sky-the-trans-guy00

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

Loved!

₊˚ʚ 🩷 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. bathwater and wine ― Alessia Russo.

summary: you and alessia decide to christen the bath of your new home.

warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, you are responsible for the content you consume.

word count: 3.1k.

a/n: it’s the summer, i have infinite free time, and an alessia obsession..

( REQS OPEN FOR ALESSIA! )

There was something oddly comforting about the first few days in a new, empty home, no furniture, no proper lighting, just the bare essentials that came built-in. The kind of quiet that echoed when you walked, where your voices bounced off the walls like ghosts of conversations not yet had. It should’ve felt cold, impersonal, but somehow, it didn’t.

You both leaned fully into your inner interior designers, all mood boards and Pinterest saves, even if neither of you had any real intention of assembling anything yourselves. Alessia had “a vision”, vague and ever-shifting depending on the time of day and whether or not she was hungry. You mostly just nodded and tried to keep her from buying five versions of the same linen throw.

If IKEA was good at one thing, it was turning their job into yours. Boxes upon boxes piled in the hallway, filled with pieces that made no immediate sense, accompanied by a manual thick enough to double as a murder weapon.

Diagrams, arrows, and an encouraging cartoon man who clearly didn’t know what a power drill was. You squinted at the pages; Alessia handed you screws like it was surgery, and somehow, with a lot of sighing and a little swearing, things slowly started to look like a home.

By the time you finally cracked the last instruction for the new bed frame, it was well past sunset. The streetlights had flickered on outside, casting a soft, golden haze through the bare, curtainless windows.

Inside, the overhead bulb, still lacking a lampshade, buzzed faintly above you, shining down with the sterile glow of an office cubicle. Your eyes burnt, your fingers ached, and there was a suspicious bruise blooming on your shin from where the corner of a side panel had attacked you an hour earlier. You were honestly surprised you were still going.

Alessia had long since migrated from ‘supervisor’ to ‘decorative fixture’, lying belly-down on the rug with her head propped on her arms, scrolling through lighting options on her phone like she was picking out constellations.

Every few minutes she’d ask something like, “Would gold look tacky?” or “Is 96 quid an appropriate price for a lampshade?” without looking up. You’d grunt in response, not because you had strong feelings about the price or the look – it was a lampshade – but because your brain was entirely focused on making sure you weren’t screwing the slats in upside down, again.

Eventually, the last screw turned into place with a small, satisfying click. You sat back on your heels and exhaled like you’d just finished a marathon. Alessia perked up at the sound, tossing her phone somewhere near the foot of the bed and crawling over to inspect your handiwork like she’d been part of the process the whole time.

“We did it,” she said, grinning, running a hand along the newly assembled headboard like it was handcrafted mahogany.

“Seriously? ‘We’?” You deadpanned.

She raised a brow. “I was moral support.”

You reached out and tugged her closer by the hem of her sweatshirt. “You were lying on the floor googling fairy lights.”

“Exactly. Ambience.”

Despite yourself, you laughed, a soft, tired sound that felt good in your chest. You got up and managed to lift the mattress, that was propped against the wall, by yourself, and fitted it on top of the frame, before falling back onto it with a dull thud, bouncing slightly against the sturdy frame you placed together beneath. Alessia followed, curling in beside you like she belonged there, limbs tangled, her nose brushing your jaw.

The room was still mostly empty, no decorations, just the occasional plant and a stack of books you hadn't bothered to shelf yet, and now an unnecessarily big bed Alessia had picked out due to something about you liking to kick in the night. But it felt like something. Like the start of something.

“I’m running a bath,” she mumbled after a while whilst yawning, already halfway out of your arms and shuffling down the mattress. “My back is screaming.”

Rolling your eyes, you watched her go, stretching like a cat as she padded across the room. She looked soft in the low light, all messy hair and oversized sleeves, the picture of cosy domestic bliss, if you ignored the box of leftover screws on the floor and the shit ton of cardboard. 

You stayed there for a while after she left, limbs sprawled across the bed like you’d been dropped from a height, letting the mattress absorb the weight of the day. Your body ached in a way that felt earned, the kind of soreness that came from doing something tangible, something you could point at and say, 'We built that,' even if it wobbled slightly and was a little wonky.

From the bathroom, you heard the water running, the faint squeak of the old tap you needed to get replaced, and the rustle of Alessia pulling off her jumper, probably flinging it somewhere in that chaotic trail she always left behind. The smell of something floral crept through the doorway, lavender, maybe, or something even softer, and it struck you as impossibly domestic. Like you'd somehow wandered into someone else’s life.

You were still debating whether to peel yourself off the bed when her voice came, lazy and low and half-muffled over the hum of water, and incredibly bossy, which is the attitude she has been acquainted with during this move-in process.

“Y/N! Bring me the wine! And don’t forget the good glasses, not the bloody mug again.”

You sighed, dramatic for effect, but your body moved easily now, already slipping back into that rhythm of doing things just because she asked. You grabbed the half-open bottle from the bare, marble kitchen counter, the one you’d both said you’d have “just a glass” of earlier and then forgot about, and found two of the new wine glasses Alessia thought were appropriate as one of the first ‘new home’ purchases.

The bathroom was warm and hazy when you pushed the door open, a golden glow bouncing off the tiles from a single lamp perched dangerously on the windowsill, and you stared at it warily.

Alessia was already sunk deep into the tub, one leg hooked lazily over the rim, her arms draped on either side like she was being offered to the gods, not a single care in the world. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot, a few wisps clinging to her damp forehead. Steam curled gently in the air, softening the sharp corners of the room, and you noticed bits and pieces you’d need to get the builders in for, plus maybe some new tiles.

When she saw you, her eyes lit up in that quiet, smug way she always wore when she got what she wanted. She tilted her head back with a sigh and reached for the glass you handed her, fingers brushing yours.

“You’re good at taking instructions when I make them sound appealing,” she murmured, swirling the wine in her glass.

You scoffed, sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor beside the tub, resting your chin on top of your arm across the edge. “You were barely coherent.”

“Still worked.”

You clinked your glasses together with a quiet tap. The first sip burnt pleasantly on the way down, washing away some of the tension still clinging to your shoulders. Alessia hummed in contentment, eyes fluttering shut, the rise and fall of her breathing syncing with the soft ripples in the water.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was not awkward, but rather filled. Comfortable. You watched her chest rise and fall, her skin glowing under the warm light, water lapping gently at her collarbones. She looked content. Unbothered. The exact opposite of how she’d looked earlier when she tried to justify buying a £70 wall mirror with no actual plan to hang it.

“What do you think about the bath? You think we need a new one?”

“I think that… you should get in,” she said eventually, cracking one eye open, voice like the steam itself, gentle, inviting, indulgent.

You smirked, turning your head to look at her. “There’s barely room.”

“There’s enough for now.”

You shook your head, looking inside your wine glass before peering back up at her. “You just want me to do the heavy lifting of washing your hair.”

She smiled without denying it, eyes flickering to your mouth. “That, and I like you better when you're warm and wet.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

She took another sip, unbothered. “Mhm.”

It took all of ten seconds before your hand found her shin, sliding slowly up her damp leg. She didn’t flinch; she just let her knee fall open a little wider, her lip sucked between her teeth as she let herself feel your touch, the sensation.

The tension between you shifted, not sudden, not sharp, but like warm honey being poured into something already simmering. And maybe the bath wasn’t really built for two. And maybe the wine would go forgotten again. But Alessia was already watching you with that look, the one she reserved for soft nights and quieter moments, and you were already leaning closer, trailing your fingers just beneath the waterline. You did a lot of hard work today; you deserved it.

You left your wine on the tile beside you and peeled your shirt off, shivering in the tiny gust of air as you shed the rest. Alessia watched, her chin balanced on her kneecap now, eyes heavy, assessing, like you were another piece of furniture she’d decided on long before, this time one that came fully functional.

She scooted forward, making room, and you climbed in behind her, knees knocking ceramic, the water overflowing just enough to lap at the edge, scattering droplets across the floor.

She settled herself against your chest; you pulled her in, arms snaking around her middle, and felt the subtle tremor of her exhale as she melted into the bracket of your body. Her skin was liquid-warm and slick, and you pressed a soft kiss onto the damp crown of her head, then another, trailing a slow, deliberate line down the side of her throat.

Alessia’s hair, dampening at the nape, smelt like some soft, expensive thing you couldn’t pronounce but which, for the moment, you decided to privately call “Alessia”.

Your hands drifted, barely grazing the surface of her skin, feeling goosebumps ripple up her arms in the wake. She let her head loll back onto your shoulder, exposing the length of her neck, throat bobbing as she swallowed the rest of her wine in one reckless mouthful. You guided the glass from her hand, setting it with a clink beside the bath, along with yours. She shuddered, hips twitching from the smooth press of your bodies, and you pinned your palm flat over her stomach, feeling the flutter beneath.

The dampness between her thighs wasn’t just bathwater. You nudged her knees apart with your hands, arms braced around her, and let one slip, winding lower, fingers tracing restlessly until they found the soft divide of her legs, the other gripping at her thigh.

The heat there was a different kind, urgent, greedy, hardly contained by the tepid water and milky drift of suds. She made a low sound, throaty and rough, one she’d ever let anyone else hear, but her elbow pressed back into your ribs, seeking more.

You curled your hand further, parting her gently once more, and when your fingers slipped over her, you found her already slick, with delicate heat, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse just under the skin. She rocked once, a shiver running the length of her, and you used the tip of your nose to nudge her jaw to the side, pressing your mouth to the wet hollow beneath her ear.

Your wrist flexed as you circled her clit with slow, measured patience, your favourite way to tease her, to see how long this new, careful living together would last before it devolved back to the raw, hungry thing it had always been before.

Alessia’s hand shot out, gripping your thigh hard enough it would bruise in the morning, and she gasped, trying to stifle it, but the echo bounced off the tiled walls and returned to you, louder than intended. She had always been loud, not in conversation, but in the way she felt things; she filled the air with the force of it, pressing herself unapologetically into every moment, every touch.

You eased two fingers inside her, slow, the way she liked, curling against that spot that made her arch, her head knocking against your shoulder in a silent plea. Her thigh knocked against yours, slick and hard, and you grinned, ducking your head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the pink of her cheek.

“Fuck,” she whispered, voice hoarse, hand still clutching your leg like she was drowning and you were keeping her afloat. “Don’t stop.”

Her voice had gone ragged, and you answered by pressing the hand that was around her thigh flat against her trembling abdomen, holding her in place as you pumped your fingers deeper, slower, dragging each movement out until she was panting softly, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.

You murmured something wordless into her ear, a comfort or a promise, neither of you could say, whilst your hand crept up to cup her chest, mapping the sharp rise and fall of her breaths. She twitched, once, twice, and then her head knocked back against your jaw, and she was making that sound again, high and frantic, almost a cry, choked into something like laughter, as she broke apart in your arms.

The water sloshed against your chest, her body going taut for a moment, shivering, then melting bonelessly back into you. You held her through it, anchoring her to you while the aftershocks trembled through her, every little heartbeat visible, tangible, as if your own skin was the drum.

You nuzzled her temple, tracing lazy circles on her stomach with the pad of your thumb, gratified by the way she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. You liked her best this way: entirely undone, stripped of every careful, curated thought.

She slid lower in the water, half-turning to face you, eyes wet and glassy, but with a dangerous spark lighting underneath. Her mouth found yours, warm and open, tasting faintly of wine and something sweeter. Her hands, always colder than you expected, slipped behind your neck, pulling you down and wrapping you into her, so your chins bumped together and your lips crashed in a way that would have been clumsy with anyone else, but with Alessia it was a challenge, a dare, a hot-breathed demand to stay with her in the bath until the water went cold and your skin wrinkled.

Her legs folded over yours, trapping you in the crook of the tub, water sloshing over your thighs as her fingers worked their way down, drifting under the surface. She guided your hand back between her legs, not even pretending to be patient about it now, and you let her, sinking your fingers back inside, this time curling your palm to match the frantic rhythm she set with her hips.

Her breathing was a hot, humid pressure against your cheek, her teeth nipping at your jaw as if she could bite the aftershocks out of her own body.

It was a different kind of closeness, everything in this new flat echoing every move and sound, magnifying the wet slide of your bodies and the tiny, insatiable noises Alessia made as you let your fingers return to their work.

“Look at you...” You hummed sultrily and watched her in the reflection of the misted bathroom mirror, the way her eyelids fluttered and her mouth parted on each breath, the way your own arms bracketed her in, holding her together, holding her apart.

The mirror fogged more every second, but you could still see the outline of Alessia’s body, undulating with every movement you made, and it gave you a stutter of pride, a sense of rightness that was as physical as it was emotional. “You’re so beautiful like this, falling apart for me.”

“Yes… like that,” she said, voice almost gone, and you tightened your hold a little, pressing the palm of your hand perfectly flush against her clit, the way she liked, the way that always made her come undone so fast she’d go boneless in your arms for minutes after. You circled your fingers inside her, slow at first, then hard and fast as she started to shake, her whole body going rigid, a fine tremor running up her spine. ”Fuck.”

You didn’t stop, not when she jerked, not when she clapped a hand over her own mouth as if that would keep the sounds in, not when her forehead fell against your own. You curled your fingers, found that spot again, and she twitched with a strangled moan, water splashing up in a miniature wave.

The air in the bathroom had gone thick, humid with steam and your shared exertions. You stroked her hair back from her temple, kissed the swell of her cheekbone, and let her rest against you until her breathing calmed. She tasted of sweat and lavender and the cheap Merlot neither of you could ever admit to liking, she tasted like home.

Eventually, she straightened, water slipping off her in a shining sheet.

Your thumbs rubbed at her hips, before asking her, “You okay?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, eyes flicking up to you, and grinned. “You asked me what I thought of the bath, yeah?” she said, voice still low and lazy. “Well, I think we may need to think about, more or less, renovating the whole bathroom.”

The floor, you saw, was already lacquered with half an inch of water, trails of bubbles slipping toward the hallway like they had somewhere better to be. “Yeah”, you huffed, running a hand through your hair, “I wasn’t sold on the tiles anyway.”

She hummed in agreement, the sound all soft amusement. You shifted onto your knees under the water, the movement sending another gentle wave lapping at the sides of the tub. Alessia watched you curiously, head tilted. 

“Do you actually want me to wash your hair?” 

She smiled at your softness, at the shift in you that only she ever seemed to coax out, “No, I washed it yesterday.”

With that, you leaned forward to reach for the plug, the suction giving a subtle groan as it broke, water already beginning to swirl around your thighs.

Alessia sighed, long and theatrical, resigned to the end of the warmth. Before she could complain further, you grabbed the towel from the barely functional radiator, wrapping her in it as she stood, all loose limbs and dripping skin. She yelped in protest as you tugged her towards you, but the sound turned quickly into a laugh when you buried your face in the crook of her neck, muffling your grin into her skin.

“I love you,” you mumbled as you pressed a soft, fleeting kiss once she was bundled snugly in the towel. She returned it just as gently, smiling into the kiss before pulling back slightly. Then her gaze drifted past you toward the radiator.

“Wait… do we seriously only have one towel?”

© lovingniamh please do not repost, steal or translate my work.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

Lol

Car Ride

Just a little short thing. Half inspired by me and my gf.

w/c 3699

Thank you @wosofutbolfan for helping me!! and introducing me to 'nature wee's' 😂

“Okay. Water. Check. Sunglasses. Check. Sun cream. Check.” You rummaged through your bag as you checked your inventory for the day. 

“Being late. Check.” Alexia rolled her eyes as she stood by the front door, raising an accusational eyebrow at you. Both hands were perched on her hips just like your teachers used to do before giving you a detention. 

“Sorry, but you should have been honest about my hair instead of saying ‘it’s fine.’  when in fact it wasn’t fine and I looked like I’d been dragged through a bush.” You huffed out, still rummaging through your bag.  

“Your hair was fine! And it was fine the ten other times you asked!” She shook her head for the 50th time that morning. You wouldn't be surprised if the girl got a serious case of whiplash. 

“It wasn’t fine. You lied so we could leave. I know your motives, Putellas.” You squinted accusingly at your girlfriend before looking over yourself once more in the full length mirror. 

“Whatever. Vamos. Let’s go. We’re already ten minutes behind schedule.” Alexia grabbed her car keys off the side and opened the front door.

“Uh. Excuse me?” You folded your arms as you eyed your girlfriend.

She turned her body back, ready to argue about the time until she realised what she forgot. “Oh, sorry, bebé.” She smiled sheepishly at you.

“Hmm. Drop the attitude. It’s our anniversary, I don’t want us bickering. The cabin will still be there if we’re a little late, alright?” You stepped forward, pulling her gently by her shoulder to reach your level to kiss her. A little ritual you did every time before leaving the house. 

“Sí, sí. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She smiled sweetly as she leaned back, opening the door for you to leave first.

“Thank you, baby.” You smiled as you walked past her. “See, you can be sweet when you want– owww!” You flinched as your hands flew to your bum. “Alexia!” 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” She winked before locking the front door. “Vamos.” 

—-----

“Of course there’s traffic. Why wouldn't there be traffic?” Alexia mumbled beside you as she put the address into her built in navigation. 

But you weren't as fussed as the Spanianrd, you were too busy finding a playlist you wanted for the journey. You took your job as DJ very seriously. 

“Okay, lets go–”

“WAIT!” 

“What?”

“I need a wee.” You winced apologetically. 

“Are you serious? Didn't you just go?” 

“Yeah, but it's a long journey. My bladders nervous.”

“Your bladders nervous?” Alexia stared at you, her eyebrows scrunching in frustration and slightly confused. 

“Yeah because it's a long drive and I don’t know when I’ll next be able to go. So it gets nervous and makes me need to wee more.” You tried to justify.

“How can a bladder be nervous?- You know what. Whatever, just go. Be quick.” She waved her hands at you to go.

“I will.” You quickly unbuckled your seat belt and jumped out of the car. 

“Don't slam my door–’

Slam.

Alexia winced as the loud thud serged through her body.

“Sorry!” 

“Idiota.” Alexia mumbled as she exhaled a long and very deep breath. 

She leaned back into the leather seat and grabbed her phone, opening tik tok while she waited for you. Quickly letting her attention be engulfed from the first clip of a worried girl rescuing a baby duck from a drain pipe. She was deeply invested about the survival of the duckling when a loud knock next to her head caused her to jump out of her skin, and her phone to jump out of her hand. She let out an involuntary scream, her mind assuming the ducklings mother was coming back for revenge. “Jesús Cristo!” she yelped, as she glanced to her side and saw your smiling face almost pressed against the window, waving at her very dorkily, only stopping as she wound down the window. “No, bebe, just me.” She closed her eyes and prayed for patience, taking a moment to settle her jumping heart rate. “W-what do you want? I thought you were desperate for the toilet?”. 

“I don’t have the house keys.” 

“Of course you don’t. Why would you think to bring the house keys?” She mumbled under her breath as she searched her pockets, tossing you the keys as she sighed dramatically.  

She raised an eyebrow at you when she spotted the smirk on your face. “Què?”

“Nothing…” 

“No, come on. What? What's funny?”

“Nothing. Just never heard that kind of sound come out of you before.” You bit your lip, trying your hardest to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape. 

“Like what?” She asked with a huff. 

You stepped back from the car, taking a breath as if readying yourself for your big acting debut. “Jesús Cristo!” You shouted, completely over exaggerating your spanish accent. 

“I don’t sound like that.” She snapped defensively.

“You kind of did though.” You snickered. 

“I didn’t!”

“I heard you.”

“Just go to the toilet.” She sighed before pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Alright, alright…. try not to sound like a banshee when I’m gone.” You slipped away before she could physically grab you.

“I don’t know your stupid British phrases!”

Alexia didn't bother going on her phone this time, instead watching her surroundings looking a little too paranoid. After less than five minutes you were back, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Ready?” 

“Ready.” You nodded, clicking your seatbelt in. 

“Finally.” She mumbled before putting on her Oakley sunglasses.

The blonde started the engine, turning in her seat. She placed her hand on the back of your head rest and began to reverse out. 

“You look hot when you do that.” You said as you scrolled back on your spotify. Finally picking a playlist you were happy with.

She tried to hold back the smirk that pulled at her lips. “What? How?”

“I don’t know. Just the way you do it.” You shrugged. 

She shook her head as she smiled at your words.

A beat of silence settled between you as the music played out.

“Remember when I ate you out in that seat.” You said it like you were stating the time.

Alexia choked on her own spit. “Dios.” 

“Shall we do it again?” You purred, loving the way the blondes cheeks blushed a soft shade of pink.

“Just… L-Let me concentrate.” She stuttered. 

You hummed, smiling out the window as you started singing to yourself. 

—------

“What are you waiting for? Conduir!” Alexia sharply huffed as she pushed her hand through her loose hair. 

“Do you have any song requests?” You asked, trying to distract the girl.

“No.”

“Alright.”

You pressed play on the next song.

“Not this one.”

You skipped to the next one.

“No. Something else.”

You skipped again.

“No.”

You pressed your lips together. “Okay, do you have anything in mind?” You tried your best to keep the annoyance from your tone.

“No, just put on anything.” She waved her hand.

You tried again.

“Erghh. Really? This?” She scrunched her face up like she had just smelt a bad smell.

“What?” 

“I don’t like this. It’s just noise.”

You watched as her fingers impatiently tapped against the wheel.

You scrunch your face up. “How can you say Hozier’s ‘just noise’ ? He’s the Shakespeare of his time.” 

“I can’t understand him. He’s not clear. I don’t like it. Put on something else.”

You rolled your eyes, puffing out a sigh. “Fine, what do you want to listen to?”

“Anything.” 

“Oh, my god!” You throw your head back, restraining yourself from dashing your phone at her head.

You scrolled through your songs once more, trying to find something that you could both listen to. When the first few beats of Rosalía started to play out she finally smiled.

“Perfecte.”

———-

Finally after fifteen minutes of gridlock, and another half an hour of slow traffic and lots of swearing from your girlfriend you finally exited the city, leaving the tall buildings behind for green countries' sides. 

You rolled the window down to take in the fresh country air. 

“HORSES!!” You shouted as if you’ve just seen Prince rise from the dead.

“Hmm?” 

“There’s a grey one! Ohhh there’s a black and white that looks like a cow!”

“Where?” Alexia’s curiosity got the better of her, as she attempted to look at the direction you were pointing like a mad woman. Momentarily forgetting she was doing 70 down a motorway. In seconds your car began to slowly edge out of your lane, dangerously close to another car.  

Until you both jump from the deafening loud car horn. Alexia’s second heart attack of the day.

“Merda!” Alexia hissed as she quickly swerved back to the middle of the lane.

An awkward silence fell over the pair of you. 

“Do you want to play a game?” You asked tentatively.

“No.” 

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Pleaseeeee.”

“Fine.” 

“Eye spy—“

“No! I nearly killed us looking at cows. My eyes stay here.”

“Fine.” 

—----------

“Alexia! I told you it has to be a famous person. Not your coach when you were a child! How the hell was I going to know him?”

The blonde shrugged. “I’ve told you about him before. You know him.” 

“Oh, my god. It doesn’t work like that!” You huff out as you fold your arms. “I don’t want to play anymore.” You turn to face the window.

“So I win.” 

“No.” 

“Sí, you’ve given up. I win.” She smirks all teeth when you face her.

“You're so annoying.” 

“But you love me.”

“You’re lucky I do.” You whispered, but she heard.

—----------

Halfway through your journey you felt that familiar feeling again.

“Ale.”

“Hmmm?”

“I need a wee.”

The blonde's head snapped your way. “Again? Seriously?” 

“I’m human, Alexia. The body works that way.”

“We’re not far now, can’t you hold it?” 

You look over at the sat nav.

“There’s still 40 minutes!” You whine.

“Agggh! You’re like a child!” Alexia groans.

“I’m not!” 

The blonde shakes her head as she looks at the sat nav. 

“There aren't any more rest stops.”

“You’ll have to pull over.” You bounce your leg, trying to distract yourself from the liquid pushing on your bladder.

“What? You can’t go out there. There’s people. People in cars!”

“I can. There's bushes all around. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a nature wee before?”

Alexia grimaces at your words. “Never.” 

“You haven't lived.” 

Alexia barked out a loud laugh. “I haven't lived? Because I haven't weed the nature? Or whatever you call it.” 

“Nature wee, and I’m going to need you to pull over sooner than later, it's hurting to hold!” You crossed your legs as you tried to breathe. “You should try it… it's like being part of the circle of life…”

“Fine!” The blonde sighed as she started to indicate, luckily finding a hard shoulder quickly 

“Do you need my help? Or…”

“No, no. You’re good. Do you have tissues?”

“Glove box.” 

“Thank you.” You kiss her cheek before you leave the car. 

“Don’t slam my door!”

Slam.

“I’m sorry!” You wince apologetically before darting off into the bushes to let nature take its call.

“Give me strength.” Alexia prayed to anyone that would listen.

A couple minutes later you emerged from the bush with an empathy bladder and a ball of tissue scrunched in your hand. 

The car window rolled an inch.

“Stop right there.” 

You stopped in your tracks. One foot still in the air. “What's wrong?”

“What’s in your hand?” She asked accusingly. 

“Just my tissue.” 

“Don’t even think about bringing that into my car!” She yelled, her face scrunched in pure disgust. 

“I can’t leave it there, Ale! I hate littering! Besides, it's just wee.” 

“No. Nope. No. It’s not coming in this car.” 

Your mouth gaped open when you heard the lock system on the doors.

“Alexia! You’re so bladdy dramatic- oh there's a bin.” You smiled as you spotted the already overflowing bin. 

Alexia sighed in relief as she watched you throw the tissue away. But then remembered your lack of soap while using the forest as a toilet. 

The blonde rolled down the window as you approached. “Wait, wait there!” 

“What?” You sighed.

“Put your hands through the window. Don't touch anything.”

“What, why?” You went to open the door, but were stopped.

“NO! Your hands. They’re dirty. Put your hands through the window.”

She sounded like she was negotiating with a bank robber.

“My hands aren’t full of piss. I just wiped with the tissue–” 

“I don’t care. Hands. Now!” 

“Fine.” You sighed as you did what she told you. 

You watched as the blonde squeezed antibacterial gel into your hands. Squeezing way more than what was needed. 

“Rub it.” 

“Oh talking dirty already.” You winked teasingly causing the blonde to crack a smile. “Oooh! It smells like lavender, fancy!”

You rubbed the alcohol gel into your hands, making a show of it for your girlfriend. 

“Right, am I allowed to come in? Or do you need to frisk me first? Maybe a strip search?” You smirked. 

“Hmm, maybe a strip tease for all the trouble you caused me today.” 

“I think I can do that–fuck.” You gasped as you glanced down.

Alexia raised an eyebrow at you. “What? Did you forget to pack the strap?-”

“The front wheel is completely flat!”

“What?” Alexia frowned as she unlocked the car and made her way around the bonnet. 

You bent down, spotting the large screw sticking out of the now flat wheel.

The blonde sighed loudly above you before covering her face with her hands. “This can’t be happening.” 

You looked up at the blonde, then back at the rusty old screw.

Silence fell over you. Until you spoke again.

“I did pack it by the strap by the way–”

“Not now.” 

You stood back up. You looked over at your girlfriend who looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. 

“It’s fine. We have a spare tyre, right? I can just change it.” You shrugged as you walked over to the boot of the car.

“Amor, please. I don’t need your jokes right now. I’m going to call AA.”

You rolled your eyes as you began to open the boot.

“We don’t need AA. I can just change it!” You tried to reassure the girl as you pulled the tyre from the boot.  

But your assurance fell on deaf ears as you spotted your girlfriend with her face already pressed to the phone.

“Ale! I can change it myself. Let me do it. We don’t need anyone.” You shouted as you rolled the wheel over to the front of the car. 

The blonde walked further away from you. A permanent frown sitting on her face. She waved her hand at you to stop talking. “Shh. I’m on hold,- hello, yes, I need assistance with my car. My wheel has a puncture.”

“Fine!” You sighed loudly as you were left beside the car. 

You kicked a rock as you walked off to the side of the road, finding a log to sit on. You watched as Alexia finished her with the call, walking towards you. 

“They will be here in 30 minutes.” She sighed as she sat down next to you.

“Great.” You mumbled. “You know I can ju….”

The blonde turned to you, placing her hand on your thigh.

“Amor, I love you but I can’t have you messing up my car.” 

“I know how to change a tyre, Alexia.” You replied with an annoyed tone, scooting away from your girlfriend, and completely facing away from her.

This was going to be a long 30 minutes. 

—---------------

Thirty minutes later and a lot of sulking and pouting from you, AA finally arrived.

You both stood as the yellow van pulled up behind your car. 

A young guy with a high vis jacket jumped out the drivers side, and approached the pair of you. 

You didn't miss the way his eyes shamelessly scanned over your body, then right over to Alexia. Giving her the same creepy look. 

“Hello, I’m Lenny. I’m here to save the day, girls.” He laughed as he gave Alexia a slimy smile. 

You scoffed and walked back to your logg. Not giving him the time or day. 

A small smile creeped on Alexia’s face as she watched you walk away, she was always the calmer one between the pair of you. She turned back to him.

“My tyre is flat. It just needs changing.” 

“Easy work. You got a spare?” He puffed his chest. 

You rolled your eyes.

“Si, in my boot.” 

“It's not in your boot. I left it at the side of the car.” You said flatly. One hand under your chin.

Alexia looked you over, a twinge of guilt hit her then. She saw the look on your face, the demeanor in your body. This wasn't the way she wanted your trip to be.

“Alright, I’ll get this tyre on for you. I just need you to sign some paperwork first.” 

Alexia nodded and followed Lenny to the van, where we grabbed his ipad.

“Just got to sign here and here for me.” He passed Alexia the Ipad. Not without checking her out again. Alexia not noticing it at all. But you did.

As she went to take the device she noticed a tattoo on Lenny's arm.

“You are a Chelsea supporter?” She nodded towards his arm.

“Yeah, the best team in the world. I've been a blue since the day I took my first breath.” He announced proudly. He reminded you of a tropical bird, trying to impress its mate.

You rolled your eyes as the pair started talking football. Knowing Alexia this could be a while. 

So, you did what any sane person would do. You wanted to prove a point.

While the pair spoke about football you grabbed the wrench that sat on the floor next to the tyre and began to get to work. In quick speed you removed the flat, and with ease pulled it off, letting the old tyre flop to the floor.

The pair still hadn't noticed your movements. Still too engrossed with their own conversation. 

“Your women's team is very good too.” Alexia nodded as she read over the small print.

“I wouldn't know. I don’t care for the women's team.” He shrugged. “I do care about getting your number though.” Lenny propped one arm on his van, puffing his chest out once more.

That had done it.

With the sheer help of anger you grabbed the new wheel and pushed it into place, growling as you did. 

Even with the deafening sounds of the cars zooming by, Alexia heard the growl that tore from your throat, it was a little scary but mostly sexy. She knew you’d heard what he’d said.

“Was that a bear?” Lenny looked over towards you. 

Alexia knew it wasn't a wild animal. But she also knew how sexy you were when you got a little jealous. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, Lenny. I don’t tend to give my number out so easily. You haven't even worked for it.” She smiled all too sweetly.

The man child smirked, leaning closer to Alexia. Thinking he actually had a shot.

“I better get to work then.” 

Alexia tried her best to not heave. 

Movement caught Alexia’s and Lennys eyes. 

They both followed the sight of the old flat tyre rolling right past them. A clank of a spanner made Alexia turn her head to see you beside the car. You looked so hot with grease smeared across your cheek that she could ignore the fact that you were using her Nike Athlete addition AP11 signature hoodie to wipe your hands. The version that isn’t even available in stores. A gift from her latest shoot.

Lenny was first to walk over, followed by Alexia.

“You fixed it?” He said in disbelief, verging on accusational.

“What, like it's hard?” You snorted, still cleaning your hands as you eyed Alexia. 

The sheer sight of her face was worth it. The look of pure shook, mixed with pride and a little bit of horriness all mixed in one.

“Did you tighten-”

“The nuts? Yeah, always do. Sorry we wasted your time. You can get going.” You waved at him. Shoving the wrench you’d used into his chest ignoring his ‘oof’ of pain. “Don’t forget to take the flat.” You winked before getting back into the passenger side.

His pride was bruised, but he still had just enough to turn back to Alexia, hopeful.

“Bye Lenny.” She smiled as she climbed into the driver's seat, not giving him a second thought. 

You watched as the man walked back to his van, head low. 

You turned to Alexia, who was already looking at you.

“Amor, I'm so sorry I doubted you.”

You shrugged, ignoring her apologies. You turned to face out the window. 

“No, really. I mean it. I was just frustrated because I wanted this trip to go smoothly and I was letting it all get to me. I didn't listen to you and I should have. I’m sorry.” 

You felt her hand on your thigh, gently stroking your skin. 

You let out a deep sigh, turning to her. You could see she meant it. 

She moved her thumb across your cheek, wiping away the grease she found there. She smirked before she continued. “You looked really hot.”

Your own smirk creeped on your lips. “When?” 

“Throughout. But especially at the end. All greasy and sweaty. I didn't know you could change a tyre.” 

“Hmm, there's a lot of things you don’t know about me.” 

Her hand on your thigh gently gripped your muscle. “Oh yeah? What else?”

You leaned forward and whispered in her ear, making sure to let your lips nuzzler her skin.

Alexia listened to your words. Her eyes popped open and her cheeks turned pink immediately at the new information.

You leaned back, smug, happy to see her frazzled.

“I can show you when we get there. We still have a while, better get a move on.” 

The blonde couldn't put the car into gear quick enough. 

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

REBLOG IF ITS OKAY TO TALK TO YOU.

Please.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

Lover (Alessia Russo x Williamson!Reader)

Part 1

International country-pop music star, Y/N Williamson, is set to finish her world wide tour tonight in a sold out O2 Arena in London. What’s next for the singer? Click here to see her playlist for tonight 👀

You were warming up backstage, doing your usual vocal runs and strumming the guitar mindlessly. You had played in front of hundreds of thousands of people across the world over the last few months, but London always made you nervous.

You grew up just outside of London and you’d always considered it to be your home.

Your family were the nicest people and the best support system on earth. When you were younger, your mum, Amanda, would do drop off for you and your siblings to your extra curricular activities when you finished at school. Both of them, Leah, your older sister, and Jacob, your twin brother, would hop out of the car at the football pitch. You and your mum would sing along to the radio all the way to whichever instrument lesson you had on that day.

You were musically gifted. You could sing, play guitar, piano and drums. But any instrument you could get your hands on, you could pick it up quite quickly. The banjo was your latest obsession, much to your girlfriend’s annoyance.

You’d signed to a record label at 16 and Leah was playing professional football for her childhood club, Arsenal. She also captained the Lionesses to victory in the Euros last Summer, to which you played at the opening ceremony in Wembley prior to kick off.

Jacob had moved to Australia when you were both 20. You’d never tell him, but it really broke your heart, even though you had been touring since you were 17 as a support act for big artists and didn’t see him much anyway. But you enjoyed coming home to your family and when he wasn’t there, it wasn’t really the same. Your twin was great and you loved him, but your bond with Leah was unmatched. She was the best big sister you could ask for.

You’d met up with Jacob when you were touring in Australia. He was playing football over there now. You’d taken some pre-planned time off during the tour to spend it with him before you had to jet off to New Zealand. It fell during the time of the World Cup so you both got to attend Leah’s games in the tournament with your mum and dad. It was nice to have time as a family and watch your sister thriving. Of course you also brought along your girlfriend to the games, as well as some of your band.

But your final leg of this tour was Europe, and your final concert was in your hometown, London. You already knew your whole family and friend from home were here tonight, and it always made you so nervous to play in front of them. To add to that, Leah had called to ask could she invite pretty much her whole team, Arsenal and England, which your manager, Anna, sorted out for her.

You could hear the warm-up act on stage when your phone pinged letting you know your sister had tagged you in an Instagram post. You loved that she made a big song and a dance about you. You thought she was the coolest person you’d ever met and the fact she was proud of you made you feel so happy.

leahwilliamsonn

Liked by liawaelti, bethmead_, katie_mccabe11 and 47,548 others

Leahwilliamsonn: Yeehaw baby sis 🤠

Y/n_Williamson: See you soon ❤️

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You heard the open act move on to her final song when there was a knock on your door.

“Babe?” Your girlfriend, Mel, said as she opened the door.

“Hey” you smiled, looking at her through the mirror as she skipped over to sit on your lap, pressing a firm kiss to your lips.

“Ready to go?” She asked as she broke away and you nodded. “Nervous?” She fixed your hair into a bun, like she done before every show as you nodded again.

“Y/n, let’s go” the stage manager shouted from the corridor as Mel jumped back to her feet and pulled you up.

“You’re going to be great, babe. Just one last show and then we’ll be back home in New York in no time. Just me and you” she smiled as you kissed her gently again, getting a little bit lost in it before you felt Anna’s hands pull you away.

“Get your tongue out of your girlfriend’s mouth for 5 minutes please. You have a show to do and then you can hide in New York with her for as long as you want” Anna grunted, practically dragging you towards the stage.

You and Mel had been dating since you were 17. You’d met her at an after party in New York. Her and some of her friends were there, while you were forced into going to make friends in the industry. She was a model and social media influencer, and was crazy about you from the first moment she met you. She loved you jumping into TikTok’s with her and she posted photos of the two of you all the time on Instagram. She was great for getting your face out there. Constantly.

The only issue with Mel though, was something you weren’t even aware of. Leah in no way liked or trusted her, and hated the fact you were so loved up. Leah hated the way she spoke to you, hated her whole attitude and demeanour. But to you, it was just how everyone in your circle acted. Models were difficult people, and Mel was no different.

You’d taken your position side stage, the custom guitar strap with Mel’s second name on it was wrapped around your shoulders as you placed one more kiss on Mel’s cheek. She’d been making some type of contemplation video of the kiss to the cheek you’d give her each time right before you’d go on stage, that was apparently bound to go viral.

