Fics by Lexi

Women’s Football

Alexia Putellas

An Unexpected Serenade — One Shot

Every time you tremble — One Shot

Leah Williamson

Turbulence of the Heart — One Shot 🧡💛🩵

Skirts and Sweats

• Part 1

• Part 2

Laia Codina

Clàudia Pina

The pink cup — One Shot 💚

Aitana Bonmatí

Kindly Calm Me Down — Blurb 🧡

Vivianne Miedema

Flight paths and broken hearts❤️🧡💛💚

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

Lena Oberdorf

You're so gay — One Shot 💚

Fictional Characters

Bucky Barnes — Marvel Cinematic Universe

Melodies Of The Past — One Shot 💚

Yelena Belova — Marvel Cinematic Universe

“¡Qué va tía! El piso es súper espacioso. La habitación pequeña la voy a hacer biblioteca, con el piano al lado de la ventana. Tengo que ir al Ikea estos días off, los muebles son horribles. ¡Hostia puta! se me ha olvidado sacar el uniforme, que mañana estoy de earlies. Bua no veo por donde voy con las flores tío”. Girl no! The apartment is super spacious. The small bedroom, I’ll turn it into a library, I’ll put the piano next to the window. I have to go to Ikea on my days off. Fuck, I forgot to take out my uniform, I’m on earlies tomorrow. Dude, the flowers don’t let me see where I’m going. She tries to hold the gigantic bouquet of peonies on one hand while she fishes in her handbag for her keys with the other, heels rattling on the ground as she approaches her building.

“Careful!” A voice stops her on her tracks. She lowers her bouquet just enough to see a girl with furrowed brows looking down at her. “Do you need help?”

For a split second, Tània doesn’t remember how to speak English, or how to breathe for that matter. The girl is tall, has a messy bun and looks like she just came from the gym or something, judging by her clothes. Tall, pretty and athletic. Fuck me sideways. When her brain decides to work properly again, she answers: “No, no! It’s okay, I was just getting my keys, I live here.”

“¿Nena, quién es?” Girl, who is it?

“I do too, let me open the door”.

“Thank you”. She barely answers, her cheeks red and her heart racing.

“Tània, tía perra, ¿con quién hablas?” Tània, bitch, who are you talking to?

“Shit,” she whispers, “Nuria, tengo que dejarte que me subo al ascensor. Casi me como a una vecina por no mirar por donde iba, luego te cuento”. Nuria, I gotta hang up because I’m getting on the lift. I almost bumped on a neighbor because I wasn’t looking where I was walking, I’ll tell you later.

The girl was also waiting for the lift when Tània hung up and took her headphones off. “Sorry, I was distracted.” Tània stretched her hand towards her and gave her a perfectly curated smile, the same she used that same morning on her base visit at the airport. “I’m Tània, I just moved here”.

The girl looked a bit surprised while accepting Tània’s hand. “Vivianne”.

A ding announced the arrival of the elevator and the girl —Vivianne—, let her in first.

“Which floor?”

“Oh, the fifth”.

The girl pressed the button while chuckling to herself and the doors closed.

“I just moved here too, like, a bit more than a month ago. I also live on the fifth floor.”

Are those wedding bells that I hear? This has to be the universe. “Really? Where did you live before?”

“London. I moved here for work”. Ugh, so hot.

“Same here, although I wasn’t living in London but in Baden Baden”.

“Where?”

“Middle-of-nowhere, Germany”.

“Do you speak German?”

“Not a word. Which is why I got away as soon as I could.”

The elevator dings again as they laugh. Puta madre. Vivianne lets her out first. What a gentlelady. “Here, let me hold the flowers while you open the door”. God, please, tell me she’s gay and single. PLEASE.

With the door open, Tània turns around and Vivianne hands her her flowers. Their fingers touch for a second and the Catalan could swear she feels hot all over.

“Hope to see you around, Vivianne.”

“See you, Tània.”

And with that, the beautiful, tall girl turns around and opens the door across the hallway. There are only two flats on the fifth floor. This HAS to be the universe.

─── ✾ ───

The alarm went off at three in the morning for the fifth time that week. Finally, her last day before her days off. Full week.

Two medical emergencies, one police on arrival event because a fucking idiot decided to smoke in the toilet on a Ibiza flight (of course it was a Ibiza flight), slots turned into hours and hours of delay but still never out of resting hours for the next day, and half of her captains that week being real assholes. A wonderful start in her new base.

On her way home, Tània calls Amy. “Fucking finally you bitch.”

“Don’t blame me, I got called from my Home Standby yesterday and today from my Airport Standby. Estoy agotada.” I’m exhausted. She connects her headphones and puts her phone deep in her handbag.

“How was your week?”

“Horrible. I forgot to take on account how insufferable English men on holidays are.”

“Ugh. Drugs?”

“Nope. Smoking in toilet.”

“Palma?”

“Ibiza.”

“Same fucking thing.”

“I hate men.”

“We all do.”

“By the way I need the recipe for those sweets you make.”

“The danish ones?”

“Yep.”

“…Are you trying to impress someone?”

“…Maybe?”

“TÀNIA CASALS VILANOVA!”

“Please don’t.”

“WHO?!”

“Her name is Vivianne and she’s my neighbor.” Amy screams and Tània can hear Stefan saying something from another room.

“TÀNIA IS TRYING TO FUCK HER NEIGHBOR, STEFAN! I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SCREAM!”

“Amy!”

“Tell me everything.”

“There’s not much to say. She’s pretty, athletic, looks gay, sounds Scottish. Kind of. I guess… She’s also very… gentle.”

“Gentle?”

“Like, she let me in and out of the elevator first and held my flowers so I could open my door. Although that last thing might have something to do with the fact that I literally could not see with the bouquet I bought.”

“Well she sounds cute, is she single?”

“I don’t know, I guess. I plan on ‘introducing myself like a good neighbor’ with some pastries.”

Amy cackles, “sounds like something an American girl would do.”

“Hey!” Tània complains but then laughs. Amy is right. “In the movie I got it from, the girl is from Alabama.”

“Knew it! Anyway, got any backup plan in case she’s taken?”

“Pretend I’m just introducing myself? I don’t know. I’m being delusional and assuming she’s single.”

“Bake more than just for her, bring some to another neighbor. The one downstairs, for example, and apologize for the noise of your crew bag and heels at four in the morning.”

“That’s… not a bad idea.”

“Also, remember how you complain about people not knowing you’re gay?”

“Yeah? What about it? You want me to pretend I’m straight or something?”

“I mean if she’s taken, her partner could get jealous. Just pretend you aren’t interested. That and your ‘not gay looking’ outfits could help in case this goes wrong.”

“I don’t know if I should. Wouldn’t it count as lying?”

“…No? I think? I mean you don’t have to pretend just don’t mention her name. Not at the beginning at least. That way if your hot neighbor has a girlfriend and she thinks you’re straight she won’t feel threatened and you will get two new friends! And maybe they have a hot, single, lesbian friend for you.”

─── ✾ ───

Approaching her door, Tània’s hands shake a little. She’s never been the one to try to flirt— if bringing some baked sweets can be considered flirting and not just a neighbor trying to introduce herself like in a movie. That sounds so American. She hears Amy’s voice in her mind while ringing the doorbell. She should stop watching so many cringy straight rom-coms.

Instead of Vivianne, another girl opens the door.

