She's Not Wroooong 😂 Also ✨LESBIANS✨

🩷🩷

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

You and Alexia try to start a family

The honeymoon phase of marriage is supposed to be blissful. And in many ways, it still is. But beneath the laughter, the lazy mornings wrapped in each other, the quiet home you’ve built—there’s a weight neither of you can quite shake.

The kind that lingers in the silence after another negative test. The kind that makes Alexia pull you tighter against her at night, even when neither of you speak about it. The kind that makes every hopeful what if? turn into not yet. It’s been months now—long, hopeful, painful months.

The first round of IVF started on your first wedding anniversary had been a whirlwind of emotions excitement, nerves, the belief that surely, surely, it would happen right away. That you’d see the two lines on the test, that Alexia would pick you up and spin you around, that you’d call Eli and Alba with tears of joy instead of frustration.

But the first round had ended in disappointment.

The second? Worse.

Because this time, you’d convinced yourselves that the first was just bad luck. That this time would be different. That this time would be the one. But it wasn’t. And now—now it’s just hard.

You’re in the bathroom, staring down at the test on the counter. Another single line. Another no. Another month lost. Your throat tightens, your hands gripping the sink as you swallow back the sting of disappointment. You knew it was a possibility. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get your hopes up this time. But hope is a dangerous thing. A small knock on the door makes you tense. You already know who it is.

“Mi amor…” Alexia’s voice is soft, hesitant. She’s been waiting outside since you’d taken the test, giving you space but also aching to know. You can’t bring yourself to answer. The door opens slowly, and then she’s there, your wife, the love of your life, the person who always seems to hold you together. Except—she’s struggling too.

You see it in the way her eyes flicker to the test on the counter, in the way her shoulders drop, in the way she exhales too slowly, like she’s forcing herself to stay strong. She meets your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you say a word. You break. A soft, strangled sob slips out before you can stop it, and in an instant, Alexia is there, wrapping you up in her arms, holding you so tight it’s like she’s trying to physically keep you from shattering.

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whisper against her shoulder, voice trembling. “I don’t—”

“Nothing,” she cuts in, her own voice thick. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You clutch onto her, burying yourself in her warmth, her safety. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing?”

Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, pressing a firm kiss to your hair. “Because it hurts, mi amor.”

And that’s the truth.

It hurts.

More than you ever thought it would. You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped in each other, breathing through the ache. Eventually, Alexia leans back, her hands coming up to cradle your face. “We keep trying,” she murmurs. “Because this isn’t the end. This isn’t where our story stops.” You nod, sniffling, pressing into the touch. She tilts her forehead against yours. “One day, we’re going to look back on this and know that every step, every tear, every heartbreak led us to them.” You let out a shaky breath. Because you believe her. Because despite everything, despite the no’s, the failed rounds, the disappointment, one thing remains unshaken. Hope. And as long as you have that, as long as you have her, you know you’re going to get through this. Together.

The third round felt different. You tried not to let yourselves believe it too much tried to temper the hope, to not let it bloom too fully in case it got crushed again. But when you saw that second line on the pregnancy test, everything else disappeared. The breath left your lungs. Your hands trembled as you held the test in front of you, staring at it, disbelieving.

A positive.

You laughed, you sobbed, you dropped to your knees on the bathroom floor, clutching the tiny plastic stick like it was the most precious thing in the world. Alexia wasn’t home she was away with Barcelona, an away game in Madrid. You ached to tell her in person, to see her face when she realised what this meant, so you decided to wait, to surprise her when she got home.

For 48 hours, you carried this secret like a treasure, your hands instinctively resting over your belly, whispering to the tiny life growing inside you, promising them that they were already so loved.

Then came the blood.

At first, it was just a little. Barely anything. You told yourself it was normal, that implantation bleeding happens, that some women experience spotting in early pregnancy. But by the next morning, it was more. Too much. And suddenly, that hope you had tried so hard to hold onto was slipping through your fingers like sand. Alexia wasn’t home yet. You didn’t tell her. Not yet. Instead, you called the clinic, booked a scan for when she’d be back. You spent the hours alone in quiet dread, curled up in bed, one hand pressed over your stomach, whispering desperate prayers to someone, anyone, please let this be okay.

Alexia came home exhausted, jet-lagged from travel, but thrilled to finally see you. The moment she stepped through the door, she grinned, pulling you into her arms. "Mi amor, I missed you so much."

You let yourself melt into her warmth, gripping her tightly, so tightly it made her pause, her hands moving to cup your face.

“What is it?” she asked softly, her brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

You inhaled sharply, blinking back the tears. “Alexia, I—” Your voice cracked. And instantly, her entire demeanour shifted. Concern, fear, flickered in her eyes as she guided you to the couch, hands never leaving you.

“What happened?”

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to look at her. “I… I took a test whilst you were away”

Her breath hitched. Her lips parted, eyes widening, searching your face for confirmation. “You—” Tears welled up in her eyes before she could even form a full thought, her hands trembling as they moved to your stomach.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” you whispered. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Alexia’s throat bobbed, her smile so tender, so full of love, it broke your heart all over again.

“It was positive, but, Lex… I—I think something’s wrong.”

The words shattered the moment. Her face dropped, hands freezing over your belly. You told her about the bleeding, about the appointment. Her hands gripped yours, her jaw tightening, the familiar fire of her determination burning behind her eyes. “Then we go,” she said, already reaching for her keys.

The clinic was cold. You sat in the exam room, Alexia’s hand gripping yours tightly, her thumb stroking over your skin, grounding you.

“I’m so sorry.” The words cut through you like a blade. The doctor’s voice was gentle, but the words were brutal. Final. “There’s no heartbeat.”

Silence. You felt Alexia tense beside you, felt the way her breath hitched, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t look at anything except the blank screen where there should have been life. The tears came fast. Unstoppable. Your whole body trembled as the weight of it crashed down on you, pressing against your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Alexia was instantly pulling you into her, arms tight, like she could physically hold you together as you crumbled. “Mi amor, mi amor,” she whispered against your temple, her voice breaking.

You sobbed into her shoulder, hands gripping the fabric of her hoodie so tightly your knuckles ached. It wasn’t fair. You’d done everything right. And still—still, it wasn’t enough.

That night, you didn’t leave your bed, you got home skipped dinner and went straight to bed. Alexia stayed with you, her body wrapped around yours, arms keeping you pressed against her chest as you cried yourself raw. And the weight of letting her down, it left unsaid.

She inhaled sharply, like the words physically wounded her. “Baby…”

Her hand cradled the back of your head, her lips pressing desperately against your hair. You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest unbearable.

Alexia swallowed thickly, her grip on you tightening. “I know,” she whispered. “I know, mi amor.” You felt her shake against you, felt the silent tears dampen your hair as she held you, as she broke with you. And then, through the thick silence, she whispered, “Whatever you need… however we move forward… I’m with you.”

You buried yourself further into her, needing her warmth, her strength. Because in this moment, you weren’t sure how to move forward. You weren’t sure if you could. All you knew was the pain. The loss. And the arms that held you through it.

Grief changes people. For you, it made everything feel heavy. The world moved on, but you felt like you were stuck, stuck in the loss, in the what could have been, in the endless questions you asked yourself every night when Alexia was fast asleep beside you. And for Alexia? It made her watch you.

She didn’t smother you, didn’t overwhelm you with empty reassurances. But you saw it—the way her eyes lingered on you when she thought you weren’t looking, the way she held you just a little tighter at night, the way she flinched when she woke up to find you staring at the ceiling, lost in your own mind.

She was waiting for you to break. And that’s what hurt the most. Because you knew she was hurting too. You knew she wanted this just as much as you did, but she never let herself be selfish about it. She never asked if you wanted to try again. Never brought up doctors or options or hope. Because she had heard you that night without you evening saying a word.

She had listened and instead of pushing, she had chosen to protect you. Even when it broke her. But you couldn’t live like this. Not with the weight of guilt pressing against your ribs, not with the way Alexia dimmed in a way you had never seen before. And so, you made a choice.

One last time. If it worked—if the universe was finally kind—then you both got everything you wanted. And if it didn’t? Then Alexia never had to know. She never had to relive the pain. The decision settled in your chest like a secret you had to keep. 

You were going to try again for your wife, for everything she always wanted, the thing it seemed you couldn’t give her.

You booked the appointments quietly, slipping out on days when Alexia was at training or away for matches. Every injection, every test, every agonising waiting period—you went through it all alone. It was terrifying. Without her. But more than that it was hopeful. For the first time in months, you felt like you were fighting for something instead of drowning in loss.

You imagined what it would be like to tell Alexia. Imagined her face when she found out. Imagined how it would feel to finally say, ‘It worked. We did it.’

Then, one morning, standing in the bathroom, hands trembling as you held a test between your fingers

Two lines.

A positive.

Your breath caught, your vision blurred, your whole body shook. It had worked. It worked. You pressed a hand over your mouth, choking back a sob as the realisation slammed into you.

You were optimistic with a realism that you had been here before.

Alexia comes home later than usual. You hear the sound of the front door unlocking, the familiar shuffle of her boots as she kicks them off in the hallway. The deep sigh she lets out, the kind she always does after an exhausting training session.

But you don’t move. You can’t. You sat on the couch, staring at the TV, trying to look natural while your heart hammered in your chest.

She was still in her training gear, her hair slightly damp from her post-session shower, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder. And as always she came to find you and when she did. A soft smile pulled at her lips, tired but full of love, as she crossed the room toward you.

She had dropped her bag somewhere near the door, leaned down, and kissed you once. Then again. Then once more for good measure. “Hola, mi amor,” she murmured against your lips. “Missed you.”

You smiled, your stomach twisting with nerves. “Missed you too.”

Alexia hummed, straightening up as she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m starving,” she groaned, already heading toward the kitchen.

You still feigning nonchalance. “Food in the fridge for you, I ate earlier i was hungry”

She grinned, disappearing into the kitchen. And then you waited. The familiar sounds started, the fridge opening, the scrape of a cup, the soft clatter of cutlery and then silence. Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, slow, deliberate footsteps. When Alexia stepped back into the living room, she wasn’t holding her food. She was holding the five pregnancy tests you had left for her on the counter, all lined up neatly, undeniable in their results.

Her expression was unreadable—her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked from the tests to you, then back to the tests.

“Mi amor…?” Her voice was so soft, so shaky, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Your stomach twisted, your breath catching. You tried to speak—really, you did—but all you could do was nod, your throat tight with emotion. Alexia blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, as if she needed to be sure, she slowly lifted one of the tests closer to her face, rereading the little plus sign, as if the result might somehow change.

Her breath shuddered. Her fingers trembled. She looked back at you. And in the softest, most disbelieving whisper “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded, “I took five to be sure” As Alexia sits down, her fingers still curled around the positive test, you see the shift. The happiness spreads to raw emotion as she swatted away at her tears as you moved to put her arms around her, her hand ran up and down your thigh, “I don’t know how to feel either” You whisper

“I’m happy. I’m so happy but.. I don’t want to get ahead of myself”

You nod, “We’ve been here before”

Alexia looked to you her eyes scanning over your face, “If this wasn’t positive, would I of ever known you’d done another round of IVF?” Your silence told her the answer, “Never do that again, please. I want to be involved not for the baby for you, I meant my vows mi amor I want to be there for the good and the bad, and the thought of you going through another loss alone tears me apart”

You peck her lips, “I’m sorry, I can see your hurting, I can see your breaking Lex and you’re trying to be strong for me, and I just.. I want to make you happy. And I feel the only thing I can give you is a baby and I can’t even get that right”

“Hey” Alexia turned her body fully to you, “No. Baby or not. I love you. You are my wife. I didn’t fall in love with you and marry you for you to give me a baby Y/N. Don’t ever think I think or feel less of you because this isn’t working for us.” You nodded and she cupped your face, “We stay cautiously optimistic ok? You’re pregnant” she let herself smile, “And that’s incredible, but we don’t get ahead of ourselves”

You nodded, pecking her lips, “Don’t call me Y/N again” Alexia chuckled you put your finger over her lips, “It’s Mi Amor or silence”

“Yes Mi Amor” You kissed each other lips moving in perfect synchronicity, “It’s positive”

You both giggled, “I know.” You looked to your stomach, “There’s a little baby in there”

“We’re doing what we literally just said we wouldn’t”

—

The drive to the clinic is quiet. Not because you and Alexia don’t have anything to say, but because neither of you can find the words. You sit in the passenger seat, hands clasped tightly over your stomach, trying to steady your breathing. You can feelAlexia glance at you every few seconds, her fingers twitching on the steering wheel like she wants to reach for you but doesn’t want to take her eyes off the road.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. “You okay?” You nod, but your throat is too tight to answer properly. Alexia sighs, her free hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “I know,” she murmurs. “Me too.” Because this moment—the space between knowing and really knowing—is the most terrifying part. You want to believe it. You want to let yourself hope. But you’ve been here before.

The clinic is just as you remember it—too bright, too clinical, too full of possibilities. Alexia never lets go of your hand as you check in, as you’re led down the hallway, as you settle onto the exam table.  

The nurse smiles warmly at you both. “You’re here for an early scan?”  

You nod, swallowing thickly. “We just… we just want to make sure everything’s okay.”  

She nods in understanding, her smile never wavering. “That’s completely normal. You’ve been through a lot to get here.”  

Alexia shifts beside you, her grip tightening on your fingers. “Is it too early to see anything?” she asks, her voice steady but her eyes uncertain.  

The nurse shakes her head. “At this stage, we won’t see much, but we will be able to check for a heartbeat.”  

A heartbeat. You exhale shakily, your chest tightening. 

The nurse prepares the ultrasound, and Alexia presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering, “I’m right here.”  

The cool gel on your stomach makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way your whole body tenses as the probe moves across your skin. The room is silent for a moment.  

You hold your breath. Alexia holds you.  

And then—  

A sound.  

Faint at first. A soft, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.  

Your chest cracks open. Alexia sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide.  

“There it is,” the nurse says gently. “A very strong heartbeat.”  

You don’t realise you’re crying until Alexia lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a firm kiss against your knuckles. She’s crying too. The nurse adjusts the screen slightly, pointing to a tiny, barely visible speck. “There’s your baby.”  

Your baby.  

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, your free hand instinctively moving toward your stomach. “They’re so small.”  

Alexia breathes out a choked laugh. “They’re there.”  

The nurse nods, smiling at you both. “Everything looks good. Strong heartbeat, early signs are all positive. I know it’s still early, but this is a great start.”  

A great start.  

You turn to Alexia, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “We did it.”  

She swallows thickly, her forehead pressing against yours. “You did it.”  

For the first time in a long, long time you let yourself believe it.

At first, neither of you spoke about the future much just one day at a time, one quiet milestone at a time. But then things kept going well. Your symptoms came on strong, morning sickness, exhaustion, all the usual things, but you welcomed every wave of nausea, every sleepless night, because it meant the pregnancy was progressing.