You fixed the collar on your jacket and gave the crew a thumbs up as they began to higher you up onto the stage. You took a deep breath as you began to hear the roars from the crowd when the usual light show began as you entered the stage.

“London” you shouted as the crowd erupted. Your guitarist, Holly, shot you a cheeky smile as you got on stage.

“Leah, I cannot believe that this is your sister man” Jen laughed as Leah chuckled and went back to cheering as loud as she could. The proudest big sister ever.

“This is the show I have been waiting for, for so many months” you set off the crowd again. “This is my final show of this tour, and I am so glad to be home” you shouted as they screamed.

“Let’s go” Holly shouted.

The drum kicked in as you began strumming the guitar and playing your opening song. You worked through the normal set list, stopping to engage a bit more than usual with the crowd. Eventually, you had to rid yourself of the jacket you wearing due to how hot it was. You let your hair out of the bun as well as it was starting to fall out and you didn’t have time to fix it.

“Do we have any Tottenham fans in the crowd tonight?” You asked as a few cheers ran up and you laughed to yourself. The band all started laughing, knowing you loved riling people in the crowd up.

“What about some Chelsea fans?” You asked, peering out into the crowd before dramatically booing into the microphone. That set Leah and her team mates off into a fit of laughter.

“How about some, Arsenal fans?” You smirked as the crowd gave the loudest cheer so far. You looked up to where your sister and her team mates were sitting and you could see the idiot standing up banging on her chest. She loved a badge tap.

“So you all know I’m from a football household, and an Arsenal one at that” you said. “My brother, Jacob plays football over in Australia at the moment and my sister, Leah-” you barely got the words out before cheers began erupting. “Yes, yes, Leah plays for Arsenal and captains the Lionesses” you chuckled.

“Play Sweet Caroline” you heard shouted from the crowd making you and Holly laugh.

“It was so good last Summer to watch her and the girls win the Euros wasn’t it?” You asked as the crowd screamed. “So I’ve been on tour now since January and we started in America, Canada and Asia. I flew then to Australia where I spent time with Jacob, done some shows and then we watched Leah and England at the World Cup” the crowd cheered again.

“She loves you” Lia whispered, squeezing your sister’s leg as Leah smiled. She put her hand over Lia’s hand before quickly pulling it away.

“But obviously, when we lost the World Cup I was so disappointed for them. They deserved it so much. But as my sister would say, ‘that’s football’” you said, mocking her accent and laughing to yourself.

“But what those girls do on and off the pitch is nothing short of incredible. But particularly my sister, she is so fucking cool. Sorry mum for swearing” you laughed. “She just continues to inspire everyone, including me. So I wrote this song for her, and it’s a new one. I haven’t played it on the tour yet as I was waiting for tonight” that was the loudest scream you got this show. You made your way over to the piano, giving a nod to your band. The music kicked in and you began to play.

“Leah, are you crying?” Steph asked with a laugh.

“Of course I’m crying Steph” Leah huffed making the rest of the team and your family laugh. Your mum loved the bond you and your sister had. Regardless of the distance between the three of her kids, you always made time for each other.

You played one more song and finally you were done. You needed a break.

“Thank you, London” you shouted as you clapped at the crowd and walked off stage, instantly being met by the arms of your girlfriend who wrapped herself around you and walked back towards your dressing room.

“You were so amazing babe. That was the best one all tour, hands down” she smiled. She’d been to every single show of the tour, so you trusted her that what she said was true. You trusted her with anything. She was your person.

You got changed quickly and headed towards the car that was waiting for you, helping Mel in first and you slotted in beside her.

“Where to Ms Williamson?” Your usual driver asked as you got in.

“Where did Leah say, baby?” You asked Mel who was searching on her phone for the name of the club they were heading to. Leah had texted it to her earlier, begrudgingly, knowing that if she didn’t, you wouldn’t have came. She told the driver the name of the place as he took off in that direction.

You flicked onto Instagram after being sent the photos from tonight and selected two to post on the ride to the club.

y/n_williamson

Liked by leahwilliamsonn, melcooke, lukejamesp and 783,721 others

Y/n_Williamson: Thank you everyone who came out tonight and every night over the last few months. I love you, London x

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You arrived at the club and were brought through the back entrance to the section that your team had exclusively booked for you and your guests. Your mum, aunts and her friends just made a brief appearance to see you before heading home.

“I’ll see you in the morning, mum” you smiled as she pulled you into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you baby girl” she smiled. “You” she growled and pointed at Leah who gulped. “Make sure your sister gets home safely” she warned as Leah nodded and watched her walk out of sight before smirking.

“Shots?” She asked as she pulled you into her side, telling you she was so proud of you too. She was definitely already slightly tipsy as she dragged you to the bar, forcing you to leave Mel behind with her Arsenal teammates.

“Hi, I’m Alessia” Leah’s newest club teammate smiled, as she stuck her hand out to greet Mel who dragged her eyes up from her phone. She looked Alessia up and down, scoffed, and followed you and Leah towards the bar where she tucked into your side. She barely greeted Leah but she still somehow managed to get more than Alessia was just offered.

“Was it something I said?” Alessia asked Lia who had watched the whole interaction.

“That girl is insufferable. Leah hates her and wishes Y/n would break up with her” Lia explained as Alessia looked over at the bar to where the three of you stood. You and your sister were laughing and Mel was on her phone, recording the interaction.

Your childhood bestfriend, Luke, was the one that you’d spent the majority of your night with on the rare occurrence you got to see him. When he’d finished up at Uni, Leah got him a marketing job at Arsenal, which he loved. The only thing was, he couldn’t just randomly jet off to see you while you were on tour or living in New York. It was only really when you were home you could catch up in person. You’d talk every day either by text or on the phone.

You’d offered countless times to fly him to New York while you’d been living there, but he would always refuse. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see you, he just didn’t want to accept you paying for him. He saved up to come and visit you a few times over the years, and each time you bumped him to first class, much to his annoyance.

“Lukey pookey, can you at least share my sister with me?” A drunken Leah mumbled as she sunk down next to you on the sofa. You were too busy laughing at her drunken antics to notice Mel rolling her eyes at your sister. But Luke did, and it quickly wiped the smile off his face. She made everyone uncomfortable.

He loved Leah, he’d known her all of his life as you’d been friends since birth, basically. They also had the same mutual hatred for Mel which they bonded about on a regular occasion. Neither of them ever had the guts to say it to you because they knew you were happy, they just didn’t understand how.

“Why don’t I go grab you another drink?” You poked at her nose. “Another?” You asked Luke who nodded and smiled.

“Get me a drink, babe” Mel shouted after you as she diverted her eyes back to her phone. You weren’t even sure why she’d bothered asking, she knew you were coming back with a drink for her as well. Luke and Leah rolled their eyes and fell into a conversation that they knew she’d have no interest in getting involved in to kill the time until you were back.

You were waiting at the bar, tapping the wood to the beat of the song that was playing, when you noticed a few of Leah’s teammates beside you.

“Oh, hey Lia” you smiled at your sister’s friend. You knew her the best out of all Leah’s friends that was here.

“How are you?” The Swiss girl put her arm around your shoulder pulling you into a hug. “Such a great show” she added.

“Thanks so much for having us” Steph chirped. While you didn’t know most of these girls really, you were a big football fan, so you knew who they all were.

“Thank you for coming” you smiled as the bar man put drinks in front of them all. “Add them all to my bill” you said nonchalantly as he nodded and turned to continue making drinks.

“Leah your sister is so cool” Beth shouted as a few of them began walking back towards the seats, murmuring thank yous and well done on your show. All but one.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Alessia” the blonde smiled, putting her hand out.

“We haven’t yet. Y/N” you shook her hand and smiled back politely.

“Thank you for the drink” she said as she held it up higher and smiled softly at you.

“Anything for the back heel queen” you teased as she giggled. You knew who she was? “How are you finding Arsenal?” You asked as you leaned against the bar.

“Yeah, great. I love London. The girls have been really welcoming” she had a smile on her face that was making you feel warm. “Are you happy to be home?”. You liked when people referred to England as your home. Most people in the industry thought you were American as your accent tended to dip in out after being heavily influenced by living there.

“I won’t be here for too long, but yeah. I love coming home and seeing my family and friends. But, Mel has a fashion show in New York next week so we will be going back there for that” you yawned.

“So, Mel is your girlfriend, right?” She said as you nodded with a smile. “How long have you been dating?”

“Nearly five years” you laughed as Alessia nodded, as if she already knew the answer to the question.

You’d quickly changed the topic back to football, to get the girl a bit perkier and to actually have a conversation that didn’t, for once, involve Mel. You didn’t even notice the drinks that had been placed in front of you so long ago now the ice was beginning to melt. You were too caught up in talking to her. Why was it so easy to talk to her?

Leah and Luke were so content in conversation, they had hardly noticed you were gone. Mel on the other hand, was becoming more and more agitated that you still weren’t back. When she adjusted in her seat to catch a view of you at the bar, speaking to an unfamiliar blonde, she shot up out of her seat and was over to you in a flash. She pressed a hard kiss to your cheek and wrapped her hands tightly around your neck, when she finally got beside you. You had to catch the stumbling girl so she wouldn’t knock both of you into and over the bar.

“Steady on, darlin’” you laughed, helping her back to her feet, wiping lipstick off your cheek. “Have you met Alessia?” You smiled.

“No, I don’t think I have. Hi, I’m Mel” she gave Alessia the fakest smile she’d ever seen.

“Alessia” she mumbled, trying to smile back.

“Babe, you’ve been gone for so long” she pouted. “My ice is melted in my drink” she held it up to inspect it, and frowned at the missing ice that had, in fact, melted.

“I’ll get you another. Will you take these over to Luke and Leah?” You asked as she stared at you.

“Why don’t you go with them and I’ll stay here and wait for my drink?” She eyed Alessia as you carefully grabbed three drinks, kissed her cheek and began to walk away. As Mel was about to open her mouth to speak, you swung back towards them, saving the blonde, without even knowing it.

“Alessia, come meet my friend Luke” you shouted as she practically jogged toward you. You handed her one of the three glasses that you were struggling to hold.

“Oh Lessi” Leah giggled as she handed her the drink you’d bought her.

“Alessia, Luke. Luke, Alessia” you shouted over the music as they greeted each other.

“Are you trying to set them up?” Leah smirked as you mimicked her smirk and shrugged, taking a seat beside her. “You won’t get far with that one” she laughed. Alessia liked girls, she just wasn’t too open about it.

Mel eventually returned with a new drink and placed herself on your lap, seeming as Alessia had taken her previously occupied seat. You wrapped your arm around her waist in a protective kind of hold when you noticed she seemed a bit more handsy with you than usual.

“I want to go back to the hotel after this drink” Mel purred as you nodded, starting to drink a bit faster.

“Whatever you want, baby” you mumbled back.

“Are you not staying with me?” Leah snapped. Whenever Mel didn’t come, you had no issues staying with your sister or your mum. You actually preferred the home comforts to a hotel room, no matter how nice they were.

“We’re staying in the Berkeley, why don’t you and Mandy come over in the morning?” Mel smirked at your sister.

“Amanda” Leah tutted at the stupid nickname she’d given your mum.

“I will collect you and we will be at mum’s first thing tomorrow morning” you reassured your sister as Mel finished off her drink. She jumped off your lap and pulled you up to your feet, almost knocking your drink straight out of your hand. You hugged your sister but noticed her hug was extremely tight. You gave Luke a quick hug before turning to Alessia. Mel had spotted someone she knew and had ran over, squealing, to say hello. “It was really nice to meet you properly tonight” you smiled.

“You too” she replied shyly.

“Could I maybe get your number? We can hang out again sometime?” You whispered as she nodded and pulled out her phone.

“Put your number in, I’ll text you” she smiled as you did what she asked. You waved goodbye to everyone as you were pushed into a blacked out car once again.

“The Berkeley” Mel snapped at the driver as she placed a kiss to your neck.

Money was never an issue for you. You didn’t even bat an eye lid when your girlfriend told you she’d booked the penthouse in the Berkeley, a five star hotel in London. You also didn’t flinch when she looked for your card when it came to pay. You had more money than her, so of course it made sense for you to pay, right?

You were escourted to the penthouse and tipped the man who’d carried the large volume of bags, only two of them actually belonging to you. You settled into bed and turned on the TV while Mel was in the shower. Your phone buzzed.

Unknown Number

Hey it’s Alessia. Just sending you my number 😊

You saved the contact

Y/n

Thanks. There’s an open tab for you, Luke and Leah at the bar that’s been cleared. Just close it when you’re leaving 😊

Alessia showed the text to your best friend and sister who both laughed.

“Legend” Luke shouted as he got up to get three fresh drinks.

“More money than sense with that one. I just looked up the room she booked, £16,000 for one night” Leah laughed as Alessia gasped.

“Your mum might need to have a word” Alessia giggled and Leah shook her head.

“Mums tried. See we” she pointed to Luke and back to herself. “Mum, dad, Jacob, we don’t expect anything from her money wise” Leah took a breath. “Mel on the other hand, will just book things or buy things and then snap her fingers for the card” Leah grunted.

“That isn’t fair” Alessia replied softly.

“The stupid idiot gives it to her” Leah added. You weren’t innocent in all of this. You were an adult and knew what you were doing letting her fuck around with your money. But it had always been Mel. She was the first person who ever showed an interest in you. “If she wasn’t here, Y/n would be at my house or at my mums. But no, only a five star hotel would be good enough for Mel” Leah groaned.

“Have you added a new member to the I Hate Mel Club?” Luke laughed as the two blonde girls joined in.

“But where would she sleep at your house? You have two bedrooms and I currently live in the spare one” Alessia laughed.

“Trust me, get rid of Mel and she sleeps on the couch without any hesitation” Leah said taking a sip from her drink. Only then had Alessia realised she’d not replied to you.

Sometimes you were over generous with your money and it made you panic that people thought you were trying to buy their friendship. You took a deep breath when Alessia replied with a picture of the trio all with new drinks and a heart.

You could hear a muffled voice from the bathroom and barely took any notice of it, presuming she was videoing her skin care routine for TikTok or something along those lines. You waited for her to come back before you stopped scrolling on your phone and she tucked into your side and fell asleep.

-

When you woke the next morning, Mel was up and dressed with just three of her many suitcases ready at the door.

“Baby?” You grumbled.

“Hi, babe” she smiled as she sat beside you on the bed.

“Are we leaving?” You rubbed your eyes and sat up as she nodded. She loved your little British accent and especially how it sounded in the mornings.

“They need me early for a photoshoot in New York” she groaned. Her tone was a bit off.

“Okay, just give me ten minutes and I’ll-” you began to get up but she put her hand across your chest and pushed you back into the bed.

“No” she snapped. “I mean, no” she said softly. “It’s not often you get time off and get to come home. Stay, and follow me to New York next week” she smiled again.

“Are you sure?” You asked with a puzzled look but she just smiled and nodded again. You never really went anywhere without each other.

It wasn’t long after she left that you packed the few bits that had been thrown around the room and checked out, heading straight for your sisters, with the rest of Mel’s bags and the two of yours. You’d told her to take the driver and you just took an Uber. You actually hated the thought of people working for you, and having a private luxurious lifestyle. You were just a Milton Keynes girl at the end of it all. You thanked the driver and got out at your sister’s place. He helped you with getting all the bags to the door. You handed him a hefty tip before letting yourself in with your key.

“Lee?” You shouted softly.

“Kitchen” she shouted back.

You dumped all the bags at the bottom of the stairs and headed into the kitchen, only you weren’t greeted by just one blonde, but two.

“Hi” you smiled straight at Alessia.

“Hi” she shyly giggled back at you.

“Morning” Leah grumbled. “No Mel?” She smirked as she looked over your shoulder, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Had to fly back to New York” you explained as you worked your way over to the coffee machine, trying to figure out how to use it.

“Such a shame” she teased as you rolled your eyes.

“I take it she let you stay here on the condition that you’d cook breakfast?” You asked the other blonde who was sitting at the table with a coffee, giggling. “How have you still not learned how to cook?” You nudged your sister.

“Sorry we don’t all have private chefs who can cook for us” she groaned, making Alessia laugh again.

“Are we going to mums?” You asked after another roll of your eyes had been completed.

“She’s coming here” Leah informed you, handing you a coffee that she’d taken over making for you.

“Do you live close by? Do you need an Uber?” You asked Alessia who just laughed at you. You cringed at how forward you were being, just practically telling the girl to leave.

“She lives about 5 meters above your head” Leah laughed.

“You didn’t tell me she lived here, idiot” you moaned with a laugh. “When did you move in?” You asked.

“When I moved to Arsenal. It’s just until I find my own place” she smiled.

“Mum likes her more than us” Leah whined making you both laugh.

“I can still crash on your couch right? I don’t need to stay at mums?” You groaned as Leah chuckled at the stressed look on your face at the thoughts of staying with your parents instead of her. Alessia raised her eyebrows at Leah, realising she’d been right about you last night and it was Mel that changed you.

“As long as the couch isn’t too much of a step down for you, Berkeley girl” Leah teased. You opted to flick her into the head this time, realising eye rolling was getting you nowhere.

Alessia had stepped out to get groceries when your mum came over. Not before the two got into a long conversation about something you and Leah could hardly make out.

It was nice, just spending time with your sister and mum. You didn’t get to do it often. It made you feel normal, for a change. When your mum had headed off, Alessia still hadn’t returned yet.

“So, you and Alessia?” You smirked.

“God no, just mates” Leah laughed. “What do you think of her?” Leah asked, a slight smirk behind her words. Leah knew Alessia was your type, and was hopelessly trying to get you to see there was more to life than Mel.

“She seems nice, friendly” you smiled as Leah nodded.

“I think you two would really get on” Leah informed you.

She was right.

The next week the three of you, and Luke, when he was free, became inseparable, spending pretty much all day and night together. You felt as though you’d known Alessia your whole life. She was easy to talk to and shared similar interests with you, so it didn’t take long for a relationship to build.

Only, as the days went on, Alessia found herself becoming very interested in you. She seen more of the real side of you and not the you that that she knew from the media. Not that either of those people were bad people, but you were more at ease in the comforts of having peace and silence. Mel constantly had her phone out, filming content, and needed you in them for views to sky rocket. While you didn’t mind too much, normally just doing whatever she wanted, you were really enjoying this break. You can’t remember the last time you felt this at ease.

You’d spend most of the time in the house, the three of you just tucked up on the sofa bed watching movies. You’d never had the best attention span for movies, usually falling asleep most of the time. More often than not you would wake up to one or both of the them cuddled up beside you. You and Leah were very cuddly individuals, it ran in the family.

There was something so inviting about Alessia. Her cozy clothes, the smell of her perfume, the hint of her shampoo from her hair or how your arm slung around her waist like it was designed to fit exactly perfect. But it was all friendly, sisterly even. You loved Mel.

You would be having such a great time and the buzz from your phone with a call or text from Mel would completely change the tone of the conversation as you’d switch your focus to make sure to reply quickly.

-

On the final night, before you were set to fly to New York for Mel’s fashion show, she called to make sure you were all set, or so you thought. You were having dinner with Alessia and Leah when she called.

“Sorry” you mumbled with food in your mouth before harshly swallowing it and answering. You’d interrupted Leah’s story to answer the call. “Hey” you smiled.

“It took you six rings to answer” she moaned as Leah rolled her eyes and Alessia had become really interested in the food on her plate.

“Sorry, I was eating” you laughed. “Say hi to Leah and Alessia” you turned the camera to them. Leah quickly faked a smile and waved into the camera, while Alessia copied the older girl.

“Alessia?” She asked.

“Mel, you know her. My friend you met at the bar in London” you groaned. She had a habit of not remembering people. Friend. Alessia’s heart skipped a beat at the fact you referred to her as your friend.

“Oh, of course, Alessia, hi” she squealed. “It’s nice Y/n has a friend in London other than her sister and Liam” she giggled.

“Luke” you tried to say before she began talking again.

“Anyway babe, I need you at the apartment in the morning because I need you to drive me to the show” she explained.

“My flights not ‘til noon UK time, baby” you said as you got up from the table. “That means I won’t get there for New York morning” you continued walking towards the door of Leah’s kitchen.

“Take the jet?” She hissed.

“She has her own plane?” Alessia whispered.

“It was a gift” Leah replied in a hushed tone, “We don’t talk about who it was from” she added, stopping Alessia from asking the obvious question, as they went back to listening.

“Mel, you know I hate using-” you tried to say before she interrupted again.

“I need you here in the morning, why are you being so difficult?” She snapped.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there first thing” you reassured her as she blew a kiss through the phone and hung up.

“God” Alessia groaned.

“I hate that stupid little-” Leah began, clenching her fists, before Alessia seen you return to the kitchen and kicked Leah’s shin.

“Everything okay?” Alessia asked as you nodded.

“I need to fly a bit earlier than expected” you smiled, like you weren’t even affected by the conversation. Truthfully, you weren’t that affected, that was just the way Mel was. You finished your food and cleaned the plate before heading into the living room to start packing.

“Need a hand?” The blonde asked from the door.

“If you could? Mel usually does the packing” you laughed.

“I don’t think I would be able to live your lifestyle” she admitted.

“Vice versa” you replied making her giggle. As she pushed a T-shirt into your suitcase, your hands briefly touched but neither of you pulled away. Not instantly anyway.

“Sorry” you mumbled eventually after moving your hands away.

“Sorry” she also said, moving her hands in the opposite direction. An amused Leah watched from the door. Alessia cleared her throat as she picked up a hoodie that belonged to you and held it out in front of her. “I love this, where did you get it?” She asked, holding it up and admiring it.

“Um” you thought about it long and hard before shaking your head. “I’d say someone just dropped it in for me to wear for some photo op or something. Keep it” you shrugged.

“What?” She gasped. She knew it was an expensive hoodie. Even on her very decent salary she couldn’t justify paying for a hoodie of that cost.

“Keep it, I don’t think I’d wear it again” you laughed before Leah interrupted.

“Oh, isn’t that nice? And nothing to give your sister?” She teased, entering the room now and beginning to offer a hand.

“You’ve got time off now, right?” You asked as she nodded. “Come to New York with me” you suggested.

“Are you serious?” She laughed.

“Yeah fuck it. Alessia, up for a trip?” You laughed.

“No, she’s not joking” Leah answered Alessia’s unspoken question. She had a habit of doing that.

The both of them left you to finish your packing and ran to pack their own stuff. You retorted to just shoving everything in and zipping it up, knowing Mel would sort that out for you when you got back.

-

“Make yourselves comfy” you said as the three of you boarded onto your plane. You introduced them to the staff on the jet as they all greeted you.

It wasn’t long after takeoff that you and Alessia had fallen asleep beside each other, both watching the same movie on the flat screen in front of your seat You’d opted to take the double seat beside each other as Leah had plonked herself into a window side single chair, facing towards the back of the plane.

You felt Alessia’s sleeping body push against yours on the plane that woke you from your sleep. You mindlessly wrapped your arm around her and drifted back off. Leah, wide awake, with her sudoku book in hand, witnessed the whole interaction and knew instantly that you two were never going to be just friends.

But, it was nice to have a friend. Especially with what was coming.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

Credit to: user

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

so cool

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

absolutely LOVED

Stuck with you - part 10

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: Alexia and the girls are orchestrating a plan; there are no chairs left, and a game of charades makes everything messier than it was—thank you, Alexia!

Word count: 5k

a/n: omg...first kiss?! :O

..

It had been two weeks since Y/n and Kika last talked. Two weeks since the park incident.

Alexia, of course, couldn't mind her own business–something she didn't do before meeting Olga. Olga had taught Alexia the fine art of nosiness, and she had absolutely run with it.

Since Y/n refused to say anything about the whole situation (again), Alexia went straight to Kika instead.

At first, Kika tried to avoid her, but after Alexia convinced Romeu to do separate groups based on the players' positions, Kika had nowhere to run. 

The downside of this plan was that everyone could see that Alexia and Kika were having a conversation, and worst of all, Vicky could hear it too.

Vicky was Alexia's baby. 

She would never admit it to anyone, but the kid had a special place in her heart, not the same as Y/n (which Alexia also wouldn't admit), but when she saw Vicky listening to their conversation and making hand gestures to Y/n and Jana on the other side... she snapped.

Vicky looked sad, but Alexia bought her a box of chocolates after training, and the kid was happy again.

What really struck Alexia was how dumb and dramatic Y/n and Kika both were.

When Kika explained what happened, completely stumbling over her words and feeling nervous that her captain was asking her about it, Alexia didn't even know how to react.

She knew Kika was a sweetheart–a little awkward, sure–but from the way she told the story, Alexia could tell she hadn't meant to say what she said. She was just nervous and blurted it out.

Yeah, she could have worded it better, but still... Y/n was also too impatient; she didn't even stay to hear what Kika really had to say. 

Alexia was trying to tell that to Y/n, but the kid was stubborn and didn't want to have any conversation surrounding Kika.

Alexia tried multiple times to explain it, though. Always in the car, always after training, when she knew Y/n couldn't run away from the conversation. She would start the engine, wait for Y/n to climb into the passenger seat, and then properly trap her.

"Kikinha didn't mean it," Alexia said for what felt like the twelfth time that week. "I talked to her. She said she was anxious and just... blurted it out."

Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. 

Her day had been awful. She had twisted her ankle during a training session, which meant two days off training and physio with Paulo.

 Paulo wasn't her favourite physiotherapist; he always pulled and pressed too hard on her skin, and it hurt more than it helped. Her favourite physiotherapist was Luana, and she was on vacation somewhere warm with her family.

At least someone on the Barcelona team was having the time of their life, enjoying a good beach with people that mattered. Clearly, that person wasn't Y/n, not when she was trapped in a car with La Reina.

"Alexia," Y/n muttered, eyes closed. "Why are you so invested in me and Kika? Just leave us alone. Hell, leave me alone."

She tried to open the door, but Alexia had locked it. 

Great.

"Because I think she's a great girl–"

"Alexia!" Y/n snapped, turning to look at her. "I don't need you to tell me who you think I should date or not. It's not up to you!"

"Vale, vale" [okay, okay] Alexia said, raising her hands as if she was guilty, which she was. "No need to yell at me."

"I have every reason to yell at you," Y/n grumbled under her breath.

The rest of the car ride was in silence. For a moment, it seemed like Alexia had finally given up. But of course not. 

She had a plan. And plans needed collaborators.

Alexia was Capitana; after all, she could get people to help her with the snap of her fingers.

..

First, she talked to Romeu. 

It was a very professional conversation, or Alexia tried to make it out to be.

"I need you to pair Kika and Y/n together during training–always", Alexia said casually, as they watched the team run drills during her water breaks, her bottle in her left hand.

Romeu raised an eyebrow, looking at Alexia weirdly. 

Normally, Alexia wouldn't really ask stuff like that. "And why would I do that?"

"They have good chemistry," Alexia replied.

"On the pitch? You mean?"

"...Sí," Alexia said, watching as Y/n made a pass and sent it to Kika, who passed it to Pina for a goal.

Cata didn't even try to save it. Goal.

Romeu sighed, understanding where Alexia was going with it and already regretting it. "Just don't get me fired. And if y/n asks me anything, I'll tell her it's all you, Putellas."

..

Y/n started noticing a pattern, and it was starting to piss her off.

Every training, every drill, every media duty... she and Kika were always stuck together. Even when it made no logical sense. Even if it clearly wasn't the easiest choice.

When the media team asked for two pairs to film a card game challenge for the barça youtube channel, Vicky and Jana were already paired up, and Esmee (who had been sitting next to Kika) was absolutely ready to go. But somehow, the staff asked Esmee to switch with Y/n.

Y/n, who wasn't even mic’d up. 

Who didn't even know what card game they were playing. Who didn't even know they had any media duty that day because it obviously wasn't sent to her own personal agenda.

She wasn't even with them; she was stretching on the other side of the pitch among other girls, when Carla yelled her name and beamingly asked her to join them.

She couldn't say no. Be all in a day's work.

In the end, Y/n was the only one out of the four girls who was still in her training kit. Her once-white shorts were green from the grass, her hair a messy ponytail, her neck still dripping sweat while Kika, Jana, and Vicky looked pretty, clean, and even had makeup on.

It would be comical if it weren't so ridiculous.

Jana and Vicky were sitting on one side of the table, while Kika and Y/n were on the other, the last two awkwardly playing Uno and trying not to make eye contact while pretending to be excited for the camera in front of them, talking about the most ridiculous things Carla could ask them.

"What's your most embarrassing moment?" Carla asked just as Y/N tossed a nine red on the table.

"Hmm…I once took a screenshot of my Instagram DMs and didn’t realise the other person would get a notification," Jana said, throwing down a nine green.

Y/N didn’t have any greens. 

She was already hating the game.

"Once I fell at La Masia and my pants literally tore. I had to borrow another girl’s shirt to cover myself. It was so embarrassing," Vicky said, putting down a 'choose the colour' card. 

She chose yellow.

Yes! Y/N had yellow.

"When I was a kid, my cousin dared me to steal eggs from this little farm shop near our house. I did it, my dad caught me, and he made me apologise for each egg in front of every single customer there," Kika said, smiling. "I’m still not a fan of scrambled eggs to this day."

They all laughed, even Y/N. But her smile disappeared when Kika placed another 'pick a color' card and chose fucking green.

"It's your turn, Y/N," Carla said.

Y/N frowned, drawing a card from the deck. 

Red. Nope.

"Well, my most embarrassing moment is…" Another card. five blue. "That once I pretended to read this book–" Seven yellow. Still no green. "--and I got caught. I hadn’t read a single page."

The air around the table shifted a little. Jana gave her a knowing look, Vicky was grinning, and Kika stared, surprised, like she hadn’t expected Y/N to bring that up. Well, Y/n didn't expect it either; it just came out.

Y/N ignored them and pulled one more card. Finally, eight green.

She placed it on the pile, and the game kept going.

After that, Y/n and Kika barely spoke. Kika looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Y/N didn’t ask either. 

She needed a shower desperately.

So, once again, everything stayed polite and cordial between them…professional. Y/N didn’t know if she liked that or not.

Still, it felt good to say something about the book club. It made her feel lighter. Maybe the fans wouldn’t understand when they saw the video, but Kika would. That mattered.

..

It continued. 

The weird pattern that no one was acknowledging, the pattern that only Y/n seemed to notice. Y/n hadn't told anyone about it either. Who would she even talk to? 

Alexia? Jana? 

She knew they were behind it all. It would make zero sense to ask them to stop. It was like they were playing a twisted game of puppets with Y/n and Kika. As if they were dogs that they could take on walks together for the sole reason of socialisation. 

Still, Y/n couldn't tell how much Kika was involved in it. Given Kika's personality, she probably didn't know anything. Kika wasn't like that, she was more of a 'go with the flow' type of girl.

She would not force any interaction between y/n  and herself. She hadn't done it before, no reason to start now.

Kika always looked genuinely surprised when they ended up paired together in random team duties, like she wasn't expecting that to happen. As if it hadn't crossed her mind. 

It had only confirmed what Y/n already knew deep in her heart: it was definitely Alexia and the other girls doing it. 

They were pulling some strings to get Y/n and Kika together as much as they could. At first, it was okay; Y/n even thought it was rather funny how they would go out of their way to make it happen.

But now? It was getting weird.

And not awkward weird–but amateurish weird.

They weren't subtle before, and now they weren't even trying to hide it.

And it was distracting. 

In less than a few days, Y/n  and half of the Barça girls were leaving for Las Rozas de Madrid, a city near Madrid, where the Spain confederation would gather for another camp.

She needed to focus. She already got called up, alongside Alexia, Jana and other girls, but it didn't mean she could slack off.

Still, it looked like Y/n was the only one who actually cared about representing Spain's colours.

Last week, Y/n and Sydney were having lunch, just the two of them. Sydney was talking about the online school program she was doing, and Y/n was invested. 

Alexia made her go to a regular school, even after she got promoted to the A team at a young age, so it was fun to see how different it was now.

Everything was normal…until Kika showed up..

She stood by the table with that awkward smile on her face–the one that made y/n want to kiss her right away– asking if she could sit with them because all the tables were occupied.

Y/n and Sydney nodded, of course.

But even as y/n  smiled politely, putting her chair a bit to the left to give space to Kika, Y/N glanced around. 

All the tables were full? The restaurant had barely opened. And it wasn't like Barcelona's restaurant would get a lot of people. Most of those who ate there were players and staff members.

But then, y/n, she saw it. Right by the corner of her eyes, trying not to get caught.

Ona, pushing a table three times her size back into the 'storage room', a small room hidden on the left side of the restaurant, near the bathrooms.

Sydney and Kika were engaged in a conversation that y/n didn't pay much attention to. She took a sip of her water, and then turned her head to the other side– her eyes widened when she saw it: Alexia and Esmee were moving chairs, putting them against a wall…?

This was getting out of control.

Did they think they were in a rom-com novel? Did they think it was funny? Cute?

"Oh, no!" Sidney said suddenly, eyes fixed behind Kika.

Y/N followed her gaze. Vicky was at another table, attempting (badly) to make hand signs. Vicky should just quit the whole hand gesturing thing and stick with talking.

Before Kika could turn around and catch her, Sydney stood up from her chair.

"Sorry guys,” she said quickly. “I-I have to go, hmm, dentist appointment."

Y/n looked at her deadpan. 

"Dentist? We have training, team training in the afternoon."

Sydney shrugged. "I can't miss it…brace stuff," she pointed at her teeth. 

Braceless teeth.

"You don't even have any braces on!" y/n  said exasperatedly.

"I'm getting them today!" Sydney said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, bye you two. Have a good lunch.

Y/n and Kika were alone at the table.

Y/n was mad. She ate her fish, cutting it with more force than necessary. Kika was quiet, but she could feel her eyes on her. 

She was nervous, y/n could tell.

"Uhm," Kika said finally, "they’re acting weird, right?"

Y/N blinked. "Huh?"

She pointed at Alexia's, Vicky's and Esmee's table. They all looked innocent now, eating and chatting. As if they hadn't moved actual furniture from the Barcelona restaurant just to play dolls with Y/n and Kika.

“It’s like they’re doing something behind my back,” Kika said. “And I don’t really know what it is.”

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, “I feel that too.”

“Do you know what they’re doing?”

Y/N stared at her. At her warm brown eyes. At her shiny black hair that somehow always looked like it had just been washed. It always smelled good.

“I think I have an idea,” she said.

..

Y/n was halfway through taking off her shirt in the changing room when she caught sounds coming from the door. Some were giggles that she immediately recognised as Vicky and Sydney. Others were low grunts, annoyed, those came from Aitana and Marta.

Y/n knew exactly what it meant. 

Her eyes flicked to the calendar stuck on Ona's cubby: Thursday. 

The second Thursday of the month.

Merda.

She had to hide.

Quickly, Y/n slammed her cubby and slipped out the door toward the showers. She stepped inside and froze, barely daring to breathe, not moving a muscle as she tried to blend in.

Is that why hunted animals felt? It felt weird to have this much adrenaline on her body if she wasn't on the pitch.

Then, she heard.

Unmistakable.

"Nenaaa," Alexia called dramatically, dragging out the last syllable.

Y/n counted her breaths, the sound of her heart beating against her ribs louder than she wanted. 

She felt like she had to pee. She always did when she was nervous. When she was a kid, she hated hide and seek because of that. She always had to leave her hiding spot to go to the bathroom.

She felt like a kid again. 

But it wasn't her mom who was after her,

It was Alexia.

Alexia was much worse.

The shower door slammed open, and one by one, the curtains next to her were pulled back with an aggressive clang of metal.

Death was near. 

It was coming for her.

Her stomach dropped, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst, and then, Alexia yanked open the curtain next to her, a mischievous grin across her face.

"Well, hello there."

Y/n screamed, making Alexia roll her eyes.

"Ay, dramática!" Alexia teased, but she was already reaching out to pull Y/n from the shower.

"Alexia! No," Y/n snapped, standing her ground. "I'm not going."

"Yes, you are," Alexia said firmly. "You've gotten away the last four times because you were–" she made quotation marks with her fingers, "--cramping."

"Not my fault you always pick the stupidest days when I actually am on my period!" Y/n shot back.

"You are going."

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm your captain, you need to do as I say!" Alexia insisted, voice sharp.

Y/n scoffed right in her face, stepping aside and turning around on Alexia. "Oh, please."

Alexia begged, hands raised as if she were ready to plead for something. "Just this once."

"No."

"Nena!"

"Alexia, I'm not playing fucking charades with the team."

"Why not?" Alexia asked, raising an eyebrow as Y/n pulled open the bathroom door.

"Because Kika will be there, and I still can't look her in the eyes without feeling like an idiot."

Y/n should have been smarter.

She should have seen the way Alexia's eyes widened the moment she said Kika's name. She should have known better than to mention something about someone in a bathroom connected to the locker room.

As the door swung open, there they all were…the whole team, including Kika. Kika looked red, shifting uncomfortably on her feet, while the rest of the players exchanged awkward looks.

They had just overheard Y/n saying she didn't want to join Barcelona's weekly team bonding because of Kika. Because she felt weird.

Great.

At least she hadn't said that looking at Kika made her feel stupid because of how pretty she was. That would have been way more embarrassing.

Y/n barely looked at anyone as she pushed past them, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face set in a scowl that said she just wanted to get out of there.

Alexia was right behind her.

"You're coming, right?" she asked in that annoying manner of hers, using her captain voice, as if Y/n couldn't say no even if she wanted to.

Alexia always got her way. 

She always did that by being annoying…she annoyed people until they gave up. It worked for her with everything.

Y/n mumbled something in a low voice, it was more like a grumble. 

"She's coming," Alexia called out loudly, grinning as the rest of the team nearby cheered. "Yay!"

Y/n rolled her eyes hard.

Idiotas, she thought.

"It's gonna be fun!" Vicky said happily, wrapping an arm around Esmee. "It's the last game night before the international break–we need to…bond!"

"Yes!" Pina chimed in. "Kika, Esmee, Ewa, Ingrid, Frido–they are leaving and we aren't going to see them for like, two weeks!"

"I wish I wasn't going to see you–" y/n looked straight to Alexia, Jana and Vicky, showing exactly who she meant by that. "--for the last two weeks."