Gorgeous, blue eyes, bleach-blonde hair, kind face. And a very confused expression. “Can I help you?”

Fuck she’s taken. Great. And I’m staring like an idiot. “Oh, sorry. I— uh, was looking for Vivianne? I just— I wanted to introduce myself properly?” She balances the tray with her left hand before extending the other. “I’m Tània, the next door neighbor. I moved here a week ago. The other day I almost bumped into her, I was distracted.”

“Beth.” The girl answers, taking her hand. “I’m—”

“Who’s there, Beth?”

“Your neighbor. She brought sweets.” Beth’s voice sounds a bit tense. Vivianne gets to the door to find Beth looking inquisitively at her while Tània stands outside with a small metallic tray of something that smells really nice. On the other side of the hallway, Tània’s door lays open, a few unopened boxes can be seen and faint music can be heard.

“Oh, Tània! Hi! Oh my god, thanks.”

“I just wanted to properly introduce myself and apologize for not looking where I was walking.” Tània smiles softly, hands falling behind her back after Vivianne takes the tray. “They are danish pastries, I made different fillings ‘cause I didn’t know what you’d like.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” Mumbles Beth with a slightly serious expression.

“They look amazing, thank you. Uh— Would you like to come in? We can try them.”

“Oh, there’s no need. But since I don’t really know anyone in the city, I’d like to invite you both for dinner one of these days.” She looks at Beth, hoping that she doesn’t look too obviously attracted to her girlfriend. Even if Vivianne is taken, she does want new friends anyway. “If you’d like, of course. And once my apartment looks decent, ‘cause now it’s an absolute disaster of half-opened boxes and I still need to get some new furniture and deep clean everything.”

“Oh.” Is all Beth says. Tània’s laugh is soft, and she over-explains herself, and Beth thinks of Laia, her teammate. Tània is definitely a Spanish name, so that would explain what Beth sees as too many details about the state of her apartment to someone she literally just met.

“We could have dinner tonight. Beth and I were gonna order sushi anyways. Do you like it?”

“I— sure, I love sushi. I just wanted to take some pastries to our neighbor downstairs as well. And I need to turn the music off and take my keys. Can you give me like, maximum five minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Tània goes back quickly to her flat, texts a quick “ABORT MISSION” to Amy, takes another small tray of pastries and then goes down the stairs. Once she can be heard talking to the old man of the fourth floor, Beth talks. “You didn’t tell me you had a new neighbor.” She tries to sound casual, but her tone is slightly accusatory. After all, the girl is pretty and Viv is gonna see her constantly.

“I forgot.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, it’s true.”

“And I believe you, I just don’t think I like her.”

“She made pastries. You love pastries.”

“They were clearly just for you.”

“And our eighty-seven year old neighbor in the fourth floor. She’s trying to be nice. She just got here.” Beth tries to look convinced. Tània did want to invite them both. And the pastries were more than just for her Vivi. But her surprised expression on her face betrayed her. She took a second too long to actually say something after Beth opened the door.

But she seems so sweet and unbothered when looking at Beth on her way back while offering to pay for dinner and asking for her favorite roll. Like Beth imagined the whole thing.

Dinner arrives mid-conversation about Tània’s job and Viv stands to open the door. Myle absolutely adores the Spanish girl and decides to settle on her lap for the time being.

“And how long have you been working for Ryanair?”

“Almost three years. I became a supervisor quite early because that’s the only motivation they can offer when you’re based in the middle of nowhere.”

“And you plan on staying there?”

“At the beginning I said I’d stay just a year but then I got distracted. Now I’m becoming an instructor so, yeah, I guess.”

“With what?” Asks Viv settling the bags on the table.

“I fell in love with a supervisor that arrived on a transfer from Rome a few months after I started working. We flew together a couple of times. I was the youngest in the company, so we would spend the entire day together at the front. It was a beautiful relationship until I got cheated on. Several times. With several people.”

Beth can’t help but feel bad for her. “Well fuck.”

“Yep. I immediately asked for a transfer anywhere that would get me away from that place. And also applied to become an instructor. The waiting was the worst part. There’s nothing to do in Baden Baden, and my ex got promoted to Base Supervisor, aka my boss. I had to get out of there. When they offered Manchester and the Instructor training I accepted within a heartbeat. But it took a while.”

“Good for you, sometimes a change like this is for the better.” Says Viv.

“I hope it is.”

There’s a pause before Viv speaks again, “What if it’s not?”

Tània stares at the table for a few seconds, her hands caressing Myle’s ears while thinking. Her answer is unsure, her voice barely a whisper: “I don’t know.”

Leah stirred when she felt the familiar press of lips against her cheek, the faint scent of Charlie’s perfume lingering in the warmth of their shared bed. Half-asleep, she instinctively reached out, fingers brushing against cotton and cool air instead of soft skin.

“Mmh—don’t go,” she murmured, not quite conscious.

A soft giggle, and another kiss. “I have to, babe. Meeting at eight, I gotta be there early to set everything up. But I love you. I’ll be back after five, okay?”

Leah tried to mumble something back, something like love you too, but she was already slipping under again.

When she woke properly, the flat was silent.

No distant hairdryer hum. No clinking of mugs. No Charlie singing badly along to her morning playlist. Just the aching throb behind Leah’s eyes, the heavy drag of her limbs and the drilling sound of her alarm.

She blinked blearily at the ceiling, groaned, and turned it off while barely looking at it. When she rolled over, she froze.

“Oh, shit…”

The new white sheets. Stained red.

Her period had come early. Or maybe on time. She couldn’t even remember anymore.

Leah sat up slowly, the world tilting slightly around her. Her stomach twisted with discomfort, and her headache pulsed harder now that she was upright. She touched her temples, sighed, and stripped the sheets carefully, guilt settling like a second skin.

Charlie bought those last week. Said they were hotel-soft. Said I’d sleep better wrapped in clouds.

By the time she made it to the shower, she’d dropped her water bottle in the hallway and stubbed her toe on the coffee table. Twice.

She washed slowly, letting the hot water numb her back, and then stood in front of the mirror, her towel barely hanging on, trying to tie her hair back. One, two, snap. Third time, uneven. Fourth, too tight. Fifth, a mess.

“God, why am I like this today?” she muttered, blinking hard at the frustrated sting in her eyes.

She gave up, grabbing a hoodie she couldn’t remember washing and a pair of baggy grey sweats that had seen better days. Her shirt was wrinkled, but it was the only one she didn’t have to dig for after dropping her protein shake on the clean one Charlie had left on her vanity. She tugged it on and stared at herself in the mirror again.

Messy hair. Tired eyes. Slouched shoulders.

Then she remembered Charlie’s face from last night—lit up like it was Christmas morning, hands cupping Leah’s cheeks, whispering, You looked like a magazine cover.

That girl, the one in the England away kit and a skirt, seemed so far away now. This version of her, the one who could barely manage a ponytail, didn’t feel like someone anyone would swoon over.

The ache in her stomach flared again.

She almost texted Charlie, I miss you or can you come home early?, but deleted the message before hitting send. Charlie was probably neck-deep in mock-ups and proofs, balancing coffee in one hand and three print deadlines in the other. GQ didn’t exactly run itself.

Leah grabbed her boots and headed out the door, heavy-footed and even heavier-hearted.

