dani

Please be kind I wrote this in an hour

You open Instagram without thinking anything was out of the ordinary, thumb moving on muscle memory while the kettle boils. You’re half asleep, still in an oversized hoodie that smells like Alexia because you stole it before she left for her girls trip. You expect sun, sea, stupid sunglasses, maybe a blurry video of her and her friends.

What you don’t expect is that, blonde, but not just blonde, bleach blonde, bright, freshly toned, aggressively intentional and then you swipe.

The braids down to her belly button, actual, tight, holiday braids framing her face like she’s auditioning for a completely different personality.

You stare at the screen, unblinking, “No,” you say out loud to your empty kitchen.

You swipe back, forward, back again, like maybe your phone is glitching. Like maybe if you look at it long enough, it’ll morph back into the dark haired, soft, familiar Alexia you know. The one who hates sitting still long enough for hair appointments. The one who complains about upkeep. The one who said very clearly “I don’t think I’ll go blonde again.”

And yet, there she is, pouting at the camera, sun kissed, braids catching the light, looking deeply pleased with herself.

Something in your chest drops, not heartbreak, not jealousy, just… ick.

It’s irrational, you know that. You’re aware this is your problem, hair can be dyed, braids come out, she’s still the same woman who kisses your temple when you’re stressed and steals your fries even when she swears she’s not hungry.

But also, you hate it.

You hate how it doesn’t feel like her. You hate how it feels like holiday Alexia has gone rogue. You hate how she looks like every footballer on a post season bender who swears this time the blonde is 'different.'

You scroll the comments.

Vickyylopezz._ : The braids 😛 Janafernandez3: @vickyylopezz._ you're taking her down the rebellious path

Your phone buzzes.

Alexia: did you see 👀

You don’t reply immediately.

You zoom in on the photo instead, traitorously studying it. Her smile is the same. Her eyes are the same, but the hair… the hair is screaming I made this decision without you and I would do it again.

Your stomach twists.

You: …yes.

Three dots appear instantly.

Alexia: you no like it?

She knows, of course she knows. She always knows when something’s off with you. It’s annoying and unfair.

You type. Delete. Type again.

You: I’m trying.

That’s honest, it's generous, your phone rings before you can overthink it, FaceTime, her name fills the screen.

You answer with a sigh.

She’s sunburned a little, wearing one of your T-shirts as a beach cover up, the braids are somehow even worse in motion.

“Hola,” she says softly, smile already cautious. “You look unconvinced.”

You tilt your head. “Alexia.”

“Yes?”

“Why.”

She laughs, actually laughs. “That is not a question.”

“You said you weren’t going blonde again.”

“I said maybe.”

“You hate maintenance.”

“I am on holiday.”

You press your lips together, watching her, trying to recalibrate. “It’s just” You gesture vaguely at the screen. “It’s very… not you.”

Her expression softens. “It is still me.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “I know. I just” You pause, then sigh. “It’s giving me the ick.”

She blinks, then her mouth drops open. “The ick?”

“Yes.”

“My hair is giving you the ick?”

“Yes,” you repeat, helpless. “I can’t explain it. It’s like my brain went blah”

She stares at you for a second, then throws her head back laughing, full bodied, delighted laughter. You scowl, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when she looks at you like that, “You are unbelievable,” she says, still smiling. “You know it can go back brown, no?”

“I know.”

“And the braids come out.”

“I know.”

“And you still love me.”

You hesitate just long enough to be dramatic, “Unfortunately.”

She grins, eyes softening, “Good, because I did it and I thought of you and I knew you would hate it a little.”

That makes you pause, “You did?”

“Yes,” she admits. “But I also knew you would still miss me.”

Your chest tightens despite yourself, “…I do miss you,” you mumble.

Her smile turns gentle, “Then survive the blonde braids for one week. For me.”

You look at the screen one last time, the braids, the blonde, the audacity. “…I reserve the right to bully you when you get home.”

She leans closer to the camera, “As my girlfriend, it is your duty.”

You shake your head, lips twitching, “You better come back brunette.”

She winks “No promises.”

You groan, but you’re already smiling and that annoys you almost as much as the hair.