"Ay, malhumorada!" [grumpy] Pina said teasingly. "I think I know what you need and that is se–"

Patri shut Pina up with her hand, giving her a warning glare. 

"Creo que no quieres hacerla enojar más ahora, Pina" [I don't think you want to make her more mad now, Pina.]

"Por qué no? Me encanta cuando se enoja." [Why not? I like when she gets mad]

Pina dodged when Y/n threw a shin at her. 

Everybody began to change into their clothes and engage in their own conversation.

Y/n reached for the door to leave, but then she suddenly felt someone close behind her. She stopped, tensing, then slowly turned around.

Kika.

Her cheeks still burned red, eyes cast down to the floor.

They hadn't spoken since the restaurant, and Y/n kept telling herself she would say something. But every time she saw Kika, she just turned around and walked the other way.

Right now, running wasn't an option for either of them.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said," Y/n blurted out quickly, the words spilling out faster than she could think them through. 

"I didn't know you were in the changing room, and Alexia was annoying me, and when I get like that, I just start rambling and can't stop…and..."

Kika held up Y/n's shirt. Oh yeah. She had taken that off and left it on the bench while she was running away from Alexia.

Y/N looked down–yep. She was still standing there in just her sports bra. She wasn’t usually shy, but now it felt weirdly intimate, too exposed.

"It's cold," Kika murmured. "You should put it on."

For a moment, the noise of the locker room, the rest of the team, everything just faded away. 

Y/n felt something shift inside her. It was like it was just her and Kika there.

She missed Kika. She wanted her friend back.

..

Y/n hated these stupid team bonding games, and she knew exactly why. 

Alexia was the one responsible for deciding who did what in charades, and Alexia had a talent for making everything as awkward as possible.

First up were Vicky and Ona. Their word was something simple: car. They breezed through it without breaking a sweat. The team cheered as they guessed it on the first try.

Then came Sydney and Esmee, paired together. Their word was "football player." Easy, nothing to stress about. They literally just had to pretend to kick a ball around, and everyone laughed along, guessing right away.

But when it was Y/n and Kika's turn, because, of course, Alexia had paired them. The word Alexia handed over was written in bold letters on the paper: Girlfriends.

Y/n's eyes flickered nervously as she clutched the paper to her chest, shielding it from Kika's view. She looked at Alexia angrily, ignoring everyone around her.

Without thinking, she thrust the paper back towards Alexia.

"No," she said firmly.

Alexia's brow furrowed. "You can't refuse to play charades. It's the rule." She put the paper back into Y/n's hand.

"Fuck the rules," Y/n shot back, rolling her eyes hard. 

Honestly, she had been doing a lot of eye-rolling that day. Maybe she was going to get a headache from all of that.

"Language," Alexia warned, frowning. She hated curse words. That's why Y/n used them so much.

"Look," Alexia continued, voice turning serious but still calm, "you either do the charades, or you don't play."

Y/n smiled brightly, like she had just found the solution to global warming.

"Perfect. Then I'm not playing."

"No!" everyone in the team said at the same time, even those who clearly weren't enjoying themselves, like Graham. Pina and Patri exchanged looks of disappointment, while others shook their heads in frustration.

Alexia sighed heavily, shooting Y/n a look of exasperation. "Can you please stop being so annoying and do one fucking charade? It's just a game."

"Change it," Y/n said, staring at Alexia. "Pick something else, anything else."

Then Salma, as a very good friend, interjected. "That's not fair," she said, arms crossed. "We didn't get to pick. We had to do whatever Alexia wrote for us."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "Salma, you had to do a dog. You just barked, and they got it right."

"Still! It's not fair. We have rules for bonding nights."

"You don't get to pick and choose just because you live with Alexia!" Ona said. "This is… special treatment, it's against the law!"

"What law?" Y/n turned to Ona. "This is a charade game–for fun!"

"You don't look like you're having fun," Vicky mumbled.

Y/n held the bridge of her nose. "That's because I'm not!"

It wasn't possible that she was the only one seeing how ridiculous it all was–not just the charades, but the whole social experiment they were doing with her and Kika!

"What's even on the paper? It can't be that bad," Kika asked again. "Look. If it's like a chicken or something, I can do it. You don't need to."

Her tone was gentle, but even Y/n could see she was getting impatient.

The poor girl had been standing in the middle of Jana's living room for twenty minutes while Y/n argued with Alexia about doing a charade that Kika didn't even know about.

Y/n ignored Kika, turning her attention to the evil master behind it all. 

"Alexia, if you don't change it, I'll just head home."

"Head home?" she heard Kika whine behind her, as if she were a kid. "But I wanna play charades! If you go, I won't have a pair!"

Y/n was seconds from losing it.

"Kika, not now," Y/n said, looking at Kika 

"Just play the game," Aitana said, waving her hands. "Sí?"

"Just fucking do it," Vicky said as if she was bored out of her mind just waiting.

"Have you always been this fun?" Jana asked ironically.

"It's the last time we're going to see each other for a few weeks!" Even Ingrid chimed in. "Try, nena."

In seconds, the whole team erupted in a mess of words, telling Y/n that she should do whatever was written on the paper. 

That she was annoying, that she wasn't fun, that she was ruining game night.

And then it all became too much.

She turned around, feeling her heart beat faster, but not for the reason she wanted–but from frustration, from anger.

For weeks, the team had treated her and Kika as if they were small avatars in a Sims game. Pushing and pulling them together. Putting them in awkward situations.

She had had enough of it.

If they wanted a reaction, they were going to get it.

She locked eyes with Kika, walking toward her with forced determination.

She held onto Kika's waist and pulled her close. The last thing Y/n saw before she closed her eyes was Kika's surprised ones.

In a second, the room that was so chaotic became silent. You could hear the sound of Jana's faucet leaking drops of water.

Y/n could feel Kika's heart beating against her own as she deepened the kiss, her hands pressing against Kika's skin. 

It felt good. It was a very good kiss. 

Somehow it felt familiar, like it wasn't the first time they were kissing.

Kissing.

She was kissing Kika. In front of everyone. 

Merda. 

It wasn't even a spontaneous kiss or a romantic one. It felt good–fuck it felt amazing–it made Y/n warm inside, but it was all performative.

It absolutely wasn't in the way Y/n wanted it to be. She didn't even ask if Kika was okay with it. Hadn't looked her in the eyes before going in, she just walked to her and did it.

Fuck it.

She broke the kiss, breathless. And she stared at Kika's brown eyes, her hands still on Kika's waist. Y/n didn't know what to do, didn't know how to move.

It was like they were bound by electrostatic energy, Y/n kept planted on her feet, Kika too.

There was silence, but then, Vicky decided to break it.

"Okay, let me guess…your charade was kiss?" She said awkwardly. Jana quickly smacked the back of her head.

Y/n looked at Kika one more time before taking a step back and turning to Alexia. 

She threw the paper clutched in her fist in  Alexia's direction, who, just like everybody else, looked absolutely stunned.

It was like they expected an elephant to just materialise in Jana's living room rather than having Y/n and Kika kiss. Honestly, Y/n felt the same.

She didn't imagine she would be kissing Kika when she woke. 

Y/n expected a bit of teasing from the team; laughs, maybe. Instead, there was just silence. Complete and awkward silence. 

Everybody was looking at the scene, some with their mouth agape, others with a hand in front of their mouth, in shock. Everybody was frozen too, as if they didn't want to move, or else the room would turn into a complete turmoil.

They knew this wasn't supposed to happen. They knew they pushed it too far.

Kika stood in the middle of the room, cheeks pink, lips parted slightly, watching Y/n. She didn't seem angry, nervous, or embarrassed, just very much surprised.

Y/n could help but notice how her own gloss was on Kika's lips. 

She didn't like that, she wanted to wipe it away from her face. But she also wanted to put it back there.

The thought felt like a a slap, and suddenly, the realisation hit her. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn't breathe.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This wasn't how she had imagined kissing Kika for the first time…not in front of everyone, not out of anger, not as some weird performance to prove a point to Alexia or to the team.

Kika deserved better than that. They deserved better than that, but Y/n didn't even know if there was a they to begin with.

Y/N cleared her throat.

"Here's your charade," she said slowly to Alexia, but her voice cracked, even though she tried very hard to be firm.

It was all her fault. Alexia had decided to care, and she didn't know the difference between doing that and intruding. 

Did she think Y/n was so incapable of dealing with her own relationships? But even as the anger rose again, Y/n felt something else underneath, because now she had ruined whatever chance she might have had with Kika by turning their first kiss into a show.

Y/n looked down as she walked to the door, her hands shaking. 

She could still taste Kika's lip balm, something sweet, maybe strawberry, and it made her stomach twist with guilt… and maybe longing? Y/n wondered if Kika felt the same about Y/n's gloss. Well, she didn't want to know the answer to that now.

But then Y/n  remembered that Alexia wasn't the only one to blame in this situation, that every single one of her teammates was involved in this in some sort of way. They had all watched her struggle, watched her and Kika dance around each other for weeks, and instead of giving them space (like any good person would do), they had turned it into a game.

She stopped on her track and turned her head, eyes pointing at all of the girls, except Kika. She couldn't look at Kika again, not yet…maybe not ever.

"Stop hiding the fucking chairs from the restaurant, it's ridiculous."

Then, she held the doorknob and was out in the hallway outside of Jana's apartment. She knew that her last sentence was rather nonsensical now, but she didn't care.

Y/n heard Kika call her name, she sounded soft and confused...maybe a little hurt, too, but she didn't turn around. She pressed her back against the closed door for a moment, just to breathe, just to ground herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut. What the hell had she done?

Y/n had nothing to say now, not to herself or to others. 

At least she couldn't form any thoughts in her head that didn't involve the way Kika's waist felt on her hands, how her palm still burned from touching her, or the little sound she had made when Y/n had deepened the kiss.

Y/n opened her eyes, taking one last breath before going to the elevator. She had a suitcase to pack and a flight to catch.

..

The next day, Y/n was getting her suitcase ready. She and Alexia were leaving for Ciudad del Fútbol in a few hours, their flight was scheduled soon, just a few hours away.

The other times Y/n was called up to camp, all she felt was excitement, happiness to have a change of scenery, to meet longtime friends who played out of the country, excitement for playing against other teams. But now the whole preparation felt mechanical, stiff, as if it were just another chore, just another responsibility she had to fill.

Olga was on the floor next to her side, folding a pile of clothes Y/n had just taken off the wardrobe, not caring to check if they were appropriate for the weather. Olga was doing it for her, though; she was used to it: making the suitcase of a grumpy footballer. Some would say it was her speciality.

Alexia was also in Y/n's room, a bit far to the left, digging through Y/n's drawer to get her sports gear together into her sports bag. She was being helpful, at least.

"So..." Alexia started, carefully, trying hard to keep her tone casual. It didn't work.

"No," Y/n interrupted without even looking at Alexia.

"But–"

"Alexia, cállate ya." [Alexia, shut up.] Olga gave her a look that shut her up right away.

Olga already knew about everything. Y/n had told her the night before.

From the team trying to set her up, to Alexia giving her a "girlfriend" charade on purpose, and how it had led Y/n to kiss Kika.

"Idiota," Y/n had mumbled the last night as Olga followed her to her room, noticing how stressed the girl was. "Your wife is an idiota! And I'm even more of an idiot than her!"

"What did Alexia do now?" Olga had asked, holding the bridge of her nose.

It all spilt out of Y/n. Olga didn't have to press forward; Y/n talked about everything willingly. She rambled, words came tumbling out of her mouth fast and without much logic. 

She talked about how confusing it was to like someone. How hard the last month had been. How she missed Kika. How it hurt to see her and feel the awkward tension growing between them.

How the girls were acting weird around her, like she felt like she and Kika were just entertainment. How Alexia went from being completely emotionally reserved to a full-on matchmaker in the matter of a few weeks.

How this whole situation had grown out of control, and Y/n felt like it wasn't just hers anymore.

How messy it all was.

Olga just listened to her. She always did; she was a very good listener. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and hugged Y/n, grounding her, giving Y/n the comfort she needed so much.

"Es complicado ahora," [it's complicated now] she said softly. "But it won't always feel like that... It'll be better in the morning."

She pressed a kiss to the top of Y/n's head as the door cracked open.

"Nena... I'm sorry–"

Olga didn't let her finish.

"Go away, Alexia," she said. "Go take a shower."

Y/n didn't see Alexia's face; her head was buried in Olga's shoulder, but she could only picture the lost puppy face Alexia had on. For once, she felt grateful that someone was handling things for her, even if it was small. She was tired of having to deal with it all.

When Y/n was a kid, they had promised her that liking someone was like feeling the sun on your face on a winter's morning, but for Y/n, liking Kika was like carrying stones on her back. They were heavy, and always there.

..

a/n: heheh here's the kiss!! <3

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

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

really cute

serendipity - kika nazareth

word count - 6.9k | summary - a ray of sunshine stumbles into your quiet cafe one morning, with heart shaped latte art and the added bonus of gaining a new english teacher, she decides to make it her everyday stop, even when your ex decides to pull a stunt. part 2 coming soon!

warnings - mentions of toxic relationships - please take care of yourself <3

-

the small bell attached to the door dinged as it was pushed open, alerting you to a new customer entering the cafe. 

“buenos días” you greeted, not yet turning around, still busy cleaning the coffee machine behind the counter, “qué le gustaría?” (good morning, what would you like?)

when you turned around you were greeted with someone who looked like she’d stepped out of a different world and landed, somehow perfectly, in the middle of your quiet café. she was tall, lean but strong, wearing a matching hoodie and joggers like she’d just come from some kind of gym session. her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her scrunchie wrapped round her hair,  a few strands curling around her face. her eyes met yours with the kind of focus that made it feel like the rest of the room had gone quiet.

there was a little half-smile playing at the corner of her mouth, like she’d caught you off guard and knew it. not cocky, just effortlessly aware. you didn’t recognize her, but something about her made you feel like you were meant to know who she was. maybe it was the barcelona logo that sat prominently on her clothes, yet you still couldn’t place her name. 

“uhhh hablas catalán?” she asked, her fingers tapping on the counter as she looked up at the menu boards that hung above your head. (do you speak catalan?)

“no, lo siento, solo inglés o español.” you smiled lightly. (no, sorry, only english or spanish.)

“that’s perfect!” she beamed, “can i practice my english on you?”

you raised your eyebrows in slight shock. since moving to barcelona you had had a lot of english customers, mostly ones that butchered every kind of pronunciation when ordering, yet someone who seemed to be a spanish natural wanting to speak english? that was new. “i think that’s the first time anyone has ever asked me that.”

a grin tugged at her lips as she laughed slightly at your response, “well i need to get better so my friends stop bullying how i say words.”

“your pronunciation?” you questioned, tilting your head slightly.

“yes that! pronunciation” she copied, “but i’m not good at saying that word.” 

you let out a soft laugh, charmed with her effort and determination, “you actually said it pretty well.”

she smiled at you over the counter, a genuine smile, “thank you, i’ve been watching a lot of tiktoks.”

“that's the best way to learn,” you agreed, “so english practice, what’s your order?”.

she took a moment, scanning the board again like it was a test she wanted to pass. “i will have… an oat milk flat white, please.”

you blinked, “that was pretty perfect, have you been practicing on someone else?”

she grinned, visibly proud of herself. “i had to repeat it a lot in my head before i said it, but they make fun of how i say ‘flat.’ i say it like - ‘flaaat.’” she exaggerated the vowel, pulling a face as she did so.

you laughed slightly, her accent clear in her words, even when she tried to hide it, “well i think it was good.”

“thank you, my new english teacher.” she smiled, small dimples showing in her cheeks as she grinned. 

you turned around and started working on her order. you didn’t rush it, she was the only customer in the shop, other than your usual regular who sat reading his newspaper out the front. so you wanted to get it exactly right. the right measurement, temperature of milk and the prettiest heart in the middle of the latte.

as you perfected her coffee you heard her fingers tapping away at the counter, not impatiently, but curiously, as if she was wanting to say something but was working up the courage. 

“sooo, how long have you lived here?” she hummed, the finger tapping stopping briefly as she spoke. 

“not long, only 3 months.” you responded. 

“did you move here for erasmus?” she asked, curiosity clearly getting the better of her.

you laughed lightly, shaking your head, “no no, life just bought me out here.”

now wasn’t the time to tell kika your whole backstory about moving to barcelona. she didn’t know that you moved here to be with your girlfriend of 3 years just to find out she had been cheating on you for the last year and a half, and she certainly didn’t need to know about the way you walked in on her cheating on you on your birthday after only a month of living in barcelona. or even the way your now ex-girlfriend wouldn’t stop texting you, gaslighting you into thinking you were in the wrong, or the way she somehow saw every interaction you had with a pretty girl and accused you of doing the exact thing she had you crying over for weeks. 

things you would never do.

but, obviously, she didn’t need to know all that. 

you picked up a brown paper napkin, along with a nearby sharpie and as you placed her coffee gently on the counter, you scribbled something quickly before sliding it toward her with the drink.

in perfectly scripted handwriting, it read: “oat milk flat white – 10/10 english. very proud teacher.”

when you looked up, her eyes were already on the note. she let out a laugh, quiet and surprised, before biting her bottom lip in a way that made your stomach flip. 

“i need a picture of this.” she mumbled, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she positioned her coffee slightly diagonal to the note, before holding her phone above it. snapping the perfect picture before putting it back in her pocket. 

she picked up the napkin carefully, like it was something delicate.

“i’m gonna keep this,” she said, slipping it into the front pocket of her hoodie. “proof that i’m improving.”

“next time, there’s a sticker chart,” you teased, leaning your arms on the counter as you rested your chin on your hand.

“ohhh, dangerous,” she said with a mock-serious nod, “i love rewards.”

“you seem like someone who’s very competitive,” you said, watching the way her eyes crinkled with amusement.

“you have no idea,” she replied, grinning. “but i think i could be convinced to behave if the teacher is nice.”

you laughed, shaking your head, and tried not to let the flush in your cheeks betray you.

the quiet rhythm of the café wrapped around you both again. outside, the sun filtered through the windows, painting soft golden lines across her face. it was almost cinematic, the kind of moment you didn’t realize you’d remember until much later.

kika didn’t leave right away. she pulled out a chair at the table closest to the counter, and sat with her coffee in both hands.

you turned to rinse out a few mugs behind the bar, but her voice called your attention back after a few minutes.

“so, teacher,” she said, resting her chin in one hand while she swirled her coffee with the other, “is there an english word for when you meet someone and they make the whole day better?”

you glanced over at her, your heart beat suddenly picking up in pace, her question didn’t feel as casual as the way she asked it. it felt as if it was more than a question, more like a statement. 

“serendipity,” you said quietly.

she repeated the word under her breath, eyes locked on yours, “ser-en-dipity,” she murmured. “that’s pretty. i like that.”

you gave her a small smile. “me too.”

she stayed a while longer, asking little questions here and there between glances at her phone, how to pronounce ‘squirrel’,” why ‘laugh’ was spelled so weird, and whether ‘rain check’ actually had anything to do with weather.

by the time she stood to leave, she had her coffee finished, your napkin still tucked into her pocket and whilst you didn’t know her name, and she didn’t know yours, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time seeing her. 

“have a good day, teacher” she smiled, already backing toward the door, still facing you as she did

you just nodded, amused and curious and undeniably intrigued,  “you too a-plus.”

the bell over the door jingled again as she slipped out into the street, and you stood behind the counter, staring at the spot where she’d just been.

serendipity. 

-

the bell above the door gave its familiar chime, softer, but still altering. you looked up from the espresso machine just in time to see her step inside, hoodie up, shoulders hunched slightly against the early chill.

she caught your eye immediately and smiled, tired yet still warm. “morning, favourite teacher.”

“sucking up isn’t going to get you a better grade,” you teased, already reaching for a cup. “oat milk flat white?”

“please,” she said with a grateful sigh, leaning against the counter as she watched your every move.

“didn’t peg you as a morning person.” you spoke, pouring the espresso into the cup with precision.

“i’m not,” she murmured, rubbing a hand across her face, “had to be somewhere early, figured i’d get a head start.”

you handed over the coffee, and she took it like it was the best thing to happen to her all morning, “god, this is good,” she mumbled, cradling the cup like she was trying to soak up its energy.

she lingered by the counter, the steam from her cup curling around her face as she tilted her head, eyes still heavy with sleep but alert enough to hold your gaze.

“do you always make them this perfect?” she asked, sipping again, “or am i just the chosen one?”

you smiled, leaning on your forearms across from her, “maybe a bit of both.”

she chuckled under her breath, then glanced at the clock behind you, “we’ve only got a short lesson today, but i wanted you to remind me of that word from yesterday.”

you tilted your head, “which word?”

she thought for a moment before speaking, “the one about making my whole day better.”

you picked up a napkin, scribbling the word on it. 

serendipity.

you slid it toward her, “there, now you have study material.”

she read it slowly, then tucked it carefully into her jacket pocket, “you really are my favourite teacher.”

and before you could even respond, she was gone again, disappearing out into the quiet street with her coffee and your napkin, leaving only the soft jingle of the door behind her.

you were just finishing up the midday prep when your phone buzzed sharply in your apron pocket. the familiar weight of it shifted against your side, and you almost ignored it. your coworker had just come in to take over the afternoon shift, and you were minutes away from freedom.

but something about the timing felt... off.

you wiped your hands on a towel and slid your phone out.

bea.

you hesitated, thumb hovering, heart ticking up a notch. then tapped.

[1:56pm] bea - i saw you smiling at her today, again. you know the one with the tracksuit and the ponytail with the scrunchie. cute.

your breath caught mid-read.

[1:57pm] bea - you were definitely already talking to her before we broke up. i’m not as stupid as you think i am.funny how you used to look at me like that, too.

a chill threaded through you, even in the warmth of the café kitchen.

scanning the handful of tables still occupied, no one familiar, no one watching. yet you turned your body slightly, like instinctively shielding yourself.

[1:58pm] bea - especially after all those lies about me cheating on you, yet you were doing it the entire time.

you typed out a reply. deleted it. tried again. deleted that too.

you leaned against the edge of the counter, swallowing hard, your other hand instinctively gripping the rag you’d just used, knuckles turning white. the words stung, not because they were true, but because they echoed every twisted manipulation you’d grown used to for the last 3 years. every time she flipped things around. every time she made you feel like the villain.

you’d been the one who walked in on her. you’d been the one who moved out. you’d been the one who stayed quiet.

and now, here she was again, reappearing only when she sensed something slipping from her control. 

the afternoon air felt colder than you'd expected, grey clouds pressing low over the rooftops, filling the sky with the same dread that was filling your body. you pulled your jacket tighter, hands buried deep in your pockets, steps quick without even thinking about it.

you’d done this walk more times than you could count, the same route as usual, yet it didn’t feel as calming as it usually was.

your thoughts drifted to yesterday. the way her laugh had softened the rest of your day, or how her dimples stuck in your mind ever since you saw them. the way being near her felt easy and safe, as if you could simply exist without feeling shame. 

you didn’t even know the girls name, but bea didn’t need a name to twist something good into a weapon. a tool to belittle you, something to make you feel small. 

-

the bell above the door chimed, and you glanced up just in time to see kika walk in, yet there were two people just behind her. this time she wasn’t in the crested tracksuit you had seen her in previous days, rather a dark pair of jeans, a black hoodie and a red cap covering her head.

“good afternoon” kika greeted, smiling as her eyes met yours, “i’m surprised you’re still here.”

“it’s your lucky day then, my shift finishes at 3.” you grinned back to her.

“so we really got here just in time for the best coffee in all of barcelona,” she tilted her head slightly, leaning against the counter as usual, “and i bought friends this time.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at her compliment, cheesy but it still made your heart flutter.

“ah so you’re the famous nameless barista.” the shorter brunette smiled, her eyes racking you up and down momentarily. 

“famous?” your eyebrows raised, looking between your a+ student and the two new girls. 

“apparently your english lessons are as good as your coffee.” patri added with a smirk, “i think i might need to start coming here too.” she winked. you almost missed the way kika shot her quick look, a look of unease before patri’s smirk changed into a teasing smile.

“well what can i get you guys?” you asked, breaking the short silence that had built.

“three oat milk lattes, please.” kika requested, her gaze shifting to yours. 

you sent her a nod before turning around to work on the order, jana and patri drifting over to a comfortable sofa in the corner of the cafe, kika still leant against the counter. 

“i still haven’t got your name.” she stated, fingers tapping as usual. 

you glanced over your shoulder, lips curving just slightly. “i’m starting to think you like the mystery.”

kika let out a soft laugh, “i like knowing the name of the person who makes my day start better, serendipity remember.”

you rolled your eyes lightly but gave in.

kika repeated it under her breath, like she was trying it out for herself. “it suits you.”

you tried not to let the smile that tugged at your mouth show too much as you finished steaming the milk, “and what’s yours?”

“my what?” kika questioned, her head tilting with confusion, before a look of realization snapped, “oh my name, kika.”

you turned around, placing the drinks in front of her, “it’s pretty,i like it.”

you had made the three with differing patterns of latte art, but the one with a heart you pushed forward in her direction, “enjoy.” you smiled.

she laughed lightly before making her way over to the corner where her friends sat. jana gave her a smug look whilst patri whispered something about being a flirt. kika, for the most part, ignored them both but you could see the slight red glow in her cheeks as she angled her seat just slightly, in your direction.

you pretended not to notice the way she stole one last glance your way as she sat down, fingers wrapped around her cup, the heart still intact in the foam.

you were stuck behind the counter, doing anything to look busy, you wiped it down and organised the cups. but your eyes flicked over occasionally, just quick enough to catch jana mouthing something exaggerated that made kika throw a sugar packet at her, and patri laughing behind her hand.

your shift had technically ended five minutes ago, but you were still tidying up, well more like delaying. the cafe had thinned out, a few of your regulars still hanging about, as well the three friends who were still deep in conversation.

from the corner, jana leaned back in her chair, eyes finding yours over the rim of her coffee cup. “chica,” she called casually, “your shift’s done, no? come sit. your star pupil should buy you a coffee, like a date.”

“jana.” kika hissed, her cheeks highlighting red.

“you were taking too long to make a move, she had to say something.” patri shrugged, taking a sip from her coffee. 

you wiped down the last corner of the counter, biting back a smile. the warmth of embarrassment rolled off kika, visible even from across the café. you tucked the cloth under the bar, pretending to consider the invitation for just a second longer than you needed.

“i’ll guess i can make some time for you,” you smiled, walking towards the empty chair at their table, “but i’m good for a drink.”

patri watched you for a beat too long, then smiled like she knew something you didn’t, “so, serendipity?”

you blinked, “what?”

“that’s what she’s been calling you,” she said, flicking her head toward kika, “kika doesn’t usually get poetic, so she must really like you.”

kika groaned into her hands, “stop talking.” she mumbled.

“she says your english lessons are better than the catalan lessons she’s getting from the team tutor.” jana added with a small laugh. 

your face scrunched a little at the mention of a ‘team’, and then it clicked, the matching tracksuits, the famous football club barcelona logo on each of their chests. there was no way it was a coincidence, maybe they just worked for the club?

kika just shook her head, cheeks red and glowing now, but her eyes flicked to yours with that same softness she always carried when she looked at you.

you let yourself hold her gaze. maybe just for a second longer than you should have.

and just as you were about to ask the question that was circling your brain, it all came crashing down. 

the door swung open with a violent jingle of the bell, louder than it had any right to be, your head turned and suddenly you were on your feet. 

your blood ran cold.

she didn’t wait. she walked straight toward you, voice already raised.

“you really don’t waste time, do you?”

your body tensed as the air in the room shifted.

a few people looked up, curious but cautious. you glanced toward kika and her friends, their conversation had stopped. kika had straightened in her seat, eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tight.

you forced a breath through your nose, standing up slowly, “bea, not here, i’m at work.”

her eyes flicked past you, to the corner table, then back again, “why not? thought you liked an audience.”

your face burned, not from embarrassment but the sharp sting of something you’d been trying to outrun for months, “i don’t want to speak to you, just leave, please.”

tears were threatening to fall from your eyes, your hands were starting to tremble as you watched her face light up as if she was enjoying this.

bea let out a bitter laugh. “no, you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to act like the injured party when i’m the one who got left!”

your jaw clenched, holding back everything that was threatening to spill, “you didn’t get left. you got caught.”

there was a heavy silence, followed by the scrape of a chair against the floor and then kika was on her feet.

“okay,” she said, stepping forward. her voice was calm, but her posture said otherwise, “you’ve said enough, it’s time to go.”

bea scoffed, eyes narrowing as her arms crossed, a mocking smile curling on her lips as she took a step closer, her eyes drifted to kika momentarily before they were back on you. “oh now you have a saviour?” she sneered, voice dripping with something that could only be described as venom, “cute, is she your rebound? gonna fix you huh, clean up your mess?”

her expression twisted into something crueler, “you act like i’m a monster, like you didn’t just walk away and erase all those years we had together. but sure, blame me, make yourself a saint. it’s easier than admitting you were never committed to us, to me…”

“i made one mistake, one, but you couldn’t handle it. you used it as an excuse to run, an opportunity to get out, just like you wanted. don’t pretend you didn’t want to leave me long before that.”

she looked around the room as if it was a stage, the deafening silence gave her power, “so go ahead and play the victim. let her defend you, but we don’t know the truth, don’t we?”

you stood frozen for a moment, the buzz of the cafe like static in your ears. your hands trembled as you took a step back, brushing past kika with a quiet ‘i need a minute’ and headed for the door. chest tight and vision blurring at the edges. 

bea saw it.

you didn’t have to look to know. she saw the way your shoulders curved in, the way your breath hitched and the way your pain was clawing its way to the surface. the same pain you had spent a long time trying to bury. 

and just like that, her entire demeanor shifted. 

gone was the snarling, spiteful ex as she morphed into someone new entirely, “hey… wait.” the change in her tone was nauseating, it became gentle, as if she was still someone you could trust. like she hadn't just tried to humiliate you in front of a room full of people. 

“you're upset, i get it.” she continued, voice laced with faux concern. “but you always do this, remember. run off all emotional. you always break and then you need me to pick up the pieces. that’s what we do, it’s why we work so well.”

bea smiled, too soft, too rehearsed. “just let me talk to you. alone. we can fix this, we always do.”

that’s when kika stepped between you two, no hesitation, “no, you don’t get to twist this,” she spoke, her tone cool and calm. “she’s upset because you made her this way, and you don’t get to feed off that anymore.”

bea’s eyes flicked to kika, as if she was debating whether she would be able to take her on and come out successful. but after a few moments she backed down and then turned her gaze back onto you. 

bea’s expression twisted, mouth curling into a smirk that didn't quite reach the eyes. she took another step forward, lowering her voice just enough to make it more threatening than loud. 

“oh you don’t want to leave me,” bea spoke, tone mocking. “then maybe i should tell everyone what you were like at the end. all those nights crying on the bathroom floor, begging me to stay, the fucking pathetic texts. the way you…”

bea reached for your arm, fingers latching on with a grip that was too tight. nails digging in. 

“maybe everyone would like to hear about how you couldn't even sleep alone without…”

but before she could finish, kika was there, shoving bea back with both hands hard, “back off!”

the force knocked bea a step or two back, almost stumbling over her own shoes. the tension in the room increased, crackling like static in the air. a few gasps broke out from nearby tables.

kika stood in front of you now, solid. her voice was low but lethal, “touch her again, and i promise you’ll regret it.”

jana and patri stood up too, “you better leave before you see how fast three footballers can throw you out of the building.” patri added. 

bea stared, blinking as if she couldn't believe what has just happened. her mask cracked, just for a second, and the bravado on display faltered. 

her eyes lingered on you for one final moment before she stepped back with a muttered curse, turned, and stormed out, the bell above the door marking her exit.

kika didn’t move until the door had fully swung shut. only then did her shoulders loosen slightly, her attention turning back to you.

“are you okay?” her voice quieter, her face painted with a look of empathy that surprised you. you weren’t used to it, it made your mind stutter.

you shook your head faintly, “i - i’m sorry, i need to go.” with that you grabbed your bag from behind the counter and ran straight out the door. 

-

the next day you called in sick. you couldn’t face kika, your regular customers, or your coworkers after the scene bea had pulled in front of everyone. 

you laid in bed staring at the ceiling, your body was riddled with anxiety. the silence in your apartment was suffocating, but the idea of filling it felt like too much.

your phone buzzed once. you didn’t look.

then again.

and again.

you peered at it, your coworkers name lighting up from your bedside table.

you rolled over, clutching your pillow to your chest. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or shame or some mix of both settling in your stomach. sure bea was gone, but her words and the impact they had weren’t.

none of it was true, but that didn’t dull the sting.

you thought about kika. the way she stood between you and everything ugly, the way her voice had cut through the noise. how she put herself on the line for you, protected you from something she knew nothing about.

but then you thought of her seeing you like that, completely frozen and helpless.

you hated it. 

so you stayed in bed, hardly moving, in the quiet where you could avoid everything.

-

but when the next day came, you couldn’t stay bundled up forever. so you pushed yourself out of bed, and went to work. 

you were doing your usual morning routine.

grinding the coffee beans, wiping the counter, checking the milk fridge, pretending your hands were shaking as you reached for the cups.

it was too early for your regulars but too late for the commuters. just you and the ache in your chest that hadn’t let up since bea decided to flip everything upside down.. again. 

you moved slower than usual, like your body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that it was safe again, as if bea was still somewhere, watching.

the bell above the door didn’t ring, but your eyes kept flicking toward it anyway, like your brain couldn’t help bracing for impact. you didn’t even know if she’d come in.

but then she did. 

you didn’t look up right away, you told yourself it was a habit, that you were just focused on wiping down the steam wand. 

“morning.” her voice was soft, careful, as if part of her was hesitant to speak. 

you looked up. kika stood just inside the door, her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, her eyes on you with something unreadable behind them. she wasn’t smiling like she usually would, but there was a gentleness in her expression, like she was waiting for permission to be there.

“i didn’t see you yesterday.” she said after a beat, stepping forward slowly, like approaching something fragile, “i still came in, your coworker doesn’t make coffee as well as you do.”

you couldn’t help but smile faintly at her compliment, knowing your co-worker wouldn’t have spent the extra time perfecting the latte art or making sure the milk was at just the right temperature that kika liked. 

the quiet settled for a moment before you attempted to speak, “i didn’t think you’d come back,” you muttered, quieter than you meant to.

she tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly, “why?”

“i was worried she scared you off,” you started, your hands rubbing the cloth in your hand between your fingers, “she has a habit of ruining things that make me happy.”

she leaned her elbow on the counter, eyes still on yours, her voice dipping a little, playful but steady, “i train against some of the best football players in the world, i don’t get scared easily.”

your head tilted slightly as you tried to decipher what she was saying, eyebrows scrunching, “so you play football?” 

kika’s lips quirked, a soft curve that was half a smirk, half a dare, “i mean yeah, i run around a field with a ball for a living, so yeah.”

you blinked at her, brows still drawn, processing, “like for an actual team?”

her smile widened, like she was enjoying watching you put the pieces together, pointing to the barcelona crest that sat on her chest, “mhmm.”

the tracksuits, the subtle discipline, the confidence, the way jana and patri had joked. you felt your mouth part slightly. how did it take you that long for you to put the pieces together?

you exhaled a soft laugh, stepping back slightly with a stunned look. “and you didn’t think to mention that before?”

she raised an eyebrow, “you never asked.”

“i have so many questions.” you admitted.

yeah you weren’t necessarily ‘into’ football, your friends had dragged you to a game before but you spent most of it taking pictures of the cat mascot on the sidelines. barcelona breathed football and yet somehow the footballer who had been visiting you went right under your nose.

“perfect english practice then.” she grinned.

you made kika her usual, before drilling her with every football question you could possibly think of, including a very slowed down version of the offside rule.

you leaned on the counter, chin resting in your palm and a smile across your face as you watched her arrange the sugar packets like defenders and a spoon as the striker. her brows furrowed in concentration, tongue poking slightly out the corner of her mouth as she adjusted the layout so it would finally make sense.

“so,” she said seriously, tapping one of the sugar packets, “this is the last defender. if the striker, the spoon, is beyond this point when the pass is made, that’s offside.”

you stared at it, eyes narrowing. “but what if the spoon was, like, moving back behind the sugar?”

kika looked up at you slowly, “you’re trouble.”

you smiled sweetly, “i’m just trying to understand your world.”

she gave a small laugh, brushing a hand through her hair and shaking her head. “i can’t believe this is how i’m spending my recovery day.”

“you chose to come here.” you pointed out, nudging the napkin she’d used as a goalpost.

“i really did,” she murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, softening at the edges, “i didn’t feel like being anywhere else.”

the words sank between you. 

lika leant back a little, letting her hand drift across the counter in a casual sweep. “and now you owe me.”

“i owe you?”

she nodded firmly, “you made me explain the offside rule with props, that deserves something.”

you tilted your head, amused. “what do i owe you then?”

“your number.” she grinned, a spark of mischief lighting in her eyes as if she set up that entire interaction perfectly. 

a soft smile pulled at your lips, “very smooth kika, very very smooth.” 