Training had drained what little Leah had left in her. Her muscles ached, her lower back throbbed with dull, relentless cramps, and her head pounded in rhythm with her footsteps as she trudged up the stairs to their flat, because of course the elevator broke down today. The worst part wasn’t even the physical stuff—it was the fact that she had spent most of the day feeling stupid and alone, spinning in her own head with no one to ground her.

She played her girlfriend’s voice note from an hour ago for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes.

“Hi baby. I hope you’re taking it easy today. I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. You’re probably all grumpy and pouty and adorable and I wish I could just wrap you up in my arms right now. I love you. So much. I’ll be home soon and I’m making hot chocolate, whether you want it or not. Kiss.”

Leah clutched her phone tighter, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat. God, she always knows.

She unlocked the door with shaky hands and stepped into the flat.

The smell of garlic and something warm filled the air, and from the kitchen came the unmistakable clatter of pans and Charlie’s voice, bright as ever.

“Hi, princess!” she called out cheerfully. “I see you got your period today, baby? I already washed the sheets, my love, don’t worry. I’m making you a nice hot chocolate!”

Leah froze in place.

Fuck. I forgot to wash the sheets. I’m so stupid.

Her bag slid from her shoulder with a dull thud, but she didn’t move. She just stood there, a disheveled, wrinkled, puffy-eyed mess, and something inside her cracked wide open.

Charlie turned around when she didn’t hear a reply, and what she saw made her drop the spatula instantly.

“Leah?”

Leah’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, stepping slowly into the kitchen. “I should’ve washed the sheets myself, and I was just—just having such a bad day, and I dropped everything, and I couldn’t tie my hair right, and I looked at myself in the mirror and I just—” her voice broke. “I look like shit, and I know these are just excuses and—”

Charlie didn’t let her finish.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, baby no.” She crossed the space in three strides and pulled Leah into her arms, pressing a deep, grounding kiss to her lips that made Leah’s breath hitch. She held her face after, warm hands on flushed cheeks. “First of all: You don’t look like shit,” she said firmly, voice low and full of love. “You look soft and beautiful as always, baby.” Leah’s eyes spilled over then, silent tears tracking down her face. Charlie shushed her softly while brushing her tears away with her thumbs. “Second: You’re allowed bad days. Like everyone else. You were in pain and overwhelmed and forgot. That doesn’t make you bad or stupid. It just makes you human. I’m not mad at you, not even a little bit. I changed the sheets because I love you and I don’t mind and I wanted to take care of it for you, baby. It’s okay.”

Leah sagged into her, all her walls crumbling at once. “I missed you so much today.”

“I missed you too.” Charlie kissed the top of her head, holding her like she had all the time in the world. “I’m here now, princess. And so are you.”

They stood like that for a while—dinner forgotten, hot chocolate still steaming on the counter in the ugly mug that said World’s Best Girlfriend. The only sound was Leah’s breathing evening out against Charlie’s neck, her arms wrapped tightly around the only person who could make her feel okay when the world felt like too much.

Eventually, Charlie whispered, “Come sit. Food first. Then cuddles. Then maybe you let me brush your hair, yeah?”

Leah nodded against her shoulder, soft and small. “Yeah. Please.”

Later that night, the flat was quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the hum of the city outside. Leah laid curled up against Charlie, her head on her girlfriend’s chest, ear pressed to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Charlie’s fingers combed gently through Leah’s damp hair, untangling strands with the kind of care that made Leah feel loved in ways she still didn’t always know how to ask for.

Her body was warm, finally relaxed, but her mind just wouldn’t stop.

Charlie was here. Charlie had been perfect today. But still, Leah’s thoughts spun in slow, uncertain spirals.

She let the silence linger a moment longer before whispering, “Would you… like me better if I wore skirts more often?”

Charlie’s fingers paused in her hair, her voice confused after a few seconds, as if wondering if she had heard right. “What?”

Leah swallowed, her voice suddenly small. “I just… I’ve been thinking about it. That photoshoot. You were so happy. So excited. And I know I don’t usually look like that. Or dress like that. And maybe you’d like someone who’s more… feminine. Or who puts in more effort.”

Charlie sat up slightly, pulling Leah with her, just enough so they were eye to eye in the low light of their bedroom.

“Leah,” she said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Where is this coming from?”

Leah shrugged, eyes flickering away. “I dunno. I just… I looked nice in those pictures. And today I looked like I got hit by a bus. And I just kept wondering if you ever look at me and think, God, I wish she’d put on a dress or something.”

Charlie’s heart ached.

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into a tight, full-bodied hug. “No. No, no, no, no, no. I love you just the way you are. Skirt or sweats or bathrobe or jeans. I don’t love you in spite of those things—I love you with them. Because of them.” She kissed Leah’s temple, then her cheek, then her nose, before leaning back just enough to meet her eyes again. “You are perfect. You are so beautiful. And kind. And sweet. And funny. And cute. And sexy, even when you don’t try. Especially when you don’t try.”

Leah blinked quickly, her throat tight. “But you work in a fashion magazine.”

“It’s GQ, princess. It’s men’s fashion. Baby, most of my wardrobe are three-piece suits.”

Charlie kissed her again, this time on the lips—slow and full of meaning, the kind that said I see you. I love you. Exactly like this.

“You’re not supposed to look like a model ready for a photoshoot every day,” she whispered against her mouth. “You’re my Leah. My sleepy, sometimes grumpy, incredible human. Who plays football and refuses to move from the couch if she’s too comfortable and complains if her carbonara has too much black pepper in it and makes the world better just by being in it.”

Leah’s tears returned, soft this time, slipping down her cheeks silently. Charlie kissed those too.

“You don’t need to change. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

“I just want to be enough,” Leah whispered, her voice cracking.

“You’re more than enough. You’re everything.” Charlie said, and tightened her arms around her, holding her like she’d never let go.

They settled back down together, legs tangled, arms wrapped tight. Charlie’s lips found her hair again, and her fingers kept combing gently, rhythmically, like they had all the time in the world.

Leah fumbled with her keys, hair in what could generously be described as a half-bun. The kind that said I gave up halfway through but what counts is that my hair is up, right? She sighed the moment she pushed the door open, toeing off her trainers as her oversized t-shirt slouched even more off her shoulder, revealing the faintest line of her sports bra strap. Baggy grey sweats clung low on her hips, and all she wanted now was food, a shower, and to lay down on her girlfriend until she couldn’t remember what soreness even felt like. Charlie must be home by now, she thinks.

“Babe, I’m ho—”

She didn’t even get to finish the sentence. A blur of limbs and warmth collided with her, nearly knocking her backwards into the door she’d only just shut. Arms looped around her neck, and then came the rapid, joyful, enthusiastic kisses.

“Hi—wait, what—baby?” Leah laughed breathlessly, but it turned into a squeak as a flurry of kisses landed all over her face. Her cheeks. Her nose. Her forehead. Her chin. A smacking one right between her eyebrows that made her giggle. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You. Have. Gotten. Into. Me,” her girlfriend declared between pecks. “I saw the promo. The England kit drop. Oh my God, Leah Cathrine Williamson—”

Leah groaned, dropping her bag onto the floor with a thud and covering her face with her hands. “Nooo, you saw it?”

“Everyone saw it! It’s all over Twitter and Instagram. You, in that away kit? With the skirt, babe?! It’s such a once-in-a-blue-moon type of thing for you that I swoon every time you wear one!”

Leah flushed a pink that crawled from her ears to her neck, and she tried to escape—but her girlfriend clung tighter.