And then, around 12 weeks, a tiny bump started to show. Only noticeable in the mornings and evenings, but it was there, signs of growth. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Alexia noticed immediately. From that moment on, she was obsessed. Every morning before she left for training, her hand would drift under your shirt, fingers ghosting over your stomach, a tiny, unconscious smile playing at her lips.

Every night before bed, she’d lie beside you, palm resting just below your navel, warmth seeping through your skin. She touched you like she needed to. Like every moment she wasn’t touching you, she might forget this was really happening.

But it wasn’t just your stomach she was obsessed with. Your body was changing in more ways than one. And Alexia noticed. Of course, she knew your body better than you did.

One evening, as you changed into pyjamas, you caught her staring in the mirror. Her arms were crossed, her lips slightly parted, very clearly focused on something other than your stomach.  

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so obvious.”  

She smirked, stepping behind you, her hands immediately cupping your breasts from behind, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m just… appreciating,” she murmured, lips pressing against your neck.  

You groaned, swatting her hands away halfheartedly. “They hurt, Lex.”  

She hummed, not even remotely deterred. “They’re just bigger” she mused, her hands lingering, her thumbs brushing over you lightly. “And sensitive.”  

You shot her a glare through the mirror. “Exactly. So hands off.”  

She pouted but finally let go, sighing dramatically. “I don’t know if I should be honoured or offended by how unfair pregnancy is to me.”  

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you have it tough?”  

She nodded, lips twitching. “Yes. I have to suffer through your boobs getting bigger and not getting to enjoy them.”  

You smacked her arm, laughing. “You’re impossible.”  

She smirked, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “But you love me.”  

You sighed against her, already melting. “Unfortunately.”  

She grinned, hands sliding back down to where your bump was showing, but it could have been the biggest bowl of paella Alexia gave you. “And I love you.”  

You hummed. “And my boobs.”  

“That too.” 

Alexia’s hands remained firm on your stomach, fingers tracing gentle patterns over the slight curve of your stomach. Her eyes flickered up to meet yours in the mirror, full of mischief, adoration, and something else—something unmistakably hungry. You knew this look. You also knew that once Alexia decided she wanted something, she wouldn’t stop until she got it.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You are impossible.”

She hummed against your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. “I just think,” she murmured, her hands moving just slightly under your shirt, her palms flat against your warm skin, “that we should celebrate.”

You arched an eyebrow, though your resolve was already crumbling. “Celebrate what, exactly?”

She smirked, her lips brushing against your jaw. “That you’re growing our baby,” she whispered, her voice low, reverent. “That I get to love you like this. That you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

A shiver ran down your spine at her words. Damn her. Damn her and her hands and her mouth and the way she could make you melt with nothing more than a whisper. You exhaled shakily. “Alexia—”

“Mmm?” She feigned innocence, but her fingers were already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the underside of your breast. “Too much?”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you leaned into her touch. She grinned, sensing your resolve slipping, her thumbs drawing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

“I just want to touch you,” she murmured against your ear, her voice sending warmth flooding through your body. “Let me?”

And how could you say no when she sounded like that? When she looked at you like you were her entire world? You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before finally turning in her arms, your hands moving up to cup her face. “I hate you,” you muttered, though there was no weight to it.

Alexia grinned. “You love me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, she closed the gap between you, her lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was different—slower, deeper, filled with something heavier than just desire. Love. Worship. Alexia kissed you like she was memorising you, like she needed to show you everything she felt because words would never be enough. And as her hands moved to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, you let her. You let yourself fall. Because no matter how impossible she was yours.

Alexia’s hands moved deliberately, reverently, over your waist, her touch slow and exploratory. There was no rush—just the warmth of her fingertips, the way she cupped your body like she was memorising every new curve, every change, every part of you that had shifted since the pregnancy began.

Her lips trailed down your neck, lingering, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured against your skin, her voice hushed, full of something almost worshipful.

Your breath hitched as her hands slid higher, her thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts, testing, waiting.

You exhaled shakily, biting your lip. “They’re sensitive,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

Alexia hummed in understanding, her gaze flicking up to yours as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, nodding once. That was all she needed. Her fingers curled gently around your curves, her thumbs pressing feather-light circles into the tender skin. The sensation sent a warmth rippling through you—too much and not enough all at once.

“Dios mío,” Alexia whispered, her voice thick with awe. “So full. So soft.”

A whimper slipped from your lips when her thumbs brushed over your nipples, the sensitivity making your breath stutter. She smirked at your reaction, her touch turning slightly firmer, her lips following, pressing kisses along the swell of your breast before flicking her tongue out, teasing, exploring. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. “Alexia,” you gasped, your body pressing into her, already feeling consumed by her touch, her warmth, the way she devoured you without hurry, without urgency—just pure, unfiltered adoration.

She chuckled against your skin, her breath warm, teasing. “Mmm, I love hearing you say my name like that.”

You tugged her hair harder, making her groan. Her hands slid down to your hips, gripping, holding you steady as she continued her slow, intoxicating assault. Every flick of her tongue, every press of her lips, every gentle squeeze sent a new wave of pleasure washing over you, pulling you under with her. She wasn’t just touching you. She was worshiping you. Loving every new part of you. Every change. Every sign of the life you were growing together. And in this moment—wrapped in her arms, completely undone by her love, her devotion—you had never felt more cherished.

Alexia took her time, her touch slow, deliberate—like she was learning everything about you all over again. Her lips never left your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down the curve of your breasts, her breath warm against your already sensitive skin.

You had always known her to be patient, controlled, but tonight she was reverent.

She whispered against your skin, her voice husky. “I love how your body is changing,” she murmured, her hands sliding along your sides, tracing every new curve, every inch of softness. “I love you.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your already sensitive peaks, her thumbs circling, teasing, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight through you. Your body reacted immediately—back arching, breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach. She smirked at the effect she had on you, her hands steady, her eyes dark with something intense, something undeniable.

You whined softly, your grip on her tightening. “Alexia—”

She hummed, dipping her head lower, her lips brushing over the swell of your breast before capturing you fully. The sensation sent a deep shiver through you, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. She knew you were sensitive, knew exactly what it did to you, and yet—she didn’t stop. She worshiped you, her touch, her mouth, her hands moving in perfect rhythm, coaxing soft, breathy moans from your lips. Every flick of her tongue, every teasing squeeze, every gentle pull sent you spiralling, climbing. And she knew. She could feel it. The way your breath hitched. The way your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close. The way your body arched into her, desperate for more. She smiled against your skin, her voice full of heat. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding, the pressure coiling impossibly tight inside you. She didn’t stop. Didn’t rush. She just stayed with you, guiding you, coaxing you, until the tension finally broke—pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it left you shaking in her arms. She held you through it, whispering soft, soothing words against your skin, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, her hands never leaving you. “Always.”

And as you slowly came down, body still tingling, heart still racing, you let out a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re so smug right now.”

Alexia grinned, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips. “Of course I am,” she teased. “I made you come by playing with your boobs.”

You sighed, melting into her, completely boneless. And in that moment, wrapped in her arms, her warmth, her love You knew. You were hers. Completely.

You thought morning sickness meant… well, mornings. You were wrong.

It’s relentless—unforgiving in the way it rolls through you in waves, taking with it your appetite, your patience, and any desire to even look at food. It hits you the hardest first thing, the moment you open your eyes. But it doesn’t stop there. By mid-afternoon, it circles back, and by evening, you're utterly drained, your body heavy with fatigue, your stomach rebelling against anything you try to keep down.

Even water feels like a gamble some days. And it’s starting to wear on you. Alexia tries to keep things as normal as possible, but you know she’s worried. She hovers without hovering, always within reach—bringing toast in the mornings, holding your hair when things get bad, Googling every possible morning sickness remedy known to mankind.

You’re curled on the couch today, blanket wrapped around you, a half-finished cup of ginger tea sitting cold on the coffee table.

Alexia pads in from the kitchen, holding a small plate with dry crackers and a hopeful expression.

“They said plain is best,” she offers gently, crouching down beside you. “Want to try?” You stare at the crackers like they’ve personally wronged you. She smirks, brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

You let out a soft groan, burying your face in the blanket. “I hate this. I hate this part.”

Alexia’s fingers trail lightly along your forehead. “I know, mi amor. I wish I could take it from you.”

“I wish anyone could take it from me.” She sits on the edge of the couch, gently pulling you into her lap until your head rests against her shoulder, her arms wrapping tightly around you.

You sigh heavily, your voice muffled in her shirt. “I’m so tired of throwing up. I can’t even smell toast without wanting to cry.”

Alexia laughs softly, rubbing your back. “You did cry yesterday. Because of a banana.”

“It was rude,” you mutter.

She kisses the top of your head. “You’re growing a human. I think you’re allowed to be dramatic about fruit.”

You smile faintly, eyes fluttering closed as you rest in the safety of her arms. “I just… I didn’t expect to feel this bad.”

Alexia tightens her hold on you, her cheek resting against your temple. “You don’t have to be strong through all of it, you know? You’re allowed to hate it. You’re allowed to complain. You’re allowed to feel everything.”

You nod slowly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I just feel useless.”

“You’re the opposite of useless,” she says immediately, without hesitation. “You’re doing something I can’t. You’re carrying our baby. That’s everything.”

You let the words sink in, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes—but this time not from nausea. “Okay,” you whisper. “But if I ever eat again, it’s going to be something deeply unhealthy.”

Alexia chuckles, nuzzling her nose into your hair. “Done. Ice cream for dinner. As soon as your stomach stops being an asshole.” You laugh softly—tired, aching, but loved. Because even when your body is rebelling against you, even when all you’ve managed to keep down today is a cracker and three sips of tea, Alexia holds you like you’re doing the most incredible thing in the world. And deep down… you know you are.

Dinner with Alba and Eli had sounded like a great idea when Alexia suggested it. Something warm, something normal—just the four of you, catching up, laughing, letting the world feel simple again, if only for a few hours. But as you stand in the kitchen, clinging to the edge of the counter, willing yourself not to vomit from the smell of the garlic sizzling in the pan, you're starting to deeply question your judgment.

Alexia catches your pale, sweaty reflection in the glass oven door and immediately steps in. She slides a hand across your back, firm and grounding, her other hand moving to take the wooden spoon from your fingers. “Go sit down,” she murmurs gently. “I’ve got this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. You’re already lightheaded by the time you curl up on the couch, clutching a glass of water like it might save your life. Just as you let your head rest back, the doorbell rings.

You and Alexia lock eyes for a moment. She gives you a soft, knowing look—a we’ve got this kind of look—before she wipes her hands and goes to let them in. Alba is the first to storm in, dramatic as ever, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a baguette in the other. “Hola, família! I brought carbs and chaos!”

Eli follows with a softer smile, always warm, always perceptive. But the second they both spot you on the couch—pale, tired, wrapped in a blanket like you’re clinging to the edge of consciousness—their moods shift.

Alba slows to a stop, narrowing her eyes. “Whoa. Are you okay? You look like… shit.”

You muster the weakest smile you can manage. “Thanks, Alba.”

Eli, more gently, sets her bag down and moves closer. “Mi amor, you’re so pale. Are you sick?”

Alexia walks in quickly, too casually, drying her hands on a towel. “She’s okay. She’s just had a stomach bug all week. It’s been rough, but she’s getting through it.”

You nod, adding, “It’s the worst flu I’ve ever had. Won’t go away.”

Alba makes a face. “You’ve had it for a week? That’s not normal. Have you gone to a doctor?”

Alexia sits beside you, sliding a subtle hand over your knee under the blanket. “She’s been seen. They said it just has to run its course.”

“Well,” she finally says, smiling as she moves to the kitchen, “then you sit and rest, and we’ll take care of everything else.”

Alba follows her, still suspicious. “If I catch this mystery flu, I swear…”

As soon as they’re out of the room, you turn to Alexia and whisper, “Do they know?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

“She was watching me like I was hiding a second head.”

Alexia leans in, brushing her nose against your temple. “You are hiding something. A very tiny someone.”

You smile faintly. “I hate lying to them.”

“I know. But it’s just for now. Until we’re sure everything’s ok.”

You nod slowly, laying your head on her shoulder. “Okay. Just a little longer.” And as Eli and Alba clatter around in the kitchen, making dinner, laughing like nothing is amiss, you sit quietly on the couch—tired, nauseous, nervous— But wrapped in your wife’s arms. And still full of the quietest kind of joy.

I'm such a softy for getting all emotional over this 🥹🥰⭐️❤️

How often does Estrella switch between calling Alexia “Ale” and “mami”??

— estrella switches between “ale” and “mami” so randomly that no one can predict it, not even alexia.

— when she’s teasing, or trying to get on alexia’s nerves, it’s usually “ale.” “ale, relax, you’re so dramatic.” “alexia, you’re literally like a hundred years old.” “ale, don’t be boring, let’s go do something fun.”

— but the second she wants something or needs comfort, it’s “mami.” “mami, can you make me food?” “mama, i’m tired.” “mami, they were mean to me.”

— the team has absolutely picked up on it. “oh, she said ‘mami’? she’s definitely trying to get something.”

— she’ll be in the middle of arguing with alexia, all attitude, throwing out “ale” every other word, but the moment alexia gives her the look, estrella shifts gears instantly. “mami, don’t be mad, i love you.”

— whenever she gets injured, no matter how minor, it’s immediately “mami” with the most pitiful look on her face. “mami, i think i’m dying.” alexia doesn’t even react anymore.

— if she’s extra sleepy or emotional, she doesn’t even realize she’s using “mami” constantly, and it always makes alexia a little soft.

— sometimes she calls her “ale” just to be annoying and immediately switches to “mami” when alexia ignores her.

— when alexia is upset, estrella gets serious and only calls her “mami” because she knows it grounds her.

— after games, especially tough ones, estrella will just walk up and mumble “mami” before leaning into alexia for a hug. no words needed.

— no matter how much she teases, no matter how much she pretends to be all big and independent, at the end of the day, estrella will always be alexia’s kid.

Indexical Reminder of a Morning Well Spent

i sent a little of this to @wosofutbolfan and it apparently passed the test so here it is

-

The goal was fucking beautiful.

A pure, uncut masterclass in footballing telepathy.

Alexia had barely looked before she whipped the ball into the box. You were already moving, already there, like you had a GPS tracker embedded under your skin, waiting for the exact moment to strike. One touch, a ruthless finish, and the net rippled like it was bowing to your greatness. The crowd went feral. Commentators lost their minds. Pundits called it art.

Now, in the changing room, your teammates are still reeling.

“Okay, but what the actual hell was that?” Mapi demands, pulling off her tape.

Pina shakes her head, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “It’s not normal. You don’t even look at each other. It’s like—like she breathes, and you just know.”

Patri squints at you. “Do you practice that at home?”

Irene folds her arms. “Be honest. Do you two have, like, a shared consciousness?”

Kika points at you. “Are you some kind of footballing hive mind? Because I refuse to believe that was just instinct.”

You stretch out your legs, completely unfazed. “It because we fuck all the time.”

Silence.