“what can i say? i obviously need some online english tutoring.”

you laughed slightly before grabbing the napkin she had used as a goalpost and a pen, scribbling down your number before sliding it across the counter towards her.

kika caught the napkin with a quick smile, her fingers brushing against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“looking forward to our next lesson.” she smiled, voice low and teasing.

you felt your cheeks warm but managed a confident nod, with that she was gone. 

it had only been 20 minutes before an unknown number lit up your phone, 

[unknown number] - guess i’m a good teacher too, after that beautiful offside explanation 

you couldn’t help but laugh at her message, quickly changing her number into a contact, before responding. 

you - are you trying to steal my job?

kika - nothing could ever compare to your incredible english lessons

something in you was feeling bold, far bolder than you had been to kika in person.

you - careful… i don’t think you’re meant to flirt with your teachers

kika - then i don’t want to be your student

you caught yourself smiling, the kind that crept in slowly and made you warm. her message lingered on your screen, your thumb hovering just above a reply, heart skipping.

before you could type anything, the bell above the door chimed, sharp and familiar. you slipped your phone beneath the counter like it had caught fire, straightening just in time for the midday rush to pour in, pulling you back into routine with both hands.

serving what felt like hundreds of customers, the sudden rush filling the cafe swept you off your feet. 

the end of your shift arrived quicker than expected, and very typical for you the sunny barcelona weather had taken a turn. the once cloudless sky was now covered in a dark grey layer, one that had rain pounding against the pavement.  

you tried getting an uber, but of course it was nearly 25 euros for a 5 minute ride, so a 20 minute walk in the pouring rain seemed more ideal. 

pulling your hood over your head, you left the cafe and stepped out into the downpour, the kind that soaked you instantly. cold drops ran down your neck as you tugged your jacket tighter and started walking, head down, shoes already slipping against the wet pavement.

you’d only made it halfway down the street when a car slowed beside you, creeping just a little too perfectly in time with your steps. you glanced over, ready to ignore a stranger, until you saw her.

kika leaned across the passenger seat, window already down despite the rain.

“you weren’t going to text me back?” she said, one brow lifted, a teasing edge in her voice that was just soft enough to make your stomach twist.

you blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement, “you came all the way here just because i didn’t answer?”

“well my ego didn’t know how to handle it so i had to come check on you,” she gave you a crooked grin, “but now i see i’ve turned up at the right time, so get in because i’m not letting you walk home in this.”

you hesitated for half a second, until a gust of wind blew your hood back and rain trickled down your spine. with a quiet sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, water dripping down your sleeves. 

kika reached over instinctively, tugging the heater dial up before glancing at you with a soft shake of her head, “you really were about to walk the whole way, huh?”

you shrugged, trying not to shiver as you pulled your sleeves down over your hand, “it’s only like 20 minutes, and it wasn’t exactly my first choice.”

she glanced sideways at you, her voice lower now, “next time, just text me, i’ll show up faster.”

you let out a breath of a laugh, heart skipping, “and here i thought footballers were busy.”

kika grinned, eyes back on the road as the car pulled away from the curb, “not too busy for you, put your address in my phone.”

you did as was asked and typed in your address before sitting back in the seat, “so do you always drive around rescuing baristas from the rain?” you teased, a grin across your face.

“only the ones who put little hearts in my coffee… and then ignore my texts.” she grinned back.

you laughed slightly, rolling your eyes, as a comfortable silence fell between you before you spoke up again, “thank you, for yesterday and today and just everything.”

“you never have to thank me,” she smiled lightly, “you deserve the same kindness you show people, and i’ll make sure i’m here to remind you.”

you gave her an appreciative hum, unsure of what to say other than thanking her again, but her words were running round your head at full speed. 

kika pulled up slowly to the curb outside your building, putting the car in park but making no move to rush you out. you turned to her, hand already on the door handle, then paused.

“i know you’ve just told me not to say thank you, so i appreciate you driving me home.” you smiled softly. 

she hesitated for a moment before speaking, “can i walk you in?” 

you blinked, surprised at the shift in her voice, a little more uncertain than usual.

“yeah,” you said gently, “of course.”

the two of you stepped out into the drizzle, kika flipping her hood up as she jogged around the front of the car walking in time with you. 

inside, the building was quiet, the soft hum of the elevator filling the silence between you. kika stood close, your arms just brushing as you were comfortably close. 

when the doors slid open on your floor, she followed you down the hallway, her gaze scanning the space before flicking back to you.

you stopped outside your door, turning back to face her. her hands were tucked in her jacket pockets now, and her brows drew together slightly like she was working up to something.

she let out a soft breath, glancing down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “i’ve got a game next week, a home game.”

you tilted your head slightly, you had a feeling you knew what was going to be asked, but you couldn’t help but tease her anticipation, “oh yeah.”

“yeah,” she nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “i’d really like it if you came.”

there was a short pause before you answered, “i’d really like to.”

her smile widened, warm and full of something unspoken, “i’ll text you the details.”

“looking forward to it,” your voice barely above a whisper but certain.

neither of you moved at first. then, slowly, she stepped back, still watching you like she didn’t quite want to leave just yet. she gave a small wave, backing down the hallway toward the elevator with a grin that stayed with you even after your door clicked shut.

inside your apartment, the silence felt safe. you stood still for a moment, a smile painted across your face as your heart fluttered. 

you had gotten so used to shrinking yourself down for someone who refused to let you live in happiness, apologising for taking up space as if you were never good enough no matter what you did. you were always wrong, never said the right thing, didn’t love correctly. even after moving cities, 700 miles away from everything you knew, everyone you loved, and you still become a second option to whatever was easier in the moment. 

yet kika made you feel the opposite. she was a ray of light, like a beam of sun that shone around her every where she went. you felt warm around her, safe, protected from everything negative your past could throw at you. 

you kicked off your shoes and hung your jacket, still damp from the rain, before moving to the kitchen and flicking on the kettle. the hum of it filled the space as your phone buzzed in your pocket.

kika - i meant what i said by the way. you deserve good things, and people who show up for you.

you - i’m starting to think you don’t need my english lessons anymore

kika - no entiendo ingles, ¿puedes enseñarme por favor? (i don’t understand english, can you teach me please?)

you couldn’t help but smile at your phone, warmth filling in your chest despite the rain still tapping softly against the windows. finally you felt a moment of peace, a moment where you weren’t concerned that a bulldozer was going to run through your life yet again, because in your little bubble, it was just you and her.

a/n - part 2 will be coming soon, i wanted to separate the angst of r's past from the real fluff of kika! thank you for reading, any feedback/requests can be left in my inbox! and ofc thank you @earpskeeper for your incredible help with the angst <3

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

Rained Night In

pairings - sabrina carpenter x fem!reader

warnings - none.

wc- 2k

my queen @wol-fica <3 here you are love!

The rain started just before sunset.

You heard it tap against the windows first, soft like fingertips drumming on glass, then a slow roll of thunder cracked through the dimming sky. The lights in the living room glowed warm, a soft amber-yellow blanket over the couch cushions and thick knit throw that you’d already laid out. You didn’t need much for nights like this — just the two of you, a half-charged remote, and something moody playing on the screen while the world softened outside.

Sabrina padded in from the kitchen, barefoot and in one of your hoodies — the sleeves past her hands, the hem brushing her thighs. Her hair was pulled up in a messy little knot, a few honey-colored strands falling around her cheekbones, bangs effortlessly perfect. She gave you this sleepy little smile, the kind she wore when she didn’t want to speak because it would break the quiet spell between you.

“You pick something?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper as she dropped onto the couch beside you, tucking her legs underneath her.

You nodded and gestured at the screen. “Some Studio Ghibli movie. I don’t even care which one. I just wanted something gentle.”

Sabrina didn’t answer. She just curled into your side — warm, tiny, easy — like she’d done it a thousand times before. And she had. But it still hit you like it was the first time every time.

Your arm curled around her shoulders instinctively. She exhaled, her body folding smaller until she was fully pressed against you, her knees tucked to your hip and her cheek resting just below your collarbone. Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the hem of your shirt.

The thunder rolled again, low and echoing like a drum. The storm wasn’t angry, not yet. Just steady. Comforting, even.

You could feel Sabrina’s breathing even out against you, chest rising and falling in sync with your own. She fit so perfectly into your arms — tiny and weightless and warm. Like she was made to be there.

You didn’t speak.

The movie flickered softly in front of you, scenes of forest spirits and glowing lights dancing across the screen, but your focus barely touched it. Every part of you was tuned into her — the curve of her spine against your side, the way her fingers curled into your hoodie, the soft sound she made when you kissed the top of her head.

“You’re really warm,” she murmured, somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark.

“You always say that,” you whispered back, nudging your nose against her hair.

“That’s because it’s always true,” she said, voice already sleepier, already smaller. “Like a living furnace.”

“Guess that makes you the world’s tiniest blanket thief.”

She smiled — you could feel it against your chest more than see it. Then she shifted just a little, pressing herself closer, if that was even possible.

“I’m not stealing. I’m borrowing.”

“Mhm.”

A beat passed. The rain picked up slightly, tapping faster against the windows like applause.

“…And I’m never giving you back.”

Your heart might’ve actually stuttered. You kissed the crown of her head again, gentler this time, lips lingering.

“I really hope not,” you whispered, and meant it.

You didn’t need her to say anything after that. Neither of you did. That was the magic of nights like this — no rush to fill the silence, no pressure to be charming or clever or awake. Just her, all curled up in your arms like a sleepy cat, soft and safe and home.

She buried her face a little deeper into your hoodie.

Somewhere, the wind blew hard enough to shake the trees. You pulled the blanket tighter over both of you, adjusting it to tuck under her feet. She shivered once, maybe just from the sound.

“I like storms,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“But only with you.”

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt, but you didn’t laugh. You didn’t want to break the spell. You just reached for her hand under the blanket and laced your fingers with hers. She squeezed once, gentle.

You watched her for a moment instead of the movie. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked slowly, eyes half-lidded, her breath still steady and even. She wasn’t quite asleep, but not far off.

You shifted a little to adjust the pillow behind you, and she instinctively moved with you — her body following yours like it was muscle memory, like she didn’t need to think about it. Her arms found your waist again and her cheek settled into the new crook of your shoulder without complaint.

You chuckled, brushing your fingertips along her spine. “You’re like a heat-seeking cuddle missile.”

“You’re my target,” she mumbled, and it was so dumb and cute that your heart did a full somersault.

She was so small.

So small that she disappeared in your arms, like she was made for being held and protected and loved. And God, you loved her.

The movie continued, soft and whimsical. You weren’t watching it.

“Hey,” you whispered eventually, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Her eyes cracked open slightly. “Mmm?”

“I like storms too.”

She blinked up at you. “…Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because you let me hold you like this.”

A tiny, sleepy smile curved across her lips. “I always let you hold me.”

“I know. But during storms, it feels even more… I don’t know. Real. Like time stops a little.”

She stared at you for a long beat, eyes soft and full of something you didn’t have a name for. Then she reached up and gently cupped your jaw with one hand.

“I don’t think it’s the storm,” she whispered. “I think it’s just us.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You kissed her without thinking — just a press of lips, soft and slow and honest. The kind of kiss that doesn’t need anything else. The kind of kiss you give someone when you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

When you pulled back, she was glowing.

“Okay,” she said quietly, like a vow. “Let’s stay here forever.”

You nodded. “Deal.”

The storm outside deepened, thunder rolling in like a lullaby. The movie faded to its final scenes, gentle music drifting through the air. Neither of you moved.

You were tangled together under the blanket — her tiny body perfectly molded to yours, the heat of her legs tucked against your thigh, her fingers still laced with yours under the fabric.

You felt her breathing slow even more. She was asleep now, really asleep.

You held her just a little tighter, chin resting lightly atop her hair. The rain kept falling, the storm kept singing, and the world outside blurred and softened until it was just you and her and this little golden moment.

Wrapped up. Tucked in. Safe.

And perfect.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

abs through the shirt feck

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

LOVED

Better With You (Lia Wälti x Reader)

P1, P2, P3, P4

Chapter Five: “Games, Goals, and Glances” 

The stadium was electric.

London derby days always were — the air charged, the stands buzzing, and Arsenal’s tunnel filled with nervous excitement and the smell of eucalyptus spray and caffeine.

Reader bounced lightly on their toes, stealing a glance down the line.

There she was.

Lia — focused, calm, jaw set. Her usual pre-match look. But when she caught Reader’s eye… she smiled. Just barely. Just for them.

Beth leaned over. “That was not subtle.”

Reader smirked. “Didn’t say I was subtle.”

The first half was brutal.

Chelsea came out aggressive. Fast. Ruthless.

Lia was everywhere — intercepting passes, calming the pace, barking out plays.

Reader stayed close. Supported her. Matched her rhythm.

They moved in sync — not just tactically, but emotionally. One anchored, the other surged. One read the game, the other read her.

But then it happened.

A loose ball.

Lia stepped in.

A Chelsea player lunged.

The tackle was hard. Reckless.

Lia hit the ground with a thud that echoed across the pitch.

Steph’s reaction was instant.

She stormed over, eyes blazing. “Are you kidding me?! That’s a leg breaker!”

Leah was already at Lia’s side, kneeling. “Hey, hey, you good?”

Reader arrived next, kneeling down, hand on Lia’s shoulder. “Lia?”

Lia groaned, then sat up slowly. “I’m okay. Just… rattled.”

“You scared the hell out of me,” Reader whispered.

Lia looked at them, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

Steph helped Lia up while glaring daggers at the ref. “You need to get your cards out. Now.”

The ref waved it off. Boos erupted from the home fans.

Fifteen minutes later, Reader was shoved hard during a midfield press.

They stumbled — not hurt, but shaken.

And that was it for Leah.

“HEY!” she shouted, storming over. “Touch them again and you’ll be dealing with me, not the ref.”

The Chelsea midfielder blinked. “It was just pressure—”

Leah stood over her like a furious guardian angel in cleats. “And I’m just pressure with a grudge. Try me.”

Lia helped Reader up, eyes flashing with protectiveness. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Reader said softly. “You?”

“I am now.”

Second half was redemption.

Lia controlled the tempo. Reader assisted Beth’s goal. The Emirates roared.

They didn’t celebrate wildly. Just turned to each other, forehead to forehead.

Beth ran past screaming, “JUST KISS ALREADY.”

Post-match, the locker room was chaos.

Steph iced Lia’s ankle.

Beth handed Reader a snack she’d hidden in her shin guard (“don’t ask, just eat”).

Daphne brought silent judgment and an actual medical kit.

Alessia sat beside Lia and whispered, “You’re glowing.”

Lia, deadpan: “It’s the adrenaline.”

Emily Fox: “It’s the Reader.”

Leah dropped onto the bench beside them. “Listen. I know I’m annoying. But I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

Steph nodded from across the room. “And the way you panic when the other gets hurt.”

Reader blushed. Lia smiled.

Alessia grinned. “So when’s the wedding?”

Kim sighed. “Can we please ice before we plan vows.”

Later, back at Reader’s place, Lia sat on the kitchen counter — socks pulled up, hair wet from the shower, a fresh bruise blooming on her shin.

Reader knelt in front of her with an ice pack.

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” Lia said softly.

“I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

A pause.

Lia’s voice cracked. “You scared me today.”

Reader looked up. “You scared me first.”

They stared at each other.

Then Lia leaned forward, cupped Reader’s cheek, and kissed them.

Slow.

Warm.

Not rushed.

Just… right.

When they parted, Lia whispered, “You’re it for me.”

Reader smiled. “Good. Because I already knew you were it for me.”

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

You are the kind of woman who knows her way around engines and hearts, fast with a wrench, faster with flings, and never one to stick around. A no-nonsense car mechanic with tattoos, oil-stained jeans, and a reputation for leaving partners breathless and ghosted, she lives for the thrill under the hood and between the sheets. That is, until Alexia Putellas walks into the garage. She’s the daughter of your newest client, all polished restraint and sharp glances, dressed like she has no business in a grease-stained shop but somehow looks perfect in it. From the second your eyes meet, you want her, badly. She makes her move, expecting the usual flirt-and-win, but Alexia's not impressed. She sees through your charm and makes it clear: she’s not a pit stop.

Wordcount: 19.7k

No idea why I'm nervous to share this 🫣 Thanks to the Anon for the idea, hope it's what you wanted

You’ve got oil under your nails and a smirk on your lips when the engine purrs just right. It’s a sound that tells you everything you need to know tight timing, good compression, clean combustion. She's gonna drive like a goddamn dream.

You swipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand and lean against the open hood, satisfaction heavy in your bones. It’s been a good day. You’ll probably end it wrapped in someone else’s sheets or better, your own, with someone temporary and breathless beside you.

That’s the plan, at least, until the bell over the garage door chimes and you look up and fuck, everything shifts.

She walks in like the air parts for her. Long beige coat, sunglasses even though the clouds are low, posture like she owns the place but doesn’t need to prove it. She takes them off slowly, revealing eyes sharp enough to cut through steel and a mouth you immediately want to ruin.

You’ve seen her before, of course. Who the hell hasn’t seen Alexia Putellas in Barcelona? Ballon d'Or winner, midfield queen, captain of Spain, picture on every corner you turn by, seeing her on a screen is one thing, but seeing her five feet away, glancing around your grease-stained shop like she’s somewhere between bored and curious. That’s another thing entirely.

You wipe your hands on your rag and toss it over your shoulder, “Didn’t think I’d be getting royalty today,” you say, voice low, teasing.

She raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t smile. “My mami's car,” she says, accent smooth and cool. “She sent me to check how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, nod. “Yeah. Almost done. Was just finishing the tuning. Want to take a look?”

She hesitates just for a beat, then steps forward, trainers echoing faintly on the concrete. You watch the way she moves, precise, graceful, every step measured. It’s not just sexy, it’s controlled like everything about her is held back by design.

You offer her the keys. Her fingers brush yours when she takes them. No spark. No flinch. No reaction. You, on the other hand, feel your pulse pick up like you’ve touched a live wire.

She walks around the car. Inspects the paint job. Tilts her head slightly at the restored leather interior.

"You did this yourself?" she asks, finally looking you dead in the eye.

You grin. “These hands with all this talent would be a shame to waste it.”

Still nothing, a pause, then a hint of a smirk. “I’m sure you waste it in plenty of other ways.”

Oh. She knows exactly what you are and she's not impressed. You take a step closer, just one. “You sure you don’t want to take the car, and me, for a test drive?”

She stares at you, unmoved, then hands the keys back without breaking eye contact. “No.” She turns on her heel and walks away. "Keep my mother updated on the progress" she calls back sunglasses coming back down her face and for the first time in a long time, you realise you’re not the one doing the chasing, you’re being left behind.

You watch the door swing shut behind her, the bell’s chime still ringing in your ears like it’s mocking you.

No. Not 'maybe,' not 'later,' not even a sarcastic 'we’ll see.'

Just no.

You laugh to yourself, low and incredulous, rubbing your palm over your jaw. You’ve been rejected before, sure, happens when you live like you do fast, loose, and loud, but this one stings in a way you weren’t ready for, because it wasn’t just rejection, it was dismissal. Like you weren’t even in the running.

You glance back at the car her mother's classic '67 Mustang. Cherry red, curves like sin, restored with your own damn hands. You poured hours into that body, gave it life again. For what? For her to walk in here looking like a dream and tell you you’re not even worth thinking about?

You grit your teeth. No. You’re not going out like that.

She comes back three days later and you make sure you're the one at the front this time.

You see her first, stepping out of a matte black Cupra, hair tied back tight, sunglasses perched on her head. She’s wearing a fitted jacket this time blue Barça training top beneath it. You hate how fast your eyes memorise the shape of her.

She’s not alone, her mother is with her, you push down the twist of something sour in your gut and wipe your hands on your rag as they walk in.

“Mama P,” you smirk with a smile as you chew your gum that the older woman laps up, flirting with older women was always your strong suit, mothers always love you. “She’s ready for you.”

Alexia doesn’t look at you at first, she’s scanning the shop, like she's somewhere she'd rather not be, again.

Her mother on the other hand smiles warmly, shakes your hand. “Looks beautiful Y/N. You did good work, I don't even recognise it, my brother won't believe the wreck he said I should have never bought now looks like this.”

You nod, flipping the keys around your fingers before handing them over. “Want to give her a spin?”

She chuckles, pats the hood. “I trust you, but my daughter insisted we both come, said I wouldn’t understand if the clutch slipped.”

That gets your attention, you glance at her again, her eyes finally meet yours, still unreadable. “Smart,” you say. “Wouldn’t want a legend like you stalling out at a red light.”

That gets a blink, nothing more but she steps forward, slides into the driver’s seat like she was born to be behind the wheel. Her hands on the wheel no gloves, short nails, fingers long and elegant. You wonder what they’d feel like on your skin.

The engine purrs to life. Perfect. She revs it once. Listens. Nods, “Solid,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

You lean on the passenger side window. “She’s got bite, if you want her to.” Alexia raises an eyebrow. “I meant the car,” you add, and for half a second, she almost smiles.

She kills the engine and steps out, handing the keys to her mother. “It’s good,” she says simply, then turns to you. “Gracias.”

She walks out without waiting, you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding and that’s when you decide, you’re not letting this go. Not because you think you can win her, but because, for the first time in years, someone was actually giving you a chase.

Eli smiled as you watched her oldest daughter leave, "Woman of few words is Alexia"

Your eyes moved to Eli's, "I've noticed" You start towards the front desk to take payment and you just had to ask, "She knows cars?"

Eli laughed to herself, "Not even in the slightest"

You couldn't help the satisfied smirk that crossed your mouth as you handed over the paperwork and the copy of her receipt, "You ok driving it out the garage?"

"I should be fine, thank you"

Eli gave you a warm hug and she left out the door with a ding and you fell back into the swivel chair behind the desk, you felt like you'd been knocked off your feet. You sat there quietly long after the car left in the silence you just couldn't stop thinking about Barcelonas Captain.

🚗

The next week, you start seeing her name everywhere, not that you weren’t already aware of her, but now it's like the universe is playing tricks on you. Highlights from her latest match show up on the TV in the garage. Some customer’s lock screen, her. Hell, one of your suppliers has her face on a sticker on his van.

You hate it. You hate how your stomach knots every time you see her. How your brain replays that almost-smile like a loop you can't break. You try to hook up with someone else one night, tall brunette, loud laugh, easy eyes. You bring her home, start undressing each other and then she says something in Spanish soft, low, meant to be dirty and suddenly all you can think of is her voice, cool, precise, controlled. You stop, apologise and lie, you say you’re tired.

The girl shrugs, pulls her clothes back on, and leaves without a word. You sleep alone. A week after that, she walks back into the garage. No appointment. No car. Just her and suddenly, everything inside you jolts awake.

You don’t expect to see her again, not really, so when she walks into your garage alone, hands in the pockets of her coat, a subtle frown creasing her brow you pause mid-step, socket wrench hanging from your fingers. She doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, looking around like the place has changed in the last two weeks.

You wipe your hands on your towel and stroll over, keeping your swagger light, practiced, but inside, you’re on high alert.

“Didn’t think Barça royalty did walk-ins,” you say, leaning on the counter. “Need an oil change, or just miss me?”

Her eyes flick to yours. Still unreadable, but she steps closer. “My Mami forgot her sunglasses. Thought I’d save her the trip.”

You nod. Right, the excuse is paper-thin, but you don’t call her on it “They’re in the office,” you say. “Follow me.”

She does. Quiet. Controlled. The way she walks behind you makes you hyperaware of your own movement your posture, your stride, the shape of your shoulders under your tee.

In the office, you dig through a drawer until you find them, classic aviators, probably expensive as hell. You hand them over, but she doesn’t take them right away.

Instead, her gaze lingers on your arms, your forearms are streaked with oil, muscles taut from the half-stripped engine out back. You catch the glance, raise an eyebrow.

“Like what you see?”

She exhales through her nose. “You’re relentless.”

“Only when I want something.”

You expect her to deflect again, shut you down like last time, but instead, she says, “What do you think you want?”

You blink, that wasn’t the game before, that certainly wasn’t part of the script you'd created in your head, you take a step closer. “You.”

She doesn’t move, her chin lifts slightly, her voice is quieter now. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence, your chest tightens, then she takes the glasses from your hand, slides them on with that same, infuriating calm. “You’re not serious,” she says.

She turns to leave, but her walk is slower this time. "You're welcome" you call as she swings the door shut behind her

🚗

You start seeing her around the neighbourhood, not often, just enough to mess with you.

At the café next door, picking up a cortado. At the park across the street, stretching alone with earbuds in. You never approach, you’re not that desperate, but one day, you’re elbow-deep in a beat-up BMW when you hear a voice behind you.

“You missed a bolt.”

You lean up fast, head just barely missing the bonnet and there she is, leaning against the frame of the garage, holding a to-go cup like she owns the damn place.

You stare at her. “You came here to critique my work?”

“No. I came for a coffee,” she says, sipping. “Saw you about to wreck the subframe.”

You glance back at the bolt she pointed to. Damn. She’s right. You squint at her. “You know your way around engines?”

She shrugs. “Heard my dad say it to my uncle when I was little”

You whistle low. “Careful, you’re turning me on.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“But you are.”

She doesn’t answer that, just watches you, eyes cool, unreadable, but not entirely distant. You look away before you say something too honest.

“Is something wrong with your car or? You wanna come inside? You're letting the bugs in”

“No.”

“Still playing hard to get?”

“I’m not playing at all.” She tosses her empty cup into the bin like it’s the end of the conversation. Like she didn’t just shake you up with six words and no smile.

She walks off and you stand there in the middle of your shop dirty, breathless, and completely fucked.

🚗

You're in a bar that is tucked on a quiet corner off Carrer de la Marina, dim and humming low, just enough of a secret that it's not ever overly busy. You come here because it’s casual, low lighting, good beer, music just loud enough to cover the silence without killing it.

You look over your shoulder, you can't believe your look as it seems half the Barcelona women's team was entering the bar but then she walks through the door, hands in the pockets of a leather jacket, eyes scanning the place she'd been brought to until they land on you, you forget how to breathe for half a second. You catch her swallow before looking away and following the group to a table not all that far from you.

"Y/N" Sarah the bar women spoke, "You want your usual?"

You nod, "Extra-"

"Extra prawns, we know" She smiled, putting a full beer bottle taking away the old one.

"Gracias" You mutter, you hear the whispering, you knew they were talking about you, you could feel the gaze, you heard, "That's her?", "She's hot", "Go say hi".

You sipped your beer and chanced a glance out the corner of your eye as two came to the bar and you caught one looking at you, as you squeeze the lemon on your paella you feel a presence beside you.

You look and there stood Alexia, "Hola"

“Hola,” you say, trying to sound cool, if you can make a hello cool.

“I thought it was you,” she replies. “And I was curious.”

You motion to the bar. “Curious about the food?”

“No. About you.”

That stops you, she takes the seat across from you like she’s doing a press conference, composed, distant, professional, but her eyes linger on your mouth when you smile. You catch it. She knows you do.

Her friend places her drink on the bar beside her and retreats “What’s the verdict then?” you ask, watching her sip.

She raises an eyebrow. “You really want it?”

“Try me.”

She sets her glass down. “You’re cocky. Reckless. The kind of person who gets bored five minutes after getting what they want.”

“And yet, you’re still sat here and not with your unsubtle friends.”

Her mouth quirks. Barely. “You’re not what I expected,” she says quietly.

“Disappointed?”

“No. Just… curious.”

There it is again. That word, curious and for the next hour, she comes and goes, like she can't keep away and you talk. About football. Engines. Tattoos. Siblings. Nothing too deep, but enough to feel like something’s cracking open. She laughs once at your story about crashing your boss’s van when you were sixteen. You live off that laugh for the rest of the night, but she never fully relaxes.

Even when the beers are gone and your knee bumps hers when you turn to her, even when your fingers brush as you both reach for the same beer bottle.

You lean a touch closer, she doesn’t move. “I want to kiss you,” you say. “And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t.”

She looks at you for a long time. Too long. Then, “You’re not what I need.”

Your chest tightens. “How do you know?”

“Because you don’t know how to want someone without trying to win them.” You’re quiet, she reaches out, touches your wrist brief, fleeting, warm. “I liked tonight,” she says. “But this isn’t where it starts.”

You blink. “Then when?”

Alexia steps back. “If I ever believe you’re serious.”

And then she’s gone, no kiss, no maybe next time. Just a chill in the air, the fading scent of her perfume, and a space beside you that feels heavier now than it did before she filled it. You catch her looking at you as she settles back with her friends before you just pay your bar tab and head out, alone.

🚗

You want to see her the next day. God, you almost try to engineer it, but the memory of her voice telling you 'You don’t know how to want someone without trying to win them' is still too fresh.

It hits a part of you that you usually keep buried under flirting and leather and oil stains. You don't see her for three days and then you’re locking up the shop one evening just past sunset, sky bleeding pink over the city and she’s there. Sitting on the hood of your beat-up Charger like it’s hers, arms crossed, sunglasses in her lap even though the sun’s almost gone.

“You missed me?,” you say, unlocking the door again like it’s nothing.

She shrugs. “I wanted to see how long you’d wait.”

You glance over your shoulder. “And?”

“I was impressed. Three days is a record for you, I assume.”

You laugh, tossing her a rag for her hands. “What do you want, Alexia?”

She hops off the hood, slow and graceful, her trainers clicking lightly on the pavement. “A ride.”

You blink. “You have a car.”

“This is more fun.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure you want to be seen in this junkyard classic?”

She smirks. “Try me.”

You drive. No destination. Just Barcelona at golden hour, the windows down and the air electric with something unspoken.

She doesn’t speak for a while, just watches the city blur past, her hand resting near the gear shift, not on it. Her legs crossed, ankle bouncing in a rhythm only she knows.

You sneak glances, she catches one. “You’re staring.”

“You’re distracting.”

“You’re trying again.”

You grin. “Always.” but this time, she doesn’t shoot you down.

Just turns her face back to the window and says, “Good.”

You end up parked on a cliff just outside the city. Not a romantic spot, not really, but it’s quiet, secluded. The kind of place someone goes when they don’t want to be seen.

She climbs out before you can open her door, walks to the edge and stands there, arms folded, the wind tugging at the ends of her hair.

You stand beside her, “You ever let anyone in?” you ask softly.

“Not often.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I came.”

You look at her, she’s not pretending anymore, not putting on the wall, she looks tired, not weak. Just real. “Maybe,” you say, “you’re curious.”

That gets a breath of a laugh, barely there and then, for the first time, she looks at you like she’s thinking about it.

About you. About this. You take a step closer, not touching just letting the warmth of you fill the space. “Let me in,” you say. “Just a little, I think I may surprise you.”

She looks up at you, her mouth opens, then closes and then she shakes her head, slow and sad. “I can’t,” she whispers. “Not yet.”

You nod, even though it fucking aches. “Then I’ll wait.”

She blinks. “You will?”

“Yeah,” you say. “But I’m not promising I won’t make you fall for me first.”

Alexia exhales, long and quiet. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late,” she says, but before you can speak, she steps away, just far enough and says, “Take me back to my car.”

🚗

It starts to mess with you, the silence. Three days pass, then four. No sign of her. No bar run-ins. No surprise visits to your garage under the pretence of sunglasses or 'funny noises.'

You're not spiralling, you’ve got things to do, hands to get dirty, wrenches to throw. Still, she’s too fucking quiet. So you try to unhook her from your system the way you always do with someone else.

It’s Friday night, you’re in a booth at some back-alley spot in El Raval, fingers around a whiskey glass, flirting with a girl you don’t really care for, she's pretty, loud and into you. You’re not into her, you’re just bored.

She's laughing too much, her nails are perfect. She keeps touching your thigh like she’s already decided where the night’s going. You let it happen, because it's easier than thinking about why Alexia has dropped off the face of the earth.

But when the girl leans in and says something like, “You’ve got that heartbreaker vibe, I love it,” you look past her shoulder and think, what are you doing? You're just proving Alexia right.

You pull away, “Bathroom,” you lie once outside, the air is cold. Barcelona buzzes and you lean back against the wall like someone punched you in the gut.

You take a few minutes before you head back inside , you tell the girl it’s not happening tonight. You don’t give a reason, she rolls her eyes and walks away, and you let her, because you know exactly who you want and she’s not here.

🚗

Two nights later, you’re working late. Sweat down your spine, engine stripped bare. Music low. You haven’t checked your phone in hours.

You're underneath the frame when a shadow breaks the light. You roll out slowly, grease on your tank top, a socket wrench in your hand like a weapon. It’s not a customer. It’s her. Alexia. Hoodie. No makeup. Hair tied up. Her expression unreadable.

“Your garage’s open late,” she says.

You wipe your hands. Try not to look like you want to grab her and pin her to the nearest wall. “Didn’t know you were still in the city,” you say coolly.

“I never left?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She leans against the workbench, arms folded. Her eyes flick over your arms, your collarbone, the smudge on your cheek. Then she looks away.

“I saw you on a run the other day,” she says, you don’t say anything, she takes a breath. “I was going to shout you but.. I didn't.”

You nod. Then throw the wrench down harder than you mean to, “What is this?” you ask. “What are we doing, Alexia? I’ve had people walk away before but they usually don’t look me in the eye first and say too late before disappearing.”

Her gaze hardens. “You don’t get to be mad.”

You step closer. “I’m not mad. I’m…” You hesitate. “Confused. You’re hot and cold. You come in here like you want something, then vanish like I imagined it.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then stop pretending you're not curious.” She’s silent, you shake your head, stepping back. “You know what? Maybe I should’ve just taken that girl home Friday. At least she didn’t look at me like I’m a mistake waiting to happen.”

Alexia flinches, barely, but it’s there and for once, she doesn’t have a comeback. She just says, quietly “Maybe I’m not ready for someone like you.”

You fold your arms. “What’s someone like me?”

She looks at you then. Really looks. “Someone who knows exactly how to touch me… but doesn't know how to stay around after.”

It hits you in the gut because maybe she’s not wrong. You swallow the burn in your throat. “I’d stay,” you say. “If you asked.”

"I shouldn't have to ask" and she finally, finally takes a step forward, “You’d stay until you got bored.”

You don’t say no, you should, you know you should fight for a shot to prove her wrong but instead you ask, “Then why are you here?”

Alexia doesn’t answer with words, she just reaches out, takes your jaw in her hand, and kisses you. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s weeks of tension and confusion and restraint exploding all at once.

You kiss her like you’ve been waiting, because you have and she kisses you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear mid-breath, but just as you go to pull her closer, just as your hand finds the skin under her hoodie she pulls away. Eyes wild. Chest rising. “I have to go.”

“Alexia—”

“Don’t.” And she’s gone, again.

🚗

You’re elbow-deep in the guts of a ‘92 Defender when your phone buzzes. You ignore it at first. Too many scam calls, too many exes, too many people trying to get a piece of you when they didn’t earn it, but something tells you to check.

You wipe your hands on your thigh and pick up the phone.

Alexia Putellas (1 missed call) 1 message

Car died. C-32, near Castelldefels. Can you help?

You don’t answer. You just grab your keys, flick the lights off behind you, and hit the road.

You spot her car like a sore thumb on the shoulder, hazards on, trunk slightly cracked, hazard triangle set up perfectly like she’s still trying to control the chaos.

She’s leaning against the car, arms folded, phone in hand. A brunette perched next to her on the metal guardrail, legs swinging like this is just another Thursday.

They both look up when you pull in behind them Alexia doesn’t smile she just nods.

You hop out of your truck, boots hitting the gravel. “Nice parking job.”

“Thanks,” she deadpans. “You took your time.”

You smirk. “You’re lucky I came at all.”

The brunette watches you both with raised eyebrows, like she’s already piecing things together Alexia hasn't even admitted to her yet.

You walk past them, pop the hood, and whistle low. “Radiator’s cooked and your battery’s working overtime trying to make up for it.”

Alexia joins you, peering over your shoulder. You pretend you don’t notice how close she’s standing. You definitely don’t notice the way her perfume cuts through motor oil and asphalt. “How long to fix it?” she asks.

“Depends. You in a rush to get back to training?”

The woman snorts behind her, Alexia doesn’t answer. Instead, she says, “Can you tow it or not?”

You grin. “Baby, I could tow you with my teeth.”

The woman mutters, “Jesus,” and walks off toward your truck, you glance at Alexia. She’s trying not to smile. “You two close?” you ask, nodding toward her friend.

“She’s my younger sister. That means she thinks she knows everything.”

You shoot her a look. “Sounds familiar.”

She bumps your shoulder light, almost nothing but it lingers in your blood longer than it should, you hook up the tow. Quick, clean. Routine. Except nothing about this feels routine.

Back in your truck, Alba climbs into the back seat and Alexia claims the passenger side like she owns it. You don’t say much at first. The road hums beneath you, windows cracked just enough to let in the night air.

Then Alexia says, “I didn’t want to call you.”

You glance at her. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean, I didn’t plan on it. It just... happened.”

“Emergency contacts dry up or something?”

“No.” She turns to you. “But I knew you’d come.”

You grip the wheel tighter than necessary. “That so?” She nods. It’s not flirty. It’s not soft. It’s just honest and it messes you up worse than it should. "It's my job, I have to" you mutter to try and save your ego.

You pull up to the shop, kill the engine, and step out.

“Keys,” you say, holding your hand out.

Alexia tosses them over without hesitation.

“Give me two days.”

“Take three.”

You blink at her. “You’re not staying to supervise like you did with your mother's car?”

She shrugs. “I trust you.”

You watch her walk toward a taxi where Alba’s waiting, her arms folded, clearly unimpressed with the night.

Alexia pauses before getting in, turns back toward you. “You’re not what I expected,” she says.

You tip your head. “You still pretending you don’t like that?”

She doesn’t answer, just gets in the car and shuts the door. You watch them drive off, the taillights shrinking into the night.

You should feel triumphant or smug, something you can wear easy, but all you feel is that same tight coil in your chest. Like she’s giving you just enough rope to hang yourself and you’re starting to want the noose.

🚗

The shop smells like cheap perfume and lemon Fanta, thanks to the can your nine year old little sister spilled two hours ago and didn’t clean up right.

Isabella is flopped on an old recliner you rescued from the curb, one sock on, a streak of engine grease on her cheek like war paint. She’s got a sketchpad open on her knees, legs swinging over the arm of the chair, completely absorbed in whatever superhero-princess-hybrid she’s drawing.

You’re halfway under Alexia’s car when the front door creaks.

You don’t even look up when you call out, “If you’re a delivery guy, leave it on the counter. If you’re a cop, I want a lawyer.”

But then Bella gasps sharp and high, you twist out from under the car, expecting a spider.

Instead, its, Alexia. In leggings, a loose hoodie, sunglasses on top of her head, holding a coffee in each hand. “Didn’t know you had company,” she says, spotting your sister.

Bella's frozen, absolutely still, mouth open, sketchpad forgotten.

You blink. Then grin. “Alexia,” you say casually, like she hasn’t haunted your thoughts every night this week. “This is Isabella my little sister.”