“Stop it, stop looking at me like that,” Leah muttered into her hands, her voice muffled but grinning underneath it. “I’m literally in sweats right now.”

“And still the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” her girlfriend said without missing a beat, pulling her hands gently away to resume the campaign of smooches. “But that Leah? England captain, power pose, in a skirt? I nearly dropped my phone. Babe, you looked like a magazine cover. Like you belonged in Women’s Health or Sports Illustrated.”

Leah ducked her head, hiding against her girlfriend’s shoulder. “This is so embarrassing.”

“This is the opposite of embarrassing,” her girlfriend said sweetly, carding a hand through the messy half-bun and pressing a kiss to the crown of Leah’s head. “You wear kits and boots and look like you could destroy a nation. You wear a skirt once and suddenly I’m short-circuiting.”

“Don’t make me regret doing that shoot,” Leah mumbled, though her grin gave her away.

“Too late. You’ve created a monster.”

“I swear you like me best when I’m miserable and embarrassed.”

“I like you best when you’re just being you. Baggy sweats or hot photoshoot Leah, I’m obsessed either way.” She cupped Leah’s face, soft now, all fondness, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “But today, I’m kissing your pretty face until you believe me.”

Leah melted, eyes fluttering shut as gentle lips met her skin again—this time slower, reverent. Each kiss like a full sentence in a love letter.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered eventually, voice thick with emotion. “You win. You always do.”

“I know,” her girlfriend hummed, smiling against her cheek. “But I also always kiss the prize.” Leah left a soft chuckle, feeling butterflies in her stomach at Charlie’s enthusiasm. “Go shower and put your pijamas on, I’ll make something quick for dinner.”

About half an hour later, the flat smelled like heaven.

Leah’s nose twitched as she padded into the living room after her shower, freshly changed into another oversized tee—this time Charlie’s—, some soft cherry print shorts and fuzzy socks. Her hair, now clean and a little damp, was down and brushing her shoulders. She smelled of tropical shampoo and warm skin, and the moment she spotted the spread on the coffee table, her jaw dropped.

“Charlie…”

There they were: homemade chicken nuggets, perfectly golden. Fries—crinkled, ever since they bought that cutter, her girlfriend has been obsessed with it— arranged like little edible sculptures. Two massive smoothies in matching tumblers, pink and frothy with little strawberry slices stuck to the rim. And popcorn. A mountain of popcorn in their biggest bowl, half of it already drizzled with something that looked suspiciously like melted butter.

Charlie, barefoot in shorts and one of Leah’s old Arsenal hoodies, was just finishing adjusting the pillows and blankets on the sofa. She turned with a proud smile. “You always take care of everyone else, Lee. Let me take care of you tonight.”

Leah blinked, emotion catching at the back of her throat.

“I don’t deserve you,” she mumbled, shuffling forward and dropping a kiss to Charlie’s cheek.

“Sure you do. You’re my golden retriever in football boots. Now sit down before it gets cold!”

They ate sitting cross-legged, leaning into each other, the glow of the TV flickering across their faces. The movie had already started—some delightfully predictable lesbian rom-com set in a beach town, complete with a grumpy/sunshine pairing and a slow-burn rivals-to-lovers plot. Every now and then, Leah made a snarky comment about a line of dialogue, and Charlie would smack her thigh gently and say, “Let me live!”

Once their bellies were full and Leah’s head was lolling a little, Charlie tugged her close.

“C’mere,” she whispered, pulling Leah down to lie on top of her.

Leah let out a sleepy hum, crawling over like a content cat. She sprawled herself over Charlie with a soft sigh, head resting on her chest, their legs tangled instinctively. Her hand slid under the hem of Charlie’s hoodie, just to touch skin.

“This is the best,” Leah mumbled, barely audible over the soft music in the film. “Like. Ever.”

Charlie only smiled, wrapping both arms around her and kissing the top of her head. “My pleasure.”

Leah let out a low, sleepy laugh, and Charlie could feel her smile even without seeing it.

With the movie playing on, Charlie’s fingers found Leah’s hair, slow and soothing as they untangled it from the base of her neck down. Every so often, she’d whisper something—quiet and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“You always work so hard.”

“You deserve all the love in the world.”

“I love you so much.”

Each phrase was followed by a kiss to her forehead, her temple, her cheek.

Leah didn’t say much back, but her arms curled tighter around Charlie’s waist, her breathing slow and deepening. She was safe. She was loved. She was full—in more ways than one.

When the movie ended and the credits rolled, Leah lifted her head, just slightly.

“You know I love you, right?”

Charlie smiled, brushing her thumb over Leah’s cheek.

“Yeah, I know. But say it again anyway.”

Leah blushed, nose wrinkling a little. “I love you, Charlie.”

“I love you too,” Charlie whispered, pulling the blanket tighter over them both. “Especially when you’re in a skirt.”

Leah groaned, burying her face in Charlie’s neck with a muffled, “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance. But come one, we should go to bed.”

“But aren’t we comfortable here?”

Leah’s cute pout almost convinced Charlie to give in, but knowing how busy she’d be the next day, she added: “We need to brush our teeth first. And you know I need to wake up extra-early tomorrow, honey. Let’s go, we can cuddle in bed.” Leah whined, hiding her face again in the crook of Charlie’s neck, the faint smell of her perfume relaxing her. “Lee…”

“Yes, my love?”

“Get up or I’ll tickle you.”

“I thought you wanted to move to Barcelona”.

“I still do”.

“That's literally all you've talked about since you got here”.

“I know”.

“Then why are you going to Manchester?”

“I already told you, to become an instructor”.

“Bullshit. You could be an instructor in Bari, your Italian is great. Or Marseille. Or anywhere that you can get a little bit of sun”.

“Amy, stop it!” Tània exclames frustrated. “I need to get out of here and I already lived in the U.K.”

“Yes, and you hated it”. States Amanda, setting a steaming mug of tea in front of her friend.

“Because I was in the middle of nowhere, this is gonna be different”.

“You could change airlines anyway. I think Vueling...”

“And then get kicked out within six months? No thank you”.

“You're Spanish, you need the sun. You've been saying it nonstop every day for the last three years”. Amy grabs her hand softly and Tània’s eyes focus on the patterned tablecloth. She's wanted to go back home since she did the training course in Dublin. She was told she'd get it. Maybe she would've if she hadn't removed herself from the never-ending list of people that want to be based in Barcelona.

“Two years and nine months”.

“Tània”.

“You'll get married and move in with Stefan, I cannot afford this house by myself in the long run. Michelle-”

“The bitch”.

“The bitch, is now Base Supervisor. My whole training course is gone now. I really don’t want to wait another year or three for them to give me the Barcelona transfer. Not here, in the middle of no-fucking-where, I need something else. I've waited long enough.”

Amy rolls her eyes, “You didn't wait, you got distracted. By the bitch. You even removed Barcelona as your Base Preference for her”.

“I became number one”.

“You were going to get it anyway. Especially if you had gotten the transfer. Like Malena”. Tània groans, hiding her face in her hands.

“Amy, please”. Her voice sounds muffled behind her palms, but the frustration in her voice is very easily recognizable. “I need the change. The decision is made. My flight is tomorrow. I’m already stressed enough about having to deal with my, honestly, way-too-many suitcases and having literally less than forty-eight hours to settle before having my first flight there. Can we please have one last cup of tea together in peace?”

