it over alexias shoulder, smacking your sister perfectly in the side of the head with a satisfied nod.

“for spoiling la isla de las tentaciones, puta!”

[samkerrworshipper]

why did you change?

leah williamson x reader

part one, part two

summary: you meet leah in a VIP bar and can't decide what to do with her

words: 3625

content warnings: smut (i think), references to smut, just general misery

notes: this was fun lol x

also idk if any of you noticed, but all the part titles are lyrics from the smiths fun fact!

You fuck Leah in Zürich. 

It’s good. You said that last time. She bathes in your confirmation anyway. 

She saves your number in her contacts, saying, “I thought it was you but I wasn’t sure,” as if that explains why she never replied. As if that reveals to you how she miraculously found your hotel. “I wanted to tell you to ignore Alex,” she lies as you lead her to your room, the both of you knowing that this is a bad idea and accepting the mistake. Leah hesitates for a moment, taking in the hunger in your eyes. “I remember the rules.” 

You see her again in London. 

It’s not part of the schedule, not where you should be. Neither of you mention that. She messages you when you land. A charter to Luton. Nearby. Of women to fuck, one a twenty-minute taxi ride away is the most convenient. 

It becomes a rhythm. She doesn’t come to any other shows. Never asks about them. Doesn’t care whether you’ve added to the setlist or banned the glitter she had licked off your neck in Zürich. 

You familiarise yourself with the hotels in St Albans. Soon, with her house and the code for her gate. 

You keep moving – Munich, Amsterdam, Budapest – but London seems to be a regenerative point. You appear, sleep with her, and fly back with the ache still between your thighs. Your shoes are always off by the time she closes her door, coat dropped in the hallway. She always tastes of the ridiculous berry-flavoured electrolyte drinks she keeps stocked in her fridge. She shoves them into your hands just before you leave. 

It is neither kindness nor a joke. It’s a parting gift. You are certain it is because she has been drilled to think about hydration levels like they bring impending doom. You’re not sure you will ever grow to like their bitter taste. 

And still, it continues. 

You don’t text her from Vienna. You don’t call from Prague. But she seems to know when you will be circling back. Somehow. Like a bad habit she disappointedly awaits. 

One night, she’s in Paris at the same time as you. You’re playing a sold-out arena where no one listens to the lyrics; she’s playing in a Champions League match and scores in the 78th minute. The timing is off, but you get her message before you go on stage. 

1-0. You’re welcome.

You had made the mistake of letting it slip that you’d grown up in a red-and-white household. You regret it, deeply. 

You reply with a photo of the crowd and a message following it that just says, Sold out. 

She doesn’t respond. That’s the way it is. 

You joke once, half-asleep in her sheets, wearing down the minutes remaining in the space between sex and your taxi arriving, that you have never seen her play.

She shrugs. “Why? You’d hate it.” 

“You don’t know that.” You’re a little offended – no idea why. You’ve been to a football match before. Your father is a Manchester City fan. He took you with his family. He couldn’t shield you from the glares of his wife. 

Leah only smirks and shakes her head, because she knows she doesn’t have to explain. There’s hardly time for you to disagree, anyway. 

Weeks later, you’re at her house again. She buzzes you through the gate without a word. You’re barely past the threshold before her hands are on your waist. Clothes drop like the pretence of formality. Then she veers left, not towards the stairs that lead to her bedroom. 

The corridor opens into a study.

No. 

A shrine. 

Clean white walls, soft lights, and a glass cabinet full of medals and trophies. Some still shine like they were won last night. 

She presses you against it, her mouth at your neck. You let it go for a moment, her tongue hot enough to counteract the cold surge of glass against your bare back, until you push her away, breathless. She blinks at the glint of her silverware. 

“Did you want to show them to me or something?” you ask. She freezes. Only slightly. “Because this isn’t the way to your bedroom, and I’ve heard that you do have a gigantic ego.” 

She laughs. Head thrown back, eyes rolling. 

“I don’t show them to anyone,” she says, though you find that hard to believe. 

“Then why are we fucking next to them?” 

“I didn’t expect you to stop me.” 

“I didn’t expect a detour through your autobiography.” 

She bites your shoulder lightly and guides you backwards out of the room, into the hallway, then the bedroom. You quell your curiosity. 

Her bedroom is dark but you can tell she tidied before you came; dirty clothes folded and piled on a chair, bed made only for the covers to be ripped off as she pushes you onto it. 

She’s on top of you, moving like she’s got time to waste – a lie, but she tells it well. Her mouth is on your collarbone and her hips grind into you with the smug rhythm of someone who knows exactly how much she’s already turned you on. 

You’re trying to focus, trying to stay in it, but something is itching at the back of your mind. 

Your gaze flickers to the doorway. 

“Wait,” you blurt out, hand almost leaving Leah’s waist to cover your mouth. 

Leah stills. “What?” 

You hesitate, hating the question that rests in your tongue. You say it anyway. “Which ones are with England and which are with Arsenal?”

She blinks down at you. Her face is flushed, breathing a little heavy, and for a second she just stares, absolutely blindsided. “Are you seriously…” Her mouth twitches. “You want a medal breakdown now?” 

You shrug beneath her, already grinning. Her forehead crinkles from unfettered irritation. “You dragged me into your trophy porn palace. I’m just trying to understand what’s fucking me.”

Another beat passes with Leah’s gormless stare. Then, she groans like you’re the most frustrating, irresistible thing she has ever met. “You’re unbelievable.” She rolls off you, griping about the mood being killed under her breath, but she’s laughing. And then, to your surprise, she grabs your wrist. “Come on.”

“No way.” 

But you’re halfway out of the bedroom. And she’s so excited, you can tell, although she tries not to be. 

Half-naked. Flushed. Barefoot. 

She nudges the door open and flicks on the light. You look around again like you hadn’t the first time – not breathless, not with your back pressed to cold glass, not with impatience. 

Leah crosses to the cabinet like muscle memory is pulling her there. She points. 

“These,” she says, knocking gently on one glass shelf, “are club-level. Arsenal. Most of the silver ones. That’s the Conti Cup. That’s the FA Cup.” She reaches into a drawer and takes out a box. “This is the community shield. Far from flashy, but it still counts.” 

You squint. “And that one?” you ask, nodding towards the only medal not inside the case. It looks as though it had been haplessly dropped in the chair tucked under a desk. You briefly wonder what on earth she needs a desk for. 

She turns, following your gaze, and you see the change in her face before she says anything. The medal’s ribbon is thick, the metal heavy. Sleek. Recent. And she looks at it with pride. A different kind to the other accolades she has shown you. 

“That one,” she says, stepping over, lifting it gently. “Champions League. We beat Barça in May.” You remember how Jess went to the match, invited you to come with. How you’d scoffed and said no. How your younger brother, with whom you’d replaced your friend, insisted he put it on in the background as a die-hard Arsenal fan unsatisfied by the men’s season. 

“It was 1-0, wasn’t it?”

She nods and then walks back to you with it, dangling it loosely in her hand. “I haven’t put it away yet.” 

You look at her. “Still parading it around?” 

She snorts. 

“I don’t know where it should go.” 

Her answer is more pragmatic than you had expected. Then again, any humility Leah shows you never fails to surprise. 

She’s standing too close now. You’re still topless, still wet, but suddenly this feels too intimate for sex. You glance down at the medal in her hand, then back up. “Are you going to let me wear it?” 

“You want to?” 

You shrug. “Might as well flex my pretend abs and bathe in fantastical glory.” 

That makes her laugh. Then, without ceremony, she reaches up and drops it over your head, letting the ribbon settle around your neck, the weight of the medal thunking against your chest. 

It’s heavier than you had assumed. She adjusts it slightly, fingertips brushing your skin.

“There.” Her voice is suddenly quieter than before. “You’re officially decorated.”

She’s smiling, teeth showing, lips parted proudly. Her eyes reflect the trophies behind you. She exudes a warmth that you know you shouldn’t be seeing. 

You look down at her lips. 

Your mind flashes red and angry but intrigued. Wanting. It feels as though you are being torn apart. 

It’s spectacular. It’s painful. 

It���s a terrible, terrible thought. 

Still, it comes fast and stupid and true. 

You’re in love with her. 

Leah’s hands find your waist, lips on your neck, teeth scraping past the medal adorning it. You gasp into her. You force your eyes shut.

…

“Is this sanitary?” 

You jump out of bed, hastily pulling on a t-shirt that has been left to grow creases on the floor. The girl you were just about to go down on hides her face under the covers. 

“Jess!” Your tone should be enough for her to leave the room, but she doesn’t. “How did you even get in here?” 

“Your manager gave me the second key. Said something about you needing to be interrupted.” 

Angrily, you plonk back down on the bed, crossing your legs as if restraining yourself from physically attacking her. The girl’s legs are folded into her stomach, and you feel a bit bad for her. 

“Jess, turn around so she can leave.” 

It’s a clear dismissal of the girl, whoever she is.

She obliges, sighing at the sound of zippers being done up and the wet kiss the girl presses to your cheek as she scurries out of your hotel room. Arms folded, eyes closed, she only waits for the door to close before swivelling on her heels and giving you whiplash. 

“As I said, is that sanitary?” You look at her as though you don’t get it. “Multiple sexual partners.” 

“I get checked.” 

“I mean in an emotional sense.” She frowns. “What happened between you and Leah?” 

“We still fuck. When I’m around.” But Jess isn’t entirely convinced by your blasé demeanour. You falter. “It’s just harder to get flights to London during this part of the tour.” 

She walks towards you slowly, brushing the sheets of the bed as though that will purge it of the bodily fluids, before sitting down and mirroring your position. For some reason, it is hard not to flinch. 

“What happened between you and Leah?” she repeats. 

“How did you know we were…?” 

“Leah told Alex.” Right. You suppose it never was an official secret. Perhaps you’re just a bit more private. Or you shout less about your conquests. 

“Nothing happened,” you finally say. “We still fuck.” 

Jess looks at you in a way that forces you to confront the disappointment in her eyes. As you stare helplessly, you notice the care that mixes with it. She’s worried about you. 

“Why haven’t you let her kiss you?”

The answer rolls off your tongue, automatic, reflexive. Insincere. “I don’t let anyone–” 

“But this is Leah.” 

She raises an eyebrow. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. 

“We just fuck.” 

There’s a pause. Jess doesn’t argue, but she wears an expression that belongs to an observer watching a car crash in slow motion. You hate that look.

“Apparently with you wearing her Champions League medal.” 

You shift, uncomfortable. “It was hot,” you defend, more to the sheets than to her.

“It was personal,” she counters, not missing a beat. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

You want to point out that there is. Explaining would be fruitless, however, since Jess has never understood why you refuse to attach yourself to other humans and you have never had the courage to fully come out with it. 

Instead, when faced with this challenge, you deflect. Your arms fold over your chest, your eyebrows knit together. “Do you have an actual reason to be here?”

“It’s the last show before your break.” 

You’d like to be annoyed but it’s sweet that she knows that. It’s sweet that she can see the exhaustion in your eyes and the fatigue that weighs down your bones. It’s sweet that Jess gets how important the break over Christmas will be. Christmas is far too complicated to be cocktailed with performing, anyway.

“I wanted to offer you an escape for your favourite holiday, too,” she says after a moment. Gently. Treading on cracking ice. “If you don’t have plans?” 

You hesitate. “I think I’m spending it with my father.” 

“He asked you to?” 

“Well, Stephen and my mother are in the Maldives. Cecily is in New York.” The days of opening presents around the ostentatiously large tree are long gone. Your little sister perhaps wishes for the memories to linger, like of the Rockefeller and skiing with your step-father’s American friends. “God knows where our darling brother is. And so Johnny asked me and I agreed.” 

“That’s good!” She tried to be enthusiastic. 

You know she means it kindly, but the strained positivity make your throat feel tight. There’s no easy way to convey the place this second ‘home’ holds in your life — awkward dinners, a half-decorated room, forced attempts at wanting to be there. Your father’s wife still winces when she sees you, refuses to ever join the boys if they go to one of your shows. She can’t bear the reminder of her heartbreak. You can’t bear the scorch of your parents’ mistakes. 

Jess is watching you now and you realise that your silence has revealed far too much. She was already scrutinising you, aware of the situation, but now you have really exposed yourself. 

“I didn’t mean—” she starts.

“No, I know,” you cut in, voice a sharpened blade ready to kill this topic. You shake your head. “It is good. It’s good.” 

It isn’t. Not really. But it’s better than spending Christmas alone. Or worse… trying to invent an excuse for ending up in London just to perhaps see Leah again. 

You’re not sure what that would even look like. She’s probably let you in without asking why. Probably have one of those godawful drinks in hand as though she has been expecting you. Probably would have been. 

Jess sighs and stands. “Okay. Well, I said what I came to say.” 

You nod. 

She walks to the door and pauses, hand hovering over the handle. This time, her voice is softer. 

“You know you’re allowed to want something more, right?” 

You swallow. “What if I don’t?” 

She gives you a look that has had its frustration sucked out and replaced. You know she can see through you, as though your skin were transparent and your organs on show. Your heart on show. 

And then she leaves. 

…

You see Leah again in late January. 

The new year rolls in with fog and conflicted emotions. A kiss with a stranger — a man, just so it wouldn’t mean anything. A brief respite between a family that’s not yours and the intensity of the tour. 

That is until the emails start flooding in from people who you pay to care about your schedule. Demands, requests, suggestions. Chords to new songs with pleas for lyrics. 

You’re meant to be writing. Everyone expects you to be writing.

But you can’t. 

Then, the tour picks up again. The crowds are delighted and entertained, and the glitter never really washes out. With the rhythm comes the need to escape. You’re on a lead and the collar is itching. 

No one questions you when you ask for a layover in London. 

She answers your text in twenty minutes. 

You’re in London? 

Technically, you’re supposed to be elsewhere. 

I’ve got training tomorrow. Early. 

It means nothing, which you know. 

I haven’t changed my gate code.

You know this too. 

It isn’t long until Leah is pressing you against the inside of her front door, teeth desperately scraping your neck as if she has missed you. You slide your hands under the back of her training top (she has only just returned) and she gasps at the feeling (your hands are cold from the biting wind outside). 

You want her to gasp like that every second of every minute. Every minute of every hour. 

You want her to devour you. To free you. To trap you. 

You want her to fuck you until nothing else matters and it is just you in Leah’s bed, naked and wet, sweating and moaning and writhing until she makes you come. 

And. Well. 

You want her to kiss you. 

She is leading you to her bedroom, hand in yours, hair tousled. She doesn’t check to see if you’re still following, even when she drops your hand to pull off her clothes. She’s practical. Efficient. 

You’re standing there like a lemon. 