Alexia, who had been mid-sip of her water, chokes.

Coughs. Gags. Almost dies.

Mapi slaps the locker and cackles. “That explains a lot.”

Pina’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Patri grips her towel like it’s a seatbelt. “What does that have to do with football?”

You shrug. “Everything.”

Alexia is still spluttering. “No, no, no. Stop.”

You ignore her completely. “When you have sex as often as we do, you develop a kind of… connection.”

Alexia lunges, slamming a hand over your mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

Mapi grins. “Oh, no. She has to.”

Alexia glares at her. “She doesn’t.”

Kika leans forward. “No, I think she should.”

Pina nods, barely suppressing her laughter. “For scientific purposes.”

Patri crosses her arms. “If we’re going to be subjected to your disgusting public displays of on-pitch chemistry, we deserve the full explanation.”

You lick Alexia’s palm.

She yelps and jerks away like she’s been electrocuted.

You wipe your mouth. “As I was saying—”

“No. No,” Alexia pleads.

You continue, unfazed. “I know her body. Every inch of it. The way her muscles shift. The exact moment she tenses before she—”

Alexia actually grabs you. Tries to physically drag you away. “We’re leaving.”

You dodge, side-stepping like you’re evading a stubborn defender. “I just mean, when you’ve had someone clench around your fingers enough times—”

Alexia lunges again.

You bolt, darting around the physio table.

Mapi screams with laughter. “OH MY GOD.”

Kika has tears in her eyes. “Please, keep going. This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Alexia is desperate. “Stop talking.”

You dodge her again. “It’s pure instinct at this point. Like how I know exactly when she’s about to—”

Alexia dives. Misses.

Pina has collapsed onto the floor. “I cannot breathe.”

Patri is crying. “Make it stop.”

Irene wipes her face. “No, keep going, I need every detail.”

Mapi is wheezing. “Wait, wait, wait—are you saying that every time you score a goal off her pass—”

You smirk. “It’s basically an extension of our sex life, yes.”

Alexia grabs you, shakes you like she’s trying to reset your brain. “You. Are. Deranged.”

You grin. “Fong pretend you don’t love it.”

She shoves you. “I’m not pretending, I loathe it.”

Mapi is practically convulsing with laughter. “You’re telling me every single assist—”

“—is just an echo of last night’s activities? Oh definitely.”

Kika collapses onto the bench. “I need an exorcism.”

Alexia physically hauls you toward the showers. “We are leaving this conversation.”

You plant your feet. “Wait, wait, just let me finish—”

“No.”

“I’m just saying, it’s good motivation, you know? The more I score, the more assists she gets, the better the reward.”

Mapi screeches.

Pina is on the floor.

Patri is pleading with the universe.

Kika throws her water bottle at you. “LEAVE.”

Alexia shoves you through the doorway. “You’re done.”

Mapi wheezes. “This is the best day of my life.”

Alexia looks at the team like she’s asking for divine intervention. “This is the worst day of mine.”

there are two dogs inside us. pina and alexia representing both of them in this moment, and alexia showing her cool head and captain's duties in not wanting to further antagonise chelsea fans! 🤭

this is the fluff i need i’m my life

Sleep? Never.

It’s so peaceful here. The sun is warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. The waves roll lazily in the distance, their rhythmic crashing blending with the occasional seagull call. You’re stretched out on your stomach, the sand soft beneath you, eyes closed, completely weightless.

Next to you, Alexia flips through a book, one hand resting on your lower back, tracing lazy circles. The food was incredible, the drinks even better. You could stay here forever, basking in the sun, in the quiet, in—

A cry.

A sharp, piercing cry slices through the tranquility. It sounds robotic, unnatural.

Maybe it’s not real.

Maybe the beach isn’t real.

The cries grow louder, like a personal concert—one you’d never pay to attend. Something tugs at your arm.

"Baby."

Is this real?

"Baby, wake up."

No, no, no, no, no.

"I don’t want to."

"She’s hungry."

"So go feed her."

"I physically can’t."

You groan, rubbing your eyes, and glance at the baby monitor. Alice’s face, red with frustration, fills the screen.

"Alexia, I’m so tired it’s not even funny."

"I know, baby," she sighs, already swinging her legs off the bed. "I’ll go get her."

You wave a lazy hand. "It’s the least you can do."

Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response—smart move. She disappears down the hall, and a few moments later, returns with a very angry, very hungry Alice.

You blink, groggy. "Didn’t I just feed her?"

"It’s been four hours."

You’re already adjusting your pajama blouse, making room for the tiny milk addict currently squirming in Alexia’s arms.

Alice immediately wiggles toward you, desperate, latching on with the urgency of someone who has been completely neglected for decades. Her tiny fingers clutch at your shirt like she’s afraid you might disappear.

"I wonder where she gets it from," you murmur, narrowing your eyes at Alice’s sheer determination.

Alexia raises an eyebrow. "Gets what from?"

You gesture vaguely at the baby. "The dramatics. The belief that the world revolves around her."

Alexia scoffs, leaning against the headboard. "Wow. No idea where she could’ve picked that up, remember when you cried because someone at the store got the last bag you wanted?"

Your jaw drops. "That was a devastating loss, Alexia. That bag and I had a connection."

Alexia crosses her arms. "You never even touched it."

You throw your head back against the pillow. "Because I was savoring the moment! And then—boom—stolen from me."

Alexia rolls her eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck. "Right. Just like how the universe ‘betrayed’ you when your favorite pen ran out of ink."

You scoff. "That pen and I had history."

Alexia shakes her head, but she’s smiling, fingers grazing over Alice’s back. "She’s cute when she’s not screaming."

You smirk. "So, like, ten percent of the time?"

Alexia huffs, nudging you with her knee. "Don’t be mean."

"I’m not! I love her. Even when she’s screaming in my face."

Alice sighs against you, her little body going limp, milk-drunk and utterly satisfied. Her tiny eyelashes flutter as sleep creeps in.

Alexia watches her, softer now. "She’s getting so big."

You hum, stroking Alice’s back. "She drooled in my mouth today."

Alexia snorts. "That’s disgusting."

"It was. I think I saw my soul leave my body."

Before Alexia can respond, Alice suddenly unlatches with a loud, unapologetic burp—straight onto your pajama top.

You freeze. Alexia claps a hand over her mouth, her whole body shaking with barely contained laughter.

You slowly look down at the damage. Then back up at Alexia. "Oh. My. God."

Alexia loses it.

She wheezes, wiping fake tears from her eyes. "I love her so much."

"You’re supposed to be on my side."

Alexia grins, already grabbing a clean pajama top for you. "I am. I just really enjoy watching you suffer."

She helps you change, pressing a kiss to your cheek as Alice gives a sleepy little sigh against your chest.

Once Alice is full, her tiny fingers unclench, her whole body relaxing. Alexia laughs under her breath before carefully lifting her from your arms. "I’ll put her back in her crib."

You nod, already sinking into the pillows, exhaustion pulling at you again. Alexia cradles Alice to her chest, murmuring something too soft to hear as she disappears down the hall.

But then—

Minutes pass.

And Alexia doesn’t come back.

You groggily peek at the baby monitor on the nightstand.

She’s still in there.

You watch as Alexia stands beside the crib, swaying slightly, her fingers brushing over Alice’s tiny back. Even after Alice has fully drifted off, she doesn’t put her down right away. She just stays, watching her with a quiet smile.

Through the baby monitor, you see her finally tuck Alice in. But instead of leaving, she lingers, adjusting the blanket, smoothing a hand over Alice’s hair.

You should sleep. You should take the chance while you can. But you can’t, because the bed feels too empty.

You roll over, rubbing your face, and press a button on the monitor.

"Babe."

A second later, the monitor crackles.

"What?"

"Come back to bed."

"She’s just settling, give me a second."

"She’s asleep. You’re just staring at her."

A guilty pause. Then, "Maybe."

You groan, rolling onto your back. "Alexia, I can’t sleep without you."

The monitor crackles again. "You are so dramatic."

"Says the person who’s been watching a sleeping baby for twenty minutes."

Silence. Then, "Okay, fair."

A minute later, the bed dips, and Alexia slides under the covers, immediately curling into your side.

"You’re obsessed with her," you mumble, half-asleep.

"She’s my child," Alexia deadpans.

You peek one eye open. "I was starting to think you were gonna move in there."

Alexia sighs, pressing her face against your shoulder. "And leave you alone in this state? You’d probably stage a protest."

You smirk, nuzzling into her. "I was already drafting a strongly worded letter."

Alexia chuckles, her arms tightening around you. "I don’t doubt it."

Your breathing slows, warmth settling over you.

And just like that, with Alexia beside you, sleep finally comes.

I- I.. can’t 💔💔

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 10

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, heart hammering like you were about to walk into a final except this time, there were no sneakers, no warm-up playlist, no team huddle. Just the quiet echo of your breath and the weight of a decision that felt bigger than a game.

This was it.

Your final contract meeting with Barcelona.

The gold medal from Paris still hung by the doorway where you’d left it, like a ghost of everything you’d just accomplished four trophies in one season. An unprecedented legacy. You’d done your part.

Now it was their turn.

You tried to steady your hands as you twisted your hair up, pulled on your jacket, smoothed down the front of your shirt. It wasn’t that you weren’t prepared, you were. You’d rehearsed what you’d say, you knew the numbers. Your agent had laid out every offer on the table, both from Barcelona and the ones calling from across the Atlantic.

The WNBA teams weren’t just interested.

They were ready.

Big contracts. Full campaigns. Franchise-level investments.

But that wasn’t the part tying your stomach in knots.

It was the what ifs that buzzed under your skin.

What if they didn’t value you enough? What if this was goodbye? What if walking away also meant walking away from... her?

You hadn’t talked to Alexia about it. Not really. That night in Paris had said everything and nothing all at once. The way she held you like you might disappear. The way you kissed her like you already had.

You’d made love like people who were too proud to admit they were scared of letting go.

Now, here you were zipping up your coat, smoothing trembling hands down your thighs, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying to believe that walking in there was just business.

But your heart didn’t understand contracts.

It only knew the city. The crest. The people. Her.

Your phone buzzed.

A message from Liv: “Whatever happens, you already won. Go get what you deserve.”

You took one last breath. Then picked up your keys. It was time to find out if Barcelona was willing to fight for you the way you’d fought for them.

You opened your apartment door to head to the contract meeting and almost walked right into her.

Alexia.

Still in her post-training hoodie, hair damp from a shower, flushed cheeks from training that had only ended an hour ago.

Your mouth opened. But she spoke, “I didn’t want to text it.”

You swallowed hard. “Text what?”

She reached up, gently brushing her fingers against your arm, then trailed them down until her hand found yours. “I don’t want you to go,” she said softly.

You stared at her, searching her face for any hint of hesitation. There wasn’t any.

“I know the last few weeks have been.. weird. Between us…I don’t know when it stopped being casual,” she added. “I just know that it did.” You let out a shaky breath. “But i’m in love with you. I love you Y/N please don’t go. Stay.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there in the soft hallway light, hand in hand, two athletes dressed in your respective team gear, looking at each other like the whole world had quieted just for this moment.

Alexia gave your hand a small squeeze. “Say something,” she said gently. 

“I can’t do this,” you said, “Alexia. I have a meeting,” stepping back, letting go of her hand like it burned.

Her brows knit. “A meeting?” Her voice sharpened. “That’s what you have to say? You’re just walking away?”

You rubbed your temples, already feeling the weight of everything pressing in, your future, your choice, her. “I’m not walking away. I’m going to get what I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about us?” she snapped. “You’re really going to pretend none of this means anything? That I don’t mean anything?”

You sighed. “Alexia, please. Don’t do this now.”

Her eyes glassed over, jaw tightening. “I didn’t plan to fall for you,” she said, voice low, shaky. “But I did. I love you. And I’m standing here, asking you to stay and you won’t even look at me.”

You turned your face away, your throat tightening. “You’re asking me to throw away something I’ve been fighting for since I was a kid.”

“I’m not asking you to throw it away!” she said, raising her voice. “I’m asking you to see me. To be honest about what this is what we are. You’re just running from it because it’s easier to focus on basketball than deal with your feelings.”

You flinched, then shook your head. “I don’t have the head space for this, Alexia. I don’t. You can’t drop all of this on me right before the biggest meeting of my career.”

“I had to,” she whispered. “Because if I didn’t, you’d leave and I’d never say it and forever wonder.”

Silence fell. The hallway buzzed with tension. Her words lingered in the air like smoke.

You stared at her, heart pounding, lips partedmbut nothing came out. Then you turned, grabbed your bag, and walked out your door.

Alexia didn’t follow. She just stood there in your apartment, alone, eyes locked on the space where you’d been.

—

You barely remember the drive to Alexia’s place just that your hands were clenched on the wheel the whole time and your chest hadn’t stopped burning since you left that boardroom. You weren’t calm. You weren’t even sure what you were going to say. All you knew was you had to say something.  

You pounded on her door like your heart was about to break through your ribs.

When it opened, you were met not just with Alexia but her whole world behind her. Her mother, seated on the couch. Her sister hovering near the kitchen. And a few of her teammates still in Barça tracksuits, frozen mid-conversation, eyes wide the second they saw you.

The room was thick with tension. They knew. They all knew what you’d done.  

Alexia stepped forward, face unreadable. She opened her mouth to speak. You didn’t let her. “No, don’t,” you snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t say anything right now. You don’t get to drop that on me and then just stand there like nothing happened.”

She blinked, taken aback, but you were already going, fuelled by adrenaline and emotion.

“You don’t get to tell me you love me as I’m walking out the door for the biggest meeting of my career,” you said, voice rising. “That wasn’t fair, Alexia. That was so unfair.”

You could feel every pair of eyes on you, but you didn’t care.

“You know what that moment meant to me. You know, I’ve been fighting for that chance my whole life, and you waited until right then to tell me how you feel?”

Alexia’s lips parted again, but you didn’t stop.

“You think I don’t feel things too? You think this is easy for me? You think walking away from you didn’t rip something out of me?” Your breath hitched. “But I would never ask you to pick me over your career. Never.” You took a step closer, your voice low and rough now. “So what would you do, huh? If it were the other way around? If I begged you to come with me, to give it all up? Would you?”

She tried to answer—but again, you shook your head, cutting her off.

“No. Don’t. Because that’s not the point. The point is you didn’t give me space to even think. You threw your heart at me like a grenade and expected me to catch it.”

Your hands were shaking now. Anger. Hurt. Love. Everything tangled in your throat.

“And I wasn’t ready for that,” your voice had yet to lower. “I still don’t know if I am.”

Silence fell, heavy and raw. You looked around the room at the faces pretending not to stare. Her mother, her sister, her teammates none of them said a word. But their expressions said everything. And finally, you looked at Alexia. Her eyes shimmered, jaw tight, but she still hadn’t said a word.