🎀

You’re halfway through folding a blanket you’ve already folded twice when you hear the sound of keys in the door, familiar, the soft thud of a suitcase rolling over the threshold, wheels catching slightly on the rug because she never lifts it properly. Your shoulders tense before you even turn around.

Then she’s there, Alexia stands in the doorway like she owns the place because she does, because she always has, sunglasses pushed up on her head, tan deeper than before, suitcase trailing behind her and the hair.

God.

It’s worse in person.

The blonde is brighter under the apartment lights, not softened by sun or filters. The braids are neater, tighter, framing her face in a way that feels aggressively intentional. She looks rested, confident, proud.

You don’t hide your reaction, you glance once, then again, then you go back to the blanket, lips pressing together, “It’s worse in person,” you mutter.

She freezes, just for a beat, then the suitcase drops onto its side as she kicks the door shut behind her. “Worse,” she repeats slowly, amused already. "That is how you welcome your girlfriend home?”

You finally look at her properly, arms crossing over your chest. “I warned you.”

“You said you had the ick,” she counters, stepping further inside, braids swaying with every movement like they’re mocking you. “I thought you were joking.”

“I was not.”

She grins anyway, that infuriating, dimpled smile that usually disarms you instantly. It almost works, almost. She opens her arms, “Come here.” You don’t move, her brows lift. “You’re serious.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing as you assess her like a stranger who’s wandered into your living room. “Alexia, I don’t know who this woman is.”

She laughs, offended, “That is rude.”

“So is this,” you gesture vaguely at her head.

She laughs, full and warm, “She is very beautiful.”

“That’s debatable.”

She scoffs, walking closer, “Liar.”

You take a step back instinctively, gaze stuck on the hair, “I can’t believe you let them encourage this.”

“They did not encourage,” Alexia says defensively, “They filmed.”

“That’s worse.”

Alexia stops in front of you now, close enough that you can smell her sun cream, airport air, something familiar that tugs at you despite yourself. She studies your face, expression softening, “You really no like it?” she asks quietly.

You sigh, shoulders dropping, “I like you,” you say. “I just… hate this.”

Her mouth curves, fond. “It is temporary.”

“I know.”

“And you survived one week of FaceTime.”

“Barely.”

She reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist, testing. When you don’t pull away, she smiles a little wider. “I missed you.”

Your resolve wobbles. Annoyingly.

“I missed you too,” you admit, then add quickly, “Even with… this.”

She laughs again, leaning in to press her forehead to yours, braids brushing your cheek and sending a shiver of discomfort straight down your spine.

You grimace. “Alexia.”

“I am still kissing you.”

She presses a soft kiss to your lips anyway familiar, grounding and despite everything, despite the hair and the audacity and the ick you swore wouldn’t fade, your hand curls into her T-shirt. But, when the braids graze your arm, you recoil instantly, hands flying up between you as you step back. “No, no, I can’t.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

You keep retreating until you are the opposite side of the living room, one hand clamped over your mouth like you might actually scream. Your chest feels tight, breath coming out in short bursts of disbelief, “I can’t,” you repeat. “I can’t even kiss you.”

She just stares, “You are joking,” she says weakly.

“I wish,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s like kissing someone wearing your face.”

She rubs her forehead. “Dios mío.”

“You did this.”

She lets out a breath that sounds halfway between a laugh and a groan, “So what,” she says, gesturing between you, “I sleep on the sofa?”

You don’t hesitate, “Yes.”

Her head snaps up, “Yes?”

“Yes,” you repeat, nodding firmly. “That feels… correct.”

She blinks, then laughs, incredulous, “You are unbelievable.”

“You came home blonde and braided,” you shoot back, “We’re even.”

She drags herself to the sofa shaking her head, “One week,” she mutters. “One week away and I lose my bed.”

You soften, just a little, watching her, “It’s temporary.”

She drops onto the sofa, arms crossing as she looks at you. “You still love me?”

You nod immediately, “Unfortunately.”

A smile tugs at her mouth despite herself, “Good,” she says, “Because I am still very much in love with you even if you are rejecting me for my hair.”