You only realise when Leah gives you a puzzled look, a flash of vulnerability crossing her face when she notices you haven’t copied her. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, and she shouldn’t have done that.

She really shouldn’t have. 

“Leah…” It comes out splintered, hoarse. 

For a moment, she hesitates, as if deciding whether or not to pry. But she does, because she can. Because you’d tell her. “What’s wrong?” 

“The rule.” 

Leah’s brows draw together. “Yeah, I know the rules.” 

You swallow hard, still fully clothed, still frozen. You shake your head. “No, I know you know the rules.” She moves towards you, a hornier version of a shrug, prepared to carry on. You shake your head again. “I don’t kiss the people I sleep with. I never have.” 

Her jaw tenses. “Okay,” she says, slowly. “I kind of figured that out.” 

You look away. The words don’t come easily. “Kissing is different, you know? It’s not like the rest of it. It’s… more dangerous. Or something.” 

You hear Leah’s breath hitch quietly, but she says nothing. 

“I know that sounds stupid,” you murmur. 

“No,” she says. “It doesn’t.”

Her eyes are calm. Understanding. Settled on you like that is where they belong. 

Her eyes are beautiful, you suddenly think to yourself. 

“Leah,” you start, and it’s so quiet it almost doesn’t count. “I want to.” 

Leah blinks. “You… want to kiss me?” 

No one can know about this. 

No one can know, you decide, even as she closes the distance between you, fingertips brushing lightly against your collarbone. She lets her fingers trail upwards, just barely grazing your jaw. 

“Are you sure?” 

You nod. It’s small, but it’s there. 

She smells like wind and perfume and the conditioner she pretends not to care about. You must smell like an aeroplane and cigarettes, and maybe the coffee you had with your salad at lunch. 

Leah doesn’t seem to mind. 

Your eyes flutter shut. 

When Leah kisses you, you feel as though you have lost the game. 

[samkerrworshipper]

You go to your cousins wedding in Spain, and you catch the eye of the Alexia Putellas, she unintentionally becomes your plus one

Wordcount: 12.6k

You're standing in the queue at Heathrow, passport in hand, half-asleep and already regretting the jeans you chose. It’s too early to be alive, and your little brother has been humming the same four bars of a song for the past ten minutes. Loudly off-key.

Your mum's elbow nudges you in the ribs. Not hard, but enough to knock you out of your daze.

“This’ll do you good,” she says in that gently smug way she does when she’s convinced she’s right about something. “A bit of sunshine. A bit of space.”

You sigh and don’t reply, you know exactly what she’s getting at. She doesn't mention her name, your ex, but the meaning is clear. A change of scenery, to get you out of your 'mood.' As if Catalonian air can magic away the sting of being ghosted by someone you thought you were building something with.

You blink down at your boarding pass. Terminal 5. Gate B42. Barcelona.

“She wasn’t right for you anyway,” your mum continues, adjusting her sunglasses on top of her head. “Always seemed a bit… slippery, that one. Eyes like a fox.”

“Mum,” you say, through gritted teeth.

“What? I’m just saying. Bit of flirt, wasn’t she?”

“She literally met you twice.”

“Exactly.”

Your dad, mercifully, steps in before the conversation spirals into a psychoanalysis of your entire romantic history.

“Let’s not start the holiday with an inquisition, yeah?” he says, dragging your youngest brother out from behind a pillar where he’s been attempting to lick the marble for reasons unknown.

You glance around at your family two younger brothers already wrestling each other, your dad with travel pillow marks on his face, your mum clutching everyone's passports like the Queen of Organisation and you, heart slightly bruised, clothes slightly rumpled, off to a Spanish wedding that promises at least one full-blown breakdown yours or your cousin’s fiancé, you’re not sure yet.

Carmen is a professional footballer, espresso snob, and absolute beast at board games has been around for years. From the moment your cousin Ben introduced her at that bonfire party, you liked her. She’s sharp, a bit sarcastic, and surprisingly sweet when no one’s looking. You’ve had your fair share of deep chats with her during family holidays, usually while Ben’s off being loud somewhere nearby with your brothers and his own.

You’d even go as far as to call her a friend now one of the good ones. The kind of person who sends you memes at 2am and somehow remembers your favourite wine. You’ve never watched her play football, though. You always promised you would, and she always shrugged and said she understood you didn't get the appeal.

Apparently, several of Carmen’s teammates are flying in for the wedding. Some big names, your brothers are already buzzing about maybe meeting actual professional athletes. You couldn’t care less.

Well. That’s what you tell yourself, but somewhere in the back of your mind, curiosity stirs you've seen the players they've been showing your mum they hope go because they have questions they want to ask.

As the plane begins boarding, your mum gives your arm a little squeeze. “You’re going to have fun, love. You’ll see.”

You nod, but you’re not so sure. You’re jetting off to a country where you can only ask where the library is, to watch someone else marry a woman of his dreams after a lengthy relationship while yours just fell apart.

Still, the thought of warm air, Carmen’s familiar face, and a weekend away from everything you know? That has a certain appeal.

Maybe you’ll flirt badly with a local waitress. Maybe you’ll dance with a stranger. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn to say something more useful in Spanish than 'Dónde está la biblioteca?'

You file onto the plane with your family, shuffle into your seat, and try not to think too hard, your ear phones go in and you edit some posts and reels for your instagram account.

☀️

You’re sat by the pool, legs crossed, laptop in front of you more for show than function. You told yourself you’d catch up on a few things before the garden party tonight, maybe answer some emails, but the screen’s been idle for ages. The cursor just blinks, smugly, while your brain drifts off somewhere warmer than home but not quite relaxed either.

Your jumper lies in a crumpled heap behind you, abandoned the second you stepped into the sun. It’s still got the faint scent of Heathrow on it, rain, recycled air, something sterile. At 4:30 this morning, it had felt like a good decision, now, sitting under a Mediterranean sky in a soft cotton co-ord bralette the same pale grey-blue as your joggers and jumper you feel more put together than you intended.

The pool in front of you glitters in the heat, somewhere beyond the villa walls, a lawn mower hums faintly. Inside, you can hear your mum trying to figure out the coffee machine, and the boys are already arguing over who’s getting top bunk in the guest house.

Then a shadow falls across your laptop.

You look up.

“Hola, guapa.” Carmen smiles down at you, barefoot, sun kissed, effortlessly relaxed. She’s wearing a loose white shirt tied at the waist and denim shorts that somehow make her look like a travel ad. Her hair is up in a knot and there’s a soft flush to her cheeks, sun or excitement, you’re not sure which.

You return the smile and reach up as she leans down for a hug, the kind that lingers just a second longer than polite. Familiar, warm. She's always hugged like she means it.

“Hey,” you say, settling back again. “You ready?”

She sits on the edge of the lounger next to you, dragging a towel across her lap like she might actually get in the water but never does, “I’m nervous,” she admits, shielding her eyes from the sun. “But I just want it to happen already, you know? Then also... I want everything to slow down. Like, I want to bottle this part.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. “Yeah. You’ve waited ages for this.”

“Nineteen months,” she says, pulling a face. “Ben’s been counting like he’s on parole.”

You laugh softly. “It’ll all be perfect. You two are kind of annoyingly great together.”

Carmen tilts her head. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “You’re weird in exactly the same ways. It works.”

She lets out a breath and smiles again, this time softer. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

You mean it, too. Whatever’s been clinging to you since the breakup, the weird quietness you carry around like a second skin, it feels lighter here. Carmen has always been easy to talk to, the kind of person who doesn’t need you to be funny or impressive. She just gets it and you like her for that.

“There’s a garden thing tonight,” she says, standing and brushing invisible specks of dust off her knees. “Family and friends. Chill drinks, some food. Nothing fancy, but come down, yeah? Everyone’s arriving.”

You blink up at her, briefly thrown. “What, like... everyone everyone?”

“Not all at once,” she grins. “But enough. My parents, your gran, Ben’s work mates, some of my teammates and friends... it’ll be good vibes. You might even enjoy yourself.”

You groan lightly and flop back onto the lounger. “I’ll come if I can wear something that doesn’t involve a bra.”

“Totally allowed,” she calls over her shoulder, already walking away. “It’s Spain. No one cares.”

You watch her disappear through the French doors and then glance back at your screen. You close the laptop.

You lean back, eyes closed, face to the sky, the breeze carries the scent of jasmine and the sound of familiar voices starting to gather, you just hoped you had an outfit you liked yourself in for tonight

☀️

The villa’s garden is bathed in early evening light, all golden edges and long shadows. Lanterns sway gently between olive trees, and fairy lights snake along the trellises like fireflies caught in ivy. The air is warm, sweet with something citrusy, and the music is low just enough to make people sway slightly as they talk.

You’re holding a glass of white wine and trying not to wobble in your heels on the uneven stone path. The dress you threw on soft blue with little embroidered daisies moves just enough when you walk to make you feel like you made the right choice. You’ve even got mascara on, minimal effort, but effort was made.

You spot Carmen deep in conversation near the buffet, her hands moving animatedly. Ben’s nearby, already slightly tipsy and laughing with his best mate. There’s an easy glow to everything, like this moment might belong in someone’s memory forever.

You wander a little, sipping your wine, exchanging polite hellos with people you half-recognise from photos. Some of them are Carmen's family, some are her friends. Some are very clearly footballers, you’re not sure which is more intimidating the ones who look like they bench-press you for breakfast, or the ones who are stunning in a terrifying, should be model kind of way.

Then someone taps your arm. “Hey! There you are.”

You turn and grin immediately. “Patri!”

Patri Guijarro pulls you into a hug, warm and soft. She’s in a flowy dress and trainers, and somehow still looks like she could outrun everyone here. You’d met her on the English hen do a couple of months ago, after a lot of prosecco and an aggressively chaotic karaoke session. She was surprisingly funny, soft-spoken, and spent half the night teasing Carmen lovingly in Spanish you didn’t understand.

“You look good,” she says, in accented but clear English.

“You too,” you reply. “I almost didn’t recognise you without a disco ball behind your head.”

She laughs. “That club was scary.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m still recovering emotionally.”

You drift into easy conversation, she asks about your flight, your family, your job and you ask about training, the wedding prep you knew she'd been heavily involved in, how Carmen’s been holding up. It’s the kind of chat that soothes your nervous system, friendly, just what you needed.

Your eyes wander absently across the garden, and pause and there she is. Leaning against the low stone wall, just beyond the lanterns talking to someone, holding a drink, dressed in something simple and sleeveless. Her hair’s tied up in a lazy knot, and there’s a single gold chain around her neck catching the last of the light.

She looks over, it’s not dramatic, it’s not slow motion, no string quartet starts playing but she meets your eyes like really meets them and you smile. Purely instinctively, the polite kind polished, low-stakes, casual.

She doesn’t smile back exactly but she doesn’t look away either.

There’s a beat too long that passes and you start to wonder if you’re supposed to say something. Raise your glass? Nod? Then she looks away, quickly, like someone just called her name.

You blink, flustered. Not visibly, but enough that your chest flickers like someone lit a match inside it. You glance at Patri, who’s still talking, oblivious. You nod along, try to focus, but your eyes drift back to the stone wall.

Alexia is still there, only now she’s half-turned, back toward you, someone’s laughing beside her. She’s not looking your way, but something about her shoulders, the slight stiffness, makes you wonder. Did she actually blush or was it just the heat and your imagination.

☀️

You're sat at a long wooden table under the vines, plates scattered with half-eaten tapas patatas bravas, olives, jamón, little toasted things you can’t pronounce but keep eating anyway. Your youngest brother is trying to stack anchovy tins, your dad’s telling a story you’ve already heard twice today, and the wine is just beginning to buzz behind your eyes in that soft, slow way that makes everything feel slightly tilted and golden.

You’re halfway through a garlic prawn when someone crouches beside you, lightly pressing a hand to your arm.

It’s Carmen. “Hey,” she says, voice just for you, eyes dancing a little. “Alexia just asked me about you.”

You pause mid-chew, swallow and sip your wine. “Who’s Alexia?” you ask casually, glancing at her over the rim of your glass.

Carmen’s eyebrows lift like she’s caught you in a lie. “You don’t know who Alexia is?”

You shake your head. “I don’t follow women’s football. I barely watch your team.”

She snorts. “You’re the only person at this wedding who doesn’t know her name. That’s kind of amazing.”

You raise an eyebrow, half amused. “Is that a good thing?”

“It might be,” she says, smirking.

Then she tilts her head, just slightly, and gestures subtle, practiced. Her fingers barely move, but your eyes follow the motion across the garden and there she is. Gold chain, sleeveless dress, that same loose knot in her hair. She’s standing by the drinks table now, laughing softly at something someone said, a glass of red wine in hand. The twilight’s catching on her collarbones, her expression is relaxed but not careless like someone used to being watched but never quite performing.

“That’s Alexia,” Carmen murmurs. You try not to stare, so you look back at Carmen instead, Carmen grins. “She noticed you before.”

You make a noncommittal sound and jab your fork at a tomato, trying not to overthink whatever it is you're feeling.

“She asked if you spoke Spanish,” Carmen adds, watching you closely now. “Said you looked pretty in that dress”

You scoff, “Clearly this dress is doing more for me than I realised.”

Carmen nudges your knee with hers. “Don’t act cool. She never asks about people. Ever.”

You glance across the garden again.

Alexia’s not looking she’s talking to a group, but her body’s turned slightly in your direction like she’s ready to glance at any second. “She doesn’t speak great English,” Carmen adds.

“Perfect,” you say. “Neither do I when I’ve had wine.”

Carmen laughs and squeezes your shoulder before standing. “You’re going to talk to her later.”

“I’m really not.”

“You are,” she says over her shoulder. “She’s already asked your name.”

You blink down at your wine glass, then glance back at Alexia, who, as if summoned, briefly lifts her eyes again and catches yours.

Just for a second and this time, you’re sure, she blushes or maybe it’s the wine. You've had too much wine yourself to be sure you decide.

☀️

You’re walking past the lower terrace with a family friend, Sarah, one of your aunt's old uni mates, who’s halfway through telling you about her latest yoga retreat in Lisbon when you hear your name float across the garden.

“Hey!” Carmen’s voice, light but deliberate.

You turn instinctively. She’s seated at a low table with a small group, mostly women tall, tanned, athletic, all with that relaxed energy that makes you suddenly aware of how you're walking. Her arm lifts, hand up in a beckoning wave, fingers curled in a ‘come here’ gesture that gives you no real choice.

“Sorry,” you murmur to Sarah. “The bride beckons”

Carmen’s already smiling as you approach, her eyes a little too pleased with themselves. “Sit,” she says, standing just long enough to take your hand and pull you gently down next to her, casual, in that way she gets when she’s playing matchmaker. However this time instead of you watching amused, you were the target. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you are to every woman around the small table.