You swallowed hard. “It’s too much Alexia, I can’t handle this right now I have people constantly wanting a piece of me, wanting commitment, a signature on a contract, a comment, a fucking selfie, I don’t need you doing the same, you have no idea how much pressure I’m under to constantly make the right choice, I don’t need you asking me to make a choice to”

Then you turned and walked out, heart pounding in your ears, not sure where you were going just knowing you couldn’t stay.

—

You didn’t know how long you drove. Past streets that blurred together, red lights you barely registered, the same message from your agent popping up on your phone over and over “We need to know. Clock’s ticking.”

You ignored it.

Your chest felt like it had split open the second you walked out of that apartment.

Your voice still echoed in your own head. Alexia’s silence too.

You hadn’t even meant to say half of it, but it came out like a flood. Like it had been sitting there under your ribs, waiting.

You were terrified.

Terrified of choosing wrong. Of walking away from something real. Of staying and sacrificing what you’d worked for. Of leaving and never knowing could have been.

By the time you finally parked, the sun had sunk low enough to turn everything gold and soft. You didn’t even know where you were just that it was quiet. Just that you could breathe again.

You leaned your head back against the seat and closed your eyes. You didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t answer when she did.

And you were tired. So instead of going back to Alexia, you went with Liv and Maya who had already booked a post-season escape to Greece, and insisted, loudly and dramatically, that you needed it more than anyone.

“Blue water. White buildings. No exes,” Maya had said, grinning as she shoved the ticket confirmation under your nose.

And you’d nodded, packed a bag, and gotten on the flight. Now you were on a boat.

Literally. Out in the Aegean Sea. The sun warm against your shoulders, the breeze tangling through your hair, your legs dangling over the edge of the deck. Maya was already mid-dive, cannonballing off the side with a scream, while Liv lounged in the sun with a drink in hand, sunglasses halfway down her nose as she watched you carefully.

“You haven’t checked your phone in two days,” she said.

You shrugged. “I didn't unpack it.”

She smiled faintly. “Proud of you.”

You looked out over the horizon, clear and endless and yours for once. No decisions. No pressure. No pretending that whatever was between you and Alexia didn’t always circle back to pain.

Just freedom.

“I didn’t want a goodbye,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself. Liv didn’t press. You stared at the sea. “I just… didn’t want to sit in that silence again, knowing one of us was waiting for the other to say something they didn’t mean.”

Maya surfaced with a laugh, splashing water everywhere. “You two gonna cry or jump in already?”

You stood slowly, stretched, and smiled. “Jump.” And you did.

You dove in clean and headfirst, the water cold and bright and new. It wrapped around you like clarity, like release. Like something finally, finally just for you.

Alexia was somewhere far away, in another country, maybe still waiting. But right now you weren’t.

But back in Barcelona.

The warmth of summer had rolled in gently over the city, but for Alexia, it felt cold. The air in her apartment was still, heavy. The kind of quiet that doesn't come from peace but absence.

She sat curled in the corner of the sofa, knees tucked to her chest, wrapped in one of your hoodies one she had no right to still wear, but couldn't bring herself to fold away. Her phone buzzed on the table for the tenth time that hour. She didn’t look.

She already knew what it was. More news. More speculation. More you.

Every local sports channel had the same thing on repeat: updates about your contract, the mounting pressure on Barcelona to offer more, the leaked offers from WNBA teams huge numbers, huge interest, and the biggest story of all…

Your silence. No statement. No goodbye. No post-game recap. Just... gone.

And today they had photos. You, in Greece. Tanned. Laughing. On a boat. Your smile shining in the sun like the whole city hadn’t been holding its breath waiting for your next move.

Alexia couldn’t take it anymore. She shut off the TV and pressed her palms to her eyes. She tried not to cry. She really, really did.

But her mami had already sat down next to her, one look at her daughter’s face enough to see the heartbreak she was trying to hide “Mi niña,” her mother said gently, wrapping an arm around her. “What happened?”

Alexia shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I really thought she’d stay.” Her voice cracked so softly it broke her mother’s heart. “I really thought… even after everything… even after how messy we were, I thought she’d fight to stay.”

“She still might,” her mother offered.

Alexia shook her head. “She’s gone. She didn’t even tell me. Didn’t say goodbye. She just left.”

Her mother rubbed small circles on her back. “Maybe she couldn’t say it. Maybe she didn't say goodbye because she couldn't, not to you. Maybe it was too painful"

Alexia stared at her lap, blinking through tears. Paris had felt like a turning point. That kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower, the way you had smiled at her like it meant something again. The way you'd touched her face like you didn’t want to forget it.

And then that night, in the hotel. It hadn’t been sex. It hadn't been a hook up, it meant something. Something neither of you had dared speak aloud.

Alexia wiped at her face with the sleeve of your hoodie, breathing in the fading scent of you. “I think I let her go,” she whispered.

Her mother kissed the side of her head. “Or maybe you were just never sure if you were allowed to ask her to stay and when you did, it was too late.”

And that broke her all over again.

--

The sea stretched wide and endless around you, nothing but deep blue and gold sun. The yacht bobbed gently on the Aegean, anchored just off the coast of a quiet cove, the perfect post-season escape. Salt clung to your skin, your hair still damp from the ocean. Everything smelled like sunscreen, grilled food, and freedom.

You were lying on a cushioned lounger at the back of the boat, a pair of sunglasses shielding your eyes as you listened to the hum of Maya and Liv chatting somewhere behind you soft, lazy voices full of peace.

No pressure. No crowds. No one expecting you to be anything more than tired and sun-kissed. It had been a few days now. Since Paris. Since the final. Since her. And no one had brought it up. Not Alexia. Not the kiss. Not that night in her hotel room where everything between you slowed down for the first time.

Where it hadn’t just been sex. Where it felt like goodbye, even though neither of you said the words.

You’d touched her like you were memorising her. She’d held you like she didn’t want to let go. But morning came, and you both let it speak the things you couldn’t.

The ache from that night still sat quietly in your chest familiar, patient. Waiting. But now, the two people who knew you best were giving you the most obvious kind of grace.

They weren’t asking. Not about the contract. Not about Barcelona. Not about whether you were staying… or going.

You sat up slowly, pulling your sunglasses to rest on your head.

Maya was stretched out under the shade with a book on her stomach, eyes closed. Liv was dangling her feet off the side of the yacht, sipping from a cold drink, gaze somewhere far off on the horizon.

“Neither of you are gonna ask me?” you said softly.

They both looked up, brows raised, like you’d just interrupted a very chill dream. “Ask you what?” Maya replied, already knowing.

Liv shrugged, lips pulling into a gentle smile. “When you’re ready to talk about it… you’ll talk.”

Your throat tightened just slightly at the calm in their voices, the way they didn’t push. You nodded, quietly grateful. “Thanks.”

Maya lifted her glass toward you. “Whether it’s Barcelona or not, you’ll land where you’re meant to.”

Liv grinned. “And we’ll still make fun of your shitty decision making either way.”

You laughed, the knot in your chest loosening for the first time in days.

The future was still uncertain. But your people they weren’t going anywhere. And for now, under the sun, on the sea, with everything suspended in this warm, golden pause, that was enough.

-

The sun was melting into the Aegean Sea, painting the sky in soft strokes of orange and lavender as the yacht gently rocked beneath you. The air was warm with salt and quiet, the kind of peace that only came once the noise of winning had settled and the champagne had finally run dry.

You sat with Maya and Liv around a small table on the deck, barefoot, drinks in hand, a soft breeze tugging at the hem of your linen shirt. Laughter had faded into comfortable silence, a half-finished dinner of grilled seafood and pasta still on your plates. Someone had queued a mellow playlist. You’d almost forgotten the world existed beyond this floating slice of stillness.

Until Liv ever the instigator patience wearing thin-set her glass down and asked softly, “So. Are you going?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked out at the endless blue horizon, the world you'd just conquered behind you… and the one waiting ahead still uncertain. “I don’t know,” you said finally. “I thought I would. I mean, I still might.”

Maya leaned forward, chin on her fist. “But?”

You sighed, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Alexia.” The name came out before you could soften it.

Liv gave you a look. Not smug. Not surprised. Just knowing.

You continued. “She’s probably, I don’t know… thirty percent of what’s making me hesitate.”

Maya raised her brows. “That’s not a small percentage.”

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “It’s not just her. I love the team. The club. The city. The fans. And… I’m not that far from home here. From my family. I get to see them. They’ve been part of this whole journey. I feel rooted in Barcelona.”

Liv’s voice was quiet. “But?”

You let out a slow breath. “But the WNBA… on paper, it’s perfect. The dream, right? The best league in the world. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I’ve trained for.”

“But it’s far,” Maya added gently. “Really far.”

You nodded. “Eight hours, sometimes more depending which team I pick. But it's not just distance. It's a different kind of pressure. A different kind of spotlight. I know I’d grow there. I know it’d challenge me. And I know I'd do well and thrive and my game would translate. But I don’t know if I’d be happy.” You looked up at both of them, eyes raw, vulnerable. “And I don’t know if that’s selfish or smart.”

Liv smiled softly. “It’s human.”

You stared back out at the water, heart heavy in the kind of way that had nothing to do with doubt, and everything to do with choice. “You know what’s funny?” you said after a moment, voice barely above the waves. “Winning everything this year… it didn’t make the decision easier. It made it harder.”

Because now you had everything. And you had to decide if you were ready to walk away from it. From the dream. Or from the life you never expected to build but had come to love.

And somewhere in between it all, was her, the goodbye you still hadn’t said.

“So,” Maya said, swirling her wine before leveling her eyes at you. “When do you have to make a decision?”

You pushed your fork through the last piece of feta, exhaling slowly before answering. “Three weeks.”

Liv glanced up, her expression sobering. “That’s it?”

You nodded, setting your fork down. “The club’s given me their final offer. No more meetings. No more back and forth. Just ‘Here’s what we’re offering. Take it or leave it.’”

Maya leaned back in her seat, eyebrows raised. “Damn. That’s… kinda cold.”

You shrugged. “They said they need to start planning for what the team looks like post-me. If I go.”

There was a brief silence. Not heavy just thoughtful.

Liv set her glass down. “And what does it look like for you if you stay?”

That was the question.

You leaned back, stretching your legs out, gaze flicking toward the water where the last light of the day danced across the surface. “Comfort. Familiarity. A team I helped build. A city I know.”

“And Alexia,” Maya added quietly.

You didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”

“But?” Liv asked, gently.

You glanced between them, then spoke honestly. “But… I’d be choosing less. Because no matter how much I love playing there, it’s not the best offer on the table, not even close.”

Maya nodded slowly. “So you’d be staying for the badge.”

You met her eyes. “I’d be staying for the people.”

That was the truth. But there was something else beneath it. That night in Paris with Alexia the kiss, the way she looked at you, the way she held you later in that quiet hotel room, like it was something more than just touch, like she knew what you both weren’t saying…

It had felt like goodbye. Neither of you had said it. But you both felt it.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t made your decision yet. Because staying meant more uncertainty. But leaving meant finally letting her go.

Liv reached out and squeezed your hand across the table. “Whatever you choose,” she said softly, “just don’t choose out of guilt. Or fear. Choose what gives you peace.”

"I would hate for you to stay for Alexia and you end up resenting her, because thats so much worse"

And under the Greek stars, with the water lapping gently against the hull, you finally admitted. You weren’t sure peace existed on either side. You knew it was time. “I have to tell you both something.”

Liv immediately looked over. Maya popped another grape in her mouth, then paused. “This sounds ominous,” Maya said slowly.

You nodded once, the heat suddenly sticking to your skin differently. “It is.”

They both waited, the air shifting, the sea breeze no longer enough to cool the tension rising in your chest. “It was before my last meeting with Barcelona,” you started, voice even but heavy. “Alexia turned up at my place just as I was leaving. We hadn’t really spoken after Paris… not properly.”

Maya straightened. Liv’s brows drew together.

You looked out over the water, then back at them. “She told me she was in love with me.” Silence. Neither of them moved. You let the words settle, your throat tightening as you finished, “And I walked out.”

Liv blinked, stunned. “You what?”

“I couldn't deal with it,” you said quickly. “She said it completely serious and I just… couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process. Not with everything else. So I left.”

Maya let out a slow breath. “Did you talk to her after?”

You shook your head, jaw tight. “Yeah. I went to her place her mum sister and some friends were there and just went crazy on her basically said she was unfair for telling me she loved me and walked away. I haven’t seen her since. Haven’t called. She hasn’t, either.”

Liv sat up now too, arms resting on her knees. “So she said she loved you. And you ghosted her?”

You winced. “I know how that sounds.”

“It sounds like you’re both idiots,” Maya said, though her voice was more gentle than annoyed.

“She asked me to stay to,” you added quietly. “To stay in Barcelona. With her. And I was hours from making the decision and it just… it overwhelmed me. It felt like pressure. Like she waited too long, and then expected me to just drop everything because she finally figured it out.”

Liv was quiet for a long beat. Then she said softly, “And now?”

You looked down at your hands, then up at them again. “I don’t know.”

You thought about her every single day. The last kiss. The way her voice broke when she said it. The feeling in your chest that morning, like something beautiful was being left behind... intentionally.

“She meant it,” you whispered. “I know she did. But I didn’t know if it was love or just fear of losing me.”

Maya nodded slowly, the sun dancing in her curls. “And now you might lose her anyway.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I think I already did. I could see how broken she was when I left.”

And this time, neither of them said anything, because some heartbreaks didn’t need commentary. Just space. And silence.

--

The lights in the Palau Blaugrana blazed brighter than ever gold and purple flooding every seat, the court transformed into a stage, the banners of all four trophies draped across the rafters like proof of a dream most teams wouldn’t even dare to speak aloud.

You’d won everything. League. Cup. SuperCup. Continental Final.

The crowd was standing. Cheering. Chanting your name over and over, echoing around the arena where it all began. Where you’d bled, rehabbed, led, and lifted more than just trophies you’d carried a team into history.

And yet…

You were crying. Not small tears. Not discreet.

You were standing centre court, your medals around your neck, your hair still damp from champagne, and your shoulders were shaking. Your eyes were already rimmed red, your cheeks streaked with tears as the club played a montage of the season above the court. Every big shot. Every buzzer beater. Every celebration. Every injury. Every comeback. You. Always you.

You tried to smile through it, tried to wave to the crowd like everything was fine but your bottom lip was trembling and your hands weren’t steady.

Maya had an arm wrapped around your waist, her forehead pressed briefly to your shoulder. Liv wiped her own eyes beside you, sniffling with zero shame.

And the rest of your teammates were struggling. Because seeing you like this, the heartbeat of the team, the one who always held it together was breaking them.

Your coach saw it too.

She crossed the court calmly but with urgency, gently pulling you into a hug right there in front of everyone. One arm wrapped firm around your shoulders, the other cupping the back of your neck as you sank into her.

She whispered something only you could hear. “Whatever happens next, this will always be yours. You gave this city this.”

You nodded into her shoulder, the tears not stopping but becoming quieter. It wasn’t just the emotion of winning. It was the ache of knowing this was probably the end. Your last time in this arena as one of them.