You glance at her once more, then wince. “Please take them out tonight.”

She’s sprawled on the sofa, one arm thrown over her eyes like she’s been personally wronged by the universe, “I cannot just take them out,” she says. “I have to go to my stylist.”

You stop mid step, slowly, you turn back to her, “Your stylist.”

“Yes,” she says, like this is obvious, “They are tight. If I do it myself it will be a disaster.”

Your stomach drops, you shake your head immediately, a soft, helpless sound leaving you before the words do. “Nope. No. Alexia” You take a step back, then another, instinctively putting space between you and her, between you and the braids. “You’re going to have to go stay with your mami or Alba.”

She lifts her arm from her eyes, sitting up, “What?”

“I can’t,” you say, backing away toward the door now, hands lifting in surrender, “I genuinely can’t.”

She frowns, confusion bleeding into concern. “Amor”

“I don’t know why,” you rush out, heart starting to pound in a way that feels wildly disproportionate to the situation. “I know it sounds stupid, I know it’s hair, but it’s giving me anxiety. I hate it. I just” You shake your head again, frustrated tears pricking your eyes. “I just hate it.”

Alexia stands up immediately, “Hey,” she says softly, taking a step toward you.

You flinch back without meaning to, pressing your palm flat against the wall like it might ground you. “Please don’t come closer.”

She freezes, that’s when it really sinks in for her, “You are actually stressed,” she says quietly, scanning your face now, not amused anymore. “You are not teasing me.”

You swallow hard. “I wish I was.”

For a moment she just looks at you really looks. Then she exhales slowly, nodding to herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

She grabs her phone from the coffee table, already opening her messages. “I go to my mami’s. Or Alba’s.”

Relief crashes through you so hard your knees feel weak, “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want you.”

Her expression is gentle, if a little bewildered, “You want me,” she says. “Just not… this version.”

You nod miserably, “Exactly.”

She sighs, then smiles faintly, “You are very strange.”

“I know.”

“But you are mine,” she adds, “So I will survive one night away.”

You close your eyes, breathing her in. “Promise you’ll go straight to the stylist tomorrow.”

“I swear,” she says solemnly.

She’s halfway through typing, phone held in both hands, thumbs moving quickly when something in you snaps.

“I’m so annoyed with you, Alexia.”

She looks up immediately, “What?” she asks, startled.

The words tumble out before you can soften them. “I’ve not seen you in a week,” you say, voice tight, frustration vibrating under every syllable. “A full week. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed us” You gesture helplessly between the two of you. “I’m so fucking horny and I can’t even look at you.”

Her mouth falls open, for a second she just stares at you, processing. Then her eyebrows knit together, something dangerously close to laughter tugging at her lips even as she tries to stay serious, “So this,” she says slowly, lowering her phone, “this is the real problem.”

You let out a sharp, humourless laugh. “Yes. This is the problem. I was ready to jump you the second you walked through that door and instead I had a minor panic attack.”

She exhales, rubbing a hand over her face. “Madre mía.”

“I feel robbed,” you continue, pacing now, hands running through your hair. “You’re right there. You’re my girlfriend and my brain is just screaming no because you look like a stranger who stole Alexia’s body.”

She watches you, eyes darkening not offended, not hurt, just affected, “That is cruel,” she says quietly. Then, softer, teasing despite herself, “But also very informative.”

You stop pacing and glare at her, “Don’t flirt with me.”

“I am not flirting,” she lies.

“You absolutely are.”

She smiles then, slow and infuriating. “So you want me,” she says, “Very much.”

“Yes.”

“But you cannot touch me.”

“No.”

“And this makes you angry.”

“Yes,” you snap. Then sigh, shoulders sagging. “Yes.”

She steps closer, careful, stopping just out of reach. “If it helps,” she says gently, “I am also very frustrated.”

You scoff, “You did this.”

“I did,” she agrees, “But I did not know it would cause this level of suffering.”

You fold your arms, looking away. “Congratulations. You broke your own girlfriend.”

She reaches out, hesitates, then lets her hand fall, “One night,” she promises. “Tomorrow I fix it. And then” Her eyes flick deliberately to your lips, then back up. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Your breath stutters despite yourself, “Alexia,” you warn.