Carmen doesn’t give you time to panic. “Patri, you remember Y/N from my hen do right.”

You smile, already knowing exactly where this is going. You glance at Patri, who’s mid-laugh, holding a beer with her elbow resting on the back of her chair. "Yeah, we caught up before"

You catch Carmen looking at someone over your shoulder, her eyes flicking but before you can glance around, she clears her throat.

“Oh,” she says, like it just occurred to her. “Have you met Alexia?”

You turn and there she is, right next to you. You hadn't realised, somehow she’d been quiet, watching or maybe just letting the noise happen around her. Her gaze meets yours with that same unreadable softness from earlier. Up close, her features are sharper than you expected. Her hand rests casually on the stem of her wine glass, and there's a faint glow to her skin from the last of the sun.

You blink, caught slightly off guard, “I haven’t,” you manage. “Hi.”

She gives the tiniest nod, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Hola.”

It’s a little awkward but not bad. Just aware of the slight language delay. The kind that makes you both overthink what comes next.

Carmen leans into you like a mischievous translator. “She understands more than she speaks,” she says. “Just don’t talk too fast.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply, smiling, still half-facing Alexia.

Carmen leans in again, lowering her voice just enough to make it clear it’s for you alone. “So…” she begins, a teasing lilt already blooming in her tone. “Where’s your plus one? Don’t tell me you left Lily behind in rainy England.”

You blink, it’s not the question that catches you off guard, it’s the fact she doesn’t already know. You shift slightly, wine glass pausing just below your lips. “We, uh…” You glance at Alexia beside you instinctively, as if the answer might be written somewhere on her arm. “We’re not… seeing each other anymore.”

Carmen pulls a face, not a shocked one more like a satisfied shrug. “Oh.” Then, casually, “I never liked her.”

You let out a quiet laugh, caught somewhere between exasperation and relief. “Jesus, Carm. Bit late with that opinion.”

“I didn’t want to start something.” She shrugs again, unapologetic. “But she always made you smaller, like you were waiting to be approved or something.”

You glance down, tracing a condensation ring on the table with your thumb. It’s not untrue, you just didn’t realise how visible it had been “I'm honestly surprised you didn’t hear already,” you say. “Thought the family gossip network had international coverage by now.”

Carmen smirks, tilting her head. “I’ve been in wedding tunnel vision. No one tells the bride anything useful.”

There’s a pause not awkward, but still. You feel it settle in your chest a little, the quiet that comes after a name you’re not saying anymore. You catch Alexia shifting slightly beside you, as if she’s listening without meaning to.

“She wasn’t coming anyway,” you add, more to fill the silence than to explain yourself. “She made that clear before I even booked flights.”

Carmen’s smile softens. “Well, her loss.”

You glance up at her, smiling faintly picking at a piece of manchego when Patri leans forward, elbows resting on the table, and fixes you with a look that’s gentle but completely unreadable.

“So,” she says, a little softer than before. “What happened?”

You don’t pretend not to understand. You could, you could laugh it off or wave your hand like it’s all ancient history, but the way she says it makes it easier to answer. You exhale slowly, watching the wine in your glass catch the light, “She just…” You pause, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. “Didn’t really see me. I think she liked the idea of me, the version she imagined but not the actual human.”

Patri nods slowly. She doesn’t interrupt.

“She had this… plan,” you continue. “Everything scheduled, future-proofed. Perfect on paper and I wasn’t always… I don’t know. On script enough for her.”

You glance up, and Alexia is listening now openly, seeing Alexia watching you with that quiet focus sends a flicker of heat up your neck.

“I kept giving in to keep the peace,” you add. “And then one day I realised I didn’t even like the version of me she wanted and had create for herself.”

Patri doesn’t say anything for a beat, “That’s brave.”

You shrug. “Felt more like falling off a ledge than bravery.”

“Still,” she says, “you didn’t stay small.”

You smile faintly. “No. Just single.”

That gets a laugh, even Alexia lets out a breath of amusement soft, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to. She leans forward then, just slightly, not enough to take over the conversation, but enough to join it.

“How long… ago?” she asks, the rhythm of her words careful, eyes flicking toward Carmen for reassurance.

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Couple of weeks? Not long about 6 weeks.”

Alexia nods slowly, like she’s translating your answer into something she can sit with. “Still… hurts.”

It’s not a question, it’s not even sympathy, just understanding. “Less than it used to,” you say honestly. “Still catches me sometimes, though.”

You’re just about to deflect the conversation change the subject, maybe make a joke when Carmen, never one to leave a moment alone, leans in with a shake of her head and a glass of wine raised in something far from a toast.

“She got what she wanted,” she says sharply. “The exposure. The followers. She’s riding that little clothing brand sponsor now like she got it on her own.”

The words land with a certain heat, not cruel, but cutting in their clarity. You blink, a little stunned. It’s one thing to think it to yourself, it’s another thing to hear it spoken aloud and learn others think it to.

There’s a short silence. Someone across from you, you think her names Mariona makes a low 'ooof' sound under her breath. Patri raises her eyebrows, even Alexia looks slightly caught off guard, like she’s trying to make sense of the bluntness.

“Wait,” one of the girls says a defender, you think, from Carmen’s club. “You’re an influencer right?”

Carmen doesn’t wait for you to answer. She turns, hand sweeping theatrically toward you like she’s introducing royalty. “She’s the influencer,” she says. “She’s modest. Very chic, very understated, but yeah she’s pretty well known back home. Go on" She turns back to you with a grin that dares you not to answer. “Tell them. Come on. How many followers?”

You laugh, looking down into your wine like it might offer an escape route. “Carmen…”

“May as well just say Alexia’s going to Google you later anyway.”

You look up slowly, cheeks warm, eyes catching on Alexia’s moving from you being caught in the cross fires, “Okay, fine,” you say, tone dry. “One point eight.”

“Million,” Carmen adds like she’s your manager. “On Instagram.”

There’s a collective little ripple around the table not dramatic, just a hum of impressed whistles, nods, raised brows. “Holy shit,” someone says. “What do you even do?”

You shrug, brushing it off. “Bit of fashion, bit of travel, some brand campaigns.”

“And the ex,” Carmen adds, never missing a beat, “was tagging along the whole time. Always conveniently in the background when the cameras were on.”

“Carmen,” you say gently.

She holds up her hands, mock-surrender. “Fine, I’ll stop, but I’m allowed to be mad. You were always too nice to say it, but she used you.”

You take a breath and let it sit, but you don't need to defend it, not anymore. “Well,” you murmur, lifting your glass again, “at least she looked good doing it. My lighting’s fantastic.”

That earns a wave of laughter, even Alexia laughs soft, behind her hand, but clearly amused.

She tilts her head slightly toward you. “I… follow now?” she says, a little uncertain, gesturing toward her phone.

You laugh, more genuinely this time. “If you like mirror selfies and badly subtitled skincare reels… sure.”

She smirks. “I like… mirrors.”

You make eye contact with her, trying not to snort into your wine.

Patri leans closer to Carmen and mutters something in Spanish you don’t catch, and they both giggle.

☀️

Later, when the sun has dipped low enough to leave the table in shadow, people start peeling away.

Carmen’s been pulled into a conversation about tomorrow’s seating chart. Patri's wandered off, still laughing with two teammates, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand. Music still playing low, something Spanish and slow, pulsing softly from a speaker tucked beneath a fig tree.

You and Alexia are still here, the last two on the table, like it was all orchestrated to leave you alone.

You’re both leaning back in your chairs, glasses half-full, watching the remaining flickers of gold light play across the garden. There’s a warmth to the air that isn’t quite heat anymore.

She shifts beside you, turns her head. “You… okay?” she asks.

You glance at her, surprised. “Yeah. Are you?”

She smiles faintly. “Sí. I mean…” She squints a little, searching for the words. “Not… ‘okay’ bad. I mean… you seem…” She gestures vaguely in the air, then gives up. “It’s hard. English is hard.”

You smile, letting your chin rest in your hand. “You’re doing fine. Better than my Spanish.”

“Your Spanish is… cute.”

You raise a brow. “Cute?”

Alexia shrugs, one shoulder up, smirking. “Like… baby goat. What’s the word—”

“Goat?”

“Sí,” she says with a laugh. “Little legs. Trying.”

You let out a helpless laugh, nearly choking on your wine. “Okay, rude.”

She leans toward you, not close enough to touch, but enough to let you see the glint in her eyes. “But funny. I like funny.”

There’s something bold in that, not flirtation, exactly, but honest and simple. You smile, slower this time. “Well… I like your necklace.”

Alexia glances down, fingers brushing the fine gold resting at her collarbone. “This? It’s nothing.”

“It’s nice,” you say. “Looks good on you.”

She tilts her head slightly, a question in her eyes. “You look… good. In your dress.”

You feel the blush rising before you can stop it. “Gracias,” you manage, awkwardly.

She smiles like she knows exactly how flustered you are and is being generous enough not to tease you about it. At the table, the tapas dishes are mostly empty now, half-melted ice cubes floating in the bottom of sangria glasses.

She’s still sitting across from you now, elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, between you sits a shared plate of olives, a waitress had brought over.

You pick one up, chew slowly, then realise too late you’ve got the pit in your mouth and nowhere to put it. Your eyes dart toward the plate, then around the table, napkin? bowl? Earth to swallow you?

Alexia watches, blinking once. Then she gestures to her own empty glass. Taps the rim, tips it toward you slightly a signal.

You glance down at your wine glass, still with a finger of rosé clinging to the curve.

“Go on,” she says, and though the words are few, they land with an almost smug kind of confidence.

You delicately drop the pit into a glass. “I feel incredibly classy right now.”

She grins. “Very. Elegant.”

You laugh softly, covering your mouth. “You speak more English than you pretend to.”

She shrugs. “Only when… I want.”

You lift your brows, “So you don’t want to most of the time?”

She considers, eyes narrowing like she’s pretending to think. Then, very dryly “People talk too much sometimes.”

You let out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

She leans back slightly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her fingers toy with the edge of the tablecloth as if she’s thinking of something but doesn’t know how to ask. “I… didn’t know who you were,” she says finally.

You smirk. “Same.”

“No football?”

“I knew you were someone,” you admit, “because of how people looked at you, but no, I didn’t know who you were.”

That makes her laugh soft, low, honest. “I like that.”

You glance sideways, picking at a grape. “Must be a relief, not being recognised.”

“Yes,” she says, then pauses, eyes flicking upward. “No. I don’t know. Is both.”

You nod. “Being seen’s not the same as being known.”

She points at you. “That. Yes. That one.” Alexia leans forward, elbow back on the table, “I try English,” she says. “Now. You laugh - not allowed.”

“I would never.” She raises a single brow. “…unless it’s really bad,” you add.

She gives you a look. “Okay. First try.”

You fold your arms dramatically. “I’m ready.”

She takes a breath, clearly building up to something. “You… have…” she squints, “very… calm face.”

That wasn’t what you were expecting. You blink. “Calm?” She nods, smiling a little, like she knows it didn’t land perfectly but still meant it. You tilt your head. “That might be the nicest weird compliment I’ve ever had.”

She nods again, more confident now. “Yes. Like… soft eyes. Not loud.”

You feel it then not the words, but the shape behind them and for a second, the language barrier stops mattering. You smile slowly, not breaking eye contact. “Thanks. You have nice eyes too.”

Alexia looks down, just briefly, brushes her hair behind her ear, the breeze picks up a little, curling along your bare shoulders. You shiver without meaning to, and before you can react, she picks up the light jacket from her lap and offers it over.

You hesitate, she gives you a look that says take it. You do and neither of you says anything else for a long time.

Alexia’s resting her elbows on the table again, chin in hand, watching you like you’re a puzzle she hasn’t quite decided whether to solve or just sit with.

“Be honest. Have you understood any of what I’ve said tonight?”

Alexia tilts her head. “Mmm… maybe thirty percent.”

You laugh. “That’s generous.”

She nods, serious. “Sí. I like your voice. Even when I don’t understand.”

That catches you, not dramatically, but enough that it lands somewhere a little too close to the centre of you. “Oh,” you say, unsure what to do with that. “Thanks. I like yours too. It’s very… Barcelona.”

She grins. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. A little rolled, a little confident. Sounds like you’re always saying something clever. Even if it’s not.”

Alexia laughs, pushing her hair behind her ear once again something you notice she does when she's obviously nervous. “I like when you talk with hands.”

You raise your brows. “I don’t—”

She mimics you instantly, hands fluttering up mid-sentence in mock frustration.

“Oh my God,” you groan, laughing. “I do that.”

“Like little bird,” she says, smirking.

“I’m gonna stop talking.”

“No, no,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “Please. Keep talking. I learn… you.”

You meet her eyes and there's a pause. It’s not flirtation, not yet. Just interest, bare, warm curiosity. You can feel it pressing gently between you like a question no one wants to phrase too directly.

So you give her something softer.

“Okay,” you say. “Lesson one.”

Alexia perks up, mimicking a classroom face. Hands folded neatly. “Sí, profesora.”

You resist the urge to laugh. “British slang. Ready?”

She nods.

“If someone’s being annoying, you call them a muppet.”

“Muppet?” she repeats, frowning. “Like the frog?”

“Exactly or the pig. All of them.”

She repeats it once more, slower. “Muppet.” Then points to herself, straight-faced. “Me?”

You grin. “Definitely not. You’re more of a menace.”

Alexia tilts her head. “That is good?”

You shrug, sipping your wine. “That depends”

She watches you for a second longer, eyes soft, almost amused. Then she leans back, stretching slightly, like she’s trying to shake something off. “Spanish slang tomorrow,” she says. “We trade.”

“Deal,” you reply, smiling. “But no football words.”

“No football,” she promises, then adds with a smirk “Maybe one. Small one.”

You roll your eyes. “Menace.”

She grins, the moment lingers light, uncertain, like something half-shaped and in the distance, someone calls your name, maybe your mum, maybe a cousin and just like that, the bubble breaks.

Alexia glances toward the sound, then back to you. “I go,” she says softly.

You nod, standing too. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both stand there facing each other, not quite sure how to part like the rhythm between you hasn't figured out its next beat yet.

So you just smile, “Good night, Alexia.”

“Buenas noches… muppet.”

You burst out laughing as she walks off, shaking your head, the warmth of it still buzzing in your chest.

☀️

The morning passes in a quiet, familiar rhythm your mother knocking softly on your bedroom door, your brothers bickering half-heartedly over hair gel and shirt buttons down the hallway. It’s all oddly soothing, being wrapped up in their noise again, since leaving the family home and moving out.