And no matter how many cheers came, how many lights flashed, how many people screamed your name…

It wouldn’t change the fact that the goodbye you hadn’t said yet was already being felt.

The arena was still roaring when someone handed you the mic.

You hesitated. Your hand curled around the black metal, fingers trembling. You stared at it like it might burn you, because speaking meant naming something you’d spent months trying not to.

You looked out at the crowd, at the faces you’d come to know and love. Fans wearing your jersey. Staff who’d treated your ankle like sacred ground. Your teammates still clutching each other on the sidelines.

And then you looked up.

The banners. All four. Hanging there like crown jewels.

You cleared your throat and brought the mic to your lips. Your voice cracked before you even started.

“I’m not great at this,” you began, your laugh watery, brushing at your cheek with the back of your hand. “Talking. Especially when it matters. Especially when it’s this close to… everything.”

The crowd quieted, sensing what you were about to say, but no one moved. No one even breathed.

“This season… I don’t even know how to describe it. We made history. Not just as a team, but as people. We fought through injuries, setbacks, pressure, expectations so heavy they could’ve crushed us. But we didn’t break. We rose.”

You paused, exhaling slowly. You looked at Maya. At Liv. Your coach. Each of them anchoring you in their own way.

“There’s no version of this story without all of you. No version of this success without every single person who showed up every day, even when it was hard. Who stayed when things were uncertain. Who played through pain. Who showed up for each other when we didn’t know how to ask.”

The crowd started clapping again soft at first, then swelling.

You swallowed. Your voice gentled. “And this is the end for me here… this is the last time I wear this jersey, then I just want to say. Gracias!”

Your eyes were glassy again, but your voice didn’t falter now.

“For believing in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. For letting me lead you. For letting me grow here. For letting me leave this court not just as a player, but as a part of this club’s history.”

You looked down for a moment, overwhelmed by the roar rising again. Then back up, straight into the heart of the crowd.

“No matter where I go next, this” you turned, gesturing to the court, the lights, your teammates, "this will always be home. You made me feel like I belonged.”

A pause. A breath.

“And that’s something I’ll carry with me, always. I wish there was a different ending to this story but it's the one I have to accept. Te amo con todo mi corazón, adiós.”

You lowered the mic slowly, letting the words settle, letting the emotion swell.

The arena exploded. Standing ovation. Chants. Cheers. Tears.

And in the chaos, as your teammates pulled you into a hug, the staff and coaches surrounded you like a living, breathing embrace.

The press release went out just after sunrise.

Short. Gracious. Carefully worded by your agent, signed off by both parties, and accompanied by one photo your last walk through the tunnel, back turned, trainers slung over your shoulder.

You didn’t read the headlines. You didn’t need to. You already knew what they’d say.

“Barcelona’s Star Departs.” “Historic Season Ends in Goodbye.” “WNBA Wins the Battle.”

None of them would write about what it really meant. Not the missed calls. Not the silence after the fight. Not the ache in your chest when you handed back your training gear and walked past the football facility door without popping your head in.

You thought you might cry when the flight lifted off. But you didn’t. You stared out the window, the city shrinking beneath you, the crest pressed into your hoodie like it still belonged to you. Willing the plane to England for the post season break to hurry up and land you just wanted a hug from your mum.

You didn’t cry then. Not when you went to yours parents as you thought.

It was when you sat on the floor in your bedroom, and pulled out your phone.

A single message.

From her.

Just a photo.

Of your hoodie.

And underneath, just one line:

“You forgot your jacket.” How it all started.

You didn’t respond. Not because you didn’t want to. But because the words wouldn’t come. You pressed the phone to your chest and sat there in the quiet of your cries for a long time, letting the silence say what neither of you could.

And somewhere, across an ocean, maybe she was doing the same. Because love doesn’t always end with fireworks. Sometimes it ends with a story that doesn't get the happy ending. And a photo you’ll never delete.

gone 😔😔 but never 🚫🚫 forgotten 🕊️🕊️

Straight. Straight straight straight.

~ I really don’t know what this is. I couldn’t sleep and so, here we are. I’ve never written anything other than essays for uni before so ..this could go down like a lead balloon! we’ll see, lemme know! :) ~

~ it’s like ..10k words? because I really couldn’t sleep. so, it’s a long one ..if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ I don’t think it needs any content warnings, but please tell me if there should be! there’s some swearing, if that’s off putting to you.. ~

~ it takes a tiny while for A to show up, and she’s never explicitly named..but she is there, it is her ~

~ I’m talking myself out of posting, but this is too long to scrap now, sorry ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

________________

The club is a disgusting little place to be. Buried right in the centre of town, with drinks so extortionately expensive, they make even the cost of your London’s monthly rent, look a little reasonable. The music blares inside your head, the strobe lighting messes with your vision, and the smell of horny sweaty bodies is an assault on the nostrils. It’s your least favourite place on earth to be.

It’s somewhere you’d managed to avoid being, for all of your early twenties. You’ve had no reason to go to a club late at night. Not when you’ve had a boyfriend for the past 5 years to go home to. That dirty little desire to get drunk, and hookup with an attractive stranger, took a nice long hibernation.

For you.

Turns out, your ever-loving, ever-caring, fuckwit of an ex-boyfriend, still managed to find the time to go to clubs, and hookup with strangers in between spending nights with you. You really thought he was out working till the early hours of the morning, busy making a living for your future together? What an idiot you were.

So, you’re back in a nightclub, at the behest of some of your single friends, for the first time in over half a decade, borderline drunk out of your mind.

It’s still a comfortable level of tipsiness at the moment, you’d argue, despite stumbling a little on your way back towards the bar. You can easily identify the song that’s being blasted, you’ve been able to order more drinks independently without being refused service. Your inhibitions are long gone, but you’re still able to think clearly, and you’re ready to find someone to go home with.

Your friends are all dotted around the room getting off with men of varying levels of attractiveness. None of them have impressed you so far, you’re not so desperate for company that you’re willing to let your own standards drop tonight. You’re happy to wait for the best-looking man in the room. Looking around the room to scope the talent on offer, however, maybe you do need to lower your standards a little bit.

You approach the bar again, and order a shot of tequila for yourself. A friendly little liquid that’s had previous success with you, for getting you to sleep with just about anything.

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you do not know. It’s rather ballsy of her, almost rude, but she holds out her card to pay, before you can get too irritated with her request.

“Gracias.” You offer, using your exceptional detective skills to work out the woman’s nationality.

“¿Hablas español?” She checks, as she leans next to you, and you wag a dismissive, drunken finger in front of her face as you shake your head.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you tell her, “only English. GCSE level German.”

She smirks, watching you, and you narrow your eyes at her, tapping the bar as you await your drink.

You’re handed your shot, with a lime wedge and some salt, and you nod in thanks, to the woman who bought it for you. You don’t wait for her to go first, you’re in a bit of a rush here. All the men in the room are getting uglier by the second, you need to act fast, before you see the light too clearly.

You lick your hand and pour on the salt, the woman watching you closely as you do. She doesn’t go through the motions at all for her own drink, she focuses solely on you, gently biting at her bottom lip.

You lick the salt, down the shot, and she holds the lime wedge in between her fingers for you to bite. You don’t question it. Not until you sink your teeth into the lime, your eyes meet over it, and time stand still.

She has very beautiful eyes. A mysterious looking hazel. They flicker over you as you suck the citrus juice, and you can see the crinkles in the corners of them as she smiles at you. It’s weirdly intimate, unnervingly so.

You pull away, wiping the juice from your chin as you point to her own glass for her to follow suit. You find yourself watching her as she does the same routine, but you don’t hold out the fruit for her, the way she did for you. It was a strange custom, one that’s already playing on a loop in your head.

“Can I get you another?” She offers, and you find yourself torn.

You’re not here for a woman, you’ve never been with one. You’ve kissed your girlfriends once or twice when you were younger, mainly as a gross way of attracting boys. It’s not something you thought too deeply about, it wasn’t exactly a lightbulb moment for you. There was never any secret yearning for any of your friends afterwards. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.

The woman’s eyes seem to pierce through your soul, as she waits for your answer, like she can see something in you that you can’t. It draws you in, but you hold yourself back.

“I’m straight.” You tell her, and she smirks at you again.

“Congratulations! I didn’t ask,” she points out, “but thanks for letting me know.”

You frown a little as she turns her attention back to the bartender and orders two more shots for the pair of you. She doesn’t seem put off by your sexuality claim at all. It’s almost like she doesn’t believe you, and you’re not too sure you appreciate her cockiness about it.

In fairness, maybe you’re the one being cocky. She doesn’t have a badge on her saying she’s a lesbian, there’s no rainbow floating above her head. She’s not a stereotypical lesbian, not in the way that your little sister is. Maybe she’s just being friendly, and you’re projecting, because you’re drunk and full of yourself.

“Sorry,” you start, leaning into her so she can hear you above the music, and she pushes the shot towards you, “I just thought ..maybe you were coming on to me.”

“That’s very wishful thinking from you.” She says simply, turning her head slightly to face you. She’s exceptionally close, and your eyes instantly trail to her lips. Time’s stood still again.

She has nice lips, very nice lips. They’d probably taste very nice..

You have to pull yourself away.

“Gracias.” You say again, gesturing to the glass in front of you with a frown. You reach for the salt, but before you can lick your hand, she’s raises it to her own mouth to wet it for you. You really don’t know what to make of her. It’s very gross, it’s very rude ..it’s very sexy.

There’s a confidence in her, that has you questioning things. The warmth of her tongue sends goosebumps right up your arm. Which, she can undoubtedly see, as you don’t have long sleeves and she’s smirking at you again. You don’t appreciate her smug little attitude. Anyone would have a physical reaction to being licked by a stranger, she has no business being arrogant about it.

You must have been stuck in place for too long, as she pours the salt onto your hand on your behalf too.

You don’t like being outdone. If she wants to play it cocky, you can match her for it. You grab the lime wedge and indicate for her to open her mouth. It catches her a little off guard, which you feel a sense of pride in, but she doesn’t back down from your challenge. She welcomes your newfound confidence, with that same little smirk from before.

You place the lime, skin-side back, in between her teeth and you lick the salt from your hand with unwavering eye contact. You down the shot, and you pull her in carefully by her neck.

Your lips brush against hers, ever so slightly, as you bite the lime between her teeth and remove it in your own. It’s a deliberate move from you, maybe you’re feeling messy tonight. You watch as she raises her fingers to her lips, and you wipe the juice again with the back of your hand. You give her a nod with another little ‘gracias’, before heading away from the bar without looking back at her.

You’re stuck on a carousel of men once you return to the centre of the club. They are all admittedly, far better looking than they were before your little trip to get drinks, but there’s still no one drawing your eye. None of them like that cocky little woman at the bar.

She wasn’t really little, she’s quite tall, actually. Had a couple inches on you, that’s for sure, and you’re not short. She was impressively tall, she had nice posture. She didn’t slouch or look uncomfortable. She was just tall, and beautiful, with that endearing little smirk on her pretty little fa— what are you doing?

You need to find yourself a man, and quick.

You’ve trapped yourself between another one and a wall, only a few minutes later, and it feels like a mistake. His hands are on your hips, his mouth is dangerously close to yours, and frankly, no amount of alcohol could make you genuinely attracted to him.

“You’re really sexy.” He slurs, his hand grazing up your body.

No, next.

It doesn’t take long to find another, his arm wrapped round your waist as he shares his drink with you. He’s cute, you’re fairly certain. He does have a moustache, which isn’t your usual cup of tea. It’s like a little caterpillar resting above his top lip, twitching as he talks to you. He drowns it slightly as he has more of his drink, and it makes you cringe as he licks at it.

It’d probably tickle if he kissed you, or leave you with a rash, the hairy little ferret on his lip.

Do you know who didn’t have a moustache? Who you wouldn’t have to work out, how not to throw up in their face, as there’s no risk of their facial hair ever getting stuck in your mouth as you kiss?

Mhmm.

Straight straight straight.

You slide out from his embrace, twirling him around to go after some other poor soul and you return to the bar.

It’s disappointing to realise she’s no longer there, not that she should be waiting around for you. She’s probably found someone less rude to spend her time with, someone more gay.

Look at the state of you, traipsing back to a bar in search of woman you don’t know because she looked at you for a second too long and now you can’t shake her from your head. How embarrassing. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.

You make your way through to the ladies’ room to splash some water on your face, and come to your senses. Of course, that’s where she’s hiding. With some new company of her own.

That shouldn’t hurt you. You don’t even know this woman’s name. You know nothing about her at all except that she’s tall, beautiful and has soft lips. Lips that are now on another woman and you’re incensed. You have no right to be angry about it, and yet, here you are.

You bash at the head of the tap, rather aggressively. Sometimes taps in nightclub restrooms don’t work, it probably needed a firm touch. It has nothing to do with you wanting to distract the woman, no no no. Because you’re straight. Straight straight straight.

You don’t need the attention of another woman, that would be ridiculous. That wouldn’t be very straight of you at all.

It doesn’t seem like your loud and theatrical washing of your hands has done anything to disturb the kiss to the side of you.

And good! You wouldn’t want to do that.

So, when you bump into them to reach for some hand towels, that’s just an accident. The fact that the tall, beautiful, soft-lipped, Spanish woman’s eyes flick to you as you dry your hands, is just an unfortunate side effect of your clumsiness.

The fact that it doesn’t stop her from kissing the other woman, however, is outrageous. Her watching you, as she’s busy with someone else? How disgusting.

Your heart shouldn’t be racing at the sight of her, your breath shouldn’t be as shallow at is, and it definitely shouldn’t be catching in your throat as the other woman kisses down her neck, and she’s still only looking at you. This isn’t attractive. This isn’t turning you on. You don’t wish it was you on her neck. There’s that infamous smirk on her face again as she stares at you. She’s unbelievable.

You throw your towels in the bin with an almighty clang as you let the lid drop back down, finally putting the other woman off her stride, and you make a swift exit back into the club.

The music’s too loud again, the smell is suffocating, all of the men are gross by comparison to the woman stuck in your head. It’s been an unsuccessful night and you’re ready to go home alone.

The hand that grabs you, has other ideas.

“You said you were straight!” She reminds you, as she pulls you outside with her.

“I am!” You tell her, still annoyed with her little antics.

“You followed me to the toilet?”

“I didn’t know you were in there!” You point out, even more annoyed with her cocky little attitude.

“You’re angry.” She tells you, smirking. “Didn’t like me kissing someone else?”

“I don’t care who you kiss!”

“No?”

“No!”

There’s a palpable tension between you both. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t know this woman. She doesn’t know you. It doesn’t matter that she kissed someone else. You were trying to kiss someone else only a minute before.

Why you’re so enraged by a woman who’s bought you two shots, getting with another woman after you walked away from her, is a question for future you. You’re not about to have an existential crisis in front of her. Questioning your identity in your mid-twenties, is absurd. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.

There’s a curiousness, to her decisions, actually. To follow you, when she already had company. To drag you outside, to where no one else is. She’s very confident about you being interested, but she’s not exactly being apathetic herself.