Amy doesn’t smile, but nods slightly. “I’m sorry”. She says after a while. “I’m just worried about you”.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want you getting depressed while I can’t just come into your room to force you to take a shower and have sushi for dinner”.

“You can always call me whenever you want”.

Mireia had not been able to attend the match. She wasn’t even in Barcelona until after it started.

Having been chosen between the five siblings by her dad to be the one to eventually inherit the company had her traveling between her hometown and where her heart lived now quite a few times a year. She wouldn’t trade it for anything though.

By the time Mireia arrived home from the airport, the match had ended, she had watched it on the way home on her phone.

“Fuck”.

Saying that her girlfriend was competitive would be the understatement of the century. Two times Ballon d’or winner, three times Champions League winner, World Cup winner and a very long etcetera corroborate just how hardworking Aitana Bonmatí is.

Mireia ran to the supermarket just under the apartment she shared with her girlfriend. She picked just about any and every snack she knew Tana liked, and ingredients to make something comforting for dinner. Something warm and filling. “Vegan meatballs and mashed potatoes could be nice”. She mumbled while checking the vegetables.

Mireia set the snacks on the coffee table and got started on dinner without even playing any music on her speaker.

The clinking of the keys behind the door gave away the footballer’s arrival. Mireia turned off the stove and wiped her hands on a towel before turning to the door just when Aitana opened it.

Aitana slammed the door behind her, letting out a long breath as she dropped her bag to the floor. The match against Levante had been a disaster—one of those nights where nothing worked, where the team felt disconnected, where she felt like she was dragging the whole damn squad by herself. It wasn’t just the loss. It was the frustration, the exhaustion, the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders.

She blinked, confused for a moment, before stepping into the kitchen.

Mire was there, standing at the stove, her cherry red hair tied up messily, looking at her with her arms open, dinner halfway done behind her, and something in Aitana snapped.

The exhaustion. The frustration. The anger. The relief.

A strangled sound left her throat before she could stop it, and Mireia engulfed her in her arms.

Aitana didn’t answer. She just buried herself into Mire’s arms, pressing her face against her shoulder, shaking.

Mireia wasted no time. She picked Aitana up effortlessly, lifting her like she weighed nothing, and carried her to the couch. She sat down with Tana still curled up against her, wrapping her arms tightly around her, one hand stroking her back.

“Talk to me,” Mireia murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Tell me what’s going on in that brilliant head of yours.”

Aitana sniffled, her fingers clutching Mire’s hoodie. “It was awful,” she whispered. “We were all over the place. No structure. No fight. And he—” She let out a frustrated huff. “He doesn’t get us. He doesn’t understand how we play. How we work. He doesn’t rotate, not properly. His tactics, everything feels like it’s not right for us. And I—” She hesitated, voice cracking. “And I needed you.”

Mireia exhaled softly, tightening her hold. “I’m here, mi amor.”

“I know.” Aitana’s voice was small. “That’s why I’m crying.”

Mireia chuckled softly, rubbing circles on her back. “You never have to hold it in with me, okay? Whatever you feel, let it out. I’ve got you.”

“I know it wasn’t your fault, I know you had to be away. But I couldn’t help it, I needed you. I wanted you to hold me after the match ended. Right then and there, while Olga was hugging Alexia and Mapi was hugging Ingrid and Marta was hugging Caro. I know it’s not fair for me to ask you to be on every match and that you couldn’t have known we were gonna lose but I needed you and you weren’t there and I got angry at you for a moment and then at myself because I wasn’t being fair nor rational”.

The frustrated ramble only made Mireia tighten her hold around her girlfriend. “Amor, it’s okay. It’s normal that you felt like that. Everyone was getting some sort of comfort from their partner and I wasn’t there. You needed me there and I get it. You don’t have to be angry at yourself for feeling something completely normal.”

They sat like that for a while—Tana melting into Mire’s warmth, the weight of the night slowly slipping off her shoulders. Mireia kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her lips, until Tana finally let out a small, tired giggle.

“There she is,” Mireia whispered, smiling against her skin. “There’s my girl.” Aitana’s stomach grumbled loudly, making her blush in embarrassment. “Dinner.” Mireia tucked a loose strand of hair behind Aitana’s ear. “You’re starving and I just have to make the sauce and the mashed potatoes”.

Aitana whined, pressing her face back into Mireia’s neck. “Just stay like this a little longer.”

The streets of Brooklyn were alive with neon lights and the murmur of late-night crowds, but Bucky Barnes had no interest in any of it.

“Sam, I really don’t see why I need to be here,” he grumbled, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket, a deep frown on his face.

Sam shot him a knowing look. “Dude, you need to get out more. And because I found this place on Instagram, and it looks cool as hell”. Bucky scoffed as Sam took his phone out and looked up the profile. A 1940s-inspired bar? It sounded like a cheap gimmick, a way to turn his past into an aesthetic for people who didn’t know a damn thing about it. But Sam had been relentless, and Bucky had run out of excuses. “Also it’s not exactly inspired, the bar opened ages ago and each new generation decided to update the whole thing. But the girl that inherited it now, decided to bring it back to its old glory”. He said passing him his phone.

Just as he was about to protest again, a blur of movement caught his attention.

“On your left!”

Bucky barely had time to register the warning before they rushed past—three figures in cinched waists and flowing skirts, heels clicking against the pavement. The scent of perfume and something sweet, like jasmine and honey, lingered in the air as they passed. His breath hitched, the scene tugging at something deep in his memory.

For a moment, he wasn’t in the present time —he was back in the ’40s, standing on a street corner in the crisp night air, watching a group of girls rush past on their way to some dance hall, their laughter spilling into the streets. The way their skirts flared, the glint of stockings in the glow of a streetlamp, the bright red lips curved into mischievous smiles—he’d seen it all before. Bucky barely had time to register them before a small object hit the pavement. One of the girls skidded to a halt and reality snapped back into place.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, turning back.

Bucky’s pulse stuttered.

She was stunning. The dim glow of the streetlights softened her features, She wore black opera gloves and a deep red dress that cinched at the waist, the fabric swaying as she moved. A matching hat had slipped from her head, resting at his feet.

Then there was her face—soft yet striking, framed by hair styled in perfect vintage waves, full dark red lips and dark eyes.

She looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, they locked eyes.

Everything else faded.

She smiled.

It wasn’t forced or polite—it was knowing, like she’d caught him staring but didn’t mind. Like she had seen something in him and decided he was worth smiling at. And Christ was her smile beautiful. His heart gave a traitorous lurch.

“Maggie, come on!” one of the others called.

The spell broke. She snatched up her hat, flashing him one last glance before turning on her heel and disappearing into the night with the others.

Bucky exhaled, feeling something between regret and disbelief.

A chuckle from his right. Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

“Dude,” Sam said, shaking his head, “now you really can’t turn around. They’re clearly going to the same bar.”

Bucky swallowed, glancing at the door of the venue just a block ahead. His instincts screamed at him to leave, to avoid whatever this was—this pull, this ache, this thing he hadn’t felt in years.

But another part of him—the part that still remembered warm nights and swing music, red lips and silk dresses—wanted to follow.

Without another word, he kept walking.

The bar was packed, the low hum of conversation filling the space as Bucky and Sam slipped inside. The warm, amber glow of old-fashioned sconces cast soft shadows on the walls, and every detail—from the dark wooden bar to the checkered floor—looked like it had been plucked straight out of the 1940s.