She grins. “See? Still works.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Please just go”

She laughs softly, grabbing her suitcase again, at the door, she pauses, turning back to you, “For the record,” she says, voice low, “I missed you too. Very much.”

You stared at the woman, perplexed.

“I wouldn’t, I’m not pregnant,” you got out, and that seemed to have registered with the Spanish beauty what she had said, because her face drained of colour in record time. The sheepish smile was long gone, replaced instead by sheer horror.

“No! No, no, no, I didn’t— no, of course not! I’m so sorry,” she apologised profusely, looking genuinely crestfallen. “You’re beautiful! ¡Muy, muy guapa! I didn’t mean to imply anything. Ah, joder,” she sounded so defeated. 

She looked at you with wide, earnest eyes. “It’s for my friend, her baby shower and I didn’t know what to choose,” the words rushed out of her. You weren’t even sure where she had time to breathe in her haste to explain herself.

“It’s okay,” you got out, a small grin pulling at your lips. 

For the first time, the brunette beauty finally stopped and looked at you. 

Her shoulders dropped. “You’re —not upset?” 

A small giggle escaped now, and she relaxed even further. “No,” 

“I’m still really sorry,” she blushed furiously, which was very endearing.

“Buy me a coffee and we’re even,” you smirked.

Her face shifted into something close to smugness. “I didn’t know that making a fool of myself would land me a date,”  

Your eyebrows raised, “Presumptuous to consider it a date.”

A grin spread across her face and it made your breath catch. She truly was gorgeous. “Do I need to remind you that you just asked me to buy you a coffee?”

“I never specified what kind of coffee,” you bit back with a smirk of your own. Her eyes sparkled with delight, “It could just as easily be store-bought coffee that I drink on my own,”

This time the Spanish beauty threw her head back, letting out the most wholehearted laugh you’d ever heard.

You wanted to make her laugh like that again.

“And miss the opportunity to spend more time with me? No guapa, I’m taking you for coffee.” She was so smooth with it.

“I’m Patri — well, Patricia but everyone just calls me Patri,” she held out her hand and you took it, introducing yourself, still far too amused by this beautiful girl. 

☀️☀️☀️

That coffee date turned out to be the best decision of your life, from that day in the supermarket and on, Patri and you were inseparable. 

A friendship that quickly turned into something more the moment the two of you exchanged phone numbers. 

Your phone had never run so hot, constantly glued to your hand.

Smiling into your phone at the random tidbits she shared with you about her days. Memes, funny stories about her teammates. Sometimes she would send photos with the caption ‘this made me think of you’ and it would send your pulse skyrocketing. 

No one had ever courted you the way she did, no one had ever bothered to get to know you the way Patri was so set on doing. She was breaking down every single wall you’d ever built around yourself in self-preservation from earlier, failed relationships. 

But she was just Patri.

With her warm and radiating smile, her kind and sunny eyes. 

She was simply there.

No matter how busy she was with her own life and everything she had going on, she always made time to check in with you. To see how you were doing, to let you know that you were constantly on her mind.

For international games, there would always be a small care package with one of her hoodies, your favourite candles, a book you’d been eyeing when the two of you walked into a bookshop after your usual Saturday morning coffee dates (unless she had an early weekend game.) waiting at home for you that she just so happened to know exactly when you needed it – when you needed her.

Flowers that would miraculously be on your kitchen table when you least expected them. 

She showed you love in its purest form.

And you were falling in love with her.

It wasn’t scary, it wasn’t daunting. With Patri, it felt as easy and natural as breathing.

That’s how you knew she was the person meant just for you. 

☀️☀️☀️

“Do you want anything?” Patri asked softly, lips pressed against your cheek as she got up from the foldable chair that the two of you shared on the beach. 

“I’m okay, baby,” you smiled at her sweetly, content with the beer in your hand. The two of you had been curled up in that tight chair, laughing and chatting with her teammates around the bonfire. The flames licking up into the night, the way the wood crackled, the beer bottles clinking and the raucous laughter of Vicky and Kika. No doubt the two of them are up to some mayhem.