“Why did you leave her?” You ask.

“What?”

“You followed me,” you point out, furrowing your brow, “had a pretty girl draping herself all over you, and you left her to follow me. Why?”

You’ve clearly touched a nerve; her smirk has vanished. You can see her tongue pushing against the inside of her mouth. She’s annoyed with you.

She slowly runs her tongue under her teeth, before wetting her bottom lip with it while rolling her eyes. She doesn’t miss how your breath hitches watching her. Her smirk is back, and she moves closer to you.

“Maybe I’ll go back to her.” She threatens, and your jaw clenches slightly.

“Maybe you should!” You tell her, taking steps backwards as she approaches.

“Do you want me to?”

You collide into the wall behind you, and she places her hands on it by your head.

“No.” You confess, breathlessly.

“You said you were straight.” She repeats, her face mere inches from yours as she leans into you.

You swallow down, your pulse picking up speed.

“I am.” You insist, your eyes locking onto her mouth. “I..”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

“What do you want me to do?” She questions knowingly, that all too familiar smirk, taking over her face. She tilts her head, impossibly close to yours. You can smell the lime that lingers on her lips, feel her breath that softly blows against you, but she still doesn’t let you have what you want.

“Are you going to make me beg for it?” You groan, leaning backwards into the wall as far as you can.

“Maybe.” She tells you.

You hate her holding all the cards like this. She has you like putty in her hands. She’s all cocky and in control. Who does she think she is?

You’re better than this. You’re not shy around people you fancy. You may have been caught in a pointless relationship for far too long, but you’re a catch, people are into you. This woman right here, is into you. You don’t need to be nervous with her, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re straight. Straight straight straight. It could be the worst kiss of your life, and why should you care?

You slink your arm up behind her neck, closing the distance between you even further, and her eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m not going to.” You inform her, emboldened by her reaction to you. You duck out from under her arms, blowing her a kiss as you walk back inside. To find a man to take you home. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.

It doesn’t take you long at all to find another man to wear around you. One with glasses on. No, he’s not attractive. No, you don’t want to go home with him. But he’s here, he’s a man, and he isn’t driving you quite as crazy as the woman you keep running into. It’s simple, it’s easy, it’s hassle free. It’s exactly what you came for, you’re ready to go.

________________

Waking up in unfamiliar sheets, is something you haven’t done in a while. You’re quietly proud of yourself. The sheets smell nice, your hangover headache isn’t half as bad as you thought it would be, and there’s a pleasurable little ache between your legs that tells you that, whatever happened last night, you more than enjoyed yourself.

You wriggle a little under the covers and take a peek to confirm that you are indeed, completely naked. Your eyes are allowed to trail the body next to you. You’ve had sex with it, you’re more than entitled.

You really don’t remember which man it was you left with. There was the one with the glasses, the tall one with the mullet, the man with the moustache, the unfortunate gentleman with the incorrectly placed toupee.

He’s probably the one you’d most be upset about seeing next to you. Not that he didn’t seem friendly enough, but he really wasn’t the attractive stranger you were hunting for.

You risk another quick peek under the covers and your eyes all but bug out of your head. No no nonononono. You pull the covers back down and shut your eyes, trying to remember what the hell went wrong. You had countless semi-attractive men all over you. How the hell?

You peek again. Maybe you’re seeing things. Your hungover little brain playing tricks on you.

No.

That’s definitely not a man’s body. It’s far too beautiful. It’s toned, smooth, sculpted by the gods themselves. You want to put your tongue on it. You probably already have had your tongue on it. Who knows what you’ve done to it, what it’s done to you. How the hell did you go home with a woman?

“Are you enjoying the view?” The voice outside of the covers asks, and you roll yourself over under the sheets away from her.

You’d recognise that accent anywhere. That cocky little tone to her voice. That insufferable Spanish woman from the bar. That tall, beautiful, soft-lipped, Spanish walking-headache, took you home, and had her way with you? You? When you’re straight? Straight straight straight.

The ache in between your legs, the dull satisfaction running through your body, and you have her to thank for it?

It’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. It’s a horrible, twisted little trick, that, if you keep your eyes closed to, maybe it will all disappear around you and you’ll wake up again next to a man. A gross, sweaty little man, with too much hair on his face and not enough on the top of his head.

There’s a snicker from outside of the covers and you let out a huff, as she taps at your body.

“What?” You grumble, making no effort to free yourself from the sheets you’ve cocooned yourself in.

You can feel her shimmy herself closer to you and you hold your hand behind you to stop her.

“No!” You tell her, quite firmly, as her torso connects with your fingertips. Her toned torso. Her taut, muscly torso that your fingers have somehow now spread out over. You can feel her breathing against your palm. She hasn’t edged any closer to you after your outburst, and you regret telling her off so soon.

You’d quite like her pressed up against you, if that’s what she wants to do. Maybe you were too hasty, too rude. You can still feel the shortness of her breath against your hand. You’re being inappropriate, touching her like this. You slowly remove your hand from her, still hovering it pretty close.

You reach back for her arm, trailing your fingers down it until you meet with her hand, and you pull it around you. You’re not entirely sure what’s possessing you, you just want to feel her on your skin. She doesn’t need much encouragement to nestle into you, and it’s definitely not a man’s body.

You tangle your fingers with hers over your stomach, leaning into her. She has nice hands. Hands that are quite a bit bigger than yours, it’s no wonder you have an ache.

She removes the covers from over your head, instantly placing her lips to your neck. It’s very easy to forget yourself with her mouth on you, it’s no real surprise she managed to trick you into coming back to hers at all. She frees her fingers from yours, moving her hand down your body, and you put up no resistance to her. You encourage it, if anything, moving yourself to make it easier.

It’s nothing like having a man between your legs. There’s no needless grunting above you, no mindless grabbing, or endless showboating. You don’t need to make excessive noises to boost her ego. She just really knows what she’s doing with her fingers. She has every right to be cocky with herself.

Maybe this is just what it is to be with a woman. Maybe they just know, it’s the same parts, after all. Maybe it’s an inherent knowledge that all women possess, but only a select few ever get to experience. Lucky them.

Lucky you.

You are still being quite loud with her inside of you. It’s not for her benefit, it just really feels very good. You grip at her head behind you, running your fingers down the back of her neck, and you bite at your other hand to mute your sound effects, to stop giving her quite so much satisfaction with herself. You can see that smug little smirk on her face, it’s impossible to know if it’s still annoying or just incredibly sexy. It’s a very thin line with this woman.

It’s hard to keep still with her going to work on you the way she is. You find yourself rolling back over into her and she welcomes you, easily capturing your lips with hers. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They are very nice lips, they do taste nice, and it’s not the first time you’ve kissed them.

Memories of the night come flooding back in.

________________

“I can take you back to mine?” The man wearing glasses offers.

“Perfect!” You reply, all too eager to get out of this frustrating little situation you’ve found yourself in. He places his cup on the nearest table, and winks at you, before leading you to the door.

Again, the hand that grabs you, has other ideas.

“You’re not leaving with him!” She tells you in no uncertain terms, as she holds you firmly in place.

“You can’t tell me what to do! Who the hell do you think you are?” She doesn’t give in, and as you turn to find the man, he’s already wandered off without you. “Are you joking? What’s your problem?”

You’re absolutely furious with the woman, she has no right to ruin your plans like this. You shake her off of you and head back to the bar, but she shadows you closely.

“You can fuck right off, following me about!”

“You’re really very angry.” She tells you, rather amused at your attitude. “Why, because I didn’t let you leave with some gross man?”

“He was cute!”

“He was about 50!”

That can’t be right.

He had glasses on, sure, but so do lots of people in their twenties. He had ..greying hair. Slightly less common, perhaps, but he had been cute.

Hadn’t he?

“Fuck!”

You rub your fingers over your forehead, trying to erase him from your mind, as the woman continues smirking at you.

“You can wipe that smug look off your face, right now!” You warn her and she chuckles to herself.

“Do you want another drink?”

“..Please.”

You down another round of shots together, being inappropriate with the salt and limes again. There’s an incredible amount of confidence in you. Whether it’s your new disdain for this woman, the fact that you’re unlikely to be going home with someone you’ll be happy waking up next to, or just the alcohol flooding your system, who can tell, but it’s a confidence that you’re more than willing to embrace.

You order another round of drinks and lick her collarbone ready to pour the salt on to. Her eyebrow quirks at you, but she doesn’t stop you doing it. She readies the lime in her mouth, as you down the tequila, and she pierces it with her teeth for you, dripping the juice into your mouth from hers up above.

It’s a very weird mating call from her, and it’s 100% effective. You grab her hand and lead her back to the hallway between the toilets. You bury your head in her neck as the moustache walks past you both, and you open the door to the smoking area to see if anyone’s about. No one is, so you pull her outside with you.

“Why are we back here?” She asks, that smug smile still tattooed on her lips.

“I feel more sober in fresh air.”

“Mm? You’re very drunk.”

“You’re very drunk!”

“Maybe, but at least I’m not on a ridiculous hunt for a man!”

“It’s not ridiculous, it’s meticulous!” You tell her, giggling slightly at your accidental rhyme. “I’m looking for a very specific man, preferably a good looking one, in his twenties.”

“Really? You didn’t seem too worried, that a man in his twenties was actually a man in his fifties!” She points out.

“Mm. I don’t know that I’m particularly worried about a man in his twenties ..being a woman in her twenties either.” You tell her with a rather casual shrug as you head to one of the tables. You sit yourself up on it, looking back at the woman who gives you a knowing little smile.

“You’re not very straight, are you?” She asks sarcastically.

“I really am.” You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I’ve never been with a woman, never wanted to be. I’ve only just got out of a long-term relationship with a man. I’ve only ever wanted to be with men.”

“Mm?” She mumbles, moving over to you slowly. She carefully pushes your knees apart and stands in between them, looking down at you. “I’m not a man.” She reminds you, and you trap your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Maybe I don’t want you.”

“Mm?” She places a curved finger under your chin, tilting your head and bringing your mouths very close together. “Tell me you don’t.”

There’s a feeling in your stomach at her challenge, a feeling lower than your stomach at her challenge. You do want her, and you’re not a good enough liar to pretend that you don’t.

“I can’t..” You admit, and she smiles again, before removing herself from you. You let out a frustrated little sigh as she moves backwards, and you swing your legs back together. “You want me too!” You tell her and she tilts her head to the side.

“Who told you that?”

“Tell me you don’t.”

“..I can’t.” She admits, and maybe her cocky little smirk has found its way onto your face.

You jump down from the tabletop and lean back against it, nibbling at the inside of your mouth. She casually walks back over to you, resting her hand on your hip.

It’s far less offensive than gentleman number 6’s grazing of your body. You don’t feel the need to push her away at all. She leans back into you, tucking your hair behind your ear. It sends a little tingle right down the side of your neck, and she smirks again at your reaction. You can’t not roll your eyes at her incessant need to be arrogant. She rubs her thumb across your cheek and over your mouth, pulling down on your lower lip gently.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes ..what?” She asks, and she’s ruined the moment. You shake your head at her chuckling lightly.

“If you don’t want to kiss me, it’s fine, we don’t have to. I’m not going to beg you for it.” You tilt your head, brushing her nose with yours. “Do you want to kiss me?” She nods silently, and you wink at her. “Looks like we’re both missing out then!”

You slip out from between her and the table and make your way over to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To find a man to take me home! I’m straight!”

You can hear her cocky little laugh as you head back into the club, and it sends a little thrill right through your body.

This bizarre game of cat and mouse continues between you both for a little while longer. You keep buying each other shots, drinking them in more obscene ways every time. You back each other into walls, threatening to kiss each other, before one of you walks away, and the whole process repeats itself.

It’s getting harder to compose yourself after each round of shots. You really do just want her to kiss you, you’ve had enough of fighting it, but you also don’t want her to have the satisfaction of you caving in. It’s a ruthless little battle that you’ve found yourself in. She’s incredibly competitive.

You have to commit. Genuinely find yourself a man. It shouldn’t be hard. There’s lots of them about, and you’re more drunk now than you’ve been all night. You’re embarrassingly easy prey.

You survey your surroundings, hoping for one decent looking man to catch your eye. It’s a truly talentless night. You find yourself grimacing slightly realising that all of your friends have already left the place. Some of them will definitely regret their choices in the morning.

As will you, if you don’t manage to get at least one kiss from this godforsaken woman.

“Looking for me?” She asks as she sidles on next to you, leaning against the wall.

“I’m looking for a man! I’ve already told you this.”

“Well ..there’s one there.” She tells you, gesturing to a random fellow in the corner. “There’s another there.” She points out. “There. There. The—”

“I get it, thanks. You have terrible taste in men.”

“I don’t have any taste in men.” She reminds you. “I have pretty impeccable taste in women.”

“Mm? Well, which one takes your fancy?” You ask. “There’s one over there. There ..there. Th—”

She grabs your pointed finger and turns it back towards you. It’s not a new answer, so god knows why you’re blushing at it.

“Then kiss me.” You tell her, little louder than a whisper. “Just kiss me, for fuc—”

She’s clearly had enough too. Maybe it was the tiredness in your voice, the obvious look of defeat in your eyes. Maybe she just doesn’t like you swearing. You’re not going to question it. Her lips are finally on yours, and she was definitely worth the wait. It ignites a spark in you, it sends your tipsy little mind fully into orbit, and she’s the only other person in the room with you.

There’s no sense of desperation in the kiss. It’s not messy, or chaotic. It’s deliberate from her, considered. There’s an air of caution perhaps, a worry that you’ll pull away from her. You’re straight, after all. Maybe she’s nervous that your certainty in wanting a kiss will waver now that she’s finally given you what you want. Maybe you’ve realised that you don’t actually want it.

It’s a new experience for you, surprisingly different from kissing a man, but it’s not one you want to pull away from. It’s not one you want to rush. It’s not one you really want to end at all. You can sense her apprehension, and it’s the first time that she’s had no snark. It’s not a cocky little kiss. She’s not doing it to get it over and done with. It’s not going to end with her smirking at you, like she’s done you a favour. It isn’t meaningless.

It’s tentative, and frankly, you’ve had enough of her carefulness. If she needs a sign that you’re not going anywhere, that you want her to keep kissing you, you’ll find a way to do that. Your tongue parts her lips, and the gasp you elicit is all the confirmation you need of her nerves. It’s endearing to have her be quite so vulnerable with you.

You deepening the kiss is clearly all the confirmation she needs that everything’s fair game, because she wastes no time in escalating the intensity. She clings to you, wrapping her arm around your waist, her hand gripping at your hip, the other cradling your jaw. She backs you up against the wall and muffles the moan that escapes you with your joined lips.

Her tongue dances with yours, and you let her take over all your senses. It’s just a kiss, and yet it’s like a journey to a whole new world. It’s entirely all-consuming, the rest of existence has melted to nothingness around you. You don’t care where you are, you don’t care who’s watching. Or do you?