You sit cross legged on the floor with your mum, taking turns with the mirror propped up on a chair. She smooths a bit of colour onto her cheeks while you clip your hair up soft, elegant, a few loose strands left to frame your face.

Your dress is lilac, something easy and light. Strappy, with a flowing skirt and an open back that catches the breeze when you move. It’s not showy, but it feels like you.

Your dad sees you last. He blinks a bit too quickly and just says, “That’s a lovely colour, you look lovely sweetheart” like he’s trying not to ruin his own makeup with tears like mum was.

By the time you're all outside, the garden’s been transformed. White chairs lined in rows under the olive trees. Carmen’s teammates and friends milling about in tailored suits and dresses in soft summer tones, music trickling low through the speakers.

When the ceremony starts, it hits you harder than you expect watching Carmen come down the aisle, radiant and unshakable, Ben trying not to cry before she even reaches him. It’s the vows that really undo you. The way they speak to each other without flinching. No smoothing over, no shrinking, just love, in its purest form.

You feel the sting in your throat before you can stop it, blinking quickly as you dab beneath your lashes with a napkin someone hands you.

Afterwards, you’re handed a small cone of white and lilac petals. Everyone spills out toward the stone path that winds around the ceremony space, confetti station, Carmen called it. You take your place just near the front, adjusting your heels, trying not to get emotional all over again.

That’s when you feel it, just the lightest brush not a bump, not an accident a gentle nudge seemingly intentional. You glance sideways and she’s there. Alexia, standing beside you, calm and casual like she’s been there all morning.

Her dress is a kind of deep, metallic bronze sleeveless, backless, clinging like it was poured onto her. It catches the sunlight in all the right ways, like light wants to follow her. Her hair’s tucked up, makeup soft, but it’s the ink that draws your eyes.

Tattoos curl over her back in quiet lines and shapes, bold in some places, delicate in others. You catch a big cat, a few words you can’t translate, something that might be a heart. You have to look away before you stare too long.

She glances down at your cone of petals. then at your dress, “Same colour,” she murmurs.

You blink, startled slightly by the sound of her voice so close. You nod. “Lilac. Like fate.”

Alexia smiles. “Or good eyes.”

You look ahead, where the newlyweds are posing for photos, waiting for the cue. Everyone around you is laughing, distracted. You hum, adjusting your grip on your cone. “I like your dress”

She replies, “You… look happy today.”

That surprises you, you glance at her. “Do I?”

She nods. “Less heavy. Good colour for you, also.”

“Thanks.” You smile. “You’re still a menace.”

Alexia grins. “Cállate. Muppet”

You smile letting a breath out for a laugh lowering your head as you hear the photographer call out something in Spanish people raise their cones, laughter bubbling.

You lift yours too, side by side with her, ready to toss lilac into the air, her arm brushes yours, and neither of you move away. Just before the petals fly, Alexia glances sideways at you quiet, deliberate. “After confetti,” she murmurs, “maybe… drink?”

You smile, still watching the sky “Sure.”

The petals drift and fall like soft rain, laughter bubbling around you as Carmen and Ben duck under a storm of colour. You toss your handful a second too late, distracted her shoulder still pressed lightly against yours.

The applause begins to fade, the moment moving on, but Alexia doesn’t.

You glance to find her still beside you, hands now empty, her gold chain catching the sun.

“Drink” she says again, this time softer. No question mark, not quite, just an offering.

You nod before you think too hard about it. “Yes. Please.”

She takes a step back, lets you fall into step beside her without asking. You follow the curve of the garden path together, away from the crowd, past tables laid out with summer flowers and delicate wine glasses, toward the little outdoor bar tucked beside a stone wall draped in ivy.

The bartender smiles when Alexia steps forward. She orders in Spanish, clear and easy. You catch the word vermouth, and something that sounds like con hielo.

You blink at her. “Vermouth?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “My drink. Not sweet.”

You glance at the bar menu, half to avoid her eyes, half to stall. “Can I just get a rose wine?” you ask the bartender, more sheepishly than you mean to.

Alexia leans in a little. “Safe choice.”

“I usually get lemonade in it but I feel that would be bad here” you speak looking back in the direction you came you spot your mother watching and give her a look as Alexia is speaking Spanish to the bartender.

When you catch her saying, "Limonada" at the end, you turn your head back

“I ask, for you.” you give a look that she just smiles at, she picks a little umbrellas made for a cocktail off the bar and tucks into your hair making herself giggle as your drinks arrive. You both take them, then turn together like you’re following the same unspoken route. Not too far from the bar, just over to the low stone wall nearby, warm from the sun and shaded by a broad fig tree.

You sit side by side, not touching not speaking for a beat, both clearly both over thinking what to say, you take the little umbrella from your hair to inspect it, when Alexia gives you that look again that half-smirk, half-scheme expression that means she’s about to say something just to get a reaction.

“What?” you ask, wary but already smiling.

She shrugs, far too casually. “You.”

You blink. “What about me?”

“You’re such a muppet,” she says, sipping her vermouth.

You groan. “Seriously? You’re still on that?”

She nods. “It’s my best English word. Very strong. Very accurate.”

You laugh, helpless. “I should never have taught you anything.”

Alexia tilts her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But now, I teach you.”

“Oh God.”

“No, no,” she insists, turning toward you, that gleam in her eye back again. “Is fair. You learn Spanish now.”

You set down your glass tucking your little umbrella in the glass. “Alright then. Impress me.”

She points to herself. “Yo.”

You nod. “I.”

Then she points to you. “Tú.”

“You.”

She smiles. “Very good. Now repeat.”

You go along with it. “Yo. Tú.”

She leans in a little, eyes glittering. Then she says it slower this time, like she wants to make sure it lands properly. “Tú eres muy guapa.”

You frown, trying to copy it. “Too eh-res... muy gwa-pa?”

She grins. “Perfect.”

“What does that mean?”

Alexia takes a sip of her drink, suddenly looking far too pleased with herself. “Not telling you.”

You blink. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “Is more fun this way.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Is it rude?”

“No.” Her voice is soft now, careful. “Is nice.” She’s watching you not just amused, but something quieter behind her gaze. Her dress catches the light, the curve of her tattoos like stories she’s letting you almost read.

“Is it a compliment?” you ask.

Alexia just raises her brows and repeats it again slower this time, “Tú eres muy guapa.”

You feel the words settle in your chest, even if you don’t understand them yet. There’s weight to them, a softness. “I’ll Google it,” you say eventually.

She smiles. “Not now.”

“No?”

“Later. When I’m not there.”

You study her, trying to read her without the help of a translation, but all you get is that familiar flutter, like something in you recognises that she's maybe flirting. You sip your wine again, trying not to smile too hard. “So what do I say back?”

Alexia taps her lip, pretending to think, then she leans closer, just enough to make you hold your breath. “Gracias,” she murmurs, voice low. “That’s all.”

You repeat it softly. “Gracias.”

She nods, eyes still on yours. “De nada.”

You sit there a moment longer in the quiet hum of the evening, in this small stretch of shade, it still feels like only you two are in existence.

Like maybe you don’t need the translation. You shift slightly on the stone ledge, setting your empty glass down with a quiet clink. You glance over at her.

You’re about to speak about it when she speaks.

“I teach you another.”

You look over, eyebrow raised. “Another mystery sentence?”

She smiles. “Sí.”

You huff a laugh. “Alright then. Go on.”

She shifts to face you a little more and says it slowly a gentle rhythm to the way it rolls off her tongue.

“Me gustas.”

You try it. “Me goo-stas?”

She shakes her head slightly, leans in, says it again, “Gus—like ‘goose,’ but softer. Me gustas.”

You mimic her. “Me gustas.” Alexia smiles, but doesn’t translate it.

“You not going to tell me?” you ask, already anticipating the answer.

“No,” she says, smug. “I like your face when you guess.”

You look at her, her knees almost brushing yours now, her drink nearly forgotten between you. “Is it nice?” you ask.

She shrugs, though her smile doesn’t fade. “Depends who says it.”

“And if you say it?”

Her gaze lingers on you, unreadable for a breath, “Still not telling you.”

You scoff. “You’re insufferable.”

She just raises her glass slightly, as if to toast your frustration, but before either of you can speak again, a shout rings out across the garden.

“Oye!” It’s Patri, grinning wide, already pointing toward a table on the lawn. “Beer pong!”

Carmen lifts two red cups in your direction like it’s a formal declaration. You can’t help the smile that creeps over your face.

Alexia stands, brushing invisible dust from her dress. “You ready?”

“Are you?” you counter, arching a brow. “I hope you’re not expecting to win.”

“I always win.”

“You’re going to be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

Alexia grins as she steps ahead, already starting to walk back toward the music, before she gets too far, she glances back over her shoulder catches your eye again, and with a faint smirk, repeats it under her breath, “Me gustas.”

You're not sure what it means, but you hope she says it again.

Someone’s set up a beer pong table near the garden wall, red cups already half-filled, teams forming in chaotic pairs. You’re pulled into the mix before you can think to resist Carmen shoves a drink in your hand, Patri’s already laughing like she knows something you don’t as you're put on her team, Alexia put on Carmens, and the crowd’s loud and loose with post-wedding energy.

Somehow, it happens every time it’s your turn to shoot, Alexia ends up opposite you, of course she does. She’s watching you with narrowed eyes and a smirk like she’s trying to intimidate you but you’re just having fun watching her lose.

She’s not... great, in fact, she’s bad and extremely not taking it well.

“This ball is too light,” she mutters after your third perfect shot lands, another cup sliding away from her side for her to drink.

You just raise your brows. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. It’s not... regulation.”

“It’s a garden table at a wedding, Alexia. Nothing is regulation.”

She glares down at the table like it’s personally offended her. Then looks up, grumpy, sulking and downs her drink. “The table’s not level either.”

You laugh. “Keep going. I want to hear the full list of excuses.”

“The cups are too close.”

“Uh huh.”

“My side is windy.”

“There is no wind.”

She doesn’t answer, just squints at you over the rim of another drink like she��s plotting your downfall.

Then it’s your turn again as it appears the rest who were playing preferred to watch you beat Alexia spectacularly so it became a 1vs1.

One easy flick of your wrist, plunk. Another cup gone from her side, Alexia groans, loud and dramatic, and turns away like she can’t bear to look at it.

“Come on!” you laugh. “Drink up, you haven’t even finished the last one!”

She glares down at the two cups now waiting for her. “This is unfair.”

“It’s literally the rules!”

“I hate this game.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do now.”

You laugh again, and she finally breaks a reluctant grin pulling at her mouth as she picks up both cups and clinks them together tipping one into the other before downing it like a woman defeated. Her nose scrunches at the taste. She mutters something in Spanish that definitely isn’t polite.

You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”

She wipes her mouth, blinking. “I said you’re annoying.”

“Was it actually that?”

She nods solemnly. “More or less.”

“Say it again. Properly. Teach me.”

Alexia leans across the table a little, holding your gaze, and says it slowly, “Eres insoportable.”

You repeat it, with terrible pronunciation. “Eres insoporable.”

“Insoportable,” she corrects, smug again.

“And it definitely means annoying?”

She smiles wide. “You’ll find out.”

You hum, "I'm making a list in my phone to ask Patri to translate later"

She raises her eyes to yours and shakes her head, "Google. Later" she waves her hand way, "Wait til home"

It’s your turn again, another shot, another cup.

She doesn’t even pretend to be cool this time she just groans and drops her head back dramatically. “No. No, no, no. I want a new opponent.”

“Too late,” you grin. “You’ve started something now.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“You literally called me a muppet an hour ago.”

“That was affection.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. This” she gestures at the table, then at your smirk, “this is war.”

You grin, cheeks aching from laughing, chest warm with more than just alcohol. Across the table, Alexia squints at you through mock outrage, and you just raise your drink to her. “To your downfall,” you toast.

She clinks her empty cup against yours with a grumble. “Muppet." and you both burst out laughing again.

You’re barely wiping spilled beer off your fingers before Alexia’s already pointing at the cups again.

“Another game.”

You raise your brows. “You’re serious?”

“I almost won.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“I was close.”

“You had four cups left.”

Alexia shrugs, drunk logic already smoothing her stubbornness into confidence. “I let you win.”

You laugh grabbing a beer bottle to fill the cups again, "Of course you did" You point at her, "I don't know much Spanish but.. Mierda"

You watch Alexia lean back laughing her hand clutching her stomach before you glance toward Carmen, Patri, and two more of Alexia’s teammates hovering near the drinks table. They’re watching you both now not subtly, either. Patri lifts her eyebrows at you in that 'hmm?' way that’s only half-mocking. Carmen has the smug smile of someone who’s decided she was right about something long before it happened.

You ignore them, Alexia's resetting the cups with a reckless, imprecise shuffle. “You in?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, but don’t start crying again when I win.”

“I didn’t cry.”

“You whined about the wind.”

Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response just hands you the ball with a pointed gesture. “Ladies first,” she says.

You sink your first shot effortlessly, another groan from her, then she drinks and something shifts.

The more Alexia drinks, the better she gets. Her throws tighten, her hand steadies, and the smug grin on her face grows more confident with every cup you lose.

You squint at her after your third miss in a row, she gives you a look over the rim of your cup, you mutter under your breath as you drink your next penalty cup, "That wind really died down, huh?"

Alexia grins, she heard you, then plunk. Another one lands on your side and you sigh dramatically.

You glance over you still have an audience, like your increasingly ridiculous rivalry has become a full-on wedding sideshow as a couple more of the footballers have joined the little group, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on the way Alexia keeps watching you after each shot. Like each time she hits, she’s daring you to react. Like it’s not even about winning anymore.

You point at her, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Yes.”

“You were terrible half an hour ago.”

She shrugs, cool as anything. “Motivation.” You stare at her, she just raises an eyebrow and says too casually “Me gustas, remember?”

You swallow, that familiar phrase again, still no translation, still no context but it lands heavier now.

You blink, then shoot and miss again Alexia grins wide and reaches for your next cup.

“You’re going to gloat forever, aren’t you?”

“Sí,” she says, laughing

☀️

The party sprawls out now as they set up the dinning room for the meal, games and music everywhere to occupy guests, people laughing too loudly, champagne corks popping mid-sentence, someone’s uncle challenging Carmen to a dance-off near the speakers.

You're pulled straight from the beer pong table by a group migrating toward a row of lawn games, you seem to have been adopted by the Spanish football first team. Patri tosses you a look like she’s ready for round three, but Alexia’s already trailing after you, stubbornly close, that competitive glint still alive in her wine-glossed eyes.

“Connect Four,” she says behind you, tapping your shoulder as you slow near the oversized version on the grass ahead.