It had been a full day at the beach and it was one of those perfect summer days that you’d remember and look back on when winter came. The smell of sunscreen, how the waves crashed against the shore, the smell of sea in the air.

Beach football had been played, Patri taking extra care to show off her skills – which, Patri playing football in a bikini, it was a sight you’d never tire of. You had been drooling to the point where Vicky, the menace, had run over to you, pretending to wipe drool away. 

“Mmh, let me sit,” Patri came back, pulling you up to your feet so she could sit down first. Her hands wrapped around your waist, immediately bringing you back into her lap. 

“You had me in your lap minutes ago,” you grinned, twisting in her hold so you could wrap your arms around her neck, peering into her gorgeous eyes. 

“I’ll always want you in my lap, the view is so nice,” for a second her eyes drifted to your cleavage. Your jaw dropped before a laugh bellowed out of you. 

“Patri!” You admonished and she dragged her gaze back up at you, winking. 

“You’re impossible,” you say with a grin, feeling her cup your cheek before she brought your face to hers, connecting your lips in a meaningful kiss. 

You would never tire of kissing Patri— the way her lips felt against yours, it made your toes curl. 

“Oye lovebirds! Save that for later!” This time, it was Pina’s voice that broke the two of you out of your little spell. You hid your neck in Patri’s neck, laughing in embarrassment. 

Patri rarely got rattled, so she just held you tighter, chest rumbling with laughter. You pressed a gentle kiss on her neck. 

Not before long, you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together, resting your head against her shoulder as conversation fell around the two of you.

However, you were far too distracted by her hand in yours.

She had such beautiful hands.

So big, so defined. Always the perfect temperature – not too warm, not too cold, just perfect. The way it engulfed yours. It made you feel so safe and protected.

Not to mention how incredibly hot and sexy her hands were. Your fingers traced her tattoos on her arm.

It was obscene how sexy you found them.

How muscular her arms were, the veins leading to her fingers. The length of them made your mouth water and the filthiest images filled your mind.

Without thinking twice, you brought her hand up to your mouth to press a gentle kiss on the back of it. When you pulled back you met her gaze, seeing her entire face soften at the small gesture.

“What was that for?” 

“No reason,” you smiled, cupping her cheek and letting your thumb brush against it. 

Her grip on your waist tightened, a slow smile curved at her lips, it filled you with butterflies. 

“You about ready to head home, guapa?” She murmured, knowing that the evening was about to round up. A while back, Patri offered you her hoodie because as the sun set, you started to shiver in your summer dress. 

“Yeah,” you stood up, ignoring the way your joints protested. Your arms wrapped around yourself at the loss of Patri’s warm and solid body against yours.

Most of you were headed in the same direction, so it was a nice, if not slightly mischievous, walk back to where Patri lived. 

You practically lived at her place by now, spending far more nights with her than you did at your own place. 

It was a long-drawn-out process saying goodnight to the girls with lots of hugs and kisses but at last, Patri closed the door behind her. The quiet settling between the two of you, but it was the best kind of silence, one that didn’t need to be filled with mindless chatter. 

Your fingers found eachother as she turned on a few lights, walking to her bedroom. 

“Did you have fun today?” Her voice was so gentle as she opened the bedroom window, letting in the cool night breeze. You grabbed the glasses of water, filling them with cold water and placing them on her bedside tables, while Patri grabbed you a t-shirt of hers to sleep in. 

With a kiss, you took it from her, before slipping inside of her bathroom, getting yourself ready for bed. 

It was easy, comfortable. 

You loved every single moment of this simple domesticity with her. 

By the time you came back out, face free of makeup and your teeth brushed, she had pulled the sheets back, also having changed into a sleep shirt of her own. 

“You are so gorgeous,” her voice husky as her hands moved to your ass, giving it a cheeky slap. 

“Not nearly as gorgeous as you,” you hummed, falling into her arms with your arms around her neck, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss her. 

She reciprocated the kiss with equal amounts of passion, making you sigh against her lips, drawing her flush against you. 

“I’ll be right out,” she hummed, trying to free herself from your hold. 