Bucky would’ve scoffed if he weren’t already too distracted.

They took seats near the back, away from the main crowd but with a clear view of the small stage. Sam, grinning like he’d just won a bet, leaned back in his chair and ordered them a round. Bucky just nodded, already restless, already thinking about turning around and heading for the door.

Then, just as the bartender placed their drinks in front of them, the lights were dimmed, slightly but not completely, and a hush fell over the room.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his glass.

The three girls from earlier stepped onto the small stage, their dresses now illuminated under the soft golden light. They looked even more like they had stepped out of a memory—silk, lace, pin curls, and perfectly lined red lips. They huddled together for a brief second, sharing an excited glance, and then the first notes of the song filled the room. Bucky recognized it immediately.

The girl in the red dress — Maggie, he remembered— started singing: “Of all the boys I’ve known, and I’ve known some…”. Her voice was perfect, it was like listening to Patty Andrews again, but her eyes twinkled with a distinctive mischief of this century.

“Bei mir bist du schön, please let me explain…” The harmonies were perfect, smooth and full of energy, bringing the entire bar to life. The crowd cheered as the girls swayed in sync, their voices blending effortlessly.

But Bucky only heard one.

Maggie.

She was front and center, her voice leading the melody, rich and honeyed. There was something effortless in the way she sang—confidence woven through every note, playfulness in the way she looked out at the crowd. She owned the moment, and Bucky couldn’t look away.

Sam nudged him. “Damn,” he muttered, eyebrows raised. “She’s good.”

Bucky barely heard him.

His whisky sat untouched. He was completely, hopelessly mesmerized.

The song ended with a flourish, and the bar erupted into cheers and applause. The two other girls beamed as they stepped down, leaving only Maggie behind. She adjusted the microphone slightly, her fingers light on the stand, and the band behind her gave her a nod to start, ready for the new tune.

She started singing.

“Evening shadows make me blue…”

The first delicate notes of My Happiness drifted through the air, and Bucky felt something deep in his chest tighten.

It wasn’t just the beauty of her voice—it was the way she sang it, the way each word seemed to carry something unspoken, something tender and longing.

And then, in the middle of the first verse, she looked at him.

“How I long to be with you…”

Bucky barely breathed.

They locked eyes across the room, and everything else faded.

The music, the noise of the crowd, even Sam’s presence beside him—it all melted away. There was only her, standing under the soft glow of the dreamy stage lights, singing as if the song belonged to only them.

“But I’ll hold you again…”

Bucky’s throat went dry. He didn’t know what it was—maybe the way her voice curled around each note like a gentle whisper, maybe the way her lips barely parted, her gaze steady and unwavering—but something in him shifted.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just nostalgia, either, though it felt dangerously close to one of those dreams where he was back in another time, whole and unburdened. This was different. This was real.

And she wasn’t looking away.

Maggie sang like she knew something he didn’t, like she could feel the pull between them just as much as he could. There was something in her expression, a flicker of curiosity—maybe even recognition, though Bucky knew they’d never met before. But still, she held his gaze, her voice smooth as silk.

“Wether skies are gray or blue, any place on earth will do…”

The words settled deep in his chest, and Bucky felt his fingers twitch against his knee.

Sam shifted beside him. “Damn, man,” he murmured, low enough that only Bucky could hear. “She’s really looking at you.”

Bucky still couldn’t speak.

The song swelled toward its final notes, Maggie’s voice lingering in the air like something delicate, something that would slip through his fingers if he moved too quickly.

“Just as long as I’m with you, my happiness…”

And then, just as the last chord faded, she smiled.

It was small, barely there, but he saw it. Felt it.

The bar erupted into cheers, breaking the spell. Maggie blinked and exhaled softly, as if she, too, had just been pulled back to reality, and with one last glance, she stepped away from the microphone.

Bucky barely noticed the people clapping around him, barely registered Sam nudging him with a smirk.

Because he knew, in the depths of his soul, that something had just changed.

And he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

The next performer took the stage, one of Maggie’s friends, her voice floating through the bar in a lively, upbeat tune. The crowd was still buzzing from the last performance, but Bucky barely heard anything. His mind was stuck on the way Maggie had looked at him, the way her voice had wrapped around him like something familiar, something safe.

Sam stood up, stretching. “I gotta hit the head,” he said, tapping the table. “Try not to look so broody while I’m gone.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but before he could think too much about it, someone stepped into his peripheral vision.

“May I?”

The voice was smooth, laced with amusement, and when Bucky looked up, there she was. Maggie.

She gestured toward the empty chair Sam had just left.

“Of course,” he answered, barely hiding his surprise. Up close, she was even more beautiful, every detail of her carefully styled hair and vintage makeup hitting him with a wave of déjà vu.

She sat gracefully, smoothing out her dress as she settled in. “I did a little sign to your friend to move so I could talk to you,” she admitted with a small smirk. “And he was very happy about it.”

Bucky let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That sounds about right.”

Maggie tilted her head slightly, studying him. “I hope that’s not too weird, but…I just felt like I needed to talk to you.” She took her gloves off and left them on the table, then extended a hand. “I’m Maggie. Margaret, but I prefer Maggie.”

He took her hand in his, careful and deliberate. “James. But everyone calls me Bucky.”

Her fingers were soft against his palm, but there was something firm in the way she held his handshake. Like she wasn’t afraid of the moment, of him. It had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

“Is there a reason for that? ‘Cause I don’t see any connection between the two”. She chuckled.

“My middle name is Buchanan”. He admitted with resignation.

She snorted. “Old fashioned, very fitting for this place”. She signaled the barman and he brought her a glass of the same whisky Bucky was drinking. “So, Bucky,” she said, her voice playful as she traced a finger along the rim of the empty glass in front of her. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

He smirked slightly. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

He exhaled, glancing around the bar. “My friend Sam found this place online. Thought it’d be fun to drag me out.”

“And was he right?”

He looked back at her, meeting her gaze. “I wasn’t so sure at first.”

She tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “And now?”

His fingers tapped lightly against the table. “Still making up my mind.”

Maggie laughed softly, shaking her head. “Smooth.”

Bucky chuckled, but he wasn’t just trying to be charming—he was genuinely trying to process whatever the hell was happening to him. Sitting here, across from her, in this dimly lit bar that felt like stepping back in time, he felt different. Bucky felt warmth creep through his chest. Maggie was easy to talk to—bright, witty, completely at ease in a way that made him forget the weight he always carried. And even though he was shy at first, stumbling slightly over his words, the fact that she had wanted to talk to him gave him confidence.

His heart raced, but instead of pushing it down, he leaned into it for once.

The setting, her style, the way she carried herself—it was all so familiar. It made him feel like he had stepped back into his time, into something safe and known. Like he was home.

And before he could think too hard about it, the old part of him—the part that used to charm girls with soft grins and smooth compliments—started to surface.

Maggie leaned forward slightly, her dress shifting as she propped her chin on one hand. “Alright, so if Sam dragged you here, that means you’re not really the type to go out much.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh. “That obvious?”

“Just a little.” She studied him for a second. “You don’t seem like you’d hate this place, though.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What makes you say that?”

She gestured vaguely around them. “The music, the atmosphere… I saw the way you were watching earlier.” Bucky stiffened slightly, not expecting her to have noticed that. “You looked like someone remembering something,” she continued, her voice softer now. “Something good.”