You look back. “You sure? That’s a thinking game.”

“Exactly.”

You smirk, slotting in a red disc. “You’re really brave.”

Alexia raises her brows but doesn’t bite. She drops in a yellow one, eyes locked on the grid like she’s plotting world domination. You counter, she counters again. People are watching, not quite cheering, but hovering, definitely amused.

You lean sideways, pretending to inspect the board. “Your poker face is slipping.”

She doesn’t look up. “This is me focused.”

“Right.” Another move, then another, then click you drop the winning disc and let out a triumphant gasp. “Boom!”

Alexia steps back, blinking. “No.”

“Yes!”

She squints at the grid like it personally betrayed her. “That doesn’t count.”

You laugh. “What doesn’t count?!”

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

She pauses, her cheeks flush, then she speaks, “Your… elbows.”

You almost choke on your drink. “My elbows?!”

“They were distracting.”

You’re laughing so hard now it’s almost embarrassing. “Just when I thought you couldn't be any more of a sore loser. This is worse.”

“I will win something tonight,” she insists, looking around like she’s about to challenge you to an arm wrestle, or chess, or a race to the drinks table.

“Nope,” you grin. “I’m on a streak.”

“I hate your streak.”

“You love it.”

“I hate it,” she repeats, but she’s smiling, her eyes lit up with the thrill of it all the game, the drinks, the way you keep meeting each other in these little pockets of the night where it feels like it’s just the two of you.

Someone calls your name, a cousin waving from the karaoke setup now forming near the terrace.

Alexia hears it too. “No,” she says immediately. “Not singing.”

“Oh, now you’re scared?”

“I fear nothing.”

“You fear losing.”

“I fear karaoke.”

You grin wide, stepping toward her like you might drag her there anyway. "I thought you feared nothing.

She steps back, holds up a finger. “If you make me sing,” she warns, “I’ll say more things in Spanish that you don’t understand.”

You pause, then lean in, just slightly. “I’m not sure that’s a threat anymore.”

Alexia blinks once then smirks and you catch sight of the Jenga tower across the lawn, tall and precarious.

You nudge Alexia’s arm. “Jenga?”

She raises her brows. “You want to lose again?”

“You lost last time.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

You’re already walking, Alexia follows, of course she does, brushing a hand along your arm briefly as she passes you. You pretend not to feel your whole body register it.

The tower’s almost your height, you face off like it’s a championship final. A few people hover again Carmen and Patri, drinks in hand, clearly watching from a distance, doing a poor job of pretending not to whisper about you both, but the rest of the world fades out when Alexia picks her first block.

The game begins slow, careful pulls, little smiles, narrowed eyes, utter silence between you and then it starts getting risky.

“You’re wobbling it on purpose,” Alexia mutters as you nudge a centre piece loose.

“I’m strategic,” you counter, not looking up. “Big difference.”

The stack sways slightly Alexia watches your hand like she’s studying a match replay.

When you finally slide the block free, she lets out a low whistle, “Lucky.”

“Skilled.”

“Lucky.”

Then it’s her turn, she kneels down slightly to reach one of the lower blocks her backless dress shifting as she moves, the shimmer of metallic brown catching the fairy lights strung above. Tattoos peek out like secrets across her shoulders and down her back. She glances up once, catches you watching her, and smirks. “Distracted?” she teases.

“By your elbows,” you shoot back.

She laughs, actually wobbles the tower with her shoulder, gasps, and steadies it again with the most dramatic gasp you’ve ever heard.

“See?” you say. “That was luck.”

“Cállate”

You grin and lean in closer, both of you now circling the tower like cats. “Careful,” you say as she reaches again. “Jenga’s a cruel mistress.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“So are you.”

“I’m passionate.”

“Right,” you say. “Passion’s what made you yell about the wind earlier.”

She pulls the block free clean and impressively quickly, she stands slowly, eyes bright, close to you now, close enough that your shoulders brush. Neither of you move. “You’re going to knock it over,” she says.

“I am not.”

“I can feel it.”

“You just want me to.”

“Maybe.” Your hand is on the next block, it slides, a hair’s width and sticks. You freeze Alexia leans in close to your ear, lowering her voice. “Muppet…” you giggle, the block slips from your grip the tower sways violently and crashes to the grass.

Laughter erupts around you, but you barely hear it. Alexia’s got that smug, dangerous grin again like she planned it all along.

She leans in and whispers something in Spanish slow, deliberate, impossible to understand but definitely smug.

You groan. “Not fair.”

“Very fair,” she says. “Me gusta ganar.”

“Translation?”

She shrugs innocently. “Guess.”

You narrow your eyes. “I swear if that means ‘I win’…”

Alexia’s already walking off with a victorious sway in her step, tossing a wink over her shoulder. You just shake your head, smiling helplessly.

She walks off like she’s just won the World Cup chin high, victorious strut, that smug little grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. You stand there a second, stunned by her dramatics, then you walk with pace after her. You never chase women and yet here you were literally chasing after one you didn't even know 24 hours ago.

“Hey,” you call, catching up to her just as she grabs another drink from a tray someone’s weaving through the crowd with. “Do that again.”

Alexia looks over her shoulder, amused. “Do what?”

“That” you mimic her wink, squinting one eye dramatically, “your little victory wink.”

She tries to keep a straight face, but her smirk betrays her. “You liked that?”

You’re already laughing, folding your arms. “Do it again.”

She turns fully toward you, drink in hand, eyes locked on yours then closes both eyes at the same time, you burst out laughing.

Instinctively you reach forward and touch her forearm at her side, “That’s not a wink, Alexia!"

She shrugs, fake-casual. “Yes it is.” She does it again with so much confidence.

“You’re malfunctioning.”

“Muppet.”

You nudge her arm, she bumps you back but doesn't pull back anywhere near the distance she had been, you lift your drink to her, eyes still dancing. “To your terrible wink.”

She taps hers against yours gently, her voice low, her gaze not leaving yours. “Eres muy guapa.”

There it is again that same phrase from earlier. You pause, holding her eyes. “Still not translating that one?”

She smiles, tilting her head. “Nope.”

You sip your drink. “Rude.”

Alexia leans a little closer, lowering her voice just enough for it to feel secret. “Maybe later.”

☀️

You hadn’t planned on dancing not in heels, not in this heat, not after at least three different games involving alcohol. But when the music shifted to something warmer, something with a heartbeat, Alexia found you effortlessly amongst your family, tugged your hand gently and tilted her head toward the garden dance floor.

You hadn’t said yes, but you also hadn’t said no and put up no fight whatsoever.

Now here you are her hand in yours, the lights strung above flickering golden, the music thudding faintly underfoot. She’s not a great dancer not in the traditional, spin you like a film scene way but she’s confident and playful, and that’s better.

She twirls you once, clumsily, you both laugh, “You’re going to dislocate my shoulder,” you tell her with a smile seemingly permanently fixed to your face when she was near.

Alexia just grins, you sway together in that loose way that isn’t quite a slow dance but definitely isn’t friendly distance anymore. One of her hands finds yours again not tight, not formal, just there. Holding it like she has every right to.

Your fingers slip together easily, her hair’s falling loose around her shoulders now, her dress still catching the light like copper fire. Every time she leans in close to say something in your ear, you feel the warmth of it curl down your spine.

It’s almost disappointing when you hear Carmen’s voice calling your name through the music.

You turn, laughing, she waves you over, she notices your smile fade ever so slightly, and beckons you like a mother would, you give Alexia a look and leave her on the dance floor one of her friends happily taking your place

“Oh, finally!” she says, eyes wide and dramatic. “I thought we’d have to physically separate you two with a broomstick.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re not—”

She lifts a brow. “Joined. At. The. Hip?”

“She made me dance!”

“She made you laugh. A lot.” Carmen folds her arms, mock stern. “You looked like teenagers. Very flirty teenagers.”

You try to dodge it, but you’re smiling too much to be believable. “We’re just messing about.”

“Mmm.” Carmen is not buying it.

You blink at her, suddenly curious. “Okay, serious question.”

Carmen perks up. “Finally. Go on.”

You lower your voice a little, keeping it light, casual. “What does ‘me gustas’ mean?”

Carmen stares at you. “Who said that?”

“Hypothetical question,” you say, holding up a hand. “Just tell me.”

She eyes you. “It means ‘I like you.’ Like… I like you. Not like ‘I like pizza,’ but you-you.”

Your stomach does a weird little flip, you cover it with a sip of wine. “Okay. Interesting.”

Carmen leans closer. “What else?”

You hesitate. “What about ‘eres muy guapa?’”

“Oh,” she grins. “That means… ‘you’re very pretty.’” You stop sipping Carmen squints at you. “Why are you asking these?”

“No reason.”

“Mmhm.” Her grin grows, all too knowing. “Just, you know, collecting phrases for your Spanish textbook?”

“Exactly.”

Carmen’s already backing away into the crowd, smug as anything. “Well, maybe your Spanish is better than you think, guapa.”

You glance back toward the dance floor Alexia’s dancing there, half-lit in the string lights, your breath catches as you realise the most stunning women you've ever seen thinks your pretty.

☀️

The dinning hall is now set up for the evening meal, round white-clothed tables stretch under woven lanterns, the sun setting into a gold haze over the hills. You’re sat with your parents and brothers, all of you a little sun-flushed and half full from the first two courses. Your uncle is telling a long-winded story you’ve already tuned out of twice.

You’ve got your phone hidden in your lap, screen dimmed low, lazily scrolling through your own Instagram feed mostly old holiday posts, blurry selfies, the odd sunset you’d thought looked profound at the time. You hadn’t expected to get a notification, but there it is at the top of your screen.

alexiaputellas liked your photo.

And not just any photo it’s from two years ago, she was scrolling your instagram, you blink, smile and tilt your screen slightly away from your brother clearly looking for some entertainment.

Your thumb hovers over the notification, and then instinctively you glance across the tables just casually. She’s over on the far side with Carmen’s teammates, half turned in her chair, laughing at something, her hand out as a women opposite handed her phone back over the table. She doesn’t look at you, which makes it somehow worse, or better, you can’t tell, but you were a topic of conversation amongst her friends.

You open your DMs and click on Patri’s name, you and her had shared polite messages after the hen do.

You: Tell Alexia she’s real smooth for liking a picture from two years ago

You barely have time to look up again when you hear it a burst of laughter from the table across the way, sharp and sudden. You catch sight of Patri, cackling as she shoves her phone toward Alexia. A few others are craning to see, all of them delighting in your digital callout.

Alexia's face is a picture, you can see the blush from here, you try not to smile. Fail and look back down at your plate like you didn’t just throw a spark into a very flammable situation.

Your phone buzzes again.

Patri: She’s gonna kill me but she says fue un accidente.

Patri : She also says you’re still a muppet.

You snort softly, enough for your brother to glance at you. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head. “Just something stupid.” But your heart’s beating a little faster now, and when you risk another glance up Alexia’s watching you from across the tables.

You look back at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, biting back a grin as you type.

You: Can I ask you to translate something for me?

It’s harmless, mostly, you know it'll get a reaction, you hit send, then glance up briefly, only to feel another buzz almost instantly.

Patri: Alexia said come here.

You look up properly this time, sure enough, Alexia’s watching you from across the way, her arm draped over the back of her chair she tips her chin toward you not quite a beckon, not quite a challenge and you know exactly what she’s doing.

So you stand excusing yourself and heading through the tables, a few heads turn as you approach, Alexia doesn’t say anything as you approach. Just points at you with a single finger and says, through a grin “No translation. You Google. Later. In home. In England.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips from you and without thinking or maybe very much with thinking you step in a little closer, gently grab that pointed finger, and hold it between yours. “You’re not my captain, darling,” you say, smiling up at her, “you can’t tell me what to do.”

She blinks, smiles wider, like she’s just been challenged and loves it, she leans a little closer her voice low and full of wicked amusement, “You don’t listen very good.”

You raise your brows. “I do when I want to”

“Stubborn.”

"I prefer determined"

You hear someone behind her whisper something someone else stifles a laugh but you’re not paying attention to anything now except the look she’s giving you. Finally, you release her finger with a little flick.

“Fine,” you say, stepping back. “But I’m still Googling it.”

“Later,” she says.

“At home?”

“In England,” she echoes nodding, laughing.

You walk back to your seat with your pulse dancing somewhere in your throat and the ghost of her hand still between your fingers.

You slide back into your seat, smoothing the skirt of your dress and reaching instinctively for your wine. Your cheeks are warm whether from the alcohol or Alexia’s grin, you’re not sure, probably both.

You lift your glass and take a sip, trying not to let the smile tugging at your lips give too much away, but your mum is already looking at you and not in the vague, distracted way she looks when she’s trying to figure out if the canapés had goat cheese in them. No this is the look.

She leans in gently, voice soft so only you can hear. “Is that the girl who’s been taking all your attention all day?”

You blink, then laugh quietly. “What happened to pretending not to notice things?”

“I gave up after child number three.” She nudges your arm. “So?”

You glance across the garden Alexia’s listening half-heartedly to something Patri is saying, but her eyes flick to yours over her shoulder the moment you look. She smiles just slightly and then pretends to be fully engaged in whatever story is being told.

You look back at your mum, exhale a breath through your nose, half-laughing. “She’s…” You shrug, a little helpless. “She’s nice. Funny. Annoying”

Your mum tilts her head. “Pretty.”

You nod. “Very.”

There’s a pause. You toy with your napkin, you’ve always been open with her. She was the first one you told about you liking girls. The first one you told when you first kissed a girl to.

So you don’t bother pretending now. “I think I like her,” you say, your voice a little smaller than before. “But it’s probably just the wedding. The sun. The wine. I've just got caught up in it all, it’s not like I’ll see her again, is it?”

Your mum gives you a knowing look the one she saves for when you pretend you’re being logical but your heart’s already halfway over the fence. “Stranger things have happened,” she says gently. “And you’ve always been a sucker for a complicated smile.”

You laugh. “Thanks, Mum.”

She pats your hand. “Just don’t let your head talk your heart out of something fun.”

You nod, quietly, you try to change the subject as dessert menus are being passed around, someone’s arguing about whether churros count as wedding cake, and Carmen is gracefully making her rounds in her sleek, glittering gown, hugging relatives and posing for photos.

But your mum isn’t letting this go. “Alexia,” she says again, as if you haven’t already been over this. “So she’s Spanish?”

You blink at her. “We’re in Spain, Mum.”

“I meant from here. Local.”

You nod reluctantly. “Barcelona.”

“Ah.” She smiles, too casually. “And is she…?”

You give her a look. “Yes, Mum. She’s gay.”

“Just checking.” She takes a sip of wine, but you can see her brain still turning. “So she plays for a team?”