Bella's voice comes out small. “You’re Alexia Putellas.”

Alexia blinks, surprised, then smiles, slow and warm. “That’s me.”

Bella scrambles to sit up properly, brushing her hands on her pants, trying to look presentable while still covered in paint smudges and wearing a shirt that says why walk when you can cartwheel.

Alexia walks over and squats in front of you, holding out one of the coffees. “This is for you,” she says to you, then glances at Bella. “And I bought a chocolate croissant to. You want it?”

Bella nods like she’s just been knighted. You watch as Alexia sits on the edge of the workbench, talking to Bella like she’s known her for years. Not the 'I’m a famous athlete being nice to a kid' way, either. She sees her.

Bella tells her about the superhero she’s drawing. Alexia asks questions, real ones, and actually listens. She even gives Bella a tip for drawing better knees, apparently, Alexia used to sketch too.

You lean back against the tool cart, sipping your coffee, trying to pretend this isn’t melting something under your ribs. Then Bella blurts, “You’re my favourite player. I watched your goal against Wolfsburg last week like thirty times. You kicked it so hard.”

Alexia laughs, really laughs and ruffles Bella’s hair, you don’t know what to do with the look on Alexia’s face. It’s not her on-pitch intensity, not the cool girl front. It’s just… soft. Real.

Later, when Bella’s gone to clean her hands and find her secret glitter rock she hides behind the garage to show Alexia, you lean against the wall beside her. “She’s obsessed with you, you know.”

Alexia glances at you. “I figured.”

“She made me watch that goal too. Kept pausing it. ‘Look at her face, look at how fast she moves,’” you mimic in a teasing tone.

“She’s smart.”

“She’s nine and terrifying.”

Alexia smiles. “She loves you. I can tell.”

You shrug. “I guess I’m not all bad.”

“No,” she says quietly. “You’re not.”

Something passes between you again. It always does, but this time, there’s no fire or pushback. Just presence, like maybe, just maybe, the life you’ve built here, wrenches and rust and late nights with your sister when your parents are working late, isn’t something you have to keep separate from her.

Alexia looks out toward the back where you're looking, where Bella’s still talking to the rock like it understands.

“She’s the best part of me,” you say, not even meaning to, it slips out, real and unfiltered.

Alexia watches you like she’s seeing something new, “She likes cars too?”

You smile. “No. She likes superheroes, princesses', painting and hiding under my bed to scare me.”

That earns you a laugh. It’s small, but real. “She lives with you?”

“She lives with my parents,” you say, “but she comes to the shop after school when they work late sometimes end up staying at mine. Thinks I’m cool.”

“You are cool,” Alexia says, and it’s so simple, so soft, it disarms you.

You shrug it off, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “She calls me every night,” you add. “Even if it’s just to tell me she saw a bug shaped like a turtle or that her teacher wears ugly shoes.”

Alexia smiles. “You love her.”

“More than I know how to say.”

Silence but not the bad kind. It’s warm in here all of a sudden, stretched between you like a thread that isn’t being pulled just held. She shifts slightly in her seat, her knee brushing yours but doesn’t move away. “You surprise me,” she says, eventually.

You glance at her. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s real,” she replies. “And I didn’t expect that.”

That hits because you know she’s been trying to figure you out since day one, like you’re a locked door she’s not sure is worth opening, “You think I’m just some cocky mechanic who fucks around and leaves before sunrise,” you say. “You’re not wrong.” She says nothing, just watches you. “But I don’t leave people I care about,” you finish, quieter now.

The words hang there. She doesn’t touch them. Doesn’t reach for them, but she hears you, you know she does and for now, that’s enough. She shifts again. “I should go.”

You nod. “I’ll call you when the car’s ready.”

Alexia opens the door, steps out, then pauses leaning down just slightly as you are going back under her car,

“Tell Bella I said bye.”

And then she’s gone again, but this time, it doesn’t sting because something’s shifting, she’s not running away. Not exactly. 🚗

You’ve stopped asking why she shows up. Sometimes it’s in the morning, two coffees in hand, like she’s clocking in with you. Sometimes it’s late, after training, when her hair’s still damp and she’s in a hoodie three sizes too big. Sometimes she doesn’t even talk. Just sits at the workbench while you grease your hands and curse at a carburetor like it insulted your mother.

She always leaves just before it gets too quiet and her coffee is finished, but today, she stays longer, long after Bella arrives from school.

You’re half-distracted by her legs curled up in the corner chair and the way Bella is perched beside her, sketchpad in lap, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she draws.

“Don’t look yet,” Bella says, scribbling faster.

“I’m not,” Alexia promises, smiling into her coffee.

You throw a wrench into the bin and try not to stare, Bella finally flips the pad around. “Tada!”

It’s... a portrait, of Alexia. Messy, wild hair. Huge eyes. Big legs, because Bella said "you have powerful calves like a puma.” A tiny football floats above her head like a halo.

You expect Alexia to laugh, maybe make a joke, she doesn’t, she takes the paper in both hands and looks at it like it’s made of glass “Can I keep it?” she asks softly.

Bella beams. “Yes, but you have to hang it up somewhere cool. No throwing it away when you’re old.”

“I promise,” Alexia says and for a second, you almost forget who she is. What she means to the world.

You wipe your hands and turn away. Play it cool. No one has to know your stomach’s doing flips over a damn crayon sketch.

The knock on the garage door comes sharp, three fast raps like someone’s been waiting too long. You look up just as it swings open. Alba. Pissed. Wearing heels and a fitted blazer like she’s just come from a courtroom or a funeral. You can see the exact moment her eyes clock the scene Alexia on the chair, barefoot, Bella beside her with ink on her hands.

“Seriously?” Alba snaps.

Alexia stands up too fast, folding the sketch like it’s contraband, “What?”

“It’s seven-thirty, Ale. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago. It’s Mami's birthday dinner.”

Alexia curses under her breath. “Shit.”

You watch her move, flustered and guilty, the way you’ve never seen her before. Bella looks up, confused. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, cariño,” Alexia says, kneeling briefly to kiss the top of her head. “I just forgot what time it was.”

That lands like a gut punch, because she never forgets the time. Not on the pitch. Not with media. Not with sponsors. Not with her family.

Just with you.

Alexia walks toward Alba, still barefoot, holding her shoes to her chest.

Alba glares at you. “I figured she was here,” she mutters, you just stare. “You're a bad influence”

That burns.

You don’t reply. You can’t reply, because Bella is right there, and because you’re not sure what you’d say that wouldn’t tear the air in half.

Alexia looks back once as she steps out the door. You don’t wave, but you don’t look away either and she knows what that means.

🚗

Three days. Not that you’re counting, but you know it’s been seventy-two hours since the last time she stood barefoot in your garage, cradling a coffee like it was sacred, laughing at something Bella said. Seventy-two hours since she looked at you like she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss you or run from you.

She chose the latter.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is what you wanted no strings. Just a friend thing, a distraction with good legs and bad timing, but then Bella asks, on the third night, “Is Alexia mad at me?”

You pause mid-bite, fork in hand. “What?”

“She said she’d show me how to make that boat with paper. She never came back.”

You clear your throat. “She’s just busy, Bella.”

“She’s a footballer. You said footballers aren't that busy, it's not a real job” Nine years old, and already calling you out.

You don’t have an answer, "What do I know ay?"

Bella pokes at her food and mumbles, “I hope she didn’t throw away my drawing.”

You bite your tongue until it almost bleeds.

Day four.

You’re wiping down the shop when you hear a car pull up, not hers. Still, you look. Nothing. You curse yourself, then go back to pretending you don’t care.

Day five.

She shows up, late, quiet, hair tied back in a braid, hoodie pulled up to her throat like armour. You’re under a car again. You hear the door. Her footsteps. The hesitation.

“Hey,” she says.

You slide out and don’t look at her. Not right away. She looks tired, not physically, but like she’s been carrying something around and refusing to set it down. “Didn’t know if you’d show your face again,” you say, voice even.

She flinches at that. Just a little. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

You finally meet her eyes. “Then why’d you ghost me?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well. You did.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that cuts deeper than yelling, “I got scared,” she admits.

You blink. “Of what? A kid with glitter on her cheeks and a sister who makes engine grease look like war paint?”

Alexia exhales, frustrated. “Of how easy it felt. Like I’d been here a hundred times before. Like you and her and this,” she gestures to the walls, the mess, the smell of you in the air “were already, normal.”

That hits harder than you want it to, you try to deflect. “You’ve had worse addictions.”

But she doesn’t laugh. “I don’t do messy,” she says. “I don’t do... casual.”

You cross your arms. “Then why come back?”

Alexia doesn’t answer right away, then she pulls something from her hoodie pocket and hands it to you. You unfold it, it's slightly crumpled, but not torn. Corners worn like someone’s been folding and unfolding it over and over again, list of your tools, what you call them.

“I hung it up,” Alexia says. “Right over my locker, you don't have much patience when I don't know what you're talking about so I was... studying I guess”

You don’t say anything. You can’t because there’s a voice inside you screaming, don’t let this matter and another one, quieter, whispering, it already does.

She looks at you, unsure. Guard down for once, you stare at her long and hard. You fold the engine cheat sheet back up and hand it back to her, "Good because your damn car is going to be the death of me, it was meant to be a three day job not a fortnight" You don’t smile but she does and that’s enough.

For now. 🚗

You don’t call it anything. Not a relationship. Not dating. Not whatever weird half-step you’re both dancing between, but she’s here most days now.

She brings coffee that’s always too sweet for you but you drink it anyway and she brings new headphones for Bella after accidentally breaking her old pair during a very aggressive game of 'Who Can Run Faster Around the Shop Without Dying.'

She sits on your workbench like it’s made for her. She knows where the good socket wrenches are. She even started labeling drawers, badly, in her neat handwriting:

“Danger Stuff”

“Loud Shiny Tools”

“Definitely Not a Murder Weapon (I Hope)”

You haven’t fixed it, you let it stay, it makes you smile when no one's looking.

The first time she tries to help, it’s because you’re elbow-deep in her engine and muttering like the thing insulted your lineage.

She wanders over, peers in like she knows what she’s looking at, “You want help?” she asks, totally serious.

You snort. “You gonna bless it with your left foot?”

“Rude,” she says. “I’ve changed a tire before.”

“Oh wow, Queen of Barcelona knows how to get dirty.”

She raises a brow. “You’re dying to find out.”

You choke on your spit, she grins.

It becomes a thing. You let her hold the flashlight. Hand you tools. She’s awful at both. Passes you the wrong wrench every time. Keeps asking what 'torque specs' are.

You should be annoyed. You’re not.

There’s something nice about it. About explaining things. About the way she listens, focused, like learning this stupid, greasy stuff actually matters to her because you’re the one teaching it. Like it's opening your world up to her to understand you more.

Bella watches from the corner, making bets with herself about whether Alexia will break something.

You catch her watching once and she just grins, another time yu catch her, her mouth opens, “Are you two married now?” she asks, deadpan.

Alexia blushes so hard she nearly drops a spanner on your foot.

You fake a cough. “Go do your homework.”

Bella just shrugs. “You’re both weird.” and leaves.

Later, you’re sitting on the hood of a car, feet dangling.

She’s beside you, grease on her cheek, a streak of oil on her thigh. The sun’s gone down and the lights from inside the shop spill out just enough to make her look unreal.

She leans back on her hands. “I’m still bad at this.”

“Fixing cars?”

“Letting people in.”

You nod, eyes on the sky. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I keep thinking I’ll mess it up.”

You turn to look at her. “You will.”

She laughs. “Wow. So supportive.”

You smirk. “But I’ll probably mess it up first.”

Her smile softens and then, out of nowhere, she says, “You know, I like this version of you.”

You squint. “What version?”

“The one that doesn’t always have to be the biggest asshole in the room.”

You snort. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

Silence stretches again but it’s good silence, you don’t hold hands, you don’t kiss, but she bumps her knee against yours and doesn’t move it. 🚗

You didn’t even mean or want to be there. It was Bella’s idea Barcelona vs. Atlético, decent seats, popcorn too salty, her eyes wide with excitement the whole match.

You didn’t tell Alexia you were coming. She played well. Sharp. Ruthless. You didn’t cheer, but you watched. You always watch.

After the match, you hang back. Bella wants to see the players, see if maybe someone will wave. You stand near the barriers, feeling out of place in your own skin. You let Bella lean against the rail, beaming and clutching the crumpled roster sheet like it’s gold.

Then you hear her voice, Alexia, just a few steps down talking to a teammate as they work along the line of merch thrust at them to sign. You don’t mean to listen, but you do.

The tone is casual, relaxed, she doesn’t know you’re here. You hear the teammate ask, “So what’s up with the girl at the garage?”

And Alexia says it. Just like that. “The mechanic? No, she’s just fixing my car. She’s just a mechanic.”

Your stomach drops and that’s it. No she’s great, no she’s funny, no she’s someone I like being around. Nothing. Just. A. Mechanic.

You don’t wait for more, you pull Bella gently by the arm and say, “Let’s go.”

“But I wanted—”

“Now, Bella.” She doesn’t argue, something in your voice must’ve told her to not argue, the ride home is quiet.

You park in the garage and sit in the dark for a long time after dropping Bella home. The air smells like oil and metal and the faint perfume she always leaves behind.

Just a mechanic.

It loops in your head like a bad song and you know. You know what you are to her in public. What box she keeps you in. What story she tells when the world starts asking questions and maybe that shouldn’t hurt but it does. Because you showed her the soft parts, let her near Bella, let her in, even when you swore you wouldn’t and still, she made you small and insignificant.

She texts later.

A: Hey. You at the game today? I thought I saw you leaving?

You don’t reply, not yet, maybe not ever, because if she gets to think you don’t matter, then maybe you can learn to do the same.

🚗

You didn’t plan on going out, but when you’re sitting on the shop couch, staring at that text she sent again like she hadn’t just stripped you down to nothing in front of a teammate you snap.

You throw on something loose, dark, let your hair down like armour, put on your rings the girls seemed to want to die for, and head out.

The dive bar is warm and loud, filled with cheap perfume and worse decisions. You welcome it. She’s tall. Blonde. Big eyes, bigger chest. Laughs at your terrible jokes like you’re the best thing she’s seen in weeks. She doesn’t know your name yet. You don’t ask for hers. That’s the point. You’re just about to close the tab when the energy shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Then there she is. Alexia.

In joggers, fresh, flushed and glowing with that effortless look she always had. Flanked by two teammates one of them the same girl from the match, the one who laughed when you got reduced to just a mechanic.

Of course she sees you. Of course she stops.

You try to keep your eyes forward, fingers grazing the blonde’s lower back, guiding her toward the door like this is routine, because it was one you'd easily slipped back into, like Alexia doesn’t mean a goddamn thing and you were about to wash away all the progress you'd made with her thinking you weren't a 'fuck boy'.

“Hey,” she says, voice almost lost in the noise.

You don’t turn fully, just enough to meet her gaze, just enough to see the hurt sitting in her eyes. You don’t blink. “You’re car should be ready tomorrow night,” you say flatly.

That’s it. No hello. No smile. No warmth. Just business. Just a mechanic. You leave before she can say anything back, the blonde grabs your arm once you're outside. “Everything okay?”

You lie through your teeth. “Yeah.”

Later that night, after the blonde falls asleep in your bed, you lie awake staring at the ceiling.

The words echo again, you said it back tonight, she was just a customer, but the part that makes your chest ache the worst makes you want to scream into the walls, you didn’t mean it. 🚗

You weren’t at the garage when Alexia came to pick up her car. Your phone buzzed with a message from your brother.

'She asked if you took the day off.'

You didn’t reply, because you weren’t off. You were at her mother’s place, working on Alba’s car, engine humming, hands deep in grease and oil but your mind was miles away.

The afternoon sun was sliding toward evening when a familiar car rolled slowly into the driveway. Alexia’s car newly fixed, you stiffened without meaning to.

Her mother, Eli, glanced at you, eyes sharp. “You okay?” she asked softly.

You forced a nod, Alexia stood nearby, arms crossed, silent like she was waiting for the world to catch up.

You didn’t meet her eyes Eli’s gaze flicked between you two.

She smiled gently, trying to lighten the air. “Stay for dinner. We’re just about to eat.”

You shook your head politely. “No, thanks. I’m just the mechanic. No need for me to impose.”

The words came out sharper than you expected, you caught the flicker in Alexia’s eyes the slow, sinking realisation.

Her mother’s smile faltered, then softened.

You turned to Eli. “Tell Alba to stop by the garage whenever she’s free to settle up. No rush.”

Alexia’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darkening with hurt but saying nothing.

You slipped out, car door slammed behind you, you sat for a moment in your truck, phone buzzing silent in your hand.

The engine started and you drove, you checked your rearview and as her mother was retreating back into her home, she was watching you go. 🚗

You hear her before you see her, the slam of her car door, fast footsteps on the concrete outside the garage. She’s not here for her sister's bill, and you know it. Your gut clenches before you even look up Alexia walks in like a storm shoulders tense, jaw tight, fire in her eyes.

You barely glance up from under the hood of a Jeep, “Not taking dinner invitations today either?” you mutter.

She ignores the jab. “Why weren’t you here when I picked up the car?”

“Didn’t realise you’d miss me,” you say flatly.

“Don’t do that,” she snaps. “Don’t shut down.”

You step out from behind the hood, wiping your hands with a rag, already bracing. “Then what should I do, Alexia? Pretend I didn’t hear you call me ‘just the mechanic’ like I’m the fucking help?”

Her face shifts guilt, shame, something uglier too. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Oh it was exactly like that,” you cut in. “You looked your teammate in the face and reduced me to a job title. Not a person. Not someone who holds a meaningful space in your life. Just a mechanic.”

Her nostrils flare. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it?” you repeat, voice rising. “Then what did you mean? Because from where I was standing, it looked a hell of a lot like you were embarrassed.”

She steps forward, furious now. “And you? You go and screw the first slutty blonde you find in a bar like that was going to fix it?”

You go still, the silence that falls is instant, thick, choking. “So that’s what this is?” you say, stepping in. “You get to say whatever the fuck you want about me, but when I stop sitting around waiting for you to admit I matter, I’m the villain?”

“She looked like a groupie,” Alexia spits. “Is that what you want? Someone who doesn’t give a damn who you are outside of a nice face and a good fuck?”

You flinch, then you laugh, but it’s empty. “Maybe it is,” you say. “At least she didn’t pretend I meant something and then treat me like a second rate person.”

That one lands. You see it. She looks away. Voice lower. “I didn’t mean for any of this to get this... messy.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You can’t play both sides, Alexia. You don’t get to come into my life, judge me for how I choose to live my life, make assumptions on my character, and then back off the second it threatens your perfect little image.”

Her eyes snap to yours. “You think this is about my image?”

“I think you care more about what people think than what you should,” you say. “And I’m done being the one you hide in secret, you said I would get bored after I got what I wanted from you, that I don't know how to stay. But from where i'm stood Alexia, we're more similar than you'd care to admit, the only difference.. you haven't fucked me”

Silence. Her lip trembles. Just for a second. “I never wanted to hurt you,” she says finally.

You nod, cold. “Well, you did.” And you walk away into a part of the garage she's not allowed in. 🚗

The rain has uncharacteristically been coming down for hours, windscreen wipers working overtime, Bella's humming softly in the passenger seat, kicking her feet to the beat of whatever pop song’s leaking from your speakers she insists she has control over.

You’re about ten minutes from your parents’ place when your headlights catch it, a car, pulled onto the shoulder, hazards blinking weakly. Alexia’s car.

You pull over without thinking. Bella blinks at you, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Stay here,” you mutter, already throwing your hood up against the rain.

You jog toward the car, rain soaking through your hoodie instantly, as you approach, you see her Alexia behind the wheel. Her mother, Eli, and Alba in the passenger seats. She sees you, doesn’t roll the window down right away.

Eventually, it hisses open an inch. “Are you okay?” you ask through the downpour.

Alexia doesn���t even look at you. “You didn’t fix my car properly.”

There’s that tone again sharp, distant, angry, you swallow it. “Have you called for recovery?”

Eli leans over. “None of us can get service.”

You glance at the shoulder, at the way trucks blast by feet away, making the car rock each time. “Look, you can’t stay in the car it’s dangerous, especially in this weather. Come get in mine, I’ll take you home. I’ll come tow this tomorrow.”

“No,” Alexia says, arms crossed. “I’ve turned my phone off and on. I’ll get service in a minute.”

You breathe in, hold it, try not to snap. “Are you really being stubborn right now?” Your voice rises, taut with frustration. “Do you realise how dangerous it is sitting here?”

She doesn’t move. “Well maybe I wouldn’t be if your busy hands had been working on my car a bit better.”

Your jaw tightens, you step back, rain drips down your face. “Will you just come and get in my car?”

“No.”

You snap. “Alexia, don’t be so fucking stupid. I’ve got my little sister in my car, I can’t stand here playing stupid fucking games in the middle of a highway in a goddamn storm."

She looks at you, face hard, but there’s a flicker in her eyes something that breaks through the heat.

You shake your head, turning away. “I’m getting soaked. Suit yourself but I wouldn’t bother ringing our emergency number my recovery truck’s already on a job fifty miles away. Hope you find help soon.”

You turn and walk back to your personal truck, shoulders braced against the cold. When you open the door, Bella's eyes are wide as she clutches her seatbelt tight.

“This is scary,” she says eyes wide, "I don't like it."

You sigh, heart squeezing. “I’m sorry, we're going now, you're ok." You’re climbing in when you hear it, feet splashing through puddles.

“Wait!”

It’s Alba. She’s rushing with Eli down the road, arms over their heads. Alexia trails behind, slower, her hood up, rain darkening her sweatshirt.

They reach your truck, and you open the door without a word.

Eli and Alba squeeze into the back beside Bella, who gives them a nervous wave. You shift things around automatically, helping without looking directly at Alexia as she climbs into the passenger seat as you clear your diary and shit off the seat.

She’s shivering. So are you, you silently flick on the heated seats, turn the heat up.

Alexia says nothing, Eli touches your shoulder gently. “You’re soaked through, cariño.”

You wave it off, eyes forward, hands tight on the wheel. “It’s fine.”

You pull back into traffic, wipers beating back the storm, silence thick in the cab, no one speaks, but everyone feels it. "Awkward" Bella sings under her breath only you smile.

The drive is silent now, rain still taps against the roof, slower now, gentler but the tension inside the cab is anything but.

Your hands are firm on the wheel, knuckles pale. You don’t look at Alexia. She doesn’t look at you, at your parents’ place, you pull in just long enough for Bella to unbuckle.

You turn in your seat to the back and lean toward her, voice softening for the first time all night. “C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

She beams, you do your little handshake, quick taps, a snap, a pinky promise and she hugs you tight around the neck. Your entire body exhales without meaning to.

You watch her run to the front door, backpack bouncing. Your parents open it just as she gets there. You flash your lights once in acknowledgment when they're waving then you pull back out.

Alba pipes up. “I’ll direct you, just turn left at the lights.” but you don’t need the help, you know where Eli lives, you’ve been there too many times with her car and Alba's cars.

Alexia’s quiet in the seat beside you, arms crossed, body still damp.

At Eli’s, you don’t pull into the drive you stop in the street, “Thanks,” Eli says quietly, giving your shoulder a squeeze again. “For helping and for putting up with the stubbornness.”

She gives Alexia a meaningful look Alexia pretends not to see it, Alba climbs out next, shooting a cautious glance between you two before closing the door behind her.

You’re alone, still raining Alexia stays frozen in the passenger seat, watching the raindrops race down the window.

You glance at her. “You going or?” you ask, not looking at her directly.

She doesn’t move. “It’s pouring.”

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “That’s why it’s called rain.”

Eli calls from outside. “Alexia?”

Alexia huffs, putting her window down a touch, arms crossed tighter. “I’m not getting out in this. I’ll wait.”

Eli raises a brow. “You’ll wait?”

Alexia shrugs. “I’ll call a cab.”

“You’ve got no service,” you say, staring out the windshield.

“I’ll get some in a minute.”

You rub your jaw, trying not to lose it. “It’s getting late, I'm tired and you’re being ridiculous, can you not just wait in your mother's?”

You watch her mum and sister head into the house and you still wait for her, minutes pass and still Alexia doesn’t move.

Eventually, you put the car back in drive. "You're fucking annoying" you mutter she doesn’t say anything as you drive off and take the turn that leads back to your place and not in the direction only she knows she lives.

When you pull up in front of your building, you throw the truck in park and glance at her.

“You can sit here and wait for your phone to get service in a storm or you can come up just stay I doubt you'll get a taxi in this, it's your choice. I'm not playing your games” you say, opening your door.

You don’t get an answer right away, you sigh get out and shut the door, as you head through the parking garage you hear a car door shut behind you louder than necessary, you lock your car on the fob as you walk as you know she's following you without a word.

Inside your apartment, she hovers near the doorway like it might bite her arms crossed, wet hair clinging to her cheek. Her eyes scan the room but don’t settle anywhere.

She’s never been in your space before, you can tell it throws her too many pieces of you that don’t match the rough exterior she thought she knew.

The clean kitchen, the small stack of fantasy novels on the counter, the art on the wall, one clearly drawn by a child.

“Sit down if you want,” you mutter, not really looking at her as you toe off your boots near the door.

She doesn’t move.

You don’t think twice just start stripping off your soaked hoodie, then your shirt, your skin goosebumps instantly, wet fabric peeled off muscles and a scar.

You're halfway across the room, grabbing a dry tee off the clothes horse set up by the dining table, when you realise she hasn't moved.

You glance over, catch her staring, her eyes drag upward slow, her face tightens when she sees you looking.

You pull the tee over your head without comment, towel off your hair with the one you grabbed also.

“Do you want dry clothes or you planning on standing there dripping on my floor all night?” you ask finally, walking past her toward the bedroom.

She clears her throat, snapping out of it. “Yeah. I mean yeah, that’d be good.”

You toss her a soft old Barça hoodie, it felt apt, you definitely didn’t steal from your brother, and a pair of sweats that might be too big.

She disappears into the bathroom. When she comes back, she looks... smaller. The hoodie swamps her. Her damp hair is tied up, messily. She doesn’t meet your eyes.

You toss a blanket on the couch, “I’ll take the couch. You can take the bed. Don’t touch anything on the nightstand, there’s like, tools and shit.”

You see the flicker of amusement behind her awkwardness. “You sleep with tools on your nightstand?”

You shrug. “Don’t judge me, princess.”

She doesn’t, but when she turns down the hallway, she says over her shoulder “This place is nice.”

You don’t answer.

You just stand in your own living room, suddenly too aware of her smell lingering in the air. Of the wet towel on the back of a chair. Of the sound of your own breathing.

It’s quiet. Not peaceful. Just full.

🚗

You sit on the couch under an old fleece blanket, knees pulled up, one arm resting lazily along the back. The TV glows in front of you, the volume barely above a whisper. Some documentary you’re not actually watching plays on screen all low-voiced narration and muted cityscapes.

You keep the sound low, you don’t want to wake her, but about forty-five minutes in, just when you’re debating turning the whole thing off and giving in to your own restless head, you hear the soft creak of the bedroom door.

She appears barefoot, in your hoodie and sweats, eyes bleary “Couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

You turn your head. “Yeah?”

“The hammer and drill on the nightstand were… a bit unnerving.”

That pulls a reluctant laugh out of you. “Yeah, well. Maybe they bring me comfort or some shit.” She gives you a look, but it’s not harsh. “I heard you were up,” you say after a second, nodding toward the hallway. “Your steps are loud as hell.”

She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches, you lift the edge of the blanket a silent offer. She hesitates but she comes over without another word and sits beside you, legs folding under her as she pulls the blanket over her lap. Her shoulder brushes yours. Warm. Familiar. Too close and not close enough.

You don’t say anything. Neither does she.

The documentary drones on, forgotten. Something about Paris or maybe traffic congestion. It doesn’t matter.

She shifts after a while, curling a little toward your side, not quite touching you, but near enough that you feel the pull of it.

“Your sister’s drawing of me’s on the fridge,” she says quietly, like she just noticed.

You glance over. “Yeah. She was proud of it.”

“She gave me eyelashes for days.”

“She’s nine. She thinks everyone pretty gets extra lashes.”

That gets a breath of amusement from her. Then a pause, “She really likes me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “She doesn’t like many people. Not even our cousin. She says he talks like a cartoon villain.”

Alexia lets out a soft laugh the kind that sounds like it caught her off guard. Then she goes quiet again but after a while “I’m sorry.”

You look at her, waiting. She doesn’t turn to you, just keeps her eyes on the TV.

“For what I said. About you. The bar. The girl.” Her jaw shifts. “It wasn’t fair. And I knew it.”

You sit with it. Then shrug. “You were pissed. You’re allowed.”

“I meant it, though,” she says. Then, quieter, “That was the problem.”

You don’t answer, because if you do, you might ask her what exactly she meant and you’re not sure you want to hear it.

Instead, you shift slightly. Let your knee press against hers and leave it there.

You don’t know how long you sit like that knees brushing, blanket pulled over both your legs, TV flickering something neither of you are really watching anymore.

The silence should be awkward after everything but it’s not. It’s thick, sure. Full of the kind of tension that wants to be touched, turned over, looked at in the light but it’s not awkward.

Until she shifts beside you. “I didn’t mean it,” she says again. “What I said. At the match.”

You glance at her. She’s staring ahead like the words are costing her something. “The ‘just a mechanic’ part?” you ask, voice dry.

She winces, just barely. “Yeah.”

You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. “Seemed like you meant it.”

“I didn’t,” she snaps too quick, too sharp, then she exhales, frustrated. “I was… jealous.” You blink. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek now avoiding your gaze. “One of my teammates kept asking about you. Said you were hot. Wanted your number. I don’t know.” She waves a hand like she’s swatting the memory away. “It pissed me off. And I—I didn’t want them thinking I... I didn't want them thinking I knew you well enough to set you up, so I just downplayed it. So I didn't have.. to”

You raise a brow. “By acting like I was the tyre-fitter who realigned your third gear?”

“I panicked,” she mutters.

"What were they asking?"

“If you were single,” she says, almost bitter. “If you were seeing anyone. If you were... into footballers.”

You let out a short breath. “And you got pissed because…”

“Because she’s twenty-five, stupidly hot, good at flirting, and I knew you’d like the attention.”

Your brows raise, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite yourself. “So I’m not allowed to enjoy being fancied now?”

“Not when it’s by someone I see in the locker room four days a week.”

You turn your body more toward her, one elbow draped along the couch back, the other hand under the blanket near your thigh. “Which teammate?”

Alexia groans. “Does it matter?”

“Kind of.”

She sighs. “Jana.”

You let out a low whistle. “The defender?”

She gives you a look. “See? You know who I mean.”

You laugh. “Not every day a famous, cute footballer wants to date me. Forgive me for feeling kind of smug.”

She turns her head sharply, eyes locking on yours, but something changes in her face. The fight goes out of her just a little. “Yeah,” she says after a beat, softer. “I guess so.”

The room is darker now. The TV’s off, and the only light comes from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside filtering through the blinds. You barely notice.

Alexia’s head is resting lightly against your shoulder, her breath slow and steady. You can feel the warmth of her body against you, the rise and fall of her chest as she settles into sleep.

You’d thought the night would be heavier loud with words you weren’t ready to say but now, all that pressure seems to have folded in on itself, leaving just this.

You don’t move, not even when your arm starts to go numb beneath her, not when the blanket shifts and slips a little. It’s the kind of quiet that speaks louder than anything you could say.

Her hair brushes against your neck. The soft scent of rain and something faintly sweet, maybe shampoo or soap. You wonder how many nights she’s spent feeling like she had to be tough, like she couldn’t let anyone in and here she is. So close you can count the freckles along her jawline.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself feel it this strange mix of peace and something like hope.

🚗

Sunlight filters through the blinds, slanting gold across the kitchen tiles. The smell of coffee hangs faintly in the air.

You’re already dressed for work faded jeans, a plain tee, sitting at the small kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in your hands.

Your eyes flick up every now and then, watching her sleep, Alexia is curled up on the couch, hair messy and damp from the night before. You hear her take a sharp intake of breath as she wakes, she stills for a moment before looking around then, over her shoulder in your direction.

You raise a spoonful of cereal and grin, “Want some?”

She blinks, the slow realisation hitting. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

Her eyes snap open, and panic flashes across her face. “Shit. I’m going to be late for training.”

You laugh quietly, a little teasing, a little warm. “Chill. I’ll drop you.” She blinks at you, clearly surprised. “And don’t worry about your car, I’ll sort it out it's already back at the garage. I’ll just let you know later what’s going on.”

She nods, still looking a bit flustered, but there’s a spark of something softer behind the rush. “You’re unbelievable,” she mutters, half smiling.

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but inside it’s like your chest just got lighter. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me something everyone doesn't say”

She leans back, watching you eat your cereal like this is totally normal and for now, maybe it is.

🚗

The drive to Barcelona’s training ground feels longer than it should, and completely out of your way, the sky’s still soft with morning light, but there’s a weight in the car that neither of you breaks.

You keep your eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel she sits beside you, quiet, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windshield.

The radio hums softly, but neither of you turns it up, the tension simmers unspoken things, half-formed feelings swirling between you like the mist on the glass.

Finally, you pull up near the entrance to the training grounds Alexia turns toward you, eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. “Thanks,” she says quietly.

You nod, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “Welcome. Have a good day.”

She offers the faintest of smiles, then opens the door and steps out you watch her walk away confident, strong, but maybe just a little softer than before.

You start the engine and pull back onto the road, the silence inside the car now almost peaceful. 🚗

The garage is quiet when they walk in.

You’re under the hood of a Peugeot, grease across your knuckles and a wrench resting on the workbench beside you. The sharp click of the front door bell pulls your head up.

Alexia with her mother and Alba trailing behind, all three of them dressed in the casual comfort Alba's got something heavy in her hands a crate of Estrella.

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “We brought you this,” Eli says, setting the crate down with a proud smile. “For everything.”

You wipe your hands on a rag and step around the car. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Alba grins. “Well, we did. So just say thank you and drink it.”

You chuckle. “Thank you. Very much.”

Alexia stays near the door, quiet for a second before she steps further into the space. Her eyes flick to the car parked just outside the open garage bay. “Did you manage to fix it?”

You nod, already reaching for the keys. “Yeah. All sorted.” As you hand them to her, you add casually, “Filled your petrol tank up,”

She stares at you, blinking. “Wait, what?”

You lean against the workbench, smirking. “When the little petrol pump light comes on, it means you have to fill it up. The fuel’s actually a pretty important part of the whole engine system. Helps it... you know-go.” you shove your head forward for dramatic affect

She shoves it away with a scoff, but there’s laughter in it. “Dickhead.”

“No need to be embarrassed,” you say, lifting your hands in mock surrender. “You’d be surprised how many people do it.”

“I'm not embarrassed,” she lies, even as her cheeks flush pink. "And I'm not that stupid"

You catch her mother glancing between you both, her eyes knowing, you ignore it. “Anyway,” you say, stepping back toward the bench, “next time you’re stranded on the roadside, I might not be so quick to play chauffeur, given the attitude”

“You love it,” Alexia mutters under her breath, loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t deny it, but you don’t confirm it either. 🚗

Later that evening, the garage is quiet finally. You’re closing up, dragging the shutter halfway down when you hear the sound of footsteps on gravel, you already know it’s her before you look.

Alexia stands just outside the garage, hoodie on, hair damp like she showered quickly after training, hands in her pockets, like she wasn’t sure if she should come.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again today,” you say, letting the shutter go and walking toward her.

She shrugs, toeing the ground with the side of her shoe. “Left something in the car.”

“You mean the car that’s parked safely right behind you? That you drove here in?”

She gives you a dry look. “Yeah. That one.”

"I have an unclaimed pair of sunglasses, maybe they're yours?"

She shrugged, "Maybe"

You open the door behind you without a word, stepping aside. She follows you in, and something about the silence makes your skin itch not uncomfortable, just... expectant.

You grab the sunglasses from behind your workbench and toss them to her. She catches them easily. “I really did mean to fill it up,” she says, like she’s been waiting to admit it. “I just forgot.”

You smirk. “I figured, but the sarcasm was too easy.”

Alexia grins, stepping a little closer. “You’re smug.”

“You like it.” You mean it as a joke, but the second it leaves your mouth, the space between you shifts her eyes flick up to yours and stay there.

You feel it, the weight of the silence, the rise of something heavy and electric in your chest. You clear your throat, turning to grab a rag even though your hands are already clean, it had become a comfort blanket of sorts whenever she was in the garage lately.

She speaks again, voice low. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Fill up someone’s car. Check on their mother. Give them rides. Fix everything, even when they don’t ask.”

You turn back to her slowly. “No. Just yours.”

It’s quiet again, this time, she doesn’t look away. “I didn’t know what to do with you,” she says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“Back then, when I came to check on mami's car. When you looked at me like you already knew who I was, but didn’t care.”

You lean against the bench again, arms crossed now, trying to stay neutral even though your heart’s beating fast. “And now?”

“I still don’t know what to do with you.” You stare at her for a second, then smirk, just a little. "Don't ruin the moment with something like, I wish you'd do me"

You laughed at her mocking voice, before shaking your head, "I wasn't.. I was going to say you could start by saying thank you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“And maybe stop calling people 'slutty blondes’ when you’re jealous.”

Her mouth falls open slightly. “I wasn’t—”

You tilt your head, she shuts up and then, you step forward, close, but not touching. She looks up at you like she’s trying not to lean in. You can feel the heat radiating between you but you don’t move. Not yet. “Night, Alexia,” you say softly.

She blinks, then nods once. “Night.” And turns to leave, breath catching just a little as she walks out.

You wait until the shutter’s down, the lights are off, and the street’s quiet before you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🚗

The next few days are a rhythm, your usual grind at the garage. Her texts, a little more frequent now. Not flirty, exactly. Not obvious but still there.

How long does an oil change take? Why do I keep hearing a clicking noise when I reverse? Be honest. Did you touch my seat settings?