Maybe there is a mild sense of urgency to it, because kissing is simply not enough. You need to have her closer, impossibly close. You need her, entirely, and regardless of how much you’re craving the feeling of her, you do still care about where that happens.

“Are you local?” You ask, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. She only gives a silent nod in reply. “I’m like ..20 minutes by taxi?”

“My hotel’s closer than that.”

“So ..back to yours?”

“Are you sure?” She asks, searching your eyes for any sense of reluctance. She’s unlikely to find any, but you nod, assertively, just to reaffirm. “I’m not taking you back to mine to ..play cards?” She double-checks with you and you chuckle, resting your forehead to hers.

“No, I’m sort of counting on that.” You tell her. “Unless you don’t wa—”

She cuts you off with a kiss again. There was no swearing this time, no tiredness or look of defeat. Maybe she just likes kissing you.

“Are you absolutely sure?” She asks again, because she’s polite, and underneath all her cocky annoyingness, she really is very sweet.

“Oh my god.” You sigh. You do still find yourself rolling your eyes, you don’t know how much more obvious you need to be with her. “..please.”

The rush back to her hotel room is fun, you feel like a teenager all over again. Waltzing through the streets of London, your hand interlaced with an attractive stranger’s, the promise of sex hanging in the air.

It doesn’t matter that it’s a woman you’re linked up with. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s a one-time little indulgence. An experiment, for research purposes. To find out what it is your sister’s been going so crazy over, ever since she was a teenager.

It doesn’t mean anything when she keeps kissing you against the walls of closed buildings. It doesn’t mean anything when you pull her back into you at the entrance of her hotel. Yes, it’s nice. It’s enjoyable. It steals the air right from your lungs every single time, but that doesn’t mean anything. How could it, when you’re straight? Straight straight straight.

You do keep your hands off each other when you get to the lift of the hotel, there’s an older woman in there with you, and you’re not about to put on a show for her. Not for free.

Maybe your eyes keep meeting too much, or the smirking is too obvious. Maybe you do keep touching once or twice, because something’s definitely giving you both away.

“Lesbians?” The older woman asks, with a very clear disdain.

“Hm? For tonight.” You reply with a nod, unperturbed by her demeanour. Your Spanish host shakes her head at you, smiling as she looks up at the ceiling.

You’ve dealt with a few homophobes in your time. Your sister isn’t exactly subtle with her identity. It welcomes dirty looks, offensive words, and you’ve never been one to shy away from protecting her. You’ve never had to defend yourself against prejudice, but she’s not exactly an intimidating woman. You could easily take her if she tries to raise her hand.

“It’s disgusting.” She mutters under her breath, and her unsupportive attitude is sort of spurring you on.

“Do you think?” You ask. “What’s so disgusting about it?”

“Two women. It’s a waste.”

“Oof. I am not about to let her go to waste, don’t you worry about that at all, madam.” You reassure her, offering a friendly smile that earns you a very angry look in reply.

You don’t miss the smirk that graces the taller woman’s face next to you in the mirror, and that’s all the encouragement you need.

“It’s not natural!” The older woman tells you, and you nod your head slowly back at her. “It’s disgusting!”

“You’re very annoyed about it.” You point out. “It’s a bit unnecessary, no?”

“I think you’re both disgusting!” She hisses at you again.

“Oh dear.” You lean back against the bar of the elevator, as the older woman stares you down. “That’s an incredible argument you’ve put forward. I think I’ve seen the light!”

She not at all impressed by your relaxed sarcasm, you’re clearly getting on her nerves. Your lack of remorse, the fact you’re not begging for her forgiveness.

“I think it—”

“You think it’s disgusting, madam. We get it.” You interrupt, a little bit tired of her insistence. “Don’t spend your evening with another woman, then. We’re not inviting you to join us, so you can calm down.” You tell her, moving back towards the Spanish woman behind you.

She wraps her arm around your waist instantly and you lean into her touch. It’s comforting, subtle. It’s a very casual display of support without silencing you, without fighting over you.

She’s not dramatically shouting at the other woman; she’s not emasculated by you doing all the talking. She’s not making empty threats or getting up in the other woman’s face.

She’s not reacting at all in the way you’ve come to expect. The way that he probably would, to someone questioning him. Not that your ex ever defended your sister’s honour with you, but he certainly enjoyed getting into a scrap when he felt threatened.

It’s very attractive from her, actually, to just silently remind you that she’s there if you need her. That she’s with you, she does have your back, and you’d kiss her right there on the mouth if the woman opposite wasn’t glaring at you quite so intently.

Maybe you should kiss her regardless. There’s only a few more floors left till the old bat gets off. What’s she going to do, slap you both for some pda? There’s a security camera in here, she wouldn’t be so stupid.

Perhaps you can control yourself for a couple more floors, you don’t need to provoke the bastard woman. So what if she’s an unfavourable little witch, she’s not ruining your evening, you’re not going to let her.

Well, if that’s your logic, why should you let her stop you from kissing the woman when you want to? What courtesy do you owe to her? If she’s that upset about it, she’ll have to either avert her eyes like a petulant little child, or stop off at the floor below and hope she doesn’t choke on her bigotry when walking the rest of the way up. You don’t care.

Thankfully, neither does the Spanish beauty who matches your energy and kisses you back with the same fervour you’re showing her.

You’re instantly entirely unbothered by the third wheel once there’s an extra tongue back in your mouth, her Spanish hands on your face. You don’t care at all how uncomfortable you’re making the old bint. Frankly, you hope her eyes are burning at the sight of you both.

She doesn’t let you enjoy your moment for too long. Of course she doesn’t, the dark-sided little mare. She barges past you both as the doors open and she spits at the floor in front of you. The absolute nerve. She expectorates in the lift inside of a nice hotel, and you’re the disgusting ones? Absolutely not. You’re seeing red. You really could take her, you’ve been to a gym more than once or twice in your life, you’re not weak.

“You revolting little bi—”

The hand that grabs you, has other ideas.

“Let her go!” She tells you, laughing as she spins you back round to face her. “Por favor, she’s not worth it!”

“She spat at us! That dirty little cu—”

She kisses you again. Maybe she really does hate your swearing. Her lips are distracting, though, and you don’t mind learning that that’s one surefire way to get them back on yours.

“She really was a hateful bitch.” You murmur between kisses, and the Spaniard giggles against you.

“You’re a very angry straight girl.” She tells you, pushing your hair back off your face. “You don’t like homophobes?”

“Do you?” You ask, frowning at the woman in front of you.

“No,” she admits with a chuckle, “I’d have probably just let her get on with it quietly, though. Didn’t feel the need to anger her more!”

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

“You didn’t, I’d have backed you if she kept going.”

There’s that sexy little smirk again. It shouldn’t do things to you the way it does. It shouldn’t set your whole body on fire. A small curve to her lips, and you want to rip her clothes off? You’re very tragic.

You drag your eyes away from her and scan the floor number you’re on.

“Bloody hell!” You sigh. “Did you really have to book a room on the highest bloody floor? I get it, you’re rich ..but fuck me!”

You drum out your frustrations on the handrail of the lift, it’s slow ascent through the floors seemingly never-ending.

“Are you sobering up?” She asks, and you nod at her, still tapping your hands. “Are you changing your mind?”

You stop your little percussive performance and turn back to face her.

“You’re very convinced that I’m going to back out?”

“I just want you to know that you can.”

It’s genuine from her. It’s not a perverse attempt at guilt tripping, she’s not trying some weird technique of reverse psychology. She genuinely wants you to know that it’s okay if you’re not ready. If your own act of confidence, is exactly that, just an act.

You take her hand and pull her back towards you. She rests her hands on the rail behind you and you lean in very close.

“Do you want me to?” You ask, and she shakes her head. You tilt her face to meet her eyes and you kiss the corner of her mouth. “Well, okay then, and neither do I.” You tell her quietly, your lips feathering hers. “So know, that until I revoke it, you have my consent ..to do whatever.”

“Careful,” she warns, “I might take you up on that.”

It earns you a deep kiss, and another cheeky smirk. There’s exhilaration shooting through your body and this goddamn endless journey through the sky is entirely unbearable.

“It’s very cute, that your hotel is so close to the bar, but it really would’ve been quicker to just go back to mine!” You point out, patting at her hands behind you.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t me that booked it.”

That’s very cryptic. What on earth is that supposed to mean?

“Please don’t tell me your girlfriend’s waiting for you in there.” You tell her, narrowing your eyes as you await an explanation.

“No, it’s a ..business trip.”

That’s still very cryptic.

“A business trip? What do you do for a living?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“No?” You chuckle, arching an eyebrow. “Are you a spy?”

She laughs back at you, shaking her head. “No,” she assures you, “but it’s too personal.”

“Too personal? We’re not allowed to know each other’s careers?”

She shakes her head, and you find yourself smiling slightly with narrowed eyes. It’s very intriguing. If she wants you to be less interested in her, that wasn’t the way to play it.

“So, I’m guessing, I’m also not allowed to even know your name?” You check.

“A.”

“A?” You chuckle, nodding your head. “That’s a very beautiful name!” You tell her, your hand resting on her chest as you push her away from you. “There’s no way your parents were that lazy!”

“It’s my initial.” She tells you, rolling her eyes with that classic little smirk, as she pulls you back with her across to the other side of the elevator. “My first name starts with A.”

“And that’s all you’re giving me?” You ask, resting your hands on the railing behind her as she nods her head. “You really don’t want me to find you after tonight?” You question her, with your tongue tracing the bottom of your teeth. “Haven’t even been with me yet, and you already know you won’t want a repeat?”

She dips her head to kiss you again, and your hands grip at the bar behind her. You pull yourself in towards her, desperate to be closer, and she cradles your head in her hand.

“It’s not that,” she tells you gently, “but I go home tomorrow.”

Shit. That shouldn’t be so surprising to you. She has a thick Spanish accent, she’s staying in a luxury hotel, paid for by a company on her behalf. Of course she isn’t staying in London for very long. What happened to your exceptional detective skills? How did you not work that one out?

“Fuck.” Is all that falls out of your mouth as you pull yourself back from the woman.

“I’m sorry..” she offers, but you shake your head with a heavy sigh.

“No, I should have realised.” You tell her, nibbling at the inside of your mouth.

It’s a bummer, certainly. There’s something between you both. Whether it’s just a physical attraction, a sexual desire, who knows? But it’s there. You can feel it, and you’re positive that she can too. It doesn’t have to be anything deeper than that. That would mean you really did need to do some introspective work on yourself moving forward.

She’s just a woman. The one woman. The world’s most beautiful woman, who’s turned your world upside down, in a matter of hours. Who bought you a drink, that left you confused. That kissed another woman, and left you annoyed. Who refused to let you leave with a random ancient bastard and has saved you from spending a fundamentally flawed night with a limp-dicked disappointment.

And tomorrow she’ll be gone. You only have tonight with her.

You can walk, she’s already told you that. You can turn around now, and not let yourself fall any deeper. Save yourself the pain of a perfect night that you’ll never be able to repeat. Save yourself from spending the rest of your life chasing an experience you can never recreate with someone else.

It’d be hard enough to find her in London. It’ll be impossible to track her down in Spain.

Leave her now, with just the mind-numbing kisses to haunt you for all eternity. Don’t give your soul to a woman you’ll never see again. Don’t let her steal your heart away with her. Don’t ruin a life of enjoying mediocre sex for yourself.

The elevator rings out, signalling your arrival at her floor and you stay rooted to the spot as she slowly makes her exit. She looks back at you, a sad smile replacing her arrogant one.

“I understand.” She tells you, as she disappears down the hall.

You don’t understand. You don’t understand at all why your body feels so drawn to this woman. Why your mind, your heart, your soul are so desperate for you to chase after her. It can only spell trouble for you. One kiss with her sent your head spinning. Anything more than that will undoubtedly result in irreparable damage. How do you recover from that? How do you move on? How do you let yourself make any other meaningful connections with someone after feeling so intoxicated by a woman you know absolutely nothing about?

It isn’t possible for you to feel this way. It doesn’t make any sense. Even if you weren’t straight. Straight straight straight. How the hell can you fall for someone, when you don’t even have the luxury of knowing her first name? You don’t know what she does, you don’t know who she is. She could be an evil mastermind. A dark-sided villain who does terrible things, all the way over in Spain.

Don’t follow her. It’s foolish. It’ll be the worst mistake of your life. A night you can’t take back. An act you can’t undo.

The doors start to close in front of you, and you wedge your foot in between to stop them. You’re an idiot. A damn blasted fool.

But how could you not go after her? How can you not chase after the rush she sends through you? It’s dangerous, it’s messy, but you want her. Even though it’s just for a night. You can’t walk away from a feeling this strong. A yearning so powerful every cell in your body is screaming out for it.

She’s annoying. Frustrating. Beautiful. Enticing. There’s something, and you can’t very well just turn around and walk the other way.

You follow her into the hallway of her floor, and she turns back to face you.

“I thoug—”

“I didn’t revoke.” You tell her, shaking your head as you walk towards her. “I didn’t come up all this way to play cards, and I certainly didn’t come up all this way to go straight back bloody down again!”

She chuckles at you, shaking her head.

“And tomorrow?”

“We’ll deal with that then.” You tell her. “If it’s only meant to be one incredible night, then so be it.”

“You think it’ll be incredible?” She asks, the smirk tugging at her lips.

“With you? ..yes.”

The smirk morphs into a full smile. One that reaches her eyes. One that transforms her whole beautiful face into the most breathtaking radiance as she beams back down at you.

“And what if it’s awful?” She chuckles.

“Then I’ll be packing your bags for you to go in the morning.”

She takes a step to close the distance between you and pulls you in for a slow deep kiss.

“Are you absolutely su—”

“For fuck’s sake!” You whisper, crashing your head to her shoulder to chuckle against her neck. “Yes! I’m sure! I’m very bloody certain, I want you to take me to your room. Yes!”

“Yes ..what?”

She’s incredibly frustrating. Just wilfully annoying. Childish, pathetic, addictive, perfect. She’s everything. She’s absolutely everything.

“Please.”

________________

You don’t hate this woman. She didn’t trick you into bed at all. There’s affection between you, a fondness. It wasn’t a drunken night of angry passion. It was intimate, careful, experimental. Perfect.

You have a desperate need for this woman you’re wrapped up in. A want to have her close, to keep her with you forever. An impossible request. An unattainable, hopeless little prayer.

“You’re leaving today.” You remind her, panting slightly as she calms you from your high.

“I did tell you that.” She whispers, her fingers trailing your stomach.

“I know, I just ..it just hit me.”

You look back to her, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that you can only imagine you’re reflecting back at her with yours. You stroke your thumb over her cheek and lean in for a kiss. It’s soft, impossibly gentle. It’s the most painful way to say goodbye.

“I should go,” you tell her, “my sister will be wondering where I am. Wondering what ..man I hooked up with.” You chuckle a little pulling yourself out of her embrace.

“What will you tell her?”

“He was beautiful.” You admit. “Foreign.. Italian, I think.”