“Yes.”

“Is she any good?”

“Mum.”

“What! I’m just trying to build a picture!”

Before you can answer, Carmen appears at your side, radiant and flushed from all the attention, crouching down slightly between the two of you. “Are we gossiping without me?” she asks, eyes darting between you and your mum with a knowing grin.

“Oh good,” your mum says brightly, turning to Carmen like she’s been waiting for backup. “You’ll know. Tell me more about this Alexia. She seems lovely.”

Your stomach sinks slightly. “Mum—”

But Carmen just lights up with mischief. “Oh, Alexia?” she says, pretending to think. “Captain of Barça. National treasure. Stubborn. Competitive. Terrible loser.”

“She’s been very sweet with my daughter,” your mum says.

Carmen glances at you. “Oh yes. Very sweet.”

You shoot her a warning glare. She ignores it.

Your mum continues, relentless. “Is she seeing anyone?”

“Mum!”

Carmen laughs, delighted now. “She’s not. But she is very picky, I'm not aware of her dating many people at all, the bigger she got the less she did it.”

Your mum leans in conspiratorially. “She liked one of her photos from two years ago.”

"How do you even know that?" You asked, your mum simply pointed to your brother beside you.

Carmen’s face lights up like Christmas. “No she didn’t.”

“She did!” your mum confirms, like this is a joint investigation. “And then this one had the nerve to act like it wasn’t a big deal.”

You hide your face in your hands.

Carmen pats your shoulder. “It is a big deal. That’s the Instagram version of writing someone’s name in a notebook and drawing hearts around it.”

Your mum nods solemnly, “Exactly.”

You peek between your fingers. “Can you both please find another hobby?”

Carmen grins and gets back to her feet, smoothing her dress. “I have to go be charming again but don’t worry, I’ll let Alexia know she’s already passed inspection.”

You groan. “Carmen”

She walks away backward, grinning, and says, “Your mum likes her. That’s basically marriage in Spain.”

You drop your head to the table, your mum just pats your back, smug as anything, “I’m good at this,” she says. “Admit it.”

You mutter into the tablecloth, “I should’ve sat at the kids’ table.”

☀️

The laughter still carries on behind you a soft chorus of music, chairs scraping, someone yelling out a slurred toast in Spanish as your family begins to slip away from the glowing lights of the wedding. The night has worn on, the heat finally giving way to a cooler breeze, and the sky overhead is scattered with stars.

Your heels click softly against the stone path as you walk alongside your parents and your middle brother, all of you drifting slowly back toward the house.

Your mum’s arm is looped around your dad’s, and she’s humming some old wedding tune under her breath. Your brother’s rubbing at his neck like he might have pulled something during the earlier, aggressive limbo game.

You’re quiet, restless in your own skin, because you’d been waiting.

You hadn’t said it out loud, not to them, not even to yourself really, but somewhere in the slow moments between dancing and dessert and that sun-drunk laughter, you’d been hoping that you might catch her one more time.

A glance, a word, a stupid half-argument about who actually won Jenga. Something, but as you all say goodnight to lingering cousins and sleepy toddlers being carried back inside, you glance around one last time, and she’s not there.

The chair she’d been sitting in earlier is empty, the space by the bar where you'd sat together after the ceremony is dark now.

You slow a little behind your parents as you near the main house, your steps soft on the old terracotta tiles, one last glance over your shoulder. Still no sign of her.

Your mum looks back at you, noticing the lag. “You alright, love?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just tired and my shoes are hurting”

She gives you a look that says she doesn’t believe you as you take your heels off but she lets it go.

As you step inside, the coolness of the villa brushes over your bare shoulders. You’re holding your shoes in one hand, dress swinging lightly around your legs. You tell yourself it’s silly, you barely know her, you won’t see her again. You weren’t expecting anything, but still, you were hoping.

And when you crawl into the big unfamiliar guest bed, in the quiet hum of night, you stare up at the ceiling for a long while the sounds of celebration muffled now through thick walls.

You don’t cry, you don’t ache, but the pillow still smells like sun cream and wine and a day you weren’t ready to let go of.

☀️

It’s well past 3am, the villa is silent now, thick with the hush that only comes after a long, sun-soaked day of celebration. The kind of quiet that hums just beneath the surface, like the air’s still catching its breath.

You’re lying on top of the sheets, in your tank top and soft cotton shorts, scrolling aimlessly, light from your phone casting shadows on the wall and then tap. You freeze. Tap. Tap-tap.

You sit up slowly, the curtain flutters as you move it aside and then, with a confused squint, you push the window open.

There she is, Alexia, standing below in the garden, where moonlight pools across the grass like spilled milk, hands clenched, shoulders slightly hunched like she’s not sure if this is a good idea or a very bad one.

You lean against the sill, still a little dazed. “Can I help you?” you ask, a soft smile playing on your lips.

She tilts her head, that familiar smirk tugging at her mouth. “I wanted to say… was nice, meeting you.”

You rest your forearms on the window frame, chin tilted just slightly. “You threw rocks at my window to say that?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Romantic, no?” You bite back your grin and your brows lift Alexia shrugs below you. “Maybe not romantic or smart.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “What would you have done if I didn’t hear you?”

She grins, wolfish. “Climbed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re wearing heels.”

She holds up her hand, fingers spread. “Footballer legs.”

You rest your cheek against your arm, watching her. Her hair’s pulled back now, messier than it was earlier, her dress still clinging to her but a jacket slung over her shoulders since the temperature had dropped.

There’s a pause, then you say it, soft, teasing. “You’re not very good at goodbyes, are you?”

She kicks a bit of stone with her foot. “No.”

“I was looking for you,” you admit before you can stop yourself. “Earlier.”

That catches her off guard her eyes flick up quickly, like she wasn’t expecting you to admit it. “I know,” she says.

You smile slowly. “Stalker.”

Alexia smiles back. “Romantic.”

Then she steps back one pace, eyes never leaving yours. “Okay. I go now. Let you sleep. My lift home is waiting”

You don’t say anything right away. Don’t want to break it, but as she turns slightly, you call softly, “Alexia?”

She looks back, you hesitate then grin. “I lied. I’m totally Googling what you said to me earlier.” Lying again that you didn't already know

She shakes her head, laughing silently, then calls up “You won’t find it right. Not if you spell it how I said it.”

You gasp dramatically. “You tricked me?”

Her grin widens. “Always.”

She starts walking away, then throws one last glance over her shoulder. “Sleep good, muppet girl.”

You watch until she disappears behind the trees, then you close the window softly and slide back into bed. This time, when your head hits the pillow, you’re smiling and sleep comes easy.

[samkerrworshipper]

hereditary

alexia putellas x reader

stuck with my horror story title because cbs with finding a new title. unpacked a lot in this but was a therapeutic experience. am in a weird phase where i feel like my writing styles changing and lowkey think it’s getting worse? idk cant be bothered psychoanalysing myself so i guess we’re all just along for the ride together lol.

warnings: childhood trauma, mentions of addiction, just a lot of trauma

Alexia’s always had a big family. A close family. Especially after her father died, for whatever reason death always seems to be the thing that brings people closest together.

She loves her family, loves the way that her soul immediately feels full in the presence of them.

On an extended scale though, she loves how much you fit in with her family.

Loves how from the first meeting with her mother and sister how you’ve slotted in perfectly, like you’ve been around for Alexia’s whole life.

She’d never really thought about your family, as bad as it sounds. Alexia’s family is everything, it’s one of the biggest parts of her identity and you’ve never been that way. Alexia’s never really thought about it. You just don’t talk about family, you don’t go home unless it’s for national team camp. Since you moved to Barcelona you’ve been so happy to make friends with anyone and everyone you can, you’ve made your own family.

It was what had attracted Alexia towards you the most, the way that even in a completely new city and country you still managed to make a place for yourself. Before your first month at Barca was up you’d already become a part of every inside joke, small group and activity. You had that kind of infectious personality that every person in a room would gravitate towards.

Alexia knew that her case with her family unfortunately wasn’t common for most people, so she’d sort of fallen into the mindset that family for you was just not as big of a priority.

Alexia’s never truly thought much about it, until she’s face to face with it.

You’re out for physio work, even though it’s supposed to be an off day. You’d been having a weird calf niggle and have been undergoing extra treatment to prevent it getting worse.

Alexia’s not in the best mood from having her normal lay-in with you taken from her, Monday mornings (middays) are the one time of the week that she allows herself to enjoy the simplicity of a normal morning undeterred by training or anything else.

She’s hunched over your kitchen counter when a knock sounds against the front door. She immediately assumes that it’s a delivery driver dropping off one of the many packages that arrive weekly due to your online shopping addiction. Alexia doesn’t really think about her outfit consisting of the ratty 8 season old Barca shorts she’s wearing or one of your oversized t-shirts she’s stolen or the way her hair is sticking up in every angle. She walks towards the door in the same sort of haze she’s been in since she was woken up by your alarm at an ungodly hour this morning.

She’s rudely woken from that haze when she opens the door and the person standing in front of her is not holding out a tablet to sign or a package to hand over.

It’s only as she comes up to the door that she realises she’s probably not appropriately addressed for 2pm in the evening.

“Who are you?”

It’s the identical accent that should probably reveal a lot to Alexia but she’s too focused on taking in the person in front of her.

“Lo siento, who are you?”

The person in front of her, the girl standing in front of her is definitely not a person Alexia has met in her lifetime.

“This is my sister's house, so the real question is who are you?”

Sister. Interesting. Alexia supposes that the girl standing in front of her, even with violently box dyed black hair and eyeliner smeared eyelids does in some way resemble you, if she squints really hard.

“Sister?”

Alexia still hasn’t had her coffee, she’s truly struggling to comprehend the new information being fed to her.

“Of course I get given the wrong fucking address. Sorry for disturbing you, have a nice day.”

The woman or girl, Alexia isn’t quite sure, is so frantic, her hands shaking and her jaw clicking as she breathes.

“You’re y/n’s sister?”

The person had just turned around to start walking away but pivots as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“In the flesh.”

Alexia wasn’t even aware you had a sister, and the girl standing in front of her looks and acts so completely different to you that she finds it hard to believe that you are somehow related to this woman.

“Do you… do you want to come inside? She’s at training right now but she should be home in the next hour.”

The girl hesitates for a second, like she’s considering her options and then realises she has no other option.

“Can you-Can you help me with my bags?”

It’s the first time Alexia’s acknowledging the suitcase, backpack and duffle bag that the girl has, like she’s packed for a six week trip.

“Yeah, I’ll take the duffle and suitcase.”

The awkward silence that has overtaken your house for the last hour or so has been hard to navigate. Alexia doesn’t know what to ask a person she knows nothing about, and every time you touch anything you recoil back as if you’ve been burnt. It took twenty minutes for Alexia to guide you and get you to sit down on the couch. You’re like a spooked dog.

She’s had her coffee now and has spent the last little while observing you.

“So you’re the fling?”

Alexia and you have been public for at least a year now, there is more than enough evidence of it on social media. So either your sister has absolutely zero concern for you or she’s living under a rock.

“No, the girlfriend.”

The girl doesn’t say anything but her face shrivels up for a second and it’s enough for Alexia to get an understanding.

“Well my sister is a very important football player so I don’t understand how you fit into the picture.”

Alexia’s English isn’t great but she can detect emotion and the emotion bleeding from this girl is insecurity in its finest form.

“I play football with your sister.”

That silences the girl.

She’s silent until the sound of the front door unlocking echoes throughout the house.

“Ale, you left your shoes in the entryway again, are you trying to make me break my ankles.”

It’s the same sunny sarcasm that you exert everywhere, the same sunniness that makes Alexia feel warm.

“No bebe, sorry.”

She can’t help but think as she listens to your footsteps walk down the entryway that the serenity is about to be snapped in half.

You walk into the kitchen and look fairly relaxed until your eyes catch the suitcase. Then in a very quick succession they spot the duffle bag and then the back pack and finally your sister. Alexia doesn’t know what she expects but your reaction is definitely not anything remotely near what she thought.

“Get out. I’m serious get the fuck out. I’m done with your shit Billie.”

The girl, Billie? Stands up and for the first time since Alexia’s met her, she looks sure of herself.

“Wow, real nice way to greet your own sister after not seeing her for three years.”

Alexia feels like she’s watching a movie as it all unfolds in front of her.

“Half-sister, and you don’t get to show up here. I don’t want to know why you’re here because there will be a motive that I want nothing to do with.”

Alexia’s never seen you angry, beyond white line fever on the pitch you’re such a mellow person, always smiling and laughing. This is so far from that.

“Really? Hit me with the half-sister like we didn’t grow up together. Why do you always have to assume that I want something from you? You’re just so much better because you’re great at soccer, and have so much money that all I could possibly want is something from you, is that what you think?”

It’s so vicious, Alexia would almost prefer for the two of you to be throwing punches then this.

“Well it’s all I’m used to isn’t it, considering my first paycheck was used to pay off drug debt, my first brand deal was used to pay for your bail and my euro winners bonus was used to pay for a lawyer for mom.”

That leaves your sister, Billie? Silent for a while, long enough to think of a comeback.

Alexia feels like she’s intruding, like this moment is not for her in any way.

“Oh you were the one used, of course, because everything bad has happened to you. Doesn't it matter that you left mom and I with nothing when you left to play soccer, that I had to deal with all of mom’s problems on my own at 12, that I had to find a way to provide? No, you were the one who had it though because you lost a few pennies paying for what you left behind.”

Alexia knows nothing, absolutely nothing about your family history. But in this very short span of time she’s learnt a lot.

“Hola, I’m sure you had a rough flight, how about I show you to the spare room and you can shower and have a rest. I’m sure we can figure this all out over some lunch, later?”

You look like you might shoot Alexia.

“No, she’s leaving, there is no way you are staying.”

Alexia is impartial, truly, but the way that this girl, who she hardly knows face falls, she wants to help. She feels like she has to help.

“Bebe, let's just let her settle in a bit, she’s clearly travelled to get here. I’m happy to show you to our spare room, there’s an ensuite and the sheets are fresh.”

You nod your head, albeit hesitantly.

By the time Alexia has shown your sister around the spare room and bathroom you’re no longer in the kitchen. She doesn’t have to go far to find you though.

She doesn’t know what it is about your wardrobe that you find comforting, but whenever you’re stressed or sick or frustrated she never fails to find you lying on the floor.

“Bebe, what was that all about, hmm?’

You’re not crying, in Alexia’s time of knowing you she’s seen you cry twice. The first time was when you broke your arm in training, the second time was when Alexia had first floated the idea of marriage. Right now though you look as close to tears as Alexia thinks a person can get.

“She has to leave. I can’t have her here, she cannot be here right now. I want her out of my house.”