He swallowed, caught off guard by how easily she had picked up on it. His fingers curled slightly against his knee. “I, uh… grew up with this kind of music.”

Maggie’s eyes flickered with interest. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling. “Used to go to places like this all the time, when I was younger.”

She smiled. “Let me guess—perfectly tailored suits, slicked-back hair, charming all the girls with that old-school confidence?”

Bucky let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Something like that.”

Maggie grinned. “I knew it. You do have that energy about you.”

He raised a brow. “That a good thing?”

She pretended to consider. “Well… depends. You one of those boys who promised every girl a dance and then never followed through?”

His smirk returned. “Sweetheart, if I promised a dance, I always followed through.” He assured with a wink. “You know,” he said, leaning slightly closer, “back in the day, a dame like you would’ve had a whole line of fellas waiting just for a dance.”

Maggie’s lips twitched. “Oh? And where would you be in that line?”

Bucky smirked. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be in the line. I’d already have the dance.”

Maggie held his gaze, her lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Uh-huh. And should I take that as an offer?”

Bucky blinked. He had been joking—half-joking, at least—but now the idea of actually dancing with her didn’t seem so absurd.

Didn’t seem absurd at all.

“Maybe. If you want to, sugar”.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Wow,” she mused, “you really know how to use that old-fashioned charm, huh?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “I like to think I had some practice.”

Maggie leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm as she watched him. “I have to say, I don’t mind it. Feels authentic, coming from you.”

Bucky chuckled. “That a compliment?”

“Maybe,” she teased, glancing at the shiny dog tags on his chest. “But don’t get ahead of yourself, soldier.”

His chest tightened at the word.

Soldier.

Most people used it like a title, a way to remind him of what he had been, of what still clung to him like a shadow. But when she said it, it was different. It was light, teasing, effortless.

Like it didn’t come with the weight of everything he’d lost.

Bucky looked at her, and for the first time in a long, long while, he realized he was smiling. Really smiling.

Maggie watched him, her eyes filled with a curiosity that made Bucky feel like she was actually seeing him—past the surface, past whatever people usually assumed about him. It was unnerving, but in a way that made his chest tighten with something that wasn’t quite discomfort.

Maggie seemed to catch the way his expression changed because she leaned back with a knowing look. “Cat got your tongue, handsome?”

Bucky huffed a soft laugh. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

She smirked. “That depends—do you like trouble?”

His throat went dry.

God help him, he just might.

Maggie watched him, a playful glint in her eye, and Bucky felt like he was being pulled into something he wasn’t sure he could handle.

“Depends,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

Maggie’s lips curved into a smirk. “The fun kind.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Haven’t had a lot of that in a while.”

“Well,” she said, tilting her head, “maybe you should.”

Something about the way she said it made Bucky pause. She didn’t know him, definitely didn’t recognize him — didn’t know the weight he carried or the ghosts that followed him—but she saw him. And maybe that was even more dangerous.

Before he could think of a response, a voice called out from the stage.

“Maggie, let’s go!”

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Duty calls.”

Bucky lifted a brow. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d leave a guy mid-conversation.”

Maggie smirked as she stood. “You’ll survive, soldier.”

He watched as she smoothed her dress, her movements graceful, effortless. Maggie took a step toward the stage, then hesitated. She turned back to him, her expression unreadable for a moment, like she was debating something.

Then, just as quickly, she seemed to make up her mind.

“You know what?” she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

Bucky frowned slightly. “What?”

She only smiled. “You’ll see.”

And with that, she was gone, slipping through the crowd with the same effortless elegance that had first caught his eye.

Bucky watched as she climbed back onto the small stage, saying something to the girls and the band behind them, then taking her place at the microphone while her two friends whispered to each other, looking surprised by something. One of them gave Maggie a questioning glance, but she just nodded, and a moment later, the band began to play.

It only took a few notes for Bucky to realize she had changed the song.

The soft, dreamy melody of If I Give My Heart to You filled the room, and his breath caught in his throat.

Then she started singing.

“If I give my heart to you, will you handle it with care?”

Her voice was smooth, rich, carrying through the air like something delicate but unshakable.

And she was looking right at him.

Bucky felt like the room had shrunk, like there was no one else here but the two of them. He knew the song—he had heard it long ago, back when life was simpler, back when love was something he could chase without fear.

“Will you always treat me tenderly, and in every way be fair?”

She wasn’t just performing.

She was talking to him.

With nothing but her voice and her eyes, she was asking him something—something that made his pulse quicken, made his hands clench into fists under the table because damn it, he wasn’t sure he had an answer.

Could he?

Could he be that person?

Could he be the kind of man a woman like Maggie deserved?

“If I give my heart to you, will you give me all your love?”

His throat felt tight.

Maggie’s expression was softer now, her teasing smile replaced by something more vulnerable. It was like she was letting him see behind the playful confidence, like she was just as caught in this as he was.

“Will you swear that you’ll be true to me, by the light that shines above?”

Bucky had been through war. He had lost everything. He had seen and done things that would haunt him forever.

And yet, sitting here, staring at this woman on stage, he felt something foreign and terrifying creep into his chest.

Hope.

For a moment, just a moment, it was like he wasn’t the broken man the world saw him as. He wasn’t a soldier out of time, a weapon struggling to find his humanity.

He was just Bucky.

A guy sitting in a bar, falling for a girl with a voice like honey and a gaze that made him believe—just for a second—that maybe he could be more.

The song faded, the last notes lingering in the air before the crowd erupted into applause.

Maggie finally looked away, smiling as she gave a small, playful bow. But before she turned to leave the stage, she stole one last glance at Bucky.

And in that look, there was something unspoken.

A challenge. A question.

A promise.

Bucky exhaled, running a hand down his face.

Clàudia knew Livie was a ballerina. Like, that was the reason she came to Barcelona. The day they met, back in the middle of summer, Livie had her ballet clothes on. Her apartment was filled with ballet stuff. She had been there before. Livie had given her a tour and explained why her other bedroom only had a bunch of really big mirrors, a few pairs of pointe shoes scattered in a corner and a handrail — “It’s called barre, love” she’d said. But Clàudia had never stayed over.

Up until now it had been Livie who had stayed over at Clàudia’s apartment. Always the night before her off day so she wouldn’t have to rush to the studio immediately after waking up.

But now it was Nutcracker season, there were no days off, quite literally. Rehearsals were every day, sometimes twice a day. It was winter which meant people were getting sick which meant Livie had to learn more than one role in case she needed to cover for some girl that couldn’t hold her cough long enough.

Whenever Livie and Clàudia happened to have the same day off they would sleep until noon. If it was only Livie’s, they would wake up fairly early to make sure Clàudia gets to training on time, even if Clàudia basically just groaned and crawled around her apartment while her girlfriend prepared her breakfast. But this was the first time Clàudia had a day off and Livie didn’t, so she stayed over at Livie’s.

She had no idea Livie would wake up at six in the morning to start stretching. And she had never seen her stretch. Or do anything ballet-related for that matter, al least not in person.

“Go back to sleep, baby. We’ll have breakfast at eight”.

She tried, she wanted to, but curiosity had taken over. She wanted to see what kind of stretches were necessary at six in the morning, if Livie was going to put on her pointe shoes and do the pirouettes that Clàudia had seen on her TikTok. So she got up, put on a hoodie and walked through the apartment, the ballet room was on the other side.