You answer every one. Sometimes with sarcasm. Sometimes with patience. Always with a smile you try to hide.

Late one evening, after closing up, you’re wiping your hands clean when headlights flash through the window.

You already know who it is.

Alexia parks terribly, crooked and too close to your truck, but you say nothing when she steps out holding two takeaway coffees.

She lifts the cups in a small peace offering. “Figured you wouldn’t have eaten.”

You eye her. “I don’t usually eat my coffee.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes one into your hand. “It’s a peace offering, Mechanic.”

You nod, amused. “We fighting?”

She shrugs. “Not today.”

You both sit on the bench outside the garage, backs against the cool metal shutter. The coffee is warm, the air cooler now that the sun’s dropped behind the rooftops. “Training?” you ask.

She nods. “Double session. My legs hate me.”

You gesture to her cup. “You want me to spike that with WD-40?”

She huffs a laugh. “If I didn’t think you’d actually try, I might say yes.”

There’s a pause. One of those heavy, quiet ones you’re both too used to now. You don’t look at her, but you feel it when her leg shifts just slightly, the denim of her jeans brushing yours.

Not on purpose. Not quite.

“I told my mami you'd got her part in for the car"

“And?”

“She asked why I keep showing up here.”

You lift your coffee. “Told her it’s my killer whit?”

She laughs again, more genuinely this time. “She said… maybe you’re the kind of girl who knows how to take care of people. Even if you pretend not to.”

You go quiet at that not because you don’t have a response, but because you’re not used to hearing things like that.

Especially not from someone like Alexia. She doesn’t fill the silence. Doesn’t explain or deflect.

You glance sideways. She’s looking straight ahead. Jaw tense. Lips parted just slightly, you clear your throat. “You know your seat’s still too far from the wheel, right?”

Her had snaps toward you, a groan already forming. “You did touch it!”

You grin into your cup. “Gotta keep the streak alive.”

She kicks your boot, and you catch her laughing again, another night, another almost but she’s still here.

🚗

It’s nearly 9PM when your phone buzzes. You’re halfway through a plate of reheated pasta, legs kicked up on the coffee table, a mindless documentary on TV.

Alexia: Hey… sorry. Are you busy? My car’s making a weird noise.

You stare at the message for a second.

You: What kind of noise?

Alexia: Like… a clicking? Or maybe a tapping? Or maybe it’s just… different.

You smirk.

You: Is this your version of a booty call? Because you’re gonna have to get more specific.

Three little dots appear. Then disappear. Then return again.

Alexia: I hate you.

You: I’m grabbing my keys what's your address?

Twenty minutes later, you’re in your car outside her home security gates, she buzzes you in without a word.

When she opens the door, she’s in a hoodie that definitely doesn’t belong to her baggy, old, familiar. Yours. You left it in her car two weeks ago.

She doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. “Where’s the patient?” you ask.

Alexia points to the left. “Just there. Thought I heard something earlier.”

You follow her gaze, her car sits perfectly fine under the car port, nothing leaking, nothing sagging, and probably nothing clicking.

You glance back at her. “Uh huh.”

“What?”

“Just wondering how long you rehearsed this ‘weird noise’ story.”

She crosses her arms, defensive but trying not to smile. “I thought I heard something.”

You squint at her. “You wanted me to come over.”

“Shut up.”

“Could’ve just said so.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.” You toe your boots off and step inside fully, she already has two beers on the counter. Opened. You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s so weird. This beer… it’s making a clicking noise.”

She groans, but she’s laughing now, leaning against the kitchen island. “I’ll punch you.”

You take a long sip, eyeing her over the bottle. “No you won’t.”

She shakes her head, pushing off the counter. “Come sit.”

You follow her to the couch, where she tucks her legs up, like this is routine, like it’s always been this easy and it is, somehow.

You watch whatever she puts on without really watching, both of you half-focused, shoulders brushing when one shifts, knees close enough to warm each other through the cotton.

Eventually, she glances sideways. Her voice soft, casual. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“What?”

“This. Us.”

You take a beat. “No.”

She nods, slow. “Me neither.” Another moment, another almost, but neither of you pulls away or pushes forward.

🚗

The bar is loud. Some throwback indie track blaring overhead, neon lighting catching in your half-drunk whiskey glass. You’re leaned against the bar, half-listening to your mate spinning a story about her train-wreck date last week, when she excuses herself for the bathroom.

You stay there, swirling your drink, phone in one hand, scanning the room lazily.

You don’t notice the group until she’s coming back and even then, you don’t notice her not until your friend sits back down, looking like she just witnessed a murder.

“What?” you ask, raising a brow.

She doesn’t answer right away, just grabs her drink and downs half of it. Then, her eyes snap to yours. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be straight with me.”

You frown. “Okay…”

She leans in. “I just overheard Alexia Putellas talking to her friends… she was talking about someone they called the mechanic.” Her eyes narrow. “Is that you?” You blink. Once, and the way your body reacts before your mouth can say anything, the way your head jerks up, the stillness that passes over your face, tells her everything she needs “Fuck off,” she breathes. “You’ve just answered my question.”

You drag a hand over your mouth. “What exactly did you hear?”

“She said,” She leans forward, voice lower now, urgent. “She said, ‘She would’ve made a move by now if she wanted me like that.’ Then her friend asked her why she was so sure and Alexia said, and I quote, ‘Because she isn’t exactly shy. She’s a girl who goes for what she wants, and doesn't give a fuck who cares.’” You press your lips together, your face unreadable. “She’s talking about you,” your friend says, more certain now, leaning closer. “Isn’t she?”

You exhale slowly, eyes flicking past her toward the other end of the bar. There they are. Alexia, Mapi, Patri, Ingrid, all laughing. She hasn’t seen you yet, she’s sipping a mojito and pretending she’s fine, but you know that look.

“Holy shit,” your friend mutters. “You like her.”

You don’t deny it.

“You’ve been pretending this whole time, telling us she’s just someone you’re helping with her car and meanwhile, you’re out here catching feelings.”

You finally meet her eyes. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Yeah, I think I am.”

She stares at you. “And she thinks you don’t want her because you haven’t made a move?”

You nod once. "Apparently so"

Your friend snorts. “You’re both fucking idiots.”

You glance back toward Alexia, she’s still laughing but there’s something in her eyes. Distant. Worn.

“She’s torturing herself,” your friend adds, echoing something you hadn’t heard. “One of them said that.” Your hand tightens on your glass. “You gonna let her keep thinking that?” she presses.

You glance at your friend, then back at the woman across the room and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you should go over to a woman, because maybe you're afraid she won't believe you, or you want to make sure when you do, there’s no going back.

Your mami and her friend soon turn up, better late than never, your friend who is your mami's best friends daughter shows them to the bathroom so you're left alone again

You’re leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks order, when you sense her before you see her that lingering stare, the weight of it tugging your attention sideways.

Jana Fernández. Barcelona defender. And very clearly clocking you.

You turn toward her with a half-smirk. “Hello.”

She tilts her head, arms casually folded. “You know who I am?”

You take a beat. “I know of you.”

Jana shifts her stance, glancing over your shoulder like she’s checking the coast. “You alone?”

You shake your head, keeping your expression unreadable. “No. I’m here with my mami, her best friend, and her daughter. They’ve gone to the bathroom.”

Jana blinks. You watch the gears turn slowly, she nods, eyes flicking briefly toward her table. “I was going to say… you should join us.”

You blink once. “Us?”

She gestures behind her with her thumb. “Yeah. Alexia and the girls. We’re sat in the back.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking your drink off the bar and lifting it casually. “Well. If I get bored of the quilting club tales, I’ll be sure to find you.”

That earns a surprised laugh out of her. Not mocking impressed, she watches you for another second, then just says, “We're just over by the dance floor, if you want to.. come say hello maybe”

You glance past her, to the back of the bar, where you can just make out Alexia in profile. Not looking at you. Not drinking much either.

“Ok,” you murmur, “maybe.”

You turn, drink in hand, and head back to your table before Jana can say anything else, but her eyes stay on your back the whole way and you're already bracing for what the next round of games will look like, because you’ve just been invited into the lion’s den.

And this time… You might be ready to walk in.

You watch Jana walk back to the table, already knowing she’ll say something. You don’t wait to see if Alexia looks, you just move.

Drink in hand, you cut across the bar like you own the damn place, ignoring the buzz of music, the chatter, the glances. When you get close enough, it’s Alexia who sees you first. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait. Her hand reaches out and touches your arm. Light. Barely there.

“Sit with me,” she says quietly. Not a command, not a plea. Just something simple. Soft and that’s all it takes.

You sink down next to her, close the kind of close that says there’s no pretending this isn’t something anymore.

It’s loud, but it’s like you’re both in a bubble, the others talk, joke, drink, but all you can hear is her. Her shoulder brushes yours as she leans in. “You're here,” she says, eyes scanning your face.

“Jana invited me,” you smirk. “And I figured the quilting stories could only keep me entertained for so long.”

She laughs, low, genuine but doesn't question what you mean, but then her expression shifts, her eyes narrow slightly, focusing on something. She lifts her hand slowly and gently tilts your chin. “What’s that?”

You blink. “What’s what?”

She brushes her thumb under your eye it stings faintly when she does. “That,” she says. “You’ve got a bruise.”

“Oh. That.” You shrug like it’s nothing. “Piece of exhaust slipped from the chain. Caught me good.”

Her brow creases. “You didn’t tell me.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t know I had to report injuries to my client.”

Alexia doesn’t laugh. She just keeps looking and maybe it’s the lighting, or the proximity, but there’s something in her eyes that hits you different tonight. Less guarded. More raw. “You should be more careful,” she says softly.

You watch her. “You always worry about your mechanic like this?”

Her lips twitch. “Just the reckless ones.”

You clink your drink against hers without looking away. “Guess I’m special, then.”

Alexia smiles the real one, that rare, radiant one that turns her eyes gold and for a moment, even though the whole world is humming around you… It’s just you two. That soft golden look in her eyes doing things to your chest you’re too stubborn to name, when a voice cuts through the moment,

“There you are,” she says, thick with warmth and mischief, you don’t have to look to know who it is, but you do anyway.

Your mother’s standing there, hands on hips, eyes scanning the table with a grin so wide it should come with warning signs. She’s already clocked everyone especially the way Alexia’s arm is still touching yours. “I told Theresa,” she continues, loud enough for Alexia’s entire table to hear, “when I found you, you’d be surrounded by beautiful women.”

Alexia presses her lips together clearly trying not to laugh. You don’t move much. Just flick your eyes up to her with a flat look. “Did you need something, mother?”

She waves a hand, already over it. “Just letting you know the drinks arrived and that Camila is not interested in that lad with the mullet, no matter how many times he tries to teach her how to play pool.”

You nod once. “Good to know.”

“Enjoy yourself, mi amor,” she says, already turning. “But don’t be rude. Introduce your friends next time.”

Then she’s gone, back across the bar to her table, like she didn’t just cause a small earthquake. You sigh and shake your head, lifting your glass again.

“Theresa?” Alexia asks, amused.

“Family friend,” you mutter. “Runs a bakery. Always says I’m ‘a good girl who needs more pastry in her life it's not normal to have abs.’”

Alexia chuckles. “She sounds wise.”

You turn to her. “You laughing at me or with me?”

“Neither,” she says, eyes soft again. “I’m just glad I came out tonight.”

You watch her for a long second, then let your shoulder brush hers with a bump, “So am I.” her knee lightly bumps yours under the table now and then, both of you sipping your drinks, basking in the lull after your mother’s interruption.

That is, until you clock movement from the side of the room.

It’s Theresa’s daughter and your friend Camila young, sweet, carefully carrying your drink across the bar toward you.

Right behind her, the mullet.

He’s cocky. Grinning like he’s already won something. Gesturing like he's telling her the funniest story in the world. She’s smiling, but it’s brittle. The second she catches your eyes, she mouths silently

"Help me."

You exhale through your nose and shift your weight.

Alexia straightens, noticing. “Everything okay?” she murmurs, barely audible under the music.

“Give me two seconds,” you mutter.

You rise from your seat just as Camila reaches your side. You take your drink with a small, quiet thank you, and then you pivot to the guy beside her.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it. “Hey, man,” you say, voice level but cold. “Why don’t you head back to your friends?”

He pauses. “I was just—”

“Yeah. I saw,” you interrupt, stepping slightly forward, closing the space. “She’s not interested. You’ve had your shot. Time to walk away.”

His eyes flick between you and Camila, who’s now tucked safely just behind your shoulder. Then he laughs, holds his hands up, and backs away. “Alright, alright. Jesus. Didn’t realise I was stepping on your toes.”

“You weren’t,” you say. “But you’re stepping on hers.”

That shuts him up. He finally turns and walks off, muttering something under his breath that doesn’t matter at all.

You turn back to your oldest friend and tilt your head. “You good?”

She nods, smiling gratefully. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. “But maybe don’t follow guys into the back room to learn pool next time, yeah?”

She laughs and gives you a thumbs-up, hurrying back to the table you really should be at.

You drop back into your seat beside Alexia, she gives you a look eyebrows raised, lips twitching with the effort not to smile. “Do I even want to know what that was about?”

You pick up your drink. “Let’s just say I’ve got a strict no-mullet policy when it comes to people I care about.”

Alexia tilts her head. “You care about her?”

You shrug. “She’s a good friend, she’s family, kind of, known her since I was 2” you add, glancing sideways at her, “I’ve got a thing about stepping in when someone’s being ignored.”

Alexia just looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she leans in slightly and says, “Remind me never to bring a mullet around you.”

You grin. “Smart move, Putellas.”

🚗

You’re not even trying to pretend you’re not watching her.

Alexia’s across the bar with her teammates, laughing too loud, cheeks flushed, glass dangling from her fingers. Mapi’s saying something in her ear. Ingrid’s arm is around her shoulder and Alexia, she’s swaying a little. Her smile’s still the most dangerous thing in the room but tonight, it’s drunk, too drunk.

You’re sitting with your mother and both your friends, but your eyes haven’t left her.

You don’t even notice your mother watching you not until her hand finds your arm. “She doesn’t look steady,” she says softly, like she’s letting you off the hook before you even ask. “Go help your friend get home safe.”

You don’t answer. You just stand. You cross the bar in seconds, weaving through elbows and laughter and loud music. When you reach Alexia’s side, she doesn’t see you at first she’s too busy trying to pour herself the last of someone else’s drink, missing the glass entirely.

You gently catch her wrist, her head snaps up, and when she sees you, really sees you, her face changes. Surprise, embarrassment, then relief. Like maybe she’d been hoping you’d come after all.

“Hey,” you say gently, but firm. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out she just nods, slow and small, and lets you take the glass from her hand.

Mapi grins behind her. “About time.”

You ignore her. “I’ll get her to text when she’s home,” you say, already guiding Alexia through the crowd.

Once outside, the air hits her hard she wobbles, you loop an arm around her waist automatically.

“You alright?”

She nods again. “Too much wine.”

“No shit,” you mutter.

She leans into you without asking and you let her. You help her into your truck, buckle her in, crank the heating. You drive in silence, thankful you only had a couple drinks before going to soft drinks, every few minutes you glance at her she’s quiet, head leaning against the window, eyes glassy but calm now.

When you reach her street, she shifts. “I don’t wanna go in,” she mumbles.

You turn the engine off. “Why not?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

You study her face. She’s not just drunk. She’s worn down, like something’s caught up to her tonight, and all her usual guarding walls have melted away.

“Alright,” you say, soft. “I'll stay until you fall asleep then I'll go.”

She looks at you, blinking slow. “Really?” You nod and she just whispers, “Thank you.”

You unlock her front door with her keys, her chin heavy on your shoulder as she watches your hands move.

She’s quieter now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t come from being shy, no, not with Alexia, but from being too full. From holding back the words she doesn’t quite know how to shape.

You help her kick off her shoes at the door, her hand finds your forearm as she straightens.

“I’ll get you water,” you say gently, heading to the kitchen like it’s muscle memory. You’ve never been here long enough to pretend it is but you know her home better than you should given the time spent here.

She sits on the couch in a graceless sprawl, her head leaning back, eyes closed. Her makeup’s smudged, mascara settled just below her lashes. Her hair’s pulled loose from her pony, she’s beautiful, in that devastating, real way.

You bring the glass over, set it in her waiting hand, she cracks one eye open. “You’re not leaving?”

You shake your head. “Not until you’re asleep, that was the deal.”

She nods slowly. “Stay the night.”

You pause. “Alexia—”

“Not like that,” she says quickly. “Just… stay.”

There’s a pull behind her voice, like gravity, and something in your chest answers.

“I want you to stay where I can see you. I don't like the thought of you walking home alone, it's late.”

That hits somewhere deep, somewhere you don’t name, you reach to take the glass back before pulling her to her feet, her body pressing into yours, she leans her head to the side, resting against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your arm comes up behind her instinctively, letting her settle into the space like she belongs there.

After a long stretch of silence, her voice comes quiet, smaller than you’ve ever heard it.

“You're still here” you try to not laugh, at the fact even though you're the one holding her, she'd clearly thought maybe you'd gone

“I’m still here,” you say.

She nods against you, before doing the most adorable yawn, it was like watching when a baby yawns.

The stairs feel taller when she’s leaning on you for balance, her hand clinging to the back of your sweatshirt like a lifeline.

"These are dramatic stairs," she mutters, eyes focused like she's climbing Everest.

You smile small, not smug and keep her steady, hand pressed at her lower back as you guide her into her bedroom. "I’ll wait outside," you say once you reach the door. “Get into something comfortable. Let me know if you need help.”

She looks up at you, eyes half-lidded but still sharp. "You’d like that, huh?"

You give her a look. "Go get changed, Alexia."

She laughs softly, swaying a little as she walks into her room and closes the door behind her.

You wait in the hallway, eyes on the floor, hands in your pockets. You could leave. You could call her mother, or Alba, or one of the many women who’d trip over themselves to help her right now, but you stay, as promised, because it’s her and when it comes down to it, you care about her. Maybe too much.

When the door opens, she’s in an oversized Barça training top and cotton shorts, her bare legs already blotched with marks where you heard her bump into her furniture.

You wordlessly offer your hand again, and she takes it, letting you lead her into the bathroom. The light is soft, warm, she sits on the toilet lid as instructed, head tilted back looking at you.

“You gonna scold me again?” she murmurs, eyes closed.

“I’m not your coach.”

“You sure about that?” she smirks, barely.

You don’t answer, you just wet a cotton pad and stand in front of her. She doesn’t speak as you remove her makeup, slow and careful, like she’s made of something that needs preserving. Her skin is warm beneath your fingertips, flushed from the alcohol, but soft. Real.

Her eyes flutter open halfway through, watching you. “You always do things like this?” she asks, voice quieter now. “Take care of girls who get to go home with you? Or just me?”

“Just you.”

She doesn’t smile, but something about the stillness in her face shifts. You finish her eyeliner, reach for a clean cloth to wipe her cheeks. The towel grazes her jaw when she speaks again. “You should hate me.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t.”

She nods, almost like that hurts more than the alternative.

You rinse the cloth, hang it back up, and stand. She’s still watching you like you’re some riddle she’s only now trying to solve.

“You’re good at this,” she whispers. “At caring.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say, turning off the light. “Ruins the reputation.”

She lets you help her to bed, pulls the duvet around herself like armour. You wait until she’s settled before you move to leave. “Stay,” she says again, voice already heavy with sleep.

So you do. "I'll sit here until you go to sleep, ok?"

You curl into the armchair near the window, hoodie pulled over your head, watching her breathing slow as she drifts and just before your own eyes close, she whispers your name in her sleep.

🚗

There’s a golden streak of sun creeping in past the blackout blinds when Alexia stirs.

Her body’s slow to wake, dulled by the hangover pressing into the sides of her skull, but she registers the warmth of her bed, the soft ache behind her eyes, and the sharp, vivid memory of you in front of her the night before. Steady. Patient. Quietly good.

She turns her head and sees you. Still here.

Slouched awkwardly in the chair by the window, knees spread wide, arms crossed over your chest, hoodie pulled up around your ears. You’d shoved a spare throw over your lap sometime in the night, but your face was tilted sideways, pressed into your shoulder like you hadn’t moved once since she fell asleep.

You stayed. Her heart stumbles over itself.

She gets up slowly, legs unsure beneath her, and pads over barefoot. You’re asleep, and not in that light kind of way you’re fully out. There’s a crease in your brow even now, even resting, something in you never switches off.

Alexia crouches in front of you, watching the way your lips part slightly with every breath. She takes you in, the lines of your jaw, the faint purplish hue of the bruise under your eye, the grease still under your fingernails from work the day before.

The hoodie you’re wearing used to be her favourite before you stole it back, she reaches forward and tugs the hood back gently.

You blink awake, confused and slow, your eyes focusing on her. She sees it the flicker of alertness, the way you straighten in the chair like you're ready to protect something, even now.

“Morning,” she says softly.

You grunt, adjusting in the seat. “What time is it?”

“Too early.”

You rub a hand across your face, sitting forward. “You alright?”

She nods. “Bit of a headache. Nothing fatal.”

You lean your elbows on your knees, glance toward her bed. “You should get more sleep.”

She watches you for a second. “Why didn’t you come lie down?”

You shrug. “Didn’t want to over step.”

"I wouldn’t have minded.”

That makes you glance at her again, this time slower. Your eyes settle on hers. “You sure?”

She smiles, it’s soft, barely there. “You look good in the morning.”

You shake your head, smirking despite yourself. “You’re a menace.”

She stands up, takes a step closer, tugging your arm. “Come to bed. Have five more minutes.”

You hesitate and then you let her pull you.

The bed dips as you climb in next to her tentative, careful. She doesn’t hesitate, though. She leans into you, lets her head rest on your shoulder, one hand curling around your hoodie.

You lie there in the quiet, sun warming the room inch by inch.

You don’t know how long you lie there her head still on your shoulder, and your arm has gone a little numb, but you’re not moving. Not when her fingers are gently tracing the small patch of skin she found at the edge of the seam on your hoodie, her breaths still even, slow.

And then she shifts, just slightly enough to look up toward you. You look down at the same time she looks up. It’s quiet. Still and yet everything in you tightens like something electric is crackling through the mattress beneath you both.

She doesn’t speak. Neither do you. You don’t need to, because the way her eyes drop to your mouth and hover there is louder than anything she could say. Because when you tilt your head slightly, her breath hitches, because when your noses brush, there’s no going back.

You kiss her.

It’s slow unsure for only half a second until her mouth parts beneath yours, warm and open and wanting. She sighs into it, a sound that lands somewhere low in your stomach, and you kiss her again, like you’ve wanted to since the first moment she walked into your garage with too much attitude and not enough patience.

You shift, body over hers, hand braced beside her head, not touching too much, just enough, but her hands are bolder than you expect.

They move to your hips, sliding up your sides under your hoodie to your ribs. You freeze slightly when her fingers splay across your skin, hesitating like she’s waiting for permission, and when you don’t stop her, she slides the hoodie up to your shoulders. You sit back to help her, she watches as you pull it off.

Her eyes are wide, unblinking, like she’s trying to memorise you in this light, vulnerable, a little breathless, lips parted, heartbeat clearly visible in your throat.

You’re both suspended for a moment her head tipped back against the pillow, your body hovering just above hers, the world narrowing to the curve of her lips and the heat between you.

Her fingers, still trembling with that early-morning haze, find your abs, you catch your breath as she gently traces them, decisive motion.

Your lips brush hers again gentle at first, testing, savouring. Then everything shifts, her arms wind around your neck, pulling you closer. Your hands settle beside her waiting, holding her there as if you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you loosen your grip.

The kiss deepens, slow and hungry. You cup her jaw, thumb tracing her cheek, and feel her fingers play with the hair at your nape. The space between you ignites, the morning light, the faint scent of her hair, the rising pulse that thrums through your chest.

You trail gentle kisses down her neck, each one a promise. She arches into you, fingers tangling in your hair, urging you nearer. In that moment, all the tension and teasing of the past months dissolves. It’s just the two of you, breathless and real.

She presses her body up to meet yours, and when her lips find yours once more, full, open, searching, you know you’re exactly where you need to be.

You shift your weight, careful, keeping your palm flat on the mattress so you don’t crush her, but she’s not shy, not anymore, she stretches up like she wants to erase whatever distance is left, and your hand lands at the point of her hip where her t-shirt is bunched. You have to steady it, make yourself move slow, let this last. She makes a soft noise when you press your mouth to the corner of hers, then to her jaw, her pulse, her collarbone. She tastes like sleep and faint salt, and you want to run laps over every inch of her, learn her until you could do this in your sleep.

She whispers something you don’t catch, just a breath of a word, and it jams the air between the two of you. For a second you’re paralysed, the question in her eyes so open it makes your chest hurt, but then you nod once, slow, and she grins, actually grins, like she’s won some kind of prize, and you don’t have to be careful anymore.

Everything is fast and breathless, a scramble to get closer, her hands under your shirt and yours under hers. She’s soft and solid and so alive beneath you, and she’s laughing, like it’s the best joke she’s ever heard when you accidentally find her ticklish spot. You want to make her laugh forever. You want to never stop this, not ever. Her skin is warm and she’s tugging you down, hooking a leg over your hip, and you kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. 

You’ve never felt this way. It’s new and it’s terrifying, but it’s the best kind of terror, like standing at the edge of something huge and wild and knowing it’s yours for the taking. She moves under you and you want to cry, shout, sing, something, anything to let it out. There are no words for this.

No words for the way she pulls you in, the way the world goes blurry and bright and she’s the only clear thing. The way she gasps when you find her throat, her shoulder, the dip above her collarbone, the way she’s so close you could drown in the scent of her, the feel of her, and it would be the best way to go. You push her shirt up, slow and eager, kissing every inch of skin as it’s exposed. She’s unravelling under you, hands in your hair, breath catching in her chest, and you think, yes, yes, yes, this is it, this is it, this is it.

Everything is just her, only her. The sun creeping through the window, a witness. The quiet that should be awkward but never is, not with her. You lose track of your own heartbeat, the way it’s keeping time with hers. You lose track of the hours, of the light shifting from dawn to something brighter, bolder. It’s like the world is holding its breath, and you’re holding yours, everything is a blur of skin and touch and heat. She arches when your hand finds her waist, her side, lower, and you’re not careful anymore, not even a little. Her moan is a tug in your gut, and then you’re gone, mouth on her neck and chest as she moves and writhes beneath you, as she comes apart under your touch, as she gasps your name. 

You want to brand it into your skin. You want to say it back to her over and over until it’s meaningless, until it’s the only thing that means anything. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, like she’s looking at someone else entirely. She slings an arm over her eyes, and for a moment you think she’s embarrassed, but there’s still a smile breaking loose across her face, uncontainable and bright as noon. You slip your arm around her back your hand resting on behind as she rolls to bury her face in your neck, you whisper, "Don't go all shy on me"

"I liked that" she whispered into your ear, as your hand was smoothing over her skin.

You hum, "You did?" she nodded, you guide her leg over your hip and your hand moves in from over her thigh, her face reappears as she gasps and her head goes back when your fingers disappear inside her once again.

Her hand cradles your face as your 'busy hands' as she had always called them were indeed busy, she hums against your lips as she kisses you.

"Let me hear you" you whisper as her forehead is pressed to yours her body stiffening again, a breath gets caught in her throat and comes out as moan followed by your name, "Good girl"

Her shoulders come up tense both hands gripping your face as your fingers pump the veins standing out on your tattoo'd forearm, her chest was flushed red with a shine of sweat, "I'm gonna.." she breathes, but again it gets caught as your thumb finds her clit and begins moving in time with your fingers.

"That's my girl" you smirk eyes fixated on her, her eyes rose to meet yours as her breathing was ragged her chest heaving, her arm moved around your neck putting your mouth near her ear as she needed you closer, "Come for me" you whispered and her body instantly reacted, her head went back giving you access to her neck and your fingers slowed as you let her ride her orgasm out licking sucking and kissing her neck you quickly realised she liked.

🚗

The morning after is slow, unhurried.

You’re both in comfy clothes, Alexia in her oversized tee and messy bun, you in the hoodie she keeps stealing. The kitchen light is soft, bouncing off tile and kettle steam.

You'er perched on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, watching her try to fry eggs without setting off the smoke alarm. There's a smug smile on your face. She tries to ignore it.

“You want to help, or just critique?”

“I’m here for emotional support,” you say, reaching for a grape off the counter.

She turns, smirking. “Emotional support while I feed you?”

You hold out another grape like a peace offering. “Don’t complain. This is domesticity you wanted, no?”

She raises an eyebrow and takes the grape from your hand with her teeth, grazing your fingers deliberately as she does. “This is you eating my food and laughing at me when I burn toast.”

You grin wider. “Which is charming.”

She holds the spatular to you, you smile hop down taking it you raid her spices to make the eggs how you like them, her turn to sit on the counter watching. She wouldn't admit it but your eggs did look good.

You step between her legs, resting your hands on her thighs. Her laughter quiets.

“I like mornings with you,” she says softly.

Your chest tightens, just enough to notice. “Yeah?” you murmur.

She nods. “Didn’t think I would. I thought this would always be... fast. Dangerous.”

“You thought we’d be dangerous.”

“I thought you would be.” Her smile is smaller now. Honest. “You had the whole ‘too cool to care’ thing going.”

You chuckle, pressing your forehead gently against hers. “Still do, apparently.”

“No,” she says, and her voice is light but her eyes are serious. “You care. You just pretend you don’t, but I see it.”

You tilt your head and kiss her soft, slow, no rush to make it more than it is. You kiss her because you can because you want to, because it’s her.

She kisses you back like she already knows. The eggs crackle gently in the pan. The kettle clicks off behind you. Outside, the world starts its usual chaos. But in this kitchen, it’s quiet.

“You really thought I wasn’t interested?” you ask against her lips.

She leans back just far enough to look at you. “You never made a move.”

“I was busy trying not to prove I can stay when I want to.” She smiles and kisses you again, you laugh into her mouth, pull her closer by the hips. “Still hungry?”

“For food?”

You glance at the stove. “Might be safer to order in.”

She shrugs. “I’m good here.”

You hum in agreement, tucking your face into the curve of her neck, arms around her waist, her legs around yours. You both smell like sleep and coffee. Like something shared. Like something that finally makes sense.

There’s no big ending. No grand gesture. Just a mechanic and a footballer in a sun-warmed kitchen, burning eggs, stealing kisses, and building something they never expected to find.

Together.

The End.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

Badger

Hi. So this is a little thought I've had in my head for a while based on the fact that none of the English commentators can pronounce Ona's name properly.

Ona Batlle x reader

Description: You're convinced Ona doesn't like your nickname for her

Word Count: 4.2k

It had been a gruelling game, the ball rolling end to end creating little respite for any player. Goals were flying in left and right from both sides. It was a draw in the final minute of overtime and both teams were desperate not to share points. A spectacular tackle from Ona had prevented Hemp from scoring, allowing the ball to be collected and fed all the way back up the pitch. It had ricocheted around the City box before falling to your feet. It was instinctual, not thought or planning behind it, yet as the ball sailed pasted Roebuck’s fingers – it was like it was destiny. It was by no means your first goal for United, nor your first goal of the game. But it felt like it. The crowd erupted, the music drowned out by the noise and the rush of blood in your head.

The Blues had no time to score an equaliser. You watched as the seconds ticked down – City trying to press again, although the fight had clearly been lost in them. Finally, finally, the Ref blew the whistle. Old Trafford erupted. It had been an exciting game for the fans – lots of goals, tough tackles, harsh words, decent referring. As a player it had been exhausting but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ona was the first one to you, somehow making the distance in record time despite being further down the pitch.

“Mi hermosa superestrella!” She shouted as she threw herself onto your back. You stumbled slightly, your legs feeling like jelly as the adrenaline disappeared from your veins. “Mi maravillosa, hermosa, fantástica, increíble, magnífica, bella goleadora.” She littered each word with an array of kisses to your head, her arms wrapping around your neck as she made herself comfortable – clearly showing you she wasn’t getting down any time soon.

“Stop,” you whined, getting shy under her compliments.

“Nope, never.” She laughed again, squeezing her legs tighter around your waist in a hug. You discretely pinched the underneath of her thigh, close to the hem of her shorts. “Aye,” she squealed. “Can’t a girl compliment her amor de su vida after she had an incredible game?” She pressed a sneaky kiss to your jaw as you made your way towards the fans.

You knew the fans would be going crazy over your behaviour; you had never made your relationship a secret. Ona often featured in your monthly photo dumps, your Instagram stories showing carefully selected insights into your life. Her Instagram was the same, filled with private moments that neither of you minded sharing with fans. Videos of you after matches were all over the internet – hugs that lasted too long to be just friendly, kisses pressed into sweaty hairlines and shiny foreheads, your body being wrapped around her smaller frame as the final whistle went, neither of you leaving each other sides until you were sure they were fine after a tackle gone wrong.

You were walking you way around the stadium, laughing along to Mary and Tooney’s jokes as you fell into step with them. It was as you were passing Alex and Fara that you heard your name be called out. Instinctively, you turned – naturally bringing Ona with you as she was still securely wrapped around you. Alex was beckoning you over – a microphone outstretched and an expectant smile. You tilted your head back to look at Ona, expecting her to have loosened her legs by now. Yet her grip held firm, nodding in the direction of the TV cameras. You shrugged, readjusted her on your hips and came to join the women.

“And here we have Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” Alex said, laughing at the way you stood. Had she really just said that?

“Hi, sorry about this one,” you gestured with your head. “She always says her legs don’t work after matches.” You teased, the three of you laughing at Ona’s indignant squawk, yet she made no move to get down. Fara offered you a microphone, watching on as you looked around a little – struggling to figure out how you were going to do the interview with Ona on your back. Ona solved that solution easily enough, taking the mic and holding it where you need it. You squeezed her calf appreciatively.

“What a match, hey? How are you feeling?”

“Yeh, it’s insane. Derby’s are always hard, and we knew it was going be a fight today, but that was something else.” You chuckled, blowing a stray piece of hair from your face – thanking Ona absentmindedly as she delicately moved it away for you. “We all knew we had jobs to do out there and we just went ahead and did it. Not much more I can say really. I have absolute faith in these girls, and I think it showed today.” You hoped it was a reasonable response. You weren’t the biggest fan of the media side of football. Pre-recorded videos and challenges you could do no issue, but the live stuff - you hated it.

“And what about you, Ona? You were up and down that pitch today like a Yo-Yo.” Fara asked. You moved your head to the side, allowing Ona the space to talk.

“Sí. Again, I just did my job. It was this one that was putting them into the back of the net.” You blushed ferociously, thanking the lucky stars that you were already quite red from the match.

You continued the interview as quickly as possible – conscious that this was being streamed live to the BBC. You skin becoming redder with every passing compliment Ona threw you way. Of course, you gave them back just as often, but she wasn’t as embarrassed by stuff like that. Eventually, the interview came to a natural end.

“Thank you so much, girls, I’ll let you get back. Ladies and Gentlemen, Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” you heard Alex say as you turned away. You heard Ona groan in your ear as you carried on walking.

“Come on then, Señorita Badger.” You couldn’t contain your cackle as you helped her down to sit in your cubby.

“Detener,” she whined – her arms coming to cross over her chest. “They can never say it properly. It’s so annoying.” She moaned, burying her face in your clothed stomach as you moved to untie her braid.

“My love, they are atrocious at pronouncing non-English names, you know this.” You soothed her, allowing your fingers to card through her now-loose hair. “It doesn’t make it right, but it’s not personal.”

“It’s every game though. Every interview and time someone says my name its always ‘Battle’ or ‘Badger’. I can’t decide which is worse.” She complained, moving away from your body to look at you, pouting. You matched her pout; one had coming to cup her jaw and the other to lightly trace over the crease in between her eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I don’t know what to say,” you admitted. “But if it makes you feel any better, they’re always saying good things.” You tried a weak smile. “You’re our best defender.” You said honestly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. This time, she really did blush.

“Deja de mentir,” she sighed.

“I’m not lying. You are an incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly talented defender.” You laughed as her cheeks darkened yet again. “And all mine.” You finished off, placing a gentle kiss to her soft lips. “I love you.” You basked in the silence between you to a little longer before adding, “my little Badger.” Her eyes snapped open, scoffing as her mouth dropping open as you laughed loudly, scurrying away to the showers before she could retaliate.

You had been calling her Badger for so long now, that you had never considered what it might look like to others, or to her. After that day in the locker room, it had slowly become more and more integrated into your daily vocabulary. It started as a nickname you used to tease her, loving how riled up she became. But then you started using it in training, shouting it out when she did something particularly impressive. Eventually, it became like any other loving nickname. You were her mi amor, and she was your Badger.

It was something you hadn’t considered when you both made the move over to Spain. It was so normal at this point. Surely, she would have said something if she didn’t like the name? You used it all the time. You wanted her to pass you the salt and pepper? You felt sad and needed a hug? She was injured and needed comfort? You were pressed up against her in the Club dancing the night away? She had done something great in training? She was irritating the crap out of you? You were annoying her and being an all-round brat? She was always Badger.

It had never crossed you mind until Alexia brought it up after training one day.

You were walking out to the car, Ona tugging on your hand to hurry you up.

“Vamos, mi amor. Apresúrate,” she pulled you harder, taking your hand in both of hers.

“Badger, you go ahead.” You laughed as she pouted. “You’re the one going on a ‘La Masia day’. In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t raised here.” You teased, using your strength to pulled her back to your side. “I was told in no uncertain terms by Aita that this was a Catalan only event And that she loved me, but I needed to get lost for the afternoon. You need time with your people, and I am totally ok with that, Badger.” You smiled softly at her, melting as her arms wove around your waist.

“Ona, deixa d'estar tan enamorat i afanya't.” Aitana’s loud voice drifted from across the car park.

“A la merda, Aita. Que no tinguis núvia no vol dir que hagis de ser dolent.” Ona responded. You had no idea what she was saying but even with your limited Catalan, you recognised ‘núvia’ and guessed it was something to do with you.

“Go on, Badger. Go enjoy yourself, I’ll see you at home.” You cupped her cheek with your hand, giving her a gentle goodbye kiss. She squeezed you once more before running off after Aitana– shoving her as she climbed into the backseat.