Alexia’s not quite sure what to say.

“She’s your sister, no? Surely you can give her a little bit of your time?”

You look at Alexia like she’s just shot you.

“No, she’s not my sister. As far as I’m concerned she’s nothing. She can fuck right back to whatever hole she’s crawled out of.”

This is a side to you Alexia’s never seen, she’s never seen you break or blunder.

“Bebe, she came all this way, surely she has to be here for a reason.”

You sit up from your position lying down, crossing your legs like a child.

“The only reason she is here is to ask for money. Like always, it happens every few years where she comes asking for money because my mom’s gotten in some kind of trouble or Billie has a debt she has to pay or some other serious matter that the two of them aren’t responsible enough to deal with on their own. She only ever wants one thing. I left England because I was done with it all, I’m done with their shit.”

Alexia’s never hated a family member, she doesn’t understand what it means to feel disconnected from the people that share the same blood as you.

“So you plan to spend the rest of your life separated from your only family? She’s here bebe, she’s here for you, shouldn’t you at least listen to what she has to say?”

The teariness clears from your eyes and is replaced with something that Alexia can only describe as rage.

“I plan to spend the rest of my life away from my addict sister and mother who do nothing but wreak havoc on everything they touch. You don’t understand because I haven’t told you about them, for good reason. I was put into foster care four times before the time I was twelve because my mother chose to buy drugs instead of food for her kids. I moved out of my house at thirteen to live with Keira because my mum forgot to pay academy registration and wouldn’t buy me boots or uniforms and the club was going to kick me out. As soon as I got my first professional contract they were magically back in my life. I have spent the last ten years realising that they want nothing to do with me besides money and this time is no different.”

You’re right, Alexia knows nothing, even the description you’ve just given her is brief. But as the outsider in this whole situation she wants to believe or at least advocate for your sister.

“Bebe, you can’t really blame her if your mother was as bad as you said she was, can you? She’s clearly had a hard life, don’t you think she deserves to at least be heard out?”

The way you shake your head so vehemently makes Alexia feel like there is some kind of history that you’re leaving out. You aren’t an irrational person, not at least in the ways that Alexia has seen you.

“You really don’t understand, you don’t understand what it’s like to have your family use you for everything you have and throw you out like you mean absolutely nothing. I tried to give her an opportunity, paid for her schooling, paid for everything she could have wanted all for her to throw it back in my face and use all of the money for drugs. She’s reckless and a user and I want nothing to do with her.”

Alexia sits down on the floor next to you because the level difference is making her feel uncomfortable. You look so much more vulnerable than she’s ever seen you and she doesn’t know what to do. You've always been so strong and impenetrable and now here you are completely broken in front of her.

“Baby, she’s so young. She can’t be over 20, she’s still a child. You got away because of football, but she’s been stuck her whole life. I know very little about your mother, and I’d love to hear more but a child can’t be put to blame for the environment they were brought up in. You had football, but from what you’ve told me she had nothing, and maybe this is the same as always and maybe you’re right but shouldn’t you give her a chance to be herself?”

The silence makes Alexia feel a bit better, like she might have said something that’s resonating with you slightly.

“I left her when she was 5 with my addict mother. I knew what I was doing, I knew that my mom was an addict and the risk of me leaving my sister with her was but I was so focused on myself. I didn’t go back until she was 10. God knows how many boyfriends and dealers my mom had coming in and out but I was so focused on football that none of it mattered to me. I left her and I hate her but I hate myself for doing that to her and I hate that she’s turned into my mom because I left her.”

It’s then that Alexia witnesses you sob for the first time. She can’t do anything but bring you straight into her arms. You jump into her lap like you’re trying to jump into Alexia’s bones and bury your head directly into her neck. It’s not a normal circumstance but it feels so right.

“Bebe, it’s not your fault. You left because you could and there is nothing wrong with that. None of it is your fault, none of it at all.”

You continue to sob, in a way that makes Alexia’s heart shatter. She can’t truly empathise with this, and she doesn’t know how to give you advice at this moment so she lays into physical contact. She figures out quite quickly that you like your back rubbed so she focuses on drawing different patterns and lines across your back as you continue to cry.

Alexia feels like she’s stuck in the moment, in a time warp of some kind. At least until there’s a knock at the bedroom door.

The door isn’t fully closed, Alexia can see your sister's body stuck in the doorway. She’s completely frozen like she’s witnessing a crime or something else horrific.

“I’m going to leave. I know when I’m not wanted and I think it would be best for everybody here if I’m gone.”

Alexia doesn’t want to speak for you, not in any way. All she sees though as she looks at the girl in front of her is complete fear, and it makes her sad. If any girl on the team who was so young looked the same way Alexia wouldn’t hesitate to bring her in for a hug and do whatever she could to make it better. She can’t overstep here though, even though it’s hurting her from the inside to out by not.

Just as she begins to retreat, you perk up in Alexia’s lap.

“We should talk, you came here for something, yeah?”

You wipe at your eyes like displaying vulnerability at this moment is illegal.

“We don’t have to, I can leave.”

You clear your throat and shake your head, untangling yourself from Alexia.

“Let’s talk, we need to talk.”

You pat down on the carpet next to you and Alexia takes it as her queue to leave.

“I’m going to go and make some food, I think it’s needed.”

Seeing your sister for the first time in years makes you feel icky on the inside. It’s a weird dichotomy of looking at the person that you could have been versus who you are.

“Sit down, this isn’t a standing conversation.”

You’ve slowly become free in the last few years, you’ve felt the pressure and demons from your past slowly exit your body and leave you. But now as you look at your sister it feels like you’re facing them all front on.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, and I didn’t know you would be training. I didn’t want to disrupt you or anything, it was just-it was an emergency and I had nowhere else to go.”

It feels like you’re sitting in front of a mirror, you don’t know whether to reach out or what to do.

“It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m sorry for reacting the way I did, the last thing I expected was for you to be here and I’m still shocked. You had an emergency? Are you okay, first and foremost.”

It’s weird trying to connect with a person that you’ve never connected with before but probably should have.

“It’s mom, she’s in a lot of trouble. She owes a lot of people money and she’s getting sick and there are people breaking in and trying to hurt us constantly. She needs help.”

Your stomach drops and you try to hide it.

“You’re here for money.”

It hurts a lot. You want to feel good about being right but in the end it actually is just painful more than anything.

“Look, mom’s really struggling. I think she’s developing dementia, she’s always forgetting things and she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore. We just need some help.”

It’s a hard pill to swallow.

“Wow, you’re actually here for money. You are unbelievable. Here I was hoping that maybe you were here to connect or something else, but I guess if it barks like a dog it really is a dog.”

Your sister recoils like she’s offended.

“Look, you don’t understand. You left, you left mom and I. You don’t get to judge us, you fucking left us.”

You feel stronger from Alexia’s conversation, more sure of yourself.

“Yeah I did what most kids did, I recognised when I was in a terrible situation and I found a way out. I’m sorry you couldn’t and you didn’t and I’m sorry that I couldn’t do better for you but I can’t put myself in that situation anymore. I’ve spent the last few years doing everything in my power to make myself whole again. You are not responsible for mom, I could tell you a million different reasons why if you were open to hearing. You might not be ready for that conversation at this moment but when you are I will be here to have it with you. Our mother is not normal, she has problems and it’s not necessarily her fault but it’s also not your responsibility to manage that and I don’t know if it’ll take her dying for you to realise that or if you’ll die believing she’s your responsibility. Either way I’m done, I’m not going to give mom money that I know is going to go towards her destroying her life even more. That’s the little power I have now. Distance was the best thing I ever did and when you feel the same way there is a spare room here for you.”

You know when your sister’s eyebrows crease in the same way that yours do when you’re angry that this conversation is about to get so much harder.

“God that’s all so rich coming from you, miss princess of english football. I have nothing but mom, mom is everything to me and there is no world where I can just leave her, do you even have a conscience?”

You want Alexia back now.

“This has nothing to do with me. It is not your responsibility as a child to care for your parents. Look, stay the night, think about what I’ve said and if you disagree I’ll pay for your flight out in the morning, I’ll drive you straight to the airport.”

Your sister doesn’t seem happy with that response but you think that if you talk about it all for a minute longer than the sickness in your stomach is going to turn into vomit.

“Let’s go eat, you must be hungry after the travel.”

You sit through what might possibly be the most awkward meal of your life. Then you make an effort of collecting all the spare linen and supplies for your sister and making sure she’s settled in before returning to your own room.

It’s a lot earlier than usual for you to be going through your bedtime routine but you don’t feel like you have anything to stay up for.

Alexia and you work in silence as you go through your nighttime routine.

It’s not until the two of you are lying in bed next to each other that she says anything.

“Your talk didn’t go well?”

Her arms are wrapped around your waist the same way she sleeps every night.

“Am I a bad person for leaving them?”

Alexia’s arms tighten.

“No, bebe, not at all.”

Your head is sore from thinking about it.

“Everytime I look at her all I can see is myself and it scares me, that could have been me and it makes me feel bad. Like I should be giving them stuff because I could easily be in the same situation. But also they’re not my responsibility and I don’t want them to be.”

Alexia’s head moves into the crook of your neck and places a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“Bebe at the end of the day it is your life and whatever is going to make you happiest is what is most important. They are not your responsibility.”

You want to agree with her, you’ve worked the last years to convince yourself but now it feels like it’s all crashing down.

You aren’t at all surprised when your sister is nowhere to be seen in the morning. You also aren’t surprised to find every drawer, bag and cabinet ransacked. It sort of comforts you in a weird way of knowing that nothing has really changed. Alexia however is affected.

“Bebe, we need to call the police. What’s stopping her from coming back and robbing us?”

You’re used to the retaliation after you not meeting the expectations that have been set.

“She took your purse, all of your cards and money.”

Alexia’s slightly uncomfortable with how chillingly unbothered you are by the events that occurred whilst you were sleeping.

“I froze all of them before I went to sleep last night. This happens every time after I don’t give them what they want. It’s fine, we’re moving soon anyways. This time I won’t disclose my address. They won’t come back asking for anything else for a while, there was a chance they didn’t even need anything to begin with they just wanted to see how much they could milk from me. This is just what they’re like. No point in being bothered by it.”

Alexia suddenly becomes really grateful that her family has embraced you so much, and she feels the energy that her own mami had told her she felt around you. Like you needed it a lot more than anyone else did. Eli always had a weird way of knowing things that nobody else did.

“I think we should take today off. You should go and see your therapist, or just have a break. Yesterday was a lot.”

Alexia pushes down the feeling in her stomach of discomfort about the whole situation, if you say this is normal then she’s going to treat it like that even if it feels so wrong.

“I’m good Ale, this is just how it is. I’m sorry about it but this is just how it goes for me.”

Alexia suddenly feels a wave of gratitude wash over her that she’s never had before as she looks at your stone set face and the dullness in the back of your eyes. She’s never had to base her family’s love or gratitude off of how she’s contributing to them, she’s never had to provide. She’s never been expected to give everything and receive nothing back.

“Okay bebe, I’m here for you.”

[samkerrworshipper]

finished a fic 😜

[samkerrworshipper]

Thats so fun! What island are you going to? This last time I was in Hawaii I met what quite a few people from aus sometimes I forgot it’s basically in the middle from mainland us to Aus

just honolulu cause i’m only there for a week :)

tagging along to my girlfriends work conference and we’re overstaying a few days

[samkerrworshipper]

solfresa is my reason for existence at this point tbh

solstråle and the no good, horrible, very bad day

fresa putellas x solstråle engen sol has a bad day. no one seems to notice until they've made it worse. @wileys-russo

—

“Engen, I swear.” Fresa huffed, picking up the balled up piece of paper from where it had landed next to her, after bouncing off the bun on her head. She chucked it back at you, ignoring the pout on your face. 

“Hey! You didn’t read the message.” 

With a sigh, Fresa held her hand out, catching the paper as you threw it back to her with a grin. She unfolded it, softening only slightly when she saw the messy writing scrawled across the middle of the page. 

“I love you too, Sol.” She said gently, looking at you as she did so. You felt your face heat up as she said it, even though you’d heard it from her before. “Now go back to studying because it’s late and– joder, Sol it’s past curfew!” 

Fresa had picked up her phone to check the time, before realizing it was 15 minutes past when she was supposed to leave her girlfriend’s house. Though quite absurd to both of you, Ingrid and Eli had insisted on a curfew. You were both only 18, and as such, there had to be rules. 

Apparently. 

Rules you and Fresa both scoffed at, but respected all the same. Perhaps it was more of a respect for the person than their rules, but either way, you both followed curfew.

Both Ingrid and Eli were pretty chill about the curfew, too. A few minutes late wasn’t a big deal, especially if you texted first. But, looking at the clock, it was 15 minutes passed when Fresa was supposed to either have you drive her home, or have asked Eli to come get her. And your girlfriend was not a rule breaker. However, at that moment, on that day, you couldn’t have cared any less about curfew if you tried. 

It had been the worst day. Indescribably bad, so you hadn’t tried to describe it. Sometimes it was still easier to pretend nothing was wrong even when everything felt wrong. Bad days were bad days, but you didn’t always have to make them everyone else’s problem. At least, that’s the logic you used to probably talk yourself out of having to share your feelings. 

You hadn’t said anything to Ingrid when you got home, even as she asked you about your day in the way that she always did; the way that you knew meant she really wanted to hear about it. 

You hadn’t said anything when Mapi sat next to you on the sofa and nudged your shoulder, asking if you were feeling okay because you looked a little off. 

You hadn’t said anything when Fresa arrived, though you did hold on to the hug she gave you a bit tighter than normal. If she’d noticed, she hadn’t said anything. 

But while you hadn’t let anyone in on the details of your terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, you didn’t want to be alone with it. Fresa sitting with you and making you laugh and kissing you for every study question you got correct had done wonders for your mood, and you didn’t want that to end. 

You just wanted her, right next to you, laughing in that beautiful way that made you forget there was anything bad in the world at all. 

“Stay.” You blurted out. 

Fresa didn’t stop packing her bag, just barely glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. “Stay?” 

“I don’t want you to go.” 

Fresa softened, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “I know, Engen. You’re obsessed with me. But it’s past curfew, I have an exam in the morning and you have one tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Fresaaaaaaa,” you groaned, falling back onto your bed with a dramatic sigh. Your girlfriend laughed, zipping her bag up. 

“So clingy.” She teased. “I’m going to run to the bathroom and then my Mami will be here.”

The younger girl left the room, while you sank back down onto your bed. You blinked away the moisture gathering in your eyes with a sigh of frustration. Before you could fully regain your composure, though, a knock on your door frame startled you. 