She laughs to the side of you, leaning back over towards you as she shakes her head. She places a kiss on your shoulder, lighting a tiny fire with her mouth.

“I don’t want you to go.” She tells you, placing more kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your lips.

You don’t want to go either, not when she’s igniting an inferno inside of your body like this. It’s cruel, it’s sadistic. It’s the perfect way to say goodbye.

“What time’s your flight?” You ask, with a mild desperation to your voice.

“Not till this evening.”

“Do you have to be anywhere else today?”

“Not till this afternoon.”

“So, we still have the rest of the morning?”

“Mhmm.”

“It probably wouldn’t be the worst thing ..if I was late back home.”

“No?”

“Unless you’re kicking me out?”

She has no intention of doing that, as well you know. She straddles herself on top of you, and your heart starts racing again. Her body on full display in front of you. The most beautiful body. She’s in incredible shape. It’d be more intimidating to you, if she hadn’t repeatedly told you how beautiful she thinks you are last night. You’re not in terrible shape yourself, but you definitely felt the need to tense more to give yourself some sort of definition. Her abs are just naturally on full display without any effort from her at all.

“You’re very beautiful.” You tell her, taking her in. “You have very beautiful ..eyes.”

“My eyes are up here.” She tells you, pointedly.

“Mhmm. Very beautiful.” You repeat, ignoring her little biology lesson as you trace your fingers over her curves.

She traps her tongue between her teeth as she smiles down at you, before leaning back in for a bruising kiss.

“You might be my favourite straight girl.” She tells you, and you roll your eyes.

“Might be?” You ask, feigning offence as you push her back up.

“You’re in the top three.” She tells you, smirking.

“Woww.” You draw out sarcastically. “That’s very charitable of you, thanks.”

She chuckles to herself, collapsing back down to run her lips across your chest. She starts trailing lower, and you can tell where she’s heading. She’s already seen to you once this morning, she’s done more than enough. You’d like to repay the favour. Frankly, you could do with a rest.

You grip at her thighs to flip her over, and the smile on her face as you do, has you kicking yourself for not doing it sooner.

“Are you okay?” She asks as your eyes roam over her face.

“Mhmm.” You nod. “I remember ..really enjoying something last night.” You admit, a little cautiously.

“Yeah? I remember you enjoying it too.”

“Did ..did you enjoy it?”

“Mhmm.” She murmurs, and you can feel her body shifting beneath you. “You’re very good with your tongue.”

“Really?” You ask, a little too enthusiastically, as a tiny thrill courses right through you. You have to fight every instinct not to wet your own lips with it as she nods, that small smirk coming back into view. “Did it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“You tasted good.” You breathe, clenching your jaw slightly.

“Are you still claiming to be straight?” She chuckles, her eyebrow arching.

“Mm.” You laugh, collapsing back into her for a kiss. “It’s hanging by a thread.” You admit, smiling into her as her lips move against yours. “Do you want me to?” You ask, a knowing look on your face.

“Yes.” She admits, her back arching as she readjusts herself for you.

“Yes ..what?”

She shakes her head, with a disbelieving smile. Maybe you’re in love with this stranger. Maybe she feels it too.

“..Please.” She whispers, and you don’t need asking twice.

________________

The walk back to the elevator, has no reason being as painful as it is. Even after a morning together between the sheets, a shared shower before a very late breakfast. You’ve still only known this woman a little over 12 hours. You’ve learnt absolutely nothing about her personal life, who she is, why she’s here, whether she’ll ever be back. She knows nothing about you. It isn’t right for there to be a connection between you, when you have no fundamental knowledge of each other. You could have literally nothing in common, and your heart’s tearing itself in two at the thought of her leaving for another country.

Neither of you want to say goodbye to each other. That much is obvious as you tangle your fingers with hers and stare at the button for the lift. Both elevators are on the bottom floor, you’ll still have a few minutes together even if you request it now. You can’t draw an eternity out of a few minutes, but you can savour them. It’s like setting a little timer for you as you press the button. The lift starts its ascension up the floors and the seconds you still have together start to decrease.

“This is insane.” You admit to her, your eyes beginning to sting. “I shouldn’t hate leaving you this much, I don’t even know who you are!”

“I know.” She tells you, with the same shaky breath as you.

She pulls you into her embrace and you cling to the fabric of her sweatshirt for dear life. She’s given you one of her sweatshirts, to stop you looking too dishevelled as you do the walk of shame back home. It’s a bit oversized on you, and she told you you looked adorable when you had to roll the sleeves up a couple times to free your hands.

You sort of wish she’d stop being so sweet to you. Go back to being the annoying woman that had her lips on someone else. Go back to being the weirdly confusing woman with the salt and the limes. Do anything to make saying goodbye to each other just a tiny bit more bearable.

“Imagine if you weren’t straight,” she whispers to the side of your head, “imagine the breakdown you’d be having then!”

She’s an idiot, and it does manage to make you laugh, as warm tears escape your eyes, and you bury your head further into her neck.

She’s not straight, you remember. So, maybe it’s a subtle confession of her own struggle she’s having with you parting ways. She is holding you impossibly tight, like you’ll disappear from right in front of her in a puff of smoke, if she loosens her grip even slightly.

The elevator seems to be soaring through the levels without any people in it. It’s a far more rapid process than it was when it was holding the pair of you hostage last night. That isn’t fair. Who designed that?

“It’s going to be the longest journey of my life going back down without you.” You mumble against her.

“Hopefully you don’t bump into your best friend on the way!”

“For fuck’s sake!” You laugh, pulling yourself from her and wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. “That evil cow!” You let out a sigh and shake your head. “She’ll be fine with me today, to be fair. I’m straight again now!”

“Oh, of course! You can agree with each other about it being disgusting, then!”

“Mm. I mean ..we did do some pretty disgusting things to each other.” You remind her smugly.

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate you giving her all the details.” She winks, and you grin as you pull her back into a hug.

“I really enjoyed it.” You confess to her, quietly. “I really enjoyed being with you.”

“Me too.”

The ding of the elevator signals that your time is up. The moment you’ve been dreading, has finally arrived. You head straight in. You don’t know if it’s better to get a clean break, or prolong the inevitable for as long as possible. The doors start closing, and her foot appears in the gap to keep you for a moment longer.

She fists her hands in her sweatshirt you’re wearing and kisses you across the threshold. It’s one that catches you off guard, but you match the passion in it as soon as you realise what’s happening. The doors try closing on you a few times, but you keep blocking them with a hand. You’re not letting them steal your moment.

She breaks the kiss but keeps her grip on you. You can see the tears in her eyes, feel the ones in yours. It’s ridiculous. You catch one with your thumb as it starts to roll down her cheek and you place a kiss to where you broke its fall.

“If you’re ever back in London..” you tell her, a small smirk on your face, “just ask around for my initial. I’m sure someone will lead you back to me!”

“I’ll have to try.” She tells you earnestly, letting go of your sweatshirt and smoothing it back down for you.

“I really need to go. It’s not possible to make this any easier.” You tell her, pushing her back as the doors start their final closing attempt. “Don’t forget me!”

“I won’t remember anything else.” She tells you, as the doors close, and neither of you have chance to change your minds.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. It was a one-night stand. They’re not rare. The pair of you crying after a single night together? That’s rare. That’s ridiculous.

Collapsing in on yourself as you try to catch your breath without her? That’s insanity.

The tears flow freely as you hold yourself up against the side of the elevator. You pull the neckline of her sweatshirt up over your nose and breathe her in. Playing make believe in your head, that she’s still with you. It’s a souvenir you’ll treasure. A living memory. Proof that it wasn’t a dream, and it certainly wasn’t a nightmare. It was your perfect little night, wrapped up with the world’s most perfect woman. The woman who’s running off back to Spain with your heart in her hand luggage.

All this longing, this desire, this love, for a woman that you barely know. A woman you have no hope in ever finding again. A woman you’ve fallen head over heels for, despite being straight. Straight straight straight.

i’m dead 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Indexical Reminder of a Morning Well Spent

i sent a little of this to @wosofutbolfan and it apparently passed the test so here it is

-

The goal was fucking beautiful.

A pure, uncut masterclass in footballing telepathy.

Alexia had barely looked before she whipped the ball into the box. You were already moving, already there, like you had a GPS tracker embedded under your skin, waiting for the exact moment to strike. One touch, a ruthless finish, and the net rippled like it was bowing to your greatness. The crowd went feral. Commentators lost their minds. Pundits called it art.

Now, in the changing room, your teammates are still reeling.

“Okay, but what the actual hell was that?” Mapi demands, pulling off her tape.

Pina shakes her head, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “It’s not normal. You don’t even look at each other. It’s like—like she breathes, and you just know.”

Patri squints at you. “Do you practice that at home?”

Irene folds her arms. “Be honest. Do you two have, like, a shared consciousness?”

Kika points at you. “Are you some kind of footballing hive mind? Because I refuse to believe that was just instinct.”

You stretch out your legs, completely unfazed. “It because we fuck all the time.”

Silence.

Alexia, who had been mid-sip of her water, chokes.

Coughs. Gags. Almost dies.

Mapi slaps the locker and cackles. “That explains a lot.”

Pina’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Patri grips her towel like it’s a seatbelt. “What does that have to do with football?”

You shrug. “Everything.”

Alexia is still spluttering. “No, no, no. Stop.”

You ignore her completely. “When you have sex as often as we do, you develop a kind of… connection.”

Alexia lunges, slamming a hand over your mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

Mapi grins. “Oh, no. She has to.”

Alexia glares at her. “She doesn’t.”

Kika leans forward. “No, I think she should.”

Pina nods, barely suppressing her laughter. “For scientific purposes.”

Patri crosses her arms. “If we’re going to be subjected to your disgusting public displays of on-pitch chemistry, we deserve the full explanation.”

You lick Alexia’s palm.

She yelps and jerks away like she’s been electrocuted.

You wipe your mouth. “As I was saying—”

“No. No,” Alexia pleads.

You continue, unfazed. “I know her body. Every inch of it. The way her muscles shift. The exact moment she tenses before she—”

Alexia actually grabs you. Tries to physically drag you away. “We’re leaving.”

You dodge, side-stepping like you’re evading a stubborn defender. “I just mean, when you’ve had someone clench around your fingers enough times—”

Alexia lunges again.

You bolt, darting around the physio table.

Mapi screams with laughter. “OH MY GOD.”

Kika has tears in her eyes. “Please, keep going. This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Alexia is desperate. “Stop talking.”

You dodge her again. “It’s pure instinct at this point. Like how I know exactly when she’s about to—”

Alexia dives. Misses.

Pina has collapsed onto the floor. “I cannot breathe.”

Patri is crying. “Make it stop.”

Irene wipes her face. “No, keep going, I need every detail.”

Mapi is wheezing. “Wait, wait, wait—are you saying that every time you score a goal off her pass—”

You smirk. “It’s basically an extension of our sex life, yes.”

Alexia grabs you, shakes you like she’s trying to reset your brain. “You. Are. Deranged.”

You grin. “Fong pretend you don’t love it.”

She shoves you. “I’m not pretending, I loathe it.”

Mapi is practically convulsing with laughter. “You’re telling me every single assist—”

“—is just an echo of last night’s activities? Oh definitely.”

Kika collapses onto the bench. “I need an exorcism.”

Alexia physically hauls you toward the showers. “We are leaving this conversation.”

You plant your feet. “Wait, wait, just let me finish—”

“No.”

“I’m just saying, it’s good motivation, you know? The more I score, the more assists she gets, the better the reward.”

Mapi screeches.

Pina is on the floor.

Patri is pleading with the universe.

Kika throws her water bottle at you. “LEAVE.”

Alexia shoves you through the doorway. “You’re done.”

Mapi wheezes. “This is the best day of my life.”

Alexia looks at the team like she’s asking for divine intervention. “This is the worst day of mine.”

“your foot moved weird” 🤣🤣🤨

it won’t let me answer normally but let’s get it.

it’s one of those long-awaited international friendlies, spain vs usa, and the energy is weird from the jump. azulita and estrella are trying to act normal in the tunnel, like they’re not playing against their alexia, but their legs are jittery and they keep laughing at things that aren’t funny. estrella ties and re-ties her ponytail five times. azulita’s bouncing her knee so hard she nearly knocks over her water bottle.

when ale walks past, calm as ever, she ruffles estrella’s hair and gives azulita a kiss on the cheek. “play smart,” she says. “not like fools.”obviously, they take that as a challenge.

the game is tense. they both go full beast mode. estrella with her usual flair and mouth, azulita with her surgical tackles and aggressive interceptions. they work seamlessly until about twenty minutes in, when ale gets the ball and is running through the midfield.

both girls zero in like heat-seeking missiles. the moment is slow motion. ale’s dribbling. estrella slides. azulita lunges. they take her out at the exact same time.

the stadium goes silent.

ale’s on the ground, not hurt but definitely stunned. the ref blows the whistle and gives a foul but no card. azulita and estrella are trying to help her up and talking at the same time. “we were going for the ball!” “your foot moved weird!” “you should’ve passed sooner!”

ale just stares at them, gives them the mum look™. you know, the one with the disappointed eyebrows and the slight tilt of the head.

they both shut up immediately. estrella helps her up, azulita pats her back, and they jog away like two kids who’ve been caught doing something they definitely weren’t supposed to.

the cameras catch it all. twitter goes wild. “these two took out their own mother on live tv.” “alexia grounded the entire uswnt midfield with one look.”

but that’s not even the wildest moment. because in the second half, one of the newer us players, someone a bit overeager, goes in way too hard on ona. it’s late, it’s reckless, and ona goes down hard.

azulita’s reaction is immediate. she charges over, chest puffed, yelling “what the hell was that?” estrella’s not far behind, adding, “you could’ve torn her acl, are you stupid?”

the teammate tries to defend herself but neither of them are listening. they’re full protective mode, and it’s so intense that the ref has to tell them to calm down or risk a card.

even after the match (which ends in a draw), they’re still pissed. the teammate tries to apologize again during the cooldown and azulita just walks away. estrella says “hope it was worth looking like an idiot on replay” before grabbing her recovery drink and leaving too.

they don’t speak to her for the rest of camp. when asked why, azulita says “she almost killed one of our own.” estrella nods solemnly and adds “there’s rules and you broke them.”

kristie tries to talk some sense into them. so does tobin. even sonnet. but both girls are dramatic to their core. they give each other matching evil glares every time the teammate passes by.

ale, meanwhile, sends them a voice note after the match that just says: “if you ever tackle me like that again, you are grounded for a month. no sol and no syd.”

they both immediately respond: “sorry mami/ale.”

fans go crazy. there’s memes. edits. someone puts dramatic music over the double-tackle clip. someone else edits ale’s mum look with red lasers in her eyes. estrella reposts it. azulita comments “rip to us.”

by the end of camp, the tension dies down a little. the teammate finally earns back some respect by offering to do azulita’s recovery ice bath for her and passing estrella the aux cord.

but the message is clear. hurt a barca player and face the wrath of the daughters of putellas.