“Mmh no, don’t go,” you pouted, trying to keep kissing her but she laughed against your mouth.

“I need to pee,” 

“No, you don’t,” 

She snorted, “What, do you decide when I need to pee now, baby?”

You rolled your eyes, gripping her ass and smacking it. “Obviously,”

She laughed, “I’ll be so quick you won’t even notice I’m gone,” she promised, pecking your lips repeatedly before she vanished into the bathroom.

You pouted all the way into bed, still far too overheated to pull the covers over you just yet, from how the sun had warmed your skin earlier. 

The kisses you’d just shared made a slow, delicious heat fill your stomach.

A need only Patri could help you with. 

Not to mention the earlier imagery of her fingers, it hit the spot for you. 

All of a sudden, you couldn’t wait for Patri to come out of the bathroom now.

You needed her. 

Finally, the door opened and she came out, smiling at you adoringly when she got in the bed beside you. 

“You look so bea-” she didn’t get to finish the sentence before you moved. Straddling her thigh, her hands immediately splayed out under your borrowed shirt.

“Hi,” you murmured, seeing the shock on her face.

“Holá,” she couldn’t take her eyes off of you, which only emboldened you. 

It was slow at first, something you might even say was accidental, the way you rocked your hips forward against her thigh. Patri’s grip on your hips tightened when she caught on to what you were doing, your movements had purpose. Intent even.

“Making yourself feel good, are you?” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, and your breath stuttered for a second when your eyes locked. Your hips never faltered, only grinding and rocking harder now. Shivers went down your spine when your clit caught against her thigh with the perfect pressure.

“Oh,” your arms moved to Patri’s shoulders to anchor yourself, working up a steady pace on her thigh. 

All Patri could do was stare at you in awe, the love of her life so freely, so unabashedly taking what she needed.

Patri felt it, your arousal coating her thigh, so wet and warm. It created a steady ache between her own legs, but right now, you were her sole focus. 

“Looking so pretty for me,” she encouraged, her hands guiding your hips faster. 

You were panting already. “Feels so good,” 

For as good as it felt, it wasn’t enough, you needed more – you needed Patri.

Specifically her fingers.

Wordlessly, you took her hand, your fingers circled her wrist and guided it to your underwear, slipping the soaked material to the side. This time it was Patri who let out a sharp breath, her eyes locked onto yours for any sign to stop.

But you were already in heaven, feeling the tips of her two fingers circle your entrance, gathering your slick and rubbing it over your clit.

“Yes,” you moaned softly, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you began rolling your hips against her fingers. Still just teasing, not pushing inside. Not yet.

Neither one of you could break eye contact, you leaned forward to rest your forehead against hers. 

“Oh, baby, all this for me?” Patri’s voice was full of hunger as you nodded, your grip on her wrist tightening. 

“More, I need more,” you didn’t even get the words out before you felt her digit slip inside and it made your breath catch. Body lurched forward in bliss. Patri could only watch you with a look of pure heat as you grew more impatient and needy.

Within a matter of minutes, you had coated Patri’s hand with your slick, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you let out high-pitched keens and breathy moans. 

“There you go, are my fingers making you feel good, guapa? I saw how you admired them earlier,” she coaxed, letting another finger join and you shivered at the sensation of two of Patri’s fingers stretching you so deliciously that it had pleasure licking up your spine.

“Tell me, was this what you were imagining?” She pressed in that low, accented voice of hers that made your toes curl.

“Ohmygod, yes, yeah baby it was,” you didn’t bother denying it.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined, too?”

You shook your head, “No, this — fuck, this is so much better baby.”

Your movements increased, becoming more and more frantic as her fingers brushed over that sensitive spot inside of you that made your vision go blurry.

“Oh my god,” you cried, head rolling back. “My clit,” you urge, feeling the pressure build. Like a rubber band about to snap, the tension inside of you building higher and faster. 

Patri’s thumb rubs your clit slowly at first, but you shook your head,

“No, more pressure, fuck, faster please mi amor,” your voice trembled, you were so close you could almost taste it. 

“I—I’m, shit, I’m close,” you stutter, watching Patri with wide eyes, fighting with yourself to stave it off or to lean into it.