“Do you want to come for a quick coffee with us?” A voice next to you made you jump.

“Fucking hell.” You turned to see Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid standing behind you. “Jesus, warn a girl next time.” You placed a hand over your heart and took calming breaths, glaring at Mapi as she chuckled at your reaction.

“We said your name like 10 times, chica.” Alexia smiled, taking your arm, and pulling you towards her car.

“Sorry, I was just … sorry.” You stared at the pavement, a bright blush rushing to your cheeks.

“Ella está enamorada” Mapi cheered, coming up to pinch your cheeks.

“You two are way worse,” you said, gesturing between Ingrid and Mapi. “Oh, mi vida, jugaste muy bien hoy.” You dramatically threw yourself at Ingrid, laughing with her at Mapi’s incensed expression.

“No sueno asi”

“Yes, you do.” You said at the same time as Ingrid. Mapi’s shocked face made you laugh even harder as Alexia unlocked the car.

“Maps, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. Even when you aren’t talking to her it’s always ‘mi vida’ or ‘mi princessa’ or ‘mi Tesoro’. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. It can be quite nauseating.” You goaded her as you took your seat in the passenger side. She gasped, jokingly offended.

“Al menos no llamo a mi novia por un animalito raro.” She clicked her teeth at you.

You eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Animal? You didn’t call Ona an animal, did you? Sometimes you joked she was a koala after the matches as she clambered her way into a customary piggyback – you often made teasing remarks that you didn’t need to see one during your time in Australia because you had one at home with you. But nothing repeatedly.

“Yeh, where did Badger come from?” Alexia asked. Ohhhhh. It clicked for you - sometimes, you could be quite oblivious.

“It’s not after the animal. English commentators and interviewers can never say her name. You must’ve realised that.” The Spanish girls nodded solemnly – often being a victim themselves of mispronounced names. “Well, it started off as a joke really, Alex Scott called her Ona Badger once and it kinda went from there really.” You explained, your attention drifting to looking outside the window

“Ona’s a better woman than me.” Alexia shook her head slightly. You turned back around, looking at her side profile as she drove you towards the coffee shop.

“How-What do you mean?” You asked, confused as to what she was getting at.

“If Olga called me Patella instead of Putellas, I’d go crazy.” Alexia laughed.

“Oh. She doesn’t seem to mind it. I … don’t think?” Did she mind it? She had never said anything to you about it.

“I never said anything when Olga called me Lex for a while. But it really got on my nerves.” She added, making you feel even worse about the situation. Does she really feel like that? Do you irritate her? It must do. What you had thought was just a joke and then an eventual nickname was based on the fact that someone couldn’t pronounce her name right. That would annoy anyone, right?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze, the coffee trip and drive back to the training ground carpark was all a blur. Your drive home and daily routine done on autopilot as your actions and behaviours played on repeat in your head. Did Ona hate being called Badger? She must do, right? Not many people in England had struggled to pronounce your name, and you had yet to encounter someone in Spain that couldn’t do it. Your thoughts rattled in your head – leading you to the conclusion that yes, Ona must not like being called Badger. You vowed to stop making her uncomfortable.

“Hola, mi amor.” Ona called as she walked through the door. You could hear the tiredness in her voice.

“Hey, Badg-baby.” You cleared your throat, hoping to cover up your mistake. “Hey, baby.” You kicked yourself mentally for your slip up. With all your internal worry, you missed Ona’s eyebrows scrunching in confusion. You seemed ok in yourself, a little distracted maybe, but nothing noticeable. You were standing at the open fridge, trying to figure out what to make for dinner – so it must be that, Ona decided. You must be distracted by what to make. She came up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your shoulder. You melted against her, like you always did. This helped calm Ona’s worries a little, beyond not calling her Badger, you were acting normal.

“What do you fancy for tea?” You asked, looking back at her.

“No m'importa, el que sigui més fàcil per a tu,” she said in Catalan. Her voice muffled by the fabric of your jumper.

“What was that, Bad-babe?” You asked her gently, recognising how tired she must be. You twisted around in her grip, closing the fridge door behind you. She looked up at you, a look of displeasure on her face. You chalked it up to her being tired from her afternoon out with the girls; she was actually annoyed that you had, once again, not called her badger.

“El que sigui més fàcil.” She repeated, still speaking in Catalan.

“The only word I recognised was fàcil, so I’m going to assume that mean quick and easy?” She smiled, as you let a finger trace over her freckles on her cheeks, something you always did when she was tired.

“Podríem fer la comanda?” She was still speaking in Catalan. Her tiredness often led to you trying to decipher Catalan – a language you were still trying to get to grips with. But you understood where she was coming from. If you were tired and then forced to speak your third language in your own home, it would not go very well. You really wracked your brains, trying to work out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry, B-honey. What was that?” You asked her, scanning your eyes cross her face.

“Order.” She said grumpily. You sighed, misunderstanding her mood again.

“Ok, my love,” mentally cheering as you didn’t slip up this time. “Let’s go to the sofa and we’ll order something.” You unwound her arms from your waist and pulled them over your shoulders, lifting her up as her legs wrapped securely around your hips. “My koala,” you teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she buried her head in your neck.

You hoped that Ona’s uncharacteristic mood was purely down to her tiredness. But after a full night’s sleep where she had refused to leave your arms – something that usually made her sleep like a baby – she still had an attitude with you. She had been fine when you woke up, a soft, sleep-filled smile gracing her beautiful face.

“Bon dia, mi amor.” She had croaked out, a gentle hum coming from her as you scratched at her head.

“Good morning, bad-baby.” Fuck, you had done it again. She pulled back from her beloved location (her face pressed against your neck, you giving her gentle scratches to gradually wake her up). With sleep still in her eyes, her hair a mess and that adorable pout, you couldn’t help but smile – you had, yet again, misattributed her pout for tiredness rather than the anger, and slight hurt, that she felt when you failed to call her Badger. She tried to think back to yesterday. You had very willingly let her go out with the girls yesterday after training, so that couldn’t have been it. Training had gone really well – you always had worked brilliantly as a pair. You had mentioned that you went out to coffee with Alexia, Ingrid and Mapi, maybe something had happened then? But you would have said something though, right? You were the one that was more open and in-touch with your feelings. You always communicated well with everyone around you, especially Ona. Yet, you were refusing to call her Badger. That name had originally been a joke, but eventually it had come to mean so much to her – it was something so unique to your relationship. Other couples could call each other baby, or love, or honey, or babe, or any of the Spanish equivalents. But only she got to be your Badger.

You were still behaving normally which is what threw her off the most. You made her the perfect cup of coffee – like every morning – giving it to her with a kiss to the top of her head as she sat at the table, trying to wake herself up. You held your hand out to her as you walked into the training centre, allowing her warm hand to intertwine with yours. You insisted she tie your hair back, humming quietly as she raked her delicate fingers across your scalp. You made her a plate of all her favourite foods at lunch. You let her rest her body into yours as you sat down, your arm coming around her shoulder as you talked to Lucy and Keira. You drove home with you hand on her thigh and the music blasting loudly. Yet you still hadn’t called her Badger. It was adding considerably to her strange mood – she wasn’t quite angry, but she wasn’t her usual bubbly self … grumpy … that was the only way to describe Ona today. Even Alexia and Patri had picked up on it, asking you if Ona was alright. You tried your best to assure them, telling them that she just hadn’t slept very well (a total lie – it was you that had lied awake staring at the ceiling as Ona’s breath puffed steadily onto your collarbone).

She led you into your house, scowling at you as you tried to make your way into the kitchen.

“Sentarse,” she growled at you, pointing at the sofa. You did as you were told – still very confused as to her behaviour today.

You looked at her, deeply puzzled, as she climbed onto your lap, her legs straddling your thighs. Her behaviour was not what you expected of someone that was angry with you. You pulled out every stop you could think of to help her relax; one hand on her waist, dipping under her shirt to rub at the smooth skin; the other came to cup her jaw, you thumb running repetitive strokes across her cheekbones. It worked, for the most part. She leaned into your hand, her breathing was less harsh, the crinkle in her brow disappeared.

“Oni, my darling girl, mi corazón, mi hermosa, el amor de mi vida. What is up with you today?”

“What is up with me? What is up with you?” She almost shouted, incredulous at the accusation that she had done something wrong.

“You’ve had a scowl on your face the whole day.” You explained, a finger coming to flick at her protruding bottom lip as exhibit A.

“Because of you!” You threw her arms up in exacerbation.

“Me? What have I done?” You tried to think of what you could have done to annoy her. You had stopped calling her Badger, you had let her choose what to eat for tea last night – not even complaining when she chose the place with the not-as-nice-but-just-as-expensive-Sushi – you had done everything as normal today, going so far to drag her away for a steamy makeout session in the bathrooms before practice. Was that what she was upset over?

“No m'has trucat, Badger” she whispered so quietly you could barely hear her.

“Oni, I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you.” You explained “What did you say?”

“You haven’t called me Badger all day. And last night. Did I do something? Have I annoyed you? You always call me Badger unless you’re angry at me. So ... What. Did. I. Do?” She exploded at you, a lone tear streaking down her cheeks. She rushed to wipe it away, but you got there first, kissing her cheek at the same time.

“No, mi vida. You did nothing wrong.” You looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers fiddling nervously together.

“Then what is it? Cos you haven’t called me Badger in over 24 hours now. Something is wrong.” She implored at you.

“I know you don’t like it, so I thought it would just be easier if you didn’t have to tell me and it be all awkward.” She waited a moment, hoping you would meet her eyes. When that was apparently not going to happen, she lifted your chin up with a finger.

“Who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked sternly. Just like the rest of the day, you misunderstood her emotions – thinking she was angry at you for figuring out her secret.

“N-no one.” You croaked out, trying desperately not to cry.

“Mi amor, who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked again, this time her voice a lot calmer.

“It was something that Alexia had said yesterday. She said that Olga called her Lex a few times and it really got on her nerves, but it took her a while for her to say something. And she also said that if someone called her Patella as a nickname, she’d go insane. And it just got me thinking that what if you don’t like being called Badger, ‘cos it’s a nickname based on someone saying your name wrong, but you didn’t want to say anything and I-” you were cut off by soft lips pressing against yours. You hummed throatily as Ona’s hands twisted into your hair, you grip on her waist tightening, pulling her closer to you.

“Don’t think ever again.” She said as you parted, her breath fanning across your face, drowning you in her scent. You must have looked confused, even with your eyes shut. “You said all of this was because you starting thinking. So, don’t ever think again.” You chuckled, pulling her back to you, your lips moulding together perfectly. “You are mi amor. And I am your Badger,” she mumbled between kisses.

“My Badger.” You agreed, shifting yourself underneath her.

“Recuérdame mañana que mate a Alexia por plantar esa estúpida idea en tu cabeza.” She grumbled as you pulled on top of you again.

“Whatever you say,” you started to suck a hicky into her neck. You pulled back slightly so you could see her face. “Badger.” Her kilowatt smile was all the confirmation you needed that Ona really did like being called Badger.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

loved

Can you please write something with Aitana based on the video of her saying “fan number one?” and “you work or not work?”

Hiiii - so I used the dialogue in a way that I don't think I've seen other people use - I didn't want to make it too samey. This is inspired by how hot it was here for a little bit during the summer. Also, sidenote - next weeks post will be out on the Saturday rather than the Friday because of the football/international break. I hope you enjoy <3<3<3

Heat

Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

Description: The heat is getting to everyone in Barcelona

Word Count: 3.5k

One thing you loved about Barcelona was the heat. Coming from England, sunshine was a rarity, and sunshine that was actually warm was a precious commodity that you cherished. You could often be found dozing away in the sunlight, curled up like a cat absorbing the golden rays as you napped your free hours away. The warmth soaked into your skin, loosening the knots of tension that had become second nature in the grey, drizzly days back home. It was as if the sun in Barcelona had a different quality, something richer, more generous, wrapping you in a golden embrace that you had never known in England.

It was something you and your girlfriend had in common. Aitana was as much a sunworshipper as you were, perhaps even more so. Raised in the heart of Catalonia, she had grown up with the sun as a constant companion, and she revelled in its warmth with a kind of effortless grace that you admired. While you had learned to cherish the sun’s rare appearances in your life, for Aitana, it was a way of life. She would often tease you about how you could fall asleep anywhere as long as the sun was shining, but the truth was, she was no different.

The two of you had a ritual – every off-day, when you finally had time to relish in the sunshine to your heart’s content, you would pack a small bag with some snacks, a blanket, and a book or two, and head out to one of Barcelona’s many parks. Sometimes it was the sprawling greenery of Parc de la Ciutadella, with its majestic fountain and shaded pathways. Other times, you preferred the more secluded spots, like the hidden corners of Montjuïc, where the trees provided just enough shade to keep the heat bearable, but still allowed the sunlight to filter through.

You’d find a spot, lay down the blanket, and spend hours just basking in the warmth. Aitana would stretch out beside you, her hand always finding yours as you both soaked in the sun. There was something so simple, so pure, about those moments. The world would fade away, and it would be just the two of you, cocooned in a bubble of warmth and contentment. Sometimes you’d talk, sharing dreams and stories, your voices mingling with the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. Other times, you’d fall into a comfortable silence, letting the sun do all the talking.

But one thing you hated about Barcelona was also the heat. You weren’t used to it. The relentless sun that you had once welcomed with open arms quickly became an overbearing force, pressing down on you with an intensity that made you feel like you were perpetually walking through a furnace. You found yourself sticky, sweaty, and hot far too often for your liking. The sweat would bead on your forehead, trickle down your back, and make your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. You felt like you couldn’t breathe in the heat, the suffocating temperatures wrapping around you like an unwanted blanket.

This was where you and Aitana differed. She relished in the heat. The intensity that overwhelmed you seemed to invigorate her. Where you saw oppressive warmth, she saw life brimming with energy. Aitana would thrive under the sun’s unyielding rays, her skin glowing, her movements light and carefree. She seemed to draw strength from the very heat that left you seeking refuge.

On those days when the sun blazed down mercilessly, you’d find her with an easy smile on her face, wandering the streets of the city as if the heat were a friend she was catching up with after a long absence. While you sought anywhere with cooler air, she would coax you back into the light, playfully insisting that a little more sun wouldn’t do you any harm. Sometimes, she’d lead you to the beach, where she would dive into the cool Mediterranean waters with a laugh, emerging refreshed and radiant. You’d follow, grateful for the temporary relief, but always aware that as soon as you left the water, the heat would be waiting for you again.

Yet, despite the discomfort, there was something about the way Aitana embraced the heat that made it bearable for you, even on the worst days. Her joy was infectious, her love for the sun a reminder of why you had fallen in love with Barcelona in the first place. She had a way of making you forget the sweat trickling down your back, or the way your clothes clung to your skin. Instead, she made you focus on the beauty around you – the vibrant colours of the city, the scent of blooming flowers, the laughter of children playing in the fountains.

Barça knew all about your conundrum surrounding the heat. It was a running joke among your teammates, how the sunlight and heat seemed to be locked in an eternal duel, yet somehow always managed to work together to make your life both blissful and unbearable. Sunlight often battled with the heat, but they were a bonded pair—you couldn’t have one without the other, much like they would find you trailing close behind Aitana as she traipsed around the city. The team would rib you about it in the locker room, laughing as they imagined you wilting under the sun's rays, while Aitana, always vibrant, led the way through the bustling streets of Barcelona.

It had become something of a ritual for the team to watch you struggle with the heat during training sessions. The mid-afternoon sun would hang high in the sky, relentless and unforgiving, as you ran drills on the pitch. While your teammates seemed to have adjusted to the searing temperatures, you were still caught in a love-hate relationship with the heat. You’d catch them grinning as you wiped the sweat from your brow, the back of your shirt clinging to your skin, while they effortlessly powered through the drills.

This wasn’t usually a problem—the gym was air-conditioned to a frigid temperature, offering a welcome reprieve from the sweltering outdoors. The cool blast of air that greeted you as you stepped inside was a small but cherished comfort. The staff, always attentive, kept extra ice packs and cold towels on hand, ready to pass them your way during particularly grueling sessions. They had come to expect your need for these little luxuries, and you had become something of a connoisseur of the best ways to beat the heat.

You were usually the first to dive into the ice baths, even when it wasn’t on your designated recovery schedule. The shock of the cold water was intense, but it was also the quickest way to bring your body temperature down from the brink of boiling over. You’d sink into the icy depths with a sigh of relief, feeling the cold seep into your muscles, soothing the burn from hours spent under the relentless sun. The other players would laugh and shake their heads, knowing you’d be there long before any of them even considered it.

Yet, despite all the precautions, the heat had a way of creeping back into your bones the moment you stepped outside. The contrast between the chill of the gym and the furnace waiting outside always caught you off guard, no matter how many times you experienced it. It was as if the sun, sensing your brief escape, redoubled its efforts to remind you who was in charge. The walk from the training facility back to your car felt like a marathon, the heat radiating up from the pavement, wrapping around you like an oppressive cloak.

Your teammates often teased you about this too, their voices carrying over the sound of cleats on concrete as they watched you dart from one patch of shade to the next. “Careful, chica, you might melt before you get to the car!” they’d joke, their laughter ringing out in the sun-drenched parking lot. But it was all in good fun, and you’d laugh along with them, shaking your head as you fumbled with your keys, already looking forward to the sanctuary of the air-conditioned interior.

While the heat was your enemy, you knew how to combat it. You had your routines, your strategies, your little comforts that made the relentless sun bearable. Until the day the air-con broke.

It had been on its last legs for a while now, the fan making a strange clanking noise that echoed through the gym like a ticking time bomb. You and your teammates had joked about it, but there was an unspoken understanding that the day it finally gave out would be a disaster. The unit had a habit of cutting out at random intervals, plunging the gym into a suffocating stillness until someone managed to coax it back to life with a few well-placed taps. But this time, it was different.

It was a scorching afternoon, the kind where the heat seemed to seep into everything, turning the city into an oven. The air outside shimmered with intensity, and stepping into the gym usually felt like a sweet relief. But not today. The moment you pushed open the door, you were hit by a wall of stifling air, thick and heavy, clinging to your skin like a wet blanket. The usual blast of cool air was conspicuously absent, and instead, the gym felt like an extension of the inferno outside.

You exchanged a glance with Aitana, the dread setting in as the reality of the situation sunk in. The air-con was dead – really dead this time. The fan was silent, the strange clanking noise gone, but not in the way you’d hoped. There was no more coaxing it back to life. The temperature inside the gym was already climbing, the walls seeming to radiate heat that had nowhere to escape.

“Oh, amor meu,” Aitana sighed, already dreading the moans that would be coming her way throughout the session. She looked at you wearily as your studied the machine forlornly.

“Maybe … maybe someone can fix it?” you looked up at her hopefully, eyes pleading innocently.

“I’m sure they’ll get a maintenance guy in,” she smiled at you. Aitana's smile was both reassuring and sympathetic, but you could see the glint of amusement in her eyes. She knew exactly how much you dreaded the heat, especially in a place where you had come to rely on the cool, controlled environment of the gym. Still, she tried to offer some comfort, even as the oppressive warmth started to settle around you both like an unwelcome blanket. “They’ll have someone here in no time,” she added, her tone light, though the sweat already beading on her forehead betrayed the discomfort you were both feeling. “Until then, we’ll just have to power through, won’t we?”

You nodded, trying to muster up the same optimism, but the thought of spending the next couple of hours in a gym with no air-con made you want to run back to the car and crank up the AC instead. Aitana, always the more resilient of the two of you when it came to the heat, took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, silently urging you to tough it out.

“Come on,” she said, leading the way to the changing rooms. “We’ll get through this together.”

You did not get through it together. You struggled limply through your workouts - refusing to do the optional extra reps and keeping the weights light. As you looked around the room, it seemed like you were the only one grappling with the oppressive heat.

The native Spanish players, their bodies accustomed to the relentless Barcelona sun, appeared to breeze through their routines. Alexia and Mapí chatted amiably through their sets, the heat barely registering on their relaxed faces. Irene and Marta, both seasoned in navigating the city's sweltering conditions, moved with their usual ease, seemingly unaffected as the temperature in the gym climbed higher. Cata, Pina, Patri, and Vicky handled the heat with a nonchalant grace. Even the Scandinavian players, usually the first to wilt under the sun, seemed to be faring better. Ingrid had her hair neatly tied up in a bun, but otherwise, the heat seemed to have minimal impact on her or her teammates.

Frido and Esmee were sharing jokes, their laughter ringing out above the hum of the equipment. Caro, in her typical fashion, was methodically stacking more and more weights onto her machines, her focus unwavering despite the stifling conditions.

It was then that you noticed Keira. She was the only one who seemed to be struggling as visibly as you were. Maybe it was because you both shared an English background, and despite years on the team, you were still not fully acclimated to the heat. Keira, with her freckled skin and usually upbeat demeanour, looked as if she was fighting a losing battle against the oppressive warmth. Her movements were slower, her breaths more laboured, and her usual efficiency in the gym was replaced by a noticeable struggle.

You caught her eye across the room, and she gave you a small, weary smile – a silent acknowledgment of your shared plight. There was something comforting in seeing someone else feeling as drained and overheated as you were. It was a rare moment of camaraderie amidst the collective struggle.

Aitana had left your side a while ago, a subtle sign she was over your complaints about the heat. You felt a little put out by it, but you understood. You knew you could grumble until the cows came home if it felt justified, and though her patience had worn thin, you couldn’t blame her for needing a break from the relentless whining.

You watched as she rejoined the rest of the team, seamlessly slipping back into the rhythm of the workout as if the heat was a minor inconvenience rather than the oppressive force it felt like to you. Her movements were fluid, and her energy seemed unshaken by the sweltering conditions that had left you feeling utterly drained.

As she chatted with her teammates, her laughter cut through the dense air, a reminder of how effortlessly some seemed to adapt. You took a moment to let your frustration settle. Deep down, you knew you were being unreasonable – Aitana had been more than supportive, and her patience had to be running thin after weeks of listening to you moan about the heat.

With a sigh, you decided to focus on finishing your workout. You adjusted your weights and forced yourself to push through the remaining sets. Each rep felt like a small victory against the heat’s oppressive grip. Even if you couldn’t match the others in performance, you could at least maintain your commitment.

By the end of the session, you were thoroughly exhausted, but you felt a slight sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t about setting records or impressing anyone; it was about getting through it, even when it felt nearly impossible.

Your self-imposed silence meant you had finished your workout a lot earlier than the others. You flopped onto the floor, letting the coolness of the mat seep into your skin. The contrast between the refreshing chill of the floor and the relentless heat you’d been battling was a welcome relief, even if it was fleeting.

As you lay there, catching your breath and trying to cool down, you watched the remaining teammates still at work. Their movements were fluid, a testament to their adaptation to the heat, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy mixed with admiration. The intensity of their focus and the ease with which they handled the oppressive warmth was something you hoped to emulate someday.

Minutes ticked by as you lay there, taking in the quiet hum of the gym’s remaining equipment. The distant sounds of grunts and the rhythmic thud of weights being lifted became a soothing backdrop to your respite. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself a few moments of stillness and gratitude for the rare, cool touch of the mat beneath you. You let your mind drift away to icy places; Antarctica and the penguins, the walk-in freezer in the physio rooms, England in the winter.

Someone cleared their throat above you. You cracked one eye open to see Aitana standing with her arms crossed, a scowl gracing her usually smiling features.

“You work or not work?” she asked, unimpressed at your supposed slacking.

“I work, thank you very much, Tana. I’ve just finished,” you said offended at her implications. You sat up, matching her scowl and raising and eyebrow at her. “Just ‘cos I’m not used to the heat doesn’t mean that I’ll slack off.”

Aitana’s eyes softened just a touch, though she kept her arms crossed, her posture still radiating a mix of concern and frustration. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were slacking off. It’s just… you looked like you were resting more than working. And you know how important it is to keep up the intensity, especially when we’re all pushing hard.”

“Yeah, I do know that Aitana. It’s all anyone ever reminds me off whenever I take an extra water break or need a sit down because I think I’m going to faint in the heat.” You huffed, standing up and snatching your water bottle from the floor. “I’ll see you at home.” You snapped as you walked out of the gym.

You knew you were just angry because of the heat. It had a way of getting to you. Aitana was a cuddler, much like you were, but in the heat of the summer, you couldn’t stand to be near her, much less sleeping wrapped around each other like you usually did. It resulted in a sleep-deprived, touch-starved you trying to go about their normal day and push themselves further with the increased intensity of the season.

As you walked out of the gym, the late afternoon sun blazed down with an intensity that only made your frustration worse. Each step felt like wading through a hot, sticky swamp, and the city’s noise blended with the oppressive heat, making it hard to think straight. You tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that the anger you felt was partly a result of the sweltering weather and not just Aitana’s well-meaning but poorly timed comment.

Once you reached your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and slumped onto the couch. The coolness of the indoor air was a brief but welcome respite from the heat outside, though it wasn’t enough to fully ease the agitation that had built up inside you. The usual comfort of being home felt diminished by the weight of the day’s frustrations.

You tried to calm yourself by closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, reminding yourself that Aitana’s intentions were good. She was trying to help, but the heat had made everything seem more intense, including the way you reacted to her. You knew that the combination of exhaustion, heat, and the pressure to keep up was making you more irritable than usual.

You must have fallen asleep because the next thing you knew, you were being woken up by a blast of icy air. You jolted slightly, not used to the coolness on your skin. For a moment, you were disoriented, blinking at the sudden chill that seemed to sweep over you.

As your senses returned, you saw Aitana standing beside you, holding a small handheld fan in her hands and adjusting the settings with a satisfied smile. The cool air that had stirred you was now filling the room, making the previously stifling atmosphere feel refreshingly crisp.

“Bona tarda, amor meu,” Aitana said softly, her tone laced with affection.

“Hi, Tana,” you smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you that was as comforting as the cool breeze.

“I thought you might appreciate a little cool relief after the heat of the day.” You sighed, relief flooding your body as you felt yourself cool down.

“Thank you, baby,” you said, shifting to sit up and lean against her. You didn’t recognise the fan – small, white, with red and blue stripes clearly hand-coloured, and a large number 1 printed on the side.

“Fan number one?” you guessed, your lips curving into a playful smile.

“Exactly!” Aitana laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And fan number two.” She reached behind her and produced an identical fan, its stripes and number 2 matching the first one perfectly.

Aitana grinned and settled beside you, aiming one of the small devices in her direction. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” you said quietly, not wanting to break the peace.

“And I’m sorry I implied you were slacking.” Aitana’s smile softened as she reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm. “We both let the heat get to us. It’s been a tough few days, and I guess we both needed to cool off a bit, in more ways than one.

“I love you, Tana.” You sighed, feeling your eyes slip shut.

“T'estimo, amor meu.” You felt Aitana place a feather light kiss to your hair.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

I was just trying to breathe (and then you knocked)

+/- 7500 words - the long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the loneliness - Angst and Fluff - Mentions of loneliness and grief - Please read with care.

I was feeling a bit lonely, that's when my creative brain hit and got this out of my system. I loved the process of writing this one. Felt kind of reassuring and relieving. I tried my best spanish. I hope that you like this. Please leave some feedback if you want to. Enjoy reading!

The coffee’s bitter. You ordered it with sugar but the woman behind the counter must’ve forgotten. Or maybe you didn’t speak loud enough. It doesn’t matter. You drink it anyway.

The little cafe is nearly empty, which suits you fine. There’s a kind of comfort in being alone among strangers. Like being a ghost no one realizes is haunting the room.

You’ve been coming here almost every day since moving out. Not because it’s good. It isn’t, really. But because it’s somewhere. Somewhere to sit. Somewhere to feel like life is happening around you, even if you’re not quite part of it.

It’s early spring but the wind outside still bites. You’ve got your coat wrapped around you too tight and your scarf smells like the box you pulled it out of. You tell yourself you’re just tired. Not lonely. Just tired.

You scroll your phone with the sort of dead-eyed hope that maybe, this time, there’ll be something different. A message. A job interview. A friend remembering you exist. But all you get is the usual silence.

You’re halfway through your lukewarm toast when the door opens. You don’t look up at first. Too used to people coming and going. But something makes you glance up. Maybe it’s the shift in the room. The way cold air rushes in behind her, carrying the kind of gravity that some people just have without meaning to.

She’s tall. Not just in height, but in presence. Blonde hair tied back. Headphones around her neck. Suitcase at her feet. She’s got this look in her eyes that’s both determined and completely elsewhere.

You watch her order, half-listening. Her voice is low. Raspy like she hasn’t used it much lately. Her accent marks her as Catalan. She says 'gràcies' like it’s a muscle she’s trying to keep from forgetting how to move.

She picks a seat by the window. Not too far from you. Just two tables down. Close enough that you can hear the quiet zip of her backpack opening. The creak of her leather jacket when she sits.

You try not to stare, but you do.

Because there’s something about her that feels familiar. Not in a 'have we met before?' kind of way. But in that deeper, unspoken language of grief. The way she keeps her eyes down. The way she sits like she’s been carved out from the inside. Like she’s trying to take up less space than she actually does.

She’s young. Your age, maybe. Eighteen, give or take. But she looks older in the way people do when something big has happened. Something that cracked them open and left the wound just under the skin.

You wonder what she’s running from. Or maybe what she's running to. The suitcase hints at movement. Transition. Maybe she’s leaving someone. Maybe she’s lost someone.

You don’t mean to, but your eyes catch hers for half a second. She doesn’t flinch but she doesn’t smile either. Just looks. Like she’s trying to decide whether or not you’re real.

You glance away. The toast tastes like cardboard now.

There’s a strange electricity in the air. Not romantic, not yet. Just present. A kind of awareness. Two people orbiting just close enough to feel the pull.

She sets her coffee down with a little too much force. Like maybe her hands are heavier than they should be. She stares out the window like it’s easier than looking at the world.

And you... you do what you always do. You say nothing.

But something in you shifts.

You think: maybe she’s just as lost as I am.

You think: maybe we’re both just pretending not to fall apart.

You don’t know her name yet.

You don’t know that she just buried her father two months ago and hasn’t really spoken to her sister since. She tries with her mother. It's all a lot.

You don’t know that the suitcase beside her holds more than clothes. That it holds a thousand moments she hasn’t let herself cry about. Jerseys that still smell like the old house. Letters she never sent. A football tucked into the corner like a relic from a life that feels like someone else’s now.

You don’t know that she got a call from Barcelona and said yes without knowing why. That she’s scared, too. That she sat in the buss for an hour too long before deciding she wasn’t ready to arrive yet.

But you will.

You’ll learn all of it, eventually. In glances. In silence. In the way she finally says your name one night like it’s an answer to a question she didn’t know she’d been asking.

But for now... it’s just you and her.

Two strangers. Two cups of bitter coffee.

And the slow, quiet beginning of something that neither of you has words for yet.

You don’t expect to see her again.

People like that, they pass through. Like train station echoes or songs heard in a shop you never find again. Beautiful in the moment. Gone before you realize you were holding your breath.

But life... as it turns out... has a strange sense of timing.

It’s three days later. The hallway in your apartment smells like paint and dust, and the landlord is still pretending that 'we’re fixing the boiler next week' means anything. You’re halfway up the stairs with two bags of groceries cutting into your fingers when you hear it. The soft thud of footsteps. A door clicking shut.

You glance up.

And there she is.

Same suitcase. Same leather jacket. A different hoodie. This one a deep navy blue. Sleeves stretched over her hands. She’s staring at the apartment across from yours like it’s a puzzle she doesn’t know how to solve.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

She turns when she hears you. Slow. Careful. Like maybe she was hoping she’d be alone. Her eyes widen a fraction when she recognizes you. But still, no smile. Just that same guarded curiosity. Like she’s waiting for you to speak first.

You do.

“…Hey.”

She nods. “Hi.”

Your voice sounds stupid in your ears. Too sharp. Too awkward. You shift your weight, adjusting the bags in your hands as if that might distract from the heat climbing up your neck.

“I guess we’re neighbors now?”

A pause. She nods again, then glances at the door. “Yeah. I think so.”

You catch the edge of her accent again. Soft and clipped. Heavy with something unspoken. She fumbles for the key like her hands don’t quite trust themselves. When she finally gets the door open, it sticks. Of course it does. Everything in this building is a little broken.

You speak before you think.

“Want help?”

She hesitates.

And then... barely... she steps back. “Sure.”

You wedge your foot against the doorframe. Lean your shoulder into it and it groans open with a reluctant creak. The air inside is cold and stale. Like no one’s been in there for a while. The lights are off.

You step back, letting her enter first.

“Thanks,” she says, quiet. She doesn’t look at you when she says it.

“No problem.”

You’re not sure if you’re supposed to leave now. She’s halfway through dragging the suitcase over the threshold when she glances back.

“I’m Alexia.”

She says it like it’s a warning, not a name.

You tell her yours. You don’t add the way your heart skips a beat when she says hers. You don’t ask why it sounds so familiar. You’ll figure it out later. The small articles. The youth matches. The 'future of Spanish football' label she’s already tired of hearing.

For now, she’s just Alexia.

She nods again, as if sealing some silent contract between you.

And then she disappears inside, door closing with a soft finality.

You don’t see her again for two more days.

You think about her, though. Not obsessively, just… often. In the way your brain keeps replaying the way she stood. Shoulders too tense, like she was trying not to shake. You wonder if she’s eating. If she’s sleeping. If the apartment next door is just as cold and empty as it looked.

Then, one night, you hear it.

It’s late. Past 1 a.m. You’re sitting on your floor. Curled under a blanket. Eating cereal and watching a dumb movie on your laptop with the volume low. And then, through the thin wall, you hear it:

Crying.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… quiet. The kind of crying people do when they’re trying not to be heard. Choked and slow. Like something being wrung out of her.

It punches a hole in your chest.

You don’t know what to do.

You press your ear closer to the wall. Not to spy. Just to know. To be sure you’re not imagining it. But it’s real. Raw and muffled and awful.

You want to knock on her door. You want to bring her tea. You want to do something. Anything. To ease the weight in her voice.

But you don’t.

Because what do you say to someone you barely know. Who carries grief like a second skin?

So you sit there, still, listening to the sound of heartbreak leaking through plaster.

And somehow... in the stillness of that night, something in you softens.

You’re not alone in your loneliness anymore.

And neither is she.

You’re not a morning person.

Not in the cute, relatable, oops-I-snoozed-again kind of way. More like a slow-moving existential ghost who regrets all life choices before 10 a.m. You’ve made peace with that. Sort of.

You're wrapped in an old hoodie. You're staring blankly at the kettle as it rattles its way toward boiling, when there’s a knock at your door.

Not a loud knock. Just a hesitant, single rap. Like whoever’s on the other side isn’t even sure they want to be there.

You don’t expect it to be her.

But when you open the door... there she is.

Alexia.

She looks like she hasn’t slept. Her hoodie’s creased at the elbows, and her ponytail is slightly lopsided in a way that makes you feel like maybe she didn’t look in a mirror this morning. There’s something raw in her expression. Not emotional, exactly, but stripped back. Honest.

“…Sorry,” she says, voice raspy. “Do you, uh...”

She clears her throat. Looks down at her feet like they might have the courage she’s missing.

“Do you have any food?”

You blink. “Food?”

“I haven’t gone shopping yet.”

You process this slowly. You think of the crying through the wall. You think of the dark, empty apartment. The way she looked at her suitcase like it had teeth.

“Um. Yeah. I mean. Kind of.”

You open the door wider.

She hesitates for a second, then steps inside like she’s doing something illegal. her eyes flick around your small kitchen-living-room situation. The cluttered counter. The single dying plant on the windowsill. The cereal box you forgot to put away.

“This is fine?” she asks.

“It's all I've got,” you mutter. “I’m not exactly… a breakfast person.”

She doesn't answer. She just sits at your tiny table. Silent. You pour two bowls of cereal. Slightly embarrassed by how unimpressive your hospitality is, and push one toward her.

She digs in like it’s the first real meal she’s had in days.

You try not to stare. But it’s hard not to notice how fast she eats. Not messily. Just… focused. Like the bowl is a battlefield she’s determined to win.

You clear your throat. Unsure if you should fill the silence or let her have it.

“So… you just moved in yesterday?”

She nods. Swallows. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again after the café.”

She offers a faint shrug. “Didn’t think I’d end up across the hall.”

There’s a pause. The kind that stretches just a second too long. You sip your coffee. She pours herself a second bowl without asking. And you respect that, actually.

“You got plans today?” you ask. Mostly just to hear something other than the scrape of her spoon.

Her expression shifts. Just slightly. A flash of something. Nerves? Determination?

“Yeah,” she says. “First day. At Barça.”

You pause mid-sip. “Barça like… Barcelona? Football Barça?”

She nods, casual. Like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t just casually drop a bomb.

You try to play it cool. Fail miserably.

“Wait. You’re a footballer?”

Another shrug. “Trying to be.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Cool.”

It’s the least cool thing you’ve ever said.

She gives a small, almost-smile. Barely there. But enough to knock the wind out of you for a second. It softens her face. Rounds the hard edges you didn’t know you were watching for.

She finishes the second bowl. Looks up.

“Thanks,” she says, quietly. “For this.”

“No problem.”

You’re not sure if she means the food, or the silence you gave her while she ate it. Maybe both.

When she leaves, the room feels heavier. Not in a bad way. Just… quieter. Like something’s changed. Like you let someone in, even just for a moment, and now the air can’t go back to how it was.

You rinse out the bowls and wonder how long she hadn’t eaten.

You wonder why you care.

You wonder if she’ll knock again.

And then you sit back at your table. Staring at the empty seat across from you. Trying to ignore the very stupid. Very real ache blooming in your chest.

It’s just cereal.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But somehow, it already does.

You’re at your second class when your mind starts drifting.

It’s not that the lecture is boring... not really. It’s just that your thoughts keep sneaking away. Folding back into the apartment building. To the quiet next door.

You wonder how Alexia’s first day went.

Did the team impress her? Did they laugh with her or at her? Did she feel like she belonged. Or like she was still trying to find the rhythm in a song she barely knew?