Clàudia was mesmerized. And a bit scared.

Because what do you mean her girlfriend could lay face down and just lift her torso and arms until she folded backwards completely. Her smile was creepy like that but Livie found Clàudia’s fear very funny.

What the fuck. Honestly.

“You can sit in that corner, babe”.

“Okay”. Clàu was too sleepy to make sense of how Olivia’s body was folding, because it really didn’t make sense. “You look posessed”. Olivia couldn’t hold her laugh anymore, or that posture. Clàu was rubbing her eye with her lips making a little pout and sleep written on her face while Olivia was laughing quite loudly. “¿De qué te ríes? Si hubieras visto lo que yo al asomarme a la puerta, me entenderías” What are you laughing about? If you had seen what I saw when I peeked through the door, you’d understand me.

“You just look so cute, baby”.

“Not funny”.

Olivia went back to stretching and then did some mobility exercises and might have shown off a little bit at the barre just because she loved having Clàudia focused solely on her.

Once she finished, Clàudia stood up and clapped, making her laugh. “And you do this every morning?” Livie got closer, Clàu wrapped her arms around her hips.

“Yeah pretty much”.

“Wow” Clàu was looking at her with wide eyes, the height difference making her look absolutely adorable. Olivia was at least an entire head taller than Clàudia.

“Babe you do very impressive things every day too”.

“Yes but I don’t fold in half. I can’t even raise my leg too high without falling”.

Livie held Clàudias face with her hands, a soft chuckle escaping her mouth. “And I can’t shoot a football and have it perfectly hit a bottle that was carefully placed on top of the crossbar. But that’s okay because I’m not a footballer, you are. And it’s incredibly hot when you do that”. Clàudia smiled and got on her tiptoes to kiss Livie, who bent down a little bit to meet her girlfriend halfway. Her soft cheeks in her hands, her warm lips on hers, her arms around her hips and her body flush against hers. “Fuck I wanna stay like this all day”.

“My calves would disagree”.

“Then I’d take you to bed so we could cuddle”.

“Don’t mention the things we can’t do until opening night”. Clàu protested with a pout.

“Sorry”. She murmured, placing a kiss on Clàu’s forehead. “I’m gonna take a shower and get ready, then we can go for breakfast at the cafe next to the studio”.

Once Livie left, Clàudia basically run to the kitchen to make her a huge coffee, and plate the overnight oats that they left on the fridge with a lot of fruits. Livie had to take a few supplements every day so Clàudia also prepared that on a tiny plate and a glass of orange juice next to it. The fizzing sound let her know the coffee was ready so she took the huge moka pot out of the stove. Clàudia knew Livie got a baby pink Stanley cup as a gift from one of her aunts when she moved to Barcelona, the question is, where the fuck was it?

She looked inside almost every cupboard only to find it on the top shelf of one of them.

“Quién me manda a mí a no comer los petisuis de danonino”. Serves me right for not eating danonino’s petit suisse. The footballer grumbled while pulling a chair to reach that shelf.

Right when she gets down, Clàudia feels a pair of arms surrounding her. “What are you doing?” Livie asked with a chuckle while kissing her neck.

“I wanted to make your coffee on the cup you like but it was too high”.

“I swear you can’t get more adorable and every day you find a new way”.

“I’m not adorable, I’m just short”. Said Clàu turning around with a pout and looking up at Livie.

“I meant you making breakfast and my coffee on my favorite cup, baby”. Kissing her girlfriend was Livie’s favorite thing in the world, but kissing her when she was just slightly annoyed and pouting and frowning? Jesus she could die right then and there. “But yeah your height adds to it a little”.

“I knew it!” Clàu complained, hitting Livie’s arm.

“Come on, love, let’s have breakfast”.

Olivia took her hand and guided her to the breakfast bar, where Clàudia pulled her chair (Livie included) as close as possible and Livie just placed her legs across Clàu’s lap. Clàudias left hand went immediately to rub circles on her tight-covered knees.

“I still have to put on my sweatpants. It’s fucking cold today”.

“You look adorable with your sweatpants”. Livie’s face flushed a little bit. She didn’t like to wear sweatpants, most of them were too short for her when she got her size, or too big on her hips if they were long enough.

They ate in silence and washed the dirty plates in harmony. It had become so easy to do house chores with Clàu that Olivia was already daydreaming of the day they could move in together, to an apartment entirely theirs.

But it was too soon.

For now, she was content with carefully doing her hair behind her girlfriend while she brushed her teeth.

The moment Clàudia dried her face, Livie was securing her last hairpin on her ballet bun.

Clàudia could do this every day.

“I’ll wait in the car”. Clàudia murmured looking away. Her chest felt a bit tight with anxiety while waiting for Livie to come down. They had been officially together for less than three months and she was already thinking of living together. “¿Tú eres tonta o qué?” Are you stupid or what? She said to her reflection in the rear view mirror.

Her phone vibrated, a text from Patri about going for a coffee in the afternoon. Cata, Salma and her need to hear more about the girl Clàudia refuses to introduce to the team so that they don’t embarrass her.

Clàudia started a voice message: “Tía estoy muy pillada. Hoy dormí en su casa por primera vez. Y nunca la había visto prepararse para el trabajo y te juro que es lo único que quiero hacer el resto de mi vida”. Girl I’m so smitten by her. I slept at hers for the first time. And I had never seen her getting ready for work and I swear it’s the only thing I want to do for the rest of my life. She didn’t hear the door to the back of her car opening or Livie’s bag dropping on the backseat. “Y tengo un problema gordísimo: estoy ya imaginándome cómo sería vivir con ella y llevamos sólo tres meses. Joder, es que me siento como el estereotipo básico de lesbiana, qué puta vergüenza”. And I have a big ass problem: I’m already imagining how it would be to live with her and we’ve been together for just three months. Fuck, I feel like the basic lesbian stereotype, it’s so fucking embarrassing.

“Baby, I’ve been doing that too”.

Clàudia screamed and dropped her phone. Livie closed the door and went to the passenger seat. Her sweet Clàu had a deep blush on her face and refused to look anywhere but at her hands playing with the hem of her jumper.

“Darling?”

“Have you really been thinking of us moving in together?”

“Of course my love”. Livie placed her index finger under Clàu’s chin, softly turning her head so she faced her. “Clàu, baby, I have been daydreaming about us living together since our first kiss. My heart keeps trying to make me rush through the early stages of our relationship and I have to constantly remind myself that I need to calm down and enjoy the beginning as well. Getting to know you and doing things for the first time with you”.

“Maybe next Christmas we could be living together”.

“Maybe I could get you a light orange cup and we could have them next to each other”.

“On a lower shelf, please”.

“And a foldable stool”.

“We could go to Ikea and daydream a bit”.

“That sounds almost like a proposal, my love”. Livie chuckled.

“Do you not want to?”. Clàu’s eyes filled with worry for a moment. Livie kissed her nervousness away.

“My love, ¿quieres tener una cita conmigo en Ikea?”. Do you want to go on a date with me to Ikea?

“Adoro cuando hablas en español”. I adore when you speak Spanish. Clàudia felt like melting every time Livie spoke spanish, with her cute english accent and deep voice. “¿El día después de tu estreno?” The day after your opening night?

“As long as we get to wake up late and cuddle a little, then yes”.

“Anything, mi amor”. She whispered over Livie’s lips before kissing her slowly. “You taste like coffee”.