“Sol, it’s time for Fresa to go.” Ingrid told you, her voice soft like she knew how deeply you didn’t want Fresa to leave. 

“She left.” You said. You hadn’t even really thought about it, the sentence had just slipped out of your mouth before you could think too hard about it. It didn’t make much sense, if any at all. Fresa couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stay the night. Especially not without someone noticing either her presence in your room, or her lack of presence at her own home. Eli was probably already waiting outside. And across from you, Ingrid was already poking holes in your lie.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “She already left? She normally says goodbye first, and I didn’t hear her leave.” 

You could only shrug in response, wincing to yourself as you heard footsteps padding down the hall. 

Silently, Ingrid stepped out of the way so Fresa could enter your room, heading straight for her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. 

“Wow, it does seem like Fresa already left, Sol.” Ingrid commented dryly. 

You rolled your eyes, much less polite and respectful than you’d normally be. Fresa frowned, confused, looking between you and your sister like she was missing something. 

“I understand you guys want to spend time together, but we have a curfew for a reason and I don’t appreciate you trying to break it and lie to me. It’s disrespectful, and I expect more from both of you.” Ingrid said calmly, alternating her icy gaze between you and your girlfriend. 

You winced, knowing exactly how this was about to go. 

“Ingrid, I didn’t–” Fresa tried, but Ingrid was turning away, pulling her phone out of her pocket and glancing at it. 

“Fresa, Eli is here. Goodnight, girls.” 

You held your breath, just waiting. It made no sense for you to try to pretend Fresa had already left so she could stay with you, yet you did it anyway. Maybe that should have been a sign for Fresa that something was wrong, but that wasn’t her main concern at the moment. 

It was quiet for a moment. And then another. And then–

“Tonta. You got me in trouble with your sister!” Fresa whisper-yelled, lightly wacking your shoulder with her hand. 

“Fres, I–”

“Goodbye, Solstråle. I’ll talk to you later.” Fresa huffed, marching out of the room before you could stop her. It felt like your body was frozen in a mess of all your mistakes that day, and you couldn’t go after your girlfriend as she padded down the hall and out the front door. 

Maybe you’d been hoping someone would notice. Fresa or Ingrid. Just notice that something wasn’t right, that you didn’t seem quite like yourself. And maybe because you were hoping they would, it hurt so much that they didn’t. 

—

It was almost a game of cat and mouse between you and your girlfriend for the next hour. First, you’d texted her a bunch, apologizing for getting her in trouble. Unbeknownst to you, though, she wasn’t near her phone once she arrived home, stopping to catch up with Alba in the living room. By the time she got checked her phone and headed to her bedroom, you’d given up trying to reach her, resigned to the fact that you’d fucked up. 

You were spiralling. Everything felt wrong. Your brain, your skin, your chest. There was almost nothing in the world worse than knowing someone was mad at you and not being able to fix it. But how could you even try to fix it? You couldn’t explain that you just needed your girlfriend without seeming pathetic. You felt like a half broken version of you, but as your phone began to ring once more, you picked it up and answered it. 

Fresa wasn’t going to stop calling until you answered her. And, maybe, she could make you feel better. Even if it was just her voice for a minute as she probably lectured you about getting her in trouble with Ingrid. 

Fresa could always make you feel better. 

The facetime call connected, and you kept the camera pointed up at the ceiling, even as Fresa’s worried face filled the screen. 

“Solstråle? Are you okay, bebé?” 

“Fine.” Your voice broke, and you cleared your throat before trying again. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I got you in trouble with Ingrid.” 

“Hey, it’s alright mi amor.”

You knew very well that it wasn’t alright. Fresa was terrified of your sister, for whatever reason. She’d been quite angry with you when she’d fled your house, and then she’d ignored your calls and texts. To be fair, she probably didn’t know you were having a panic attack and just wanted to hear her voice, but still. Fresa was upset with you, and you knew you deserved it. 

“I’m sorry. You have studying to do, right? I’ll let you get back to that.”

“No, hey, Sol. Talk to me. What’s going on with you? You are not being yourself.” Fresa inquired, pulling the phone even closer to her, as if she could find a new angle that would show your face. 

“Nothing, Fres.” You replied, trying to make your voice sound bored and uninterested, but instead just sounding like you were a few seconds away from crying. 

Fresa rolled her eyes, clearly having had it with your denial. She knew when you weren’t okay, she always knew. “Vale. Let me see you, then.” 

“It’s late and–”

“And we always fall asleep on facetime together, Engen, so show me your face before I call your sister and tell her to check on you.” 

With a sigh, you tilted the phone so your face was in frame. Fresa instantly frowned as she looked at you, seeing the red and puffy eyes and the flush of your cheeks that told her you’d been crying. 

“Oh, mi amor.” She sighed. “What is going on? Please talk to me.” 

“Nothing. It’s nothing, I’m fine.” You whispered, looking anywhere but at your girlfriend’s face on your phone screen, knowing the concern and love you would see there would break you. 

“You’re not fine, and I want to hear about why because I love you and you’re important to me, so please tell me why you’re so upset. Por favor, for me.” 

You sniffled, a sob escaping even as you tried to fight it. You didn’t deserve her, didn’t deserve her love or her kindness. Fresa’s heart broke even further as you wiped uselessly at your face, trying to get rid of the tears. 

“Solstrale.” She prompted again, her tone firm yet also somehow soft enough that it slipped right past all your defenses. 

“I… it was a bad day. A really terrible day. I’m pretty sure I bombed my history final, and one of my teachers accused me of cheating on my math exam and I wasn’t, Fres. And then I was leaving the school parking lot and I was so distracted I scraped my car on a cement barrier, and my wrist has been hurting all day. And you were busy studying and I ruined everything by getting you in trouble with Ingrid, and you’re mad at me, and Ingrid is mad at me and I just keep messing everything up.” 

“Sol, hey bebe, no–”

“And now you should be studying or going to sleep but I’m keeping you up being so pathetic. I’m sorry, Fresa. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m sorry.” You hung the phone up before your girlfriend could get another word out, shoving it under your pillow and ignoring the way it began to ring almost instantly. You let out another rough sob, and Scout looked up, startled, from his spot at the foot of your bed. You buried your face into your pillow as Scout clambered over, tucking himself close against your body. 

At least he wasn’t mad at you.

— 

4 unanswered calls and 7 unanswered text messages later, Fresa was deciding whether or not it would be ridiculous for her to go downstairs and make Alba drive her to the Engen-León house. 

Finally, though, a text came through. 

I just wanted you here because you make me feel safe but I got you in trouble with Ingrid and I interrupted your studying. I’m really sorry. 

If Fresa’s heart wasn’t already cracked wide open, it certainly was now. Without needing to think about it for more than a second, Fresa was shooting up from her bed and throwing on a pair of sweats.

“Mami! Alba!” She shouted, thundering down the stairs. “Someone needs to drive me to Sol.”

Eli and Alba both looked up as Fresa came rushing into the living room. 

“No, Fresita. It is past your bedtime, and you can see Solstråle tomorrow.” Alba said, rolling her eyes. Now normally the younger Putellas would be biting her sister’s head off for even insinuating at 18 she had a ‘bedtime,’ but she had other things on her mind right now.

Eli, however, looked thoughtful. As if she knew that her daughter wouldn’t ask to break curfew for just anything. 

“What’s going on, mija?” She asked, ignoring Alba entirely. Fresa was distracted, her mind already in Sol’s bedroom, trying to figure out all the right things to say. However, she was not distracted enough to miss the chance to glare in Alba’s direction before answering. 

“It’s Sol, she had a really bad day and she’s really upset. It’s a code red emergency, Mami, please.” 

Eli didn’t need to hear more. She nodded her assent, even as Alba stared at her, open mouthed. 

“If I had asked to go out to see a girl after curfew on the night before I had an exam, you would have killed me, Mami! What is this!” 

Eli rolled her eyes and Fresa sighed impatiently, tapping her foot. “This is your sister being responsible and trustworthy. I’ve never had to pick Fresa up at 2am from a farm 30 minutes outside of the city because she was too drunk to get home herself.” 

Alba scoffed, still affronted at the perceived injustice. “I’ll call Ale, she’ll agree with me.”

Fresa opened her mouth to snap back, something about Alexia not being her parent and having no say over what she does or doesn’t do, but Eli held up a hand, silencing her youngest daughter. 

“Ale is not in charge, I am. Now drive your sister to her girlfriend’s house.” 

“Me?!” 

“Yes, you.” Eli said, settling back into the couch and pulling the throw blanket tighter around her. “I am too old to be out this late.” 

“You’re not old.” Alba and Fresa chorused together. Eli just waved them off, turning the TV on to her favorite soap. 

With a disbelieving shake of her head, Alba headed for the door. Was she pleased with her mother’s decision? Absolutely not. Would she question it? No. 

Fresa followed right on Alba’s heels, calling out a quick goodbye to Eli as she put her shoes on. 

“Give Solstråle my love!” Eli called. 

“She loves your girlfriend more than she loves you.” Alba grumbled. 

Fresa rolled her eyes. “No, she loves my girlfriend more than she loves you.” 

—

“Hello?” Ingrid’s voice came over the speaker. 

“Ingrid! It’s Fresa, I need to see Sol.” She paused, thinking of how possibly to explain this over the intercom system of the building. “I can explain, it’s–”

“Come up.” Ingrid interrupted. The buzzer buzzed, and Fresa yanked the door open so quickly, her arm hurt. She moved as fast as she could, willed the elevator to move faster with everything in her. 

Ingrid opened the front door just as Fresa was raising her hand to knock, a concerned expression on her face. Fresa felt a wave of guilt, seeing Ingrid in her pajamas with mussed up hair, knowing she’d forced the Norwegian out of bed to let her in. Then she remembered your voice on the phone, apologizing through your cries, and Fresa knew that Ingrid wouldn’t mind, once she knew the reason for Fresa’s midnight appearance.  

“Fresa? Is everything okay?” Ingrid knew very well that your girlfriend wouldn’t just show up late at night without a good reason, hence why she buzzed the Spaniard up so quickly. 

Fresa began to speak, a mixture of panicked Spanish and English blending together into something almost incomprehensible. “It’s Sol, she’s upset, she was crying on the phone and she said she needed me and I–”

“Fresa, honey, slow down.” Ingrid frowned, moving forward to rest a supportive hand on Fresa’s shoulder. “Start over, what is going on with Sol?” 

Just as Fresa opened her mouth to speak again, a sleepy voice came from behind Ingrid. 

“I got it, Fres, go see Sol, I’ll explain.” Mapi said calmly. 

Fresa nodded, thanking Mapi rapidly as she practically sprinted down the hall towards your room. When she threw your door open, both you and Scout raised your heads identically. Scout’s tail began to wag furiously, as it always did when he saw your girlfriend. Your eyes widened, your lip trembling pathetically as more tears began to stream down your face. 

“Fresa?” Your voice cracked, disbelief clear in your expression. 

“Hi, mi amor.” Fresa said breathlessly, toeing her shoes off and moving towards your bed without a second thought. You sat up fully, looking at your girlfriend in absolute wonder. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” 

“You said you needed me.” Fresa said simply, a sad smile playing on her lips as she cradled your face in her hands. “So. Here I am.” 

Your girlfriend kissed you softly on the lips, before wiping a few tears off your cheeks with her thumbs. 

“I’m really sorry–”

“No. No. You don’t need to be sorry. I am sorry I did not realize how upset you were earlier.” 

You scoffed, disbelieving even as Fresa sat on the bed next to you and laced her fingers with yours. “How could you have known? I didn’t say anything. This is all my fault, Fres.” 

Fresa rolled her eyes, her hand squeezing yours. “All the signs were there, bebé, I just wasn’t looking for them. I should have known, because I know you.” 

Something about that sentiment broke you apart all over again. That anyone, let alone Fresa, knew you well enough, cared enough, to know when you weren’t okay without you even having to say a word. It was overwhelming, and you felt so undeserving. 

Yet here your girlfriend was, telling you that you did deserve it, and you weren’t quite sure how to argue with her. Or if you even wanted to. 

Instead, you let Fresa pull you down onto your bed, let her manoeuvre you until your head was resting against her chest, her heartbeat in your ear. Exactly what she knew you needed when you were having a bad day. Her fingers found their way into your hair, beginning to scratch softly at your scalp. Your whole body relaxed of its own accord, and suddenly you were exhausted. 

Your bad day didn’t matter so much anymore. None of it felt very consequential when Fresa kissed your forehead, told you she loved you. 

Nothing would ever matter as much as hearing those words come from the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen. 

—

You fell asleep remarkably quickly. One second you were still mumbling quiet thank you’s into Fresa’s t-shirt, [your t-shirt, one of the many that she’d stolen right out from under you], and the next your face was relaxed completely, breathing even. You clung to your girlfriend even as you slept, one hand twisted into the fabric of her shirt. 

She didn’t think about anything but you lying there, and how many freckles she could count across your nose and cheeks. You always got more in the summer, especially when you were running around outside all the time with Scout. Fresa felt a familiar, [probably disgustingly] lovesick smile tug at her lips. It didn’t matter that she was wearing clothes in your bed that had been out of the house, a cardinal sin in her book. She didn’t care that she’d acted like a crazy person in her quest to get to you. She was just glad she was here, and you were okay. 

The door creaked open, then, and Fresa turned to look, her cheeks heating with a blush when she realized how close you were to her. It wasn’t like Ingrid hadn’t ever seen you cuddling, but something about being in your bed, at night, even innocently, felt like she was breaking a rule. 

But Ingrid’s concerned face just relaxed slightly when she realized you were asleep. The Norwegian padded across the room, placing two glasses of water on your nightstand. She studied you for a moment, so worried her brows were furrowed together. 

“She okay?” Ingrid whispered. 

You nodded, considering. “I think so. She had a bad day, I think she’ll feel more like herself tomorrow.” 

Ingrid nodded, brushing a piece of hair off your forehead. “Thank you, Fresa.” 

Fresa could only nod gently, trying not to jostle you. 

“I called Eli, we both agreed you can stay tonight.” 

Of all the things Ingrid could have said, that was one of the last things Fresa was expecting. She supposed she shouldn’t have been, though, because she knew very well that there wasn’t a thing on earth that Ingrid wouldn’t do for you. 

Ingrid wished your girlfriend a soft goodnight, before padding quietly back out of the room. She left the door open a few inches, and Fresa knew you’d notice in the morning and tease your sister for it. Roll your eyes and make a joke about how even when you’re having a mental breakdown, you can’t get any privacy around here. For now, though, you were peacefully sleeping, and as Fresa flicked the bedside lamp off, she knew she would be soon, too. 

—

:) solfresa my loves 😇