You catch yourself hoping she’s okay.

You don’t know why.

You shove your phone into your bag, trying to focus. But even when you’re scribbling notes... your brain loops back to that breakfast, to the way she ate like she hadn’t eaten in days and the way her eyes flickered with something unreadable when she said 'Barça.'

The afternoon passes in a blur.

By the time you get back to your apartment, the sky’s bruised purple and the building smells like rain.

You unlock your door and slip inside. Kicking off your shoes. The walls here are thin. Thinner than you thought, and as you settle onto your couch... you hear it again.

That sound.

A soft, choked breath.

Then a voice. Quiet, but cracked with emotion.

You freeze.

It’s Spanish.

A voice you recognize now. Alexia’s.

You lean closer to the wall. Heart hammering.

“Mamá...” she whispers, voice barely more than a tremble.

You catch the ragged edge. The ache beneath her words.

“No sé qué hacer...” she says, voice breaking. “Siento que... que mi hermana me odia. Que... no puedo arreglarlo.”

You imagine her curled on the floor. Knees pulled close. Phone pressed to her ear like a lifeline.

“Es como si todo lo que perdí...” she breathes. Voice thick with grief. “...se juntara y no pudiera respirar. No puedo ser fuerte ahora, mamá. No sé cómo.”

You don’t move.

You just listen.

The kind of pain that lives in silences. The kind that feels too big for words.

“Quiero que me entiendas,” she says. “Pero no sé si pueda perdonarme a mí misma. Por dejar todo atrás, por no ser perfecta...”

The line goes quiet for a moment.

Then, soft and broken:

“Te quiero...”

You don’t know what else she says after that.

But you feel it. The raw, fragile hope tangled up in her voice.

She’s not okay.

But she’s still fighting.

And you... you want to be part of that fight.

Even if you don’t know how.

For the first time since you moved in, the loneliness feels… less like a wall and more like a bridge.

You pull your knees close. Heart aching in the best and worst way.

Because sometimes, the loudest words are the ones whispered between walls.

You don’t cook often.

Not because you hate it. Though some days you’re convinced that’s true. But because you’re better at eating food than making it. Your usual approach is to keep things simple: cereal, toast, instant noodles. You’re not the 'let’s make a three-course meal' type. More like the 'please don’t set the kitchen on fire' type.

But today… today you do it on purpose.

Or at least. You try.

You spend an hour fumbling around your tiny kitchen. Trying to follow a recipe for something that looks way more impressive than it turns out. Smoke alarm? Yep. Flour everywhere? Definitely. Pasta boiled dry? Absolutely.

The dish looks… let’s just say it’s not going to win any awards. But it smells good enough to convince you that your effort matters more than perfection.

You wrap it carefully in foil. Slip it into a plastic container and take a deep breath before knocking on Alexia’s door.

Your heart pounds like you’re about to confess a terrible secret.

She opens the door. Eyes widening at the sight of the steaming container in your hands.

“What’s this?”

You shrug, cheeks burning.

“I, uh… I made too much. Thought you might want some.”

She studies you for a moment. Like trying to figure out if you’re serious or joking.

Then, with the smallest smile, she steps aside.

“Come in.”

Her apartment smells different from yours. Cleaner. But colder.

You sit at the edge of her couch. The silence thick but not uncomfortable.

Alexia unwraps the foil carefully. Then takes a tentative bite.

Her eyes flicker.

“It’s… good,” she says softly.

You laugh, relief flooding you.

“Good for someone who almost burned the kitchen down.”

She laughs too. Low and real, the kind that reaches her eyes.

For the first time, the walls between you don’t feel so tall.

And maybe, just maybe, this is how it starts.

You sit cross-legged on her couch. The remnants of your overcooked pasta sitting forgotten between you.

Alexia picks up the empty container. Turning it in her hands.

“Thanks,” she says again. Quieter this time. Like it means something more than just food.

You notice something else. Her water glass is empty and there’s no sign of any other drinks.

“Do you have anything to drink?” you ask. Trying not to sound like you’re prying.

She shakes her head.

“Didn’t get groceries yet.”

You nod, understanding. It’s hard. Easier to let days pass without the effort.

Without thinking much, you say, “Hey… I’m going out to get some stuff. Want to come with me?”

Her eyes flick up. Surprised.

“I mean, if you want,” you add quickly, feeling awkward.

She hesitates.

Then, slowly, a small smile.

“Okay.”

The two of you step out into the warm afternoon. The city humming softly around you.

Walking side by side feels strange at first. A new rhythm you’re both still finding.

At the store, you grab a basket and start picking up essentials: bread, juice, fresh fruit.

She lingers at the shelves. Eyes scanning, then reaching for the yogurt.

You watch her. Noticing the careful way she selects things. Like she’s learning, or maybe relearning, how to take care of herself.

In the checkout line, you talk about little things: the weather, music, the tiny plant in your kitchen that’s somehow still alive.

She laughs. A full unguarded laugh when you admit you once bought instant noodles thinking they were healthy.

It feels easy. It feels good.

And for the first time, the silence between you isn’t heavy. It’s comfortable.

You walk back together. Bags in hand. The city folding around you like a promise.

Maybe this is how healing starts.

One small step.

One shared moment.

One grocery trip at a time.

You’ve made it a thing now. The dinners.

Not formal, not planned far ahead, just a rhythm slowly settling between you. You cook; she eats. Sometimes you talk. Sometimes you sit in comfortable silence.

Tonight, you notice she’s quieter than usual.

You watch her as she picks at her plate. Eyes distant.

You don’t push.

Not yet.

Instead, you refill both your glasses and sit back. Letting the space between you fill with the sound of your quiet breathing and the city humming outside.

After a while, she looks up.

“Did you… want to hear something?”

You nod, heart thudding.

She breathes in, slow and steady.

“My dad died… about a month before Barça called me.”

Her voice is soft, but steady.

“That call... it was everything I ever wanted. The dream.”

She swallows hard, eyes flickering.

“My mom told me to go. Said I had to go. That he’d want me to.”

You reach out, but she shakes her head. Almost smiling sadly.

“But my sister… she saw it differently.”

Her fingers curl around the fork. Tightening.

“She said I was running away. That I didn’t care about him or her.”

Her voice breaks just a little.

“I think… maybe she hates me for leaving.”

You don’t say anything, because what could you say?

Instead, you reach across the table and gently touch her hand.

She doesn’t pull away.

And maybe... for the first time, she lets some of the loneliness out.

You squeeze her hand softly. Hoping she knows you’re there.

No words needed.

Just presence.

You still can’t cook without a minor disaster, but the ritual has grown on you.

Thursday night. You get home before Alexia. Open windows to let the apartment breathe and start something simple that smells like effort. Garlic sizzling, tomatoes stewing, a loaf of bread warming in the oven. She’ll arrive from training hungry and tired. You like the idea that warmth meets her at the door.

It’s almost seven when the knock comes. Earlier than usual. You wipe your hands on a dish towel. Already smiling. But when you open the door it isn’t Alexia.

The woman on the landing is small. Brisk silver strands threaded through chestnut hair. Same hazel eyes. Softer around the corners. She holds a cloth tote and an umbrella still speckled with rain.

“Perdona,” she begins. Accent rich and familiar. “Alexia no está?”

You blink, switch mental gears. “She’s… still at training. I think. Did you want to come in and wait?”

She sighs. Half-laughs at herself. “Ay, claro. Se me olvidó su horario.”

Her disappointment is gentle. Practiced. You feel it brush past you like a draft.

“I’m her...” You falter. Neighbor? Friend? Almost lover? Keeper of Thursday night dinners? None of the words fit neatly. “I live across the hall.”

“Eres la vecina,” she nods with a soft smile. “Me llamo Eli. Soy la madre de Ale.”

She offers her hand. It’s warm, calloused. The kind of hand that’s done a lot of caretaking.

You step back automatically. “Would you like to wait inside? She should be back soon.”

She hesitates. Politeness warring with concern. Then steps inside. The umbrella drips quietly by the door.

Your apartment smells of tomato and oregano. Eli inhales, visibly surprised. “¿Estás cocinando?”

“Trying to,” you murmur, cheeks warming. “It’s… kind of our Thursday thing.”

Her brows lift. Equal parts amused and touched. But she just nods and takes a seat at the table. Resting her tote gently down.

You hover for a moment. Uncertain what to do with someone’s mother in your kitchen. So you fall into your fallback plan. Feed the silence. You stir the sauce again. Slice more bread than necessary, and try not to stare when she scans the room. Your books left open. Your clumsy knife technique.

“Has estado cuidando de ella?” she asks softly.

You shrug, slicing another piece. “We’ve been… keeping each other company.”

She nods, eyes softening. “Eso ayuda. Comer juntas cura más de lo que parece.”

You don’t reply. But your hands move more gently after that. Somehow, the small comment quiets you in a good way.

A key scrapes the hallway lock. You gave your spare one to her. You had forgotten already. Quick footsteps. A gear bag thunked against the wall. Then her voice: “Mamá?”

You meet Alexia in the doorway before she can panic. She’s fresh from training. Skin damp. Cheeks flushed. Her shirt clinging at the collar. When she sees her mother seated at your kitchen table. Her face crumbles for a second. Caught off guard.

“Pensaba que llegarías más tarde,” she says. Stepping in quickly.

“Me equivoqué,” Eli says with a small smile.

Alexia looks at you then, almost apologetic. “We can skip dinner if it’s too much...”

But she trails off when she sees the table. Three plates. A pot still steaming. Bread folded in a towel.

You shrug. “It’s tradition now, right?”

Her expression softens. Tired, grateful. “No rompamos la tradición.”

While Alexia showers, you and Eli ferry the dishes to Alexia's apartment. She insists on it, mumbling something about her place finally needing to smell like food.

The apartment’s still not quite lived-in. Boxes, a rug still rolled up in a corner but the photo on the shelf catches your eye. Two girls, arms tight around each other. A beach in the background. The hair shorter. The smiles wider.

Dinner starts a little stiff. Elisabet asks about training. Alexia responds in short bursts. Distracted by her water glass. You offer small talk about your classes. About the weather. About the neighbor upstairs who seems to always be vacuuming at night. Anything to ease the edges.

But eventually, things soften. Alexia tells a story about a teammate’s terrible playlist in the locker room. You laugh. Eli laughs, too, hand over her mouth. And for a while, it’s easy.

Then Eli glances at the photo on the shelf, and you watch Alexia’s spine straighten almost imperceptibly.

“Cómo está Alba?” she asks, quieter now.

“Está… todavía enojada,” Eli replies gently. “Necesita tiempo.”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. She looks down at her plate. “¿Y si nunca…?”

She doesn’t finish the thought. You don’t push her to.

You tear a piece of bread in two and place half on her plate. She glances up. Meets your eyes just long enough for something unspoken to settle between you.

Eli reaches across the table, hand covering Alexia’s.

“Lo arreglarán,” she says. “Tu padre estaría orgulloso de ti, Ale.”

Alexia doesn’t cry. But you can feel her holding it back like it’s breaking against the walls inside her.

You don’t say anything. You just pour more water. Give her space to breathe.

Eventually, dinner ends. Eli yawns behind her hand, and Alexia insists on walking her to the taxi. At the door, she turns to you.

“Gracias por todo,” Eli says, and hugs you with surprising strength. You hug her back. Quietly floored.

You wait on the couch until the door clicks again. Alexia walks in, still damp from the night air. Eyes a little red.

“Sorry if that was weird,” she says. Rubbing her hands over her face.

“It wasn’t weird,” you reply gently. “It was dinner.”

She gives a soft laugh. “Thanks… for keeping it going.”

You smile. “Tradition.”

She stands there a second, watching you with something unreadable behind her tired expression.

“You make things less hard,” she murmurs. Almost like it slips out before she can filter it.

Your heart stumbles, caught off guard. But you nod, soft. “You do, too.”

She walks you to the door. Neither of you says it, but you both feel it. That something is shifting. Not in a rush. But slowly. Trust making its way through the cracks.

“Next week,” she says, almost teasing now, “I’m cooking.”

You laugh as you step into the hall. “God help us both.”

The door clicks behind you. You stand still a moment, breathing. Then lean back against your side of the wall, wondering if she’s doing the same just a few feet away.

The ritual holds.

Thursday dinners continue.

And beneath it, something steady is growing. Not fast. Not flashy. But real.

At first, you tell yourself she’s just tired. First weeks on a new team. Endless drills. Media obligations. You stir your pasta with one hand. Phone face-up beside the cutting board. Waiting for her name to flash. But it doesn’t.

The days after her mother’s visit stretch out strange and quiet.

You don’t see her in the hallway. No knocks. No text.

No Thursday dinner.

You think about checking in, more than once. But you don’t want to crowd her. And still... when you lie down at night, the quiet through the shared wall feels different. Heavier. Not just absence but something heavier beneath it.

Until Saturday night.

It’s late. You’re curled on the couch with a book you’ve been pretending to read for an hour. The streetlamp casting long shadows across your floor.

Then you hear it.

Muffled. Familiar now in the worst way. Crying.

At first you freeze. It’s not loud. Not the gasping kind but it’s raw. Choked. Like someone trying not to break and failing anyway. You sit up slowly. Heart already crawling up your throat.

You wait... ten seconds, maybe thirty. But it doesn’t stop.

And then you’re on your feet.

There’s no answer, but you hear movement inside. Bare feet on tile, the low creak of a door opening.

You cross the hallway barefoot, knock once. Soft, unsure. Nothing.

Then again, firmer.

When it finally swings open, Alexia’s eyes are red. She doesn’t try to hide it. Doesn’t apologize. She just looks at you like she isn’t sure if she should speak or collapse.

“I’m sorry,” she says and it comes out broken.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I just... I heard you.”

A pause. Then she steps back, opens the door wider. “Come in.”

The apartment is dim. Lit only by the glow from the kitchen window. There’s a half-folded hoodie on the floor. A photo frame face-down on the table. Her voice catches as she tries to explain.

“I just… I didn’t want you to see me like...”

You close the door behind you gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

She falls into you.

And then, without thinking, you do something stupid and brave.

You reach out. You think she might pull away. That she’ll shrug it off or pretend it’s nothing. But instead...

No warning. No sound. Just collapses forward. Arms around your waist. Face buried into your shoulder. The sob that rips out of her is the kind that’s been waiting days. You hold her tighter.

She doesn’t let go.

You don’t either.

You feel her whole body tremble. Hands gripping the back of your shirt. Hair damp at your neck. It goes on for minutes. Maybe hours. Time suspends when grief is involved.

And all the while, you whisper nothing. Just hold her. Anchor her. Let her know she isn’t alone in this echo.

When her crying finally slows. Throat raw, breath uneven. She pulls back just enough to look at you.

“I have my first match tomorrow,” she whispers.

You nod. “Barça?”

She nods once, then looks away. Her voice drops to something so small it barely exists. “Él no estará.”

Your chest tightens.

“My dad,” she adds, like she needs to clarify, though she doesn’t. “He’d been waiting for it since I was twelve. Said the day I wore that jersey for real, he’d… he’d cry right in the stands.”

She laughs once, bitter and quiet. “Now I’m the only one crying.”

You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Careful like touching glass. “He’d be proud. You know that, right?”

She shrugs. “It’s not the same.”

You want to say something. Anything. But some pain doesn���t have words. So you settle for the truth. Quiet but full.

“I’ll be there.”

She looks at you. Startled.

“I promised myself,” you say. More to her than to you now. “The first time you wear that jersey… someone who gives a damn should be watching.”

Her lip trembles. You think she might cry again. But instead, she nods.

“Okay.”

She walks you to the door slowly. As if time has started again but neither of you are ready for it.

“Get some sleep,” you say softly.

She nods again. Then... just before the door closes... she reaches for your hand. Squeezes once. Not needing to say thank you because the squeeze says it all.

You walk back across the hall with your heart full and aching.

Tomorrow, she will wear the colors she’s dreamed of.

Tomorrow, her father won’t be there.

But you will.

And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough. For now.

You don’t even like football.

That’s what you tell yourself. Walking toward the stadium early. hands deep in your jacket pockets and heart pulsing like it’s tied to something bigger than nerves.

You’re not sure what you expected. Myaybe an echo chamber of people, maybe it would make you feel like you were intruding on something too sacred. But instead it feels oddly… tender.

The kind of day where the sky holds a little too much light Like it hasn’t decided whether to be spring or grief. You walk with the slow trickle of fans entering early and you sit low in the stands. Close enough to see expressions. To feel the weight of the anthem when it rolls across the pitch like a held breath.

You don’t know which number is hers. But then she steps out.And you know. Of course you know.

She doesn’t look at the crowd. Not right away. She walks with her head high and her shoulders back, but there’s something in her arms. Her gait. The tension in her mouth that says: I’m holding something in.

Her teammates greet her. A few smiles. One ruffle of her hair. And the anthem begins.

Then she turns. Looks up toward the stands. Scanning.

And for one brief second... your heart in your throat... her eyes land on you.

She doesn't wave. Doesn't smile. But she sees you. And it’s enough.

You don't cheer like everyone else. You just press your hands into your thighs and let the music rise through your ribs like something that belongs to someone else. And all the while, you keep watching her.

She's good. Of course she is. Fluid, fast, intentional. You don’t understand half the movements but you understand the look on her face. The focus. The weight. The ache she carries with her every step.

You glance a few seats to your left and recognize her mother instantly. Eli small and straight-backed in her seat. And next to her, someone else: younger, sharper-edged. Her sister?

She has Alexia’s eyes.

They both sit still through most of the game. Hands tense. They don't cheer wildly. They just watch. Like it costs them something.

The game ends 2-1. Alexia doesn’t score but she assists the second goal. A perfect pass that splits the defense like glass. The stadium erupts.

But she doesn’t smile.

Not even after the whistle. Just stands still. Breathing hard. Chest rising under the crest of the shirt she always wanted. She turns toward the stands again.

You watch it happen like a private moment made public. Something cracks. And then she walks... jogs... across the field. Past her coach. Past her teammates. Straight toward the edge of the barrier.

And her face changes when she sees them. Her mother.

Her sister.

Her sister is already on her feet.

You think you see her hesitate. Just for a second.

Then Alba leans down. Arms open.

And Alexia folds into her like she was always meant to.

Her shoulders shake. Her hands cling to her sister’s back. And the sob she lets out. Raw and shaking. Makes you forget there’s anyone else in the stadium at all.

You see Alba pull her closer. You can't hear them. But you imagine it.

Lo siento. Lo siento. Estoy aquí.

Her mother presses a hand to her mouth. Wipes her cheek. Doesn't interrupt.

You don’t move. You don’t look away.

Because this... this moment... is everything.

It’s not the dream she planned. Her father isn’t there to cry in the stands. But her sister is. Her mother is. You are.

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe grief is something that never stops echoing. but on some days, it finds harmony.

When she finally steps back, her face blotched and red and so alive, she lifts her head again. Scans.

Finds you.

And this time, she nods.

Not a wave. Not a smile. Just that.

A single, quiet, thank you. Shared across a stadium full of noise.

You stay seated even as people start to leave. Your chest hurts in the way that means something changed.

You showed up.

And so did she.

And though you don’t say it aloud, you know in your gut.

This is only the beginning.

You hear the knock late.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment again. Bowl of microwaved leftovers abandoned beside you. TV remote untouched. You didn’t even change after coming back from the stadiu. Just tossed your jacket off. Kicked your shoes halfway across the room and sat down like the match had left too much in you to do anything else.

So when she knocks. Soft. Hesitant. Your body knows it’s her before your brain does.

You open the door.

She’s still in her training gear. The Barça crest still pressed to her chest. Her cheeks are pink like she never let the adrenaline fade. Her hair’s tied back and messy. She looks...

Tired.

And something else, too.

You don’t say anything. Just step aside.

She walks in slow. Doesn’t sit. Just stands in the middle of the room like she’s not sure if she came here for food or air or something heavier.

Finally, she speaks.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

You nod, gently. “You’re not.”

She turns, slowly. Looks at you in that way she’s done a few times now. Eyes raw. Guarded. Vulnerable and unreadable at the same time. “My mom and Alba went back already. I didn’t ask them to stay. I don’t know why.”

“You don’t have to know why,” you say.

She exhales like it’s a surrender.

Then sits, slowly, on the edge of your couch. Silent.

You follow. Curl up opposite her. Not touching. Not crowding. Just near.

“It meant everything,” she says. Eyes not quite meeting yours, “that you were there.”

You nod. “I told you I would be.”

Alexia looks at her hands. Turns her wrist over like there’s something she needs to read there. “I thought I would feel proud today.”

“You didn’t?”

She hesitates. “I did. But I also...” Her voice catches. “I just kept thinking. He missed it. He missed me. And I... I think maybe I’ve been angry at him for that.”

Silence. You let it exist.

Then...

“I think that’s okay,” you say, careful. “To be angry.”

She swallows. “And with Alba too. She needed me to grieve with her and I... left. I left to chase a dream. And I don’t even know if I did the right thing.”

“You did the brave thing,” you say. “You didn’t run from it. You carried it with you.”

She blinks hard. Doesn’t cry this time. But there’s something else in her face. Like the edge of a decision she’s been circling around for weeks.

Then she leans forward. Eyes suddenly locked on yours. “I don’t want to feel this alone anymore.”

Her voice breaks open on the word alone. And suddenly, everything you’ve been pretending to ignore for weeks rushes forward like a breath held too long.

You don’t think. You don’t plan. You just shift closer. Knees brushing. Palms against the couch cushion between you. You wait.

“I’ve been so afraid,” she whispers.

You nod. “Me too.”

And then she leans in.

Not rushed. Not dramatic. Not a crash. But a slow, trembling choice. Her eyes flutter closed just before her lips find yours. Soft, careful, questioning.

You kiss her back.

Not because you’d planned to.

But because you couldn’t not.

Her hand brushes your jaw. Your fingers find the side of her leg. It’s slow. Like you’re both afraid to wake something fragile.

When you pull back, her forehead rests against yours. You both stay like that for a breath. Two.

Then she says, “I don’t know what this is.”

You smile... small and full. “It doesn’t have to be anything yet.”

She leans back. Eyes still on you. “But I want it to be something.”

You let that settle in the space between you. Like a promise. Like an answer to a question you’d never asked out loud.

Outside, the world is quiet. Barcelona holds its breath.

Inside, she leans into you again. This time not for a kiss, but to rest her head on your shoulder. A small surrender. A bigger beginning.

You reach for her hand... and this time... she doesn’t let go.

The walls here are thick. Solid.

They don’t echo voices. Or carry the sounds of late-night crying through plaster. They don’t creak when someone shifts their weight on the other side. They don’t hum with loneliness.

And you both notice.

You joked about it once. Early on. Standing in the empty living room with a cheap pizza box on the floor and keys in your hand. Alexia had walked from room to room like a kid in a museum. Barefoot and wide-eyed. Until she leaned in behind you and whispered, “Now we can finally discover each other without paper-thin walls, eh?”

She had kissed your neck afterward. And then the joke was less funny and more true.

It’s been two years since that first knock on your door.

Since cereal and grief and quiet Thursday dinners that turned into lifelines. Since that first Barça match where she found you in the crowd before she found her family in the front row. Since the night she whispered, “I don’t want to feel this alone anymore,” and your world split open.

Now?

Now, you have your own mugs lined up in the kitchen cabinet. One has the Barça crest on it. The other is chipped and plain but always ends up in her hand anyway. There’s a bike leaning against the hallway wall she keeps saying she’ll fix. A laundry basket overflowing in your bedroom and two passports tucked into a drawer with the little ticket stub from your first trip to Ibiza.

Alexia is thriving.

She walks through the door most nights with grass still clinging to her socks and a smile that tells you how training went before she even speaks. Her English is sharper now, more confident but she still mumbles through early mornings and sometimes mixes up your shampoo with hers.

You finished your studies a few months ago. Your degree hangs beside the kitchen calendar. Crooked because neither of you are handy but perfect anyway. You work full-time now. Something stable. Something good. And most evenings when you both get home, you drop your bags in the same corner and say the same thing:

“Hey. You okay?”

And the answer, more often than not, is yes.

Some days are still heavy. Grief doesn’t leave completely. It lingers, soft-edged and familiar. But Alexia talks to her sister now. They’ve built something new. Not the same as before but strong in its own way. Her mother visits more, too. She still brings flan and always kisses your cheek twice like she’s known you longer than she has.

You think about how far you’ve both come, sometimes. Especially on nights like this.

She’s curled up on the couch. Your legs tangled with hers. A match replay humming low on the TV in the background. You’re half-watching her more than the game. The way her brow still furrows when she watches herself play. The way her fingers drum against your ankle like she can’t not touch you, even unconsciously.

You lean into her shoulder.

She turns, soft-eyed, and murmurs, “Sabes qué?”

You smile, lazy. “¿Qué?”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just brushes her thumb across your knee, gaze lingering.

Then, quietly:

“Gracias por quedarte.”

You close your eyes, just for a second, breathing it in. Her voice. Her presence. This place that is now yours.

“I never wanted to be anywhere else,” you say.

And you mean it. In every room of this home. In every part of this life you’ve built slow and true. You mean it.

Outside, the city moves on. The world spins.

But here... with thick walls, warm skin, and all the time in the world... you stay.

Together.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

so happy and proud to be a gooner

proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.

[sky-the-trans-guy00]

so if you need a hero

kika nazareth x firefighter!reader

A/N: pure unadulterated smut, thus minors DNI, thanks

wc 3k

It's midnight and your shift is about to end when the bell rings and you're suddenly behind the driver's wheel of a van just minutes later, yawing so hard that your eyes tear up slightly. Thankfully, it doesn't seem to be anything serious since it wasn't a specific code, so you're alone in the van and get there to notice no smoke or visible fire in the apartment building.

You slam the door closed on the red van and make your way inside, the lobby is nice enough but you don't have time to look around properly. Instead, you ignore the elevator, just in case something is actually wrong and climb up the concrete stairs.

You're exhausted, having worked for nearly a whole 24 hours straight with only short power naps and surprisingly hot in your work polo as you make your way up floor by floor. After a short while, you reach the door.

Number forty six stares back at you, gold bright and shiny, clashing with your muted appearance.

There's no smoke coming from under the door nor is it open which means that there isn't any spreading fire, or so you hope. You knock on the door with the back of your hand, grazing your knuckles on the wood.

It swings open to reveal a rather panicked looking gorgeous woman, like out of a film or romance novel, who nearly makes your jaw drop open. Yet, you're quick to focus and spot a small huddle of smoke in the kitchen sink.

You push past her gently without a word to check it out, cringing as your dirty boots touch her polished floors. Clearly, they had been cleaned recently and now you were ruining them. You would take your shoes off but it's a little late now and you don't think your socks are any cleaner.

You arrive in the kitchen and peer over the counter to look at the sink to see a smoking toaster. It seems to have set fire for some reason and is now chilling in the sink.

You relax, it's nothing major, just a toaster malfunctioning because that's what they do.

You turn around to look at her, "Sorry for that, I-"

You rub the back of your neck with a palm and smile sheepishly as she looks at you with a slightly shocked expression. There is something else there too but you can't read it, the way her eyes widen before squinting puts you off course.

You don't think you've felt like... this since your last break up, even then you’d never been so overwhelmed and now you aren't sure how to speak without sounding like a squeaky toy because this random woman has the most gorgeous eyes in the galaxy.

A warm mix of brown and sunset yellow that's making you feel more than just warm.

"I thought it was something... A little more serious," You grit your teeth at the way your voice comes out a little high.

This girl has got your heart beating quicker than it usually does. She's got pyjama shorts on with little cats and a ratty looking shirt but you don't think anyone else could pull it off or at least anyone you know.

"I-" She blushes and then it hits you- You haven't offered an introduction or anything.

"I'm Y/N, from the fire department, we got a call?"

She nods and then smiles lightly, "Yeah... That was a little bit impulsive."

The silver of her teeth that peek out from her lips make her want to break out in a wide grin, the kind that makes your eyes crinkle a little.

"I'm Kika."

You smile and nod, you want to tell her it's a beautiful name, perfect for someone like her but you catch yourself, you really don't want to be weird, not in the middle of the night. So you glance behind you and turn your focus towards the now broken toaster which has stopped smoking.

"Can I ask what happened?"

Kika flushes red for a moment then laughs unexpectedly and something jolts in you. It's like a bolt of lightning down your spine that has you feeling very hot and energized, as if you could go run a marathon in your heavy work boots and scream whilst doing it.

Kika's been having a... difficult night. Her toast had gotten stuck in the toaster so she did the natural thing and stuck a knife into the slot to reach for the bread. She didn't get the bread, instead she got a jolt through the knife and a small fire.

So she did the natural thing, panicked a little or maybe a lot, called the fire department and then unplugged the toaster and threw it into the sink.

Truth be told, it hadn't been that bad, she's a little shaken up from the electrical shock but most of all. She had hit the jackpot with the fire department, they had sent her the hottest looking firefighter she's ever seen and she's watched plenty of crappy TV to know what hot firefighters look like.

The second she had opened the door and your eyes pierced hers, she felt undoubtedly flushed and she wanted to say that the fire isn't in the sink but in her.

"Hello?" You say, trying to get Kika's attention and she seems to snap out of it when she looks up at you.

Those brown eyes meet yours and you feel like the world could explode without you noticing. They've captured your attention like nothing else and you don't know how to rip your gaze off Kika's, you're stuck and you know that if you could choose, you would never walk out that door again.

"Sorry... I- Stuck a knife in the toaster and that happened." Kika mumbles awkwardly and you resist the urge to chuckle at her blushing cheeks.

"Okay, I would recommend not doing that again," You joke with a serious tone and Kika breaks out into a giggle that has your heart aching a little more.

You don't know why or how but this feels different to any other encounter you've had, something... It's like a breath of fresh air after a while in a smoke infested room. You need her, this Kika.

"I figured that out after the toaster set on fire," Kika scoffs playful and now it's your turn to laugh because how can someone be so perfect?

So beautifully funny and stunning at the same time, right in front of you, in the same universe that you're in.

"I- will take the toaster with me. For the sake of convenience," You say and turn around, thankfully hiding the furiously blush on your cheeks.

Kika's having a weird effect on you, one that you aren't sure you want to get rid of but unfortunately, your shift has officially ended and Kika doesn't need your help anymore.

You pick the cooled toaster up and hug it close to your chest before turning around to face Kika again, who is now standing by the open door. You can't read her face, it's a smile but her eyes aren't as bright as they were before.

You walk towards the door, probably leaving behind a trail of dry mud which makes your stomach tighten with cringe. You've probably made Kika feel awkward with your staring and now you're leaving behind a mess for her to clean.

You cross the threshold into the corridor and swing around to look at Kika one last time. She's still as radiant as she was the first time she opened the door and you aren't sure you want to leave, even if it means standing outside the door forever like some kind of stone statue.

"I'll be going now, if there are any further emergencies please call us," You recite the taught phrase like a prayer back to Kika and she nods but doesn't speak so you decide to shuffle back around and make way for the stairs.

You think it's all over and you'll go back home, probably think about Kika before falling asleep but you feel a hand wrap around your bicep. It makes you stil in the middle of the hallway and slowly turn around to face Kika.

"I- Sorry, that was... forward," She rambles a little and you listen with rapt attention, every word comes out like honey, melting you inside.

"Are you busy?" Kika askes, her once glazed over eyes now crystal clear as they look up at you.

Your heart skips a beat and you think you're going to pass out from excitement. You shake your head firmly, all your previous tiredness fading at once.

"I've never had more time than I do now," You reply with a slight smile, still holding the toaster to your chest.

Kika nods slightly, then looks down for a moment and you think it's all going to fall apart and she's just going to say okay but then her head snaps up and she quickly leans in to kiss you. You let her because, truth be told, that's all you've dreamed of since laying your eyes on her.

Her lips are soft and gentle on yours like she's unsure whether you want this or not. You kiss back with desire, opening your mouth and letting her tongue slip in to trace each individual tooth while you groan into her.

One of Kika's arms comes to wrap around your neck, tugging you down to meet her height even more and you nearly drop the toaster on the floor from the contact. Goosebumps spread across your arms and the hair on the back of your neck stands tall all of a sudden.

You've been shocked by her kiss and your heart is racing ahead of you.

She pulls back soon after but her arm doesn't leave your neck instead the other comes to join it and she looks at your bruised lips quickly before meeting your eyes.

"I think there's a fire in my bedroom, want to check it out?" Kika whispers and you hear every word as if she had shouted it.

You chuckle and grin. Nothing sounds better at that moment.

"Should have told me straight away," You purr and Kika winks before unwrapping her hands from your neck and turning around, prompting you to follow her.

You take fast steps after her, hot on her trail until you reach the front door again. She pushes it open and you come in, put the toaster on the floor and rip your shoes off to place them next to the broken machine.

Once you straighten out and stand up, Kika launches herself at you and you catch her with ease. You rest your hands around the back of her thighs and let her wrap her strong legs around your middle.

Then she leans in and kisses you, it's not as gentle as before, it's filled with teeth and tongue but it feels just as right.

"Which way to the bedroom?" You say, catching your breath and Kika smiles against your lips.

"It's down the hall on the right," Kika murmurs into your ear and you feel a rush go down your spine.

You walk quickly to the bedroom and you can hear Kika chuckle as you speed walk. She's got her arms around your neck, holding you tightly and you don't think you've experienced anything better than this.

"I'm not going to run away," Kika says in a sultry voice and you feel the fire in your stomach get bigger.

"And I want to solve this fire as quickly as possible," You grumble playfully as you finally reach Kika's bedroom.

It's a nice room with a cosy interior but you could care less right now, you want Kika, now. You throw her on the bed gently and crawl up the bed until you've reached her. She's just these narrowed dark eyes that liquidate your insides and make you want to stay in bed with her forever.

"Aren't you my hero, then?" Kika smirks and you can't help but groan that question.

"Fuck, maybe," You reply as you play with the hem of her shirt.

Kika's hand comes to rest on yours and he guides it up and into her shirt, letting you feel the smooth skin under the ratty tee. It feels like marble, purely perfect under your callused hand.

She leans forwards, never letting go of your hand that is up her shirt and mewls into your ear.

"Then I think you need a reward."

That goes straight to your core and you nod your head quickly. Kika giggles besides your ear before leaning back and stripping her shirt off to reveal her chest. She then guides your hand to it, allowing you to feel the soft tissue.

You genuinely don't think you've seen better boobs in your whole life.

They fit in the palm of your hand perfectly, like they were made for it and when you trace Kika's nipples with the tips of your fingers she leans back with her mouth open. She gasps out a high moan that sounds like music to your ears.

You lean towards her and allow yourself to run a hot lick over one of her nipples. The action has Kika arching in your grasp with a breathy moan coming from her that settles into your core.

You give a few more kitten licks on each nipple, giving yourself enough time to appreciate Kika's chest before pulling back to look at her. Kika's eyes are screwed shut and her mouth is open slightly in pure pleasure.

She opens her eyes soon after she registers the loss of contact and smiles sweetly at you.

"Can I give my hero her reward now?" Kika smirks and you nod.

Kika's hands immediately find the bottom of your polo, tug it up and over your head before discarding it. She pauses in to take in your body, running her eyes over your fully uncovered arms and abs with blush coating her face before focusing flipping you over.

You let her do so and she ends up straddling your abs. You look at her with pure lust, she's all you want, nothing more, nothing else. Then your eyes focus in on the front of her sleep shorts, they're drenched to the bone with a patch of wetness on the front.

Kika lets you watch as she slips a hand into them and circles her clit with her own fingers. She moans at the contact of her own fingers and you take a sharp breath in, she looks so hot that your stomach flip flops a few times.

You swallow deeply and lick your lips at the sight, nothing has ever looked better than Kika right then, touching herself because of you.

She takes a few more minutes before sliding her hand out and discarding the shorts completely. Instead, she now sits on your abs completely naked and drenched to the point of smearing it all over your torso.

"You ready?" Kika raises a brow and you nod immediately. You'd do anything she wanted right now.

Kika chuckles and then slowly makes her way up your body until she's settled over your face and you're waiting for the best part. She grinds down directly on your mouth and she tastes like what you imagine divine waters do.

"Shit, that's-" Kika whines about you and you reach to grip her hips tightly.

You flatten your tongue against her clit and she rolls her hips like she was waiting for this moment just like you were. You decide to swirl your tongue around her at the same time and Kika is launched into a series of gasping breaths and yelps.

"Fucking hell!" Kika moans above you loudly.

Her hands now gripping the headboard strongly for support and you in turn rest your hands on her muscular thighs that rest on either side of your head.

"I- I wanted you to fuck me the second I opened that fucking door," Kika groans out and grinds right into your scalding tongue.

She's beautiful, you can even tell with your eyes closed and the way she's whining so loudly above does something unexplainable to you.

"I would have let you have me on the counter if it meant that you would," Kika admits mid moan and you press your tongue harder to her clit at the admission.

You would have done anything Kika wanted if it came from her.

"God, I'm so close!"

Kika shakes a little above you and all you can do in response is grab her hips to encourage her to continue. She rolls her hips in long strokes and you drink her wetness like an endless fountain. You've been dying for it and now you won't waste the opportunity.

Kika comes soon after with a high yelps and thrash that has her rasping for breath and your mouth drenched in her wetness. You give her kitten licks through it until she rolls off you and onto the pillows.

Kika looks radiant, almost glowing with a light layer of sweat coating her as well as you. She turns to you and grins then leans in to give you a watery kiss.

She can taste herself on your tongue but it doesn't matter because the two of you are too wrapped up in all of this to care.

When you break apart, you lean back against the pillows to catch your breath and try to slow your heart rate before you blow up into a million different pieces.

Kika is just so brilliant that you can't help but never want to stop.

You turn your head on the soft pillows to look at the side of her face, it's just as beautiful as the rest of her and you don't know why, but you'd let her do anything to you.

"Can I stay the night?" You ask, slightly sheepishly.

Kika grins and throws an arm over your shoulder, pressing you tightly against her once again.

"Can you stay forever?"

You chuckle and nod. If she'd let you, then you'd stay for more than forever.