It felt so good you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore, to prolong this indescribable feeling or if you’re greedy enough to let it wash over you this instance. 

“Let go, come for me, let me see you,” Patri’s words sealed the deal and you leaned into it. Letting her take you apart. 

And it was otherworldly.

Pure bliss washes over you, taking over every nerve ending in your body and replacing it with warmth as Patri coaxes you through it, never stopping until she’s sure you’re climaxed out and collapsing into her arms. A pile of non-working limbs. 

She’s there instantly, kissing all over your face and holding it between her hands as though you’re the most precious thing in life. 

“You looked so beautiful.” There’s reverence in her voice that leaves you breathless for a whole other reason.

A shy smile graces your lips when you look into her eyes and you wrap your arm around the back of her neck, kissing her slowly. Savouring this moment and how good she made you feel, not just physically but emotionally too. 

Patri made you feel safe. It was all you needed to pull away from the kiss.

Words that had weighed on your mind for quite some time, you were ready now to ask it. 

“Patri,” you murmured as nerves crept into your voice. 

She picked up on the slight tremble in your voice, her lips soothing as she kissed you all over your face, pulling a small laugh out of you, and your shoulders dropped immediately.

“I love you,” the words were slightly clumsy, a little rushed. But you meant them with your whole being.

The look on Patri’s face when you uttered the words made it all worth it. Her gaze softened, a shy little smile, one that curved higher on one side – it was your smile, the one reserved just for you when she was truly happy.

“I love you too,” she didn’t hesitate and it made your heart skip a beat – or three.

A slow smile took over, “Really?” 

This time she let out a delighted laugh of her own, nodding. 

“Really,” the word made you feel giddy with excitement and she matched it.

“Say it again,” you giggled, eyes shining with joy when she repeated the words to you again.

“I love you,” she punctuated each word with a kiss on your lips that made you melt into a puddle in her arms.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.” You smiled, toying with the hem of her shirt.

“Good thing I won’t ever tire of saying those words to you then, mi guapa,”

Your first impression of your girlfriend was that she's goofy, joking around the pitch with that big ear-splitting grin of hers always on display. She is loud and extroverted and the life of the party, dragging others into her fun.

Your second impression of Patri was that she's powerful. Because of her physique, sure. But also because when she talks, everyone stops to listen, and you mean everyone—the Barça B girls, the players she rose up the ranks with, and even Alexia, Irene, Marta, the more experienced and seasoned ones on the team. Patri opens her mouth and everyone swivels in her direction to listen. It's visible on the pitch too in their body language. Alexia is the speaking head, sure, but Patri turns the neck of the team.

Your third impression is that she's gentle. In her way of handling people and relationships and in the way she grabs your hand on the slow stroll back to hers after that first dinner date, all soft smiles and hip bumping into yours. That is how she usually treats you, soft and gentle like you're the most delicate thing in her world.

Patri is observant, sometimes annoyingly so. But it usually is all for your benefit. Like the first time you two slept together when she was achingly slow and soft in her exploration. You liked it. It was nice and safe and you came twice.

Your fourth impression is that she is also not gentle. Not when other areas of her life demand fire. You want commanding Patri, the one who stalks across the field intercepting balls, demanding attention, conducting the midfield. You desire the Patri who competitively challenges the results during your game nights because the "interpretation of the rules can mean multiple things" even though she's talking about Monopoly which has been a staple since childhood and everybody knows the rules are the rules. Your girl treats everything like something to be conquered.

Except you.

But you want to be conquered too. By her firm hands and those muscular thighs and her hot mouth.

Instead she's soft and gentle and slow.

Until one conversation in the middle of things getting heated turns everything on its head.

"I want…" you moan into Patri's neck.

"You want?" she chuckles, hands achingly slow as they caress your sides. Gentle. Soft. Kind.

"Your hands on—" she pulls a delicate moan out of you as her weight settles on top of you fully, skin on skin.

"Where?" the footballer breathes into your shoulder, tongue sweeping across your skin before her eyes flick back up to yours, soft and warm.

You want fire.

"On my neck," you pant, hands grasping her hips in an effort to pull her further into you.

"¿Qué?" she asks, body pausing with tight tension as she pushes up off you slightly, gaze searching for yours.

You whine.

Her wide eyes scan your body and you can feel the flush of embarrassment spreading over your cheeks and down your neck. You were hoping for a more enthusiastic response, not this shocked and silent one.

"I, uh," you start, anxiety spiking slightly, "I want…"

"You want my fingers around your neck?" she prods, voice slow as if she's trying to decipher exactly why you would ever ask for that when she's offering you care and kindness and soft and slow lovemaking.

"I want you to stop being so gentle—well, you can still be gentle," you amend, "but firm too."

"Firm?"

"Yes," you whisper. "I want the Patri others get. In football and game nights."

"What? How?" she clears her throat, "how does that translate to the bedroom? You want me to slide tackle you onto the mattress?" she jokes to diffuse some of the tension as you both delicately navigate this conversation of preferences while achingly naked in bed.

"No," you respond with a chuckle that bleeds out some of your anxiety and her cautiousness, her hands returning to trail up you ribs softly. "I do not want to be slide tackled into bed." You can feel her smirk on your sternum at her joke pulling a laugh out of you. "But I do like the fire in your eyes when you're in those modes."

"And you want it directed at you?"

"Yes," you confirm, body arching up into her, your nipples brushing hers and pulling a gasp out of both of you at the sensation.

Her hand tentatively slides up your arm, leaving your skin tingling in its wake.

Fingers delicately brush the soft skin between your clavicles, and a moan starts bubbling up from the depths of your throat, just waiting to be released.

You breathe sharply through your nose as her fingers uncertainly splay out over the column of your neck, your head arching back reflexively to give her more access.

Patri chuckles under her breath. "Your survival instincts are shit," she whispers into your lips before capturing them in a demanding kiss. Her fingers flex around your soft skin, tightening slightly, and that moan you've been containing bubbles out, loud and broken.

Your eyes flutter close in the heat that races down your spine as her grip increases, a wanton moan falling out of your mouth. It's involuntary the way your body relaxes instantly into submission. Your mind goes blissfully blank and your eyes unfocus. The only thing tethering you to the present is the wave of arousal settling low in your gut.

"Is that what you want, bebé?"

"Yesss," you gasp as she puts slightly more pressure on your windpipe, hands sliding down your neck before quickly ascending back up to sit right under your jaw.

For someone who looked so damn apprehensive minutes ago, she's rather eager to follow your ask, a hand at home around your throat as her other hand skims down your body, fingers teasing in a way that has you whimpering for some reprieve.

"Patri," you groan.

"Yes?" she teases. "What do you need to do?"

"Please," you whisper, body pushing up against hers in desperation.

"There's my good girl," she croons at you.

You moan loudly and her fingers contract in response.

You're a puddle. An absolute-fucking puddle underneath her. Washed away in a gush of desire, no physical body left here.

Her fingers work you up, the ones on your neck and the ones dipped down below, both hands occupied on opposite ends of the spectrum but moving in tandem. She's so damn talented. And you're so easy when it comes to her.

You float into your orgasm, head hazy and vision blurred, Patri's fingers pressing your head up and back, presenting more of your neck to her. A gasp gets pulled from your throat as your thighs tremble and your muscles contract in a rhythm that deliciously releases all the tension held in your body.

"Okay, amor?" Patri questions quietly once your shaking has subsided. "That wasn't too much."

"Fuckkk no," you moan, a grin pulling at your lips. "That was fantastic," you confirm, leaning over to peck her lips. "More of that, yeah?"

"My girl doesn't like gentle," Patri states with a smirk.

"I do," you reply. "Gentle but firm."

"You just came the hardest you maybe ever have simply because my hand was squeezed around your neck. That's more than gentle but firm," Patri counters.

"I liked it," you state with a shrug.

"Noted, amor. We can incorporate more of that," she replies, lips kissing up your neck to your ear. "Maybe we can try it while you take the strap, dominate you from both ends."

You shudder at her words and the caress of her breath across the shell of your ear. A small moan escapes as your eyes flutter closed at the visual.