Lo // 25 // UK

Disclaimer- please read before engaging with any of my work :)

Please assume all is 18+ for smut MDNI

This Whole Time- Leah Williamson

Composure- Renée Slegers

You Owe Me- Renée Slegers

Legacy- Renée Slegers

Text me when you get home- Alessia Russo

Thinking of you- Kika Nazareth

Just one more- Alexia Putellas

Up all night- Claudia Pina

The power of three

Claudia Pina x reader

SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD

CWs: edging (like actually so much edging I am sorry), public sex, repeated orgasm denial (I literally cannot emphasise this enough), a little bit of conflict, Claudia is a whiny little baby, strap sex and sucking, mild voyeurism moments, overstimulation and tears, eventual aftercare.

Strap in and strap up gang, I really ran with this one.

Sunlight cuts through the curtains, a chink of pale light breaking through the grey of dawn and casting a golden stripe over Claudia’s face. The tree beyond the window rustles lightly in the breeze, and through bleary eyes you see blue sky above it— good. The perfect day off, thank god.

You stretch indulgently beside her, stealing the warm patch of mattress with your feet, the realisation that you have nowhere to be until tomorrow relaxing your every muscle. As your eyes begin to close again, the sleeping girl beside you rolls closer, swinging one leg up over your thigh and nestling her head into your armpit. She sighs contentedly, even in sleep, and you drop a kiss to the top of her hair.

It’s been two months since the night at the bar. With an international break, two weeks away in Madrid, it seems like forever since your last (technically fourth) date. You’re grateful she agreed to stay the night last night, even getting back so late, too drunk and tired to even touch. This morning, you can take your time with her— you remind yourself of this as you slip carefully from under her weight, bare feet creaking on the floorboards.

There is coffee in the pot, as fresh as it can possibly be, when Claudia appears in the doorway. Her hair is loose, wavy and down to her waist, and it gives her a softer, less guarded look than the one she lets the world see. She rubs her eyes, face still crinkled with sleep lines, and adjusts the hem of her T-shirt as she pads across the tiles. It’s yours, and far too big on her really, but it brushes the tops of her thighs in a way that makes you want to sink your teeth into them.

“Good morning, cariño,” you kiss her softly as her arms wind around your neck. She tastes like sleep, still, and her hair smells like your conditioner.

“Is there coffee?” Her voice is rough, raspy, and it does something funny to you as she asks. You hum, reaching up into the cupboard for a mug, pouring with one hand as she settles on the counter beside you and the other rests instinctively on her knee.

“For my princesa.” You hand her the cup, and press another kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“So, what would you like to do today? We have all the time in the world. Anything you want.”

She thinks for a moment, lower lip resting on the edge of the mug. Then she sets it down and holds out her arms, opening her knees for you to step between them. She wraps around you immediately, like you might try to escape, and mumbles into your shoulder,

“Want cuddles. And bed. Then maybe the beach.”

Your laughter seems to upset her for a second, and she pouts, but her expression shifts immediately when your hands slide over her hips and around to her back beneath the shirt.

She smirks, tilting her head back, and you drop a single, lingering kiss at the base of her throat.

“Come on then. Cuddles.”

You pass an hour back in bed, coffee going cold on the bedside. The window is open now, a breeze tempering the summer heat, and you find yourselves comfortably wrapped in one another. She kisses you thoughtlessly, like it’s the only thing she knows how to do, and you indulge her with scratches over her scalp and back. It is bliss— relaxed, untainted bliss, and your stomach fills with a warm glow at the steady weight of her on you. You are luxuriating, just basking in her presence, when she takes your hand in her own and presses it flat over her underwear.

“You getting needy, hmm? Want me to touch you, bebé?”

She rolls her weight to the side, one leg still flung over yours, the other stretched out to make room.

“Please,”

“Well, you did have an excellent week, didn’t you? Maybe my good girl deserves a reward today.”

Her breath shudders, mouth dropping down to your shoulder and she kisses you there.

“Please, amor.”

She is hardly wet when you touch her, like the idea occurred to her and she immediately acted upon it. But you feel her relax further as you part her folds gently, meandering over her skin, and she sighs with what sounds like relief. It’s so easy like this— you kiss her mouth as you go, never stopping in one place too long, distributing pressure as she works herself up in tiny, tiny increments. There’s something needy in the way she whines, yes— but it’s not urgent, not hungry. She’s learned by now that she’ll get what she wants.

“Ohh, there we go. There she is.” You laugh against her shoulder when your fingertips dip just barely inside her, and slick coats them easily.

“There’s my girl.”

You can tell when she begins to unravel, because she stops going quiet between gasps. Instead of silence she falls into a steady trickle of swearing and blasphemy, her lips parted and trembling, eyes squeezed closed.

“You getting close, princesa?” You speak into her neck, breath condensing on her skin, and she nods and makes a strangled noise. You draw it out, the precipice— it is a balancing act, a tight rope, tipping her close but not quite over.

Then you pull back. You withdraw your hand from her underwear, wipe your fingers over the curve of her ass, and kiss her forehead softly.

“Not yet, amor. Not yet.”

The sound she makes is pathetic.

“Good girl. Let’s see— if you can wait until I let you…hmm, three times today, you’ll get your reward. Think you can manage? Gonna show me just how well behaved you can be?”

She huffs in frustration, but the flush on her cheeks, the desperate shift of her thighs against one another, sends a bolt of desire down your spine. You tut softly,

“Uh uh bebé. Not until tonight. And you know I’ll know if you touch yourself.”

She ducks her head, not able to make eye contact. The cruel fade of climax ebbs away from her stomach, leaving her soaking wet, overstimulated, and frankly pissed off.

But she wants to be good. She really, really wants to be good.

As promised, the afternoon sun finds you stretched out on a blanket on the sand. It’s quiet here— too far north for tourists, and the hottest part of the day has the locals sheltering inside. A water bottle sweats in the sand beside you and your eyes are closed, glasses barely obscuring the bloody glow of the inside of your eyelids.

You feel Claudia before you see her. She leans over you, wet hair dripping steadily onto your burning skin.

“Ay, amor! That’s cold!” You snap upright, and she is peering down at you. She smirks, but it is not kind— self satisfied, pleased she has pissed you off.

In fact, she has been in a mood all afternoon. She barely spoke on the car ride here, and the minute you’d stretched out on your back she disappeared off— into the water, swimming out until she almost vanished in the distance. But now she’s back, water trickling in rivulets over the muscled planes of her body, tattoos glistening wet in the sunlight. Hair still down, but slicked back with salt water, waves threatening that she spends her life fighting against. She is a vision.

“Come sit, bebé.”

Claudia plops down rather ungracefully onto the blanket, knees pulled up to her chest, far enough away that you can hardly reach her. You shuffle forwards, until your hip brushes the side of hers and you can reach to cup her face softly. She relaxes against your hand, and a sigh escapes her— frustrated, almost begging. She knows, even as you lean in and kiss her, even as your tongue slides into her mouth and she groans and her hand comes up to grip your knee, that she won’t get what she wants. She still knows, when you glance around to check for people and then slide your hand flat into her bikini bottoms. She still knows, when you actually laugh at how wet she is, at the way her hips grind helplessly against your hand. She doubts for a moment, when you curl two fingers inside her, whether you have the cruelty in you to stop now. She is so, so close.

She underestimates you.

“Hmm, you taste like the sea, princesa.” You lick your fingers clean, knowing the smile on your face must seem pretty evil right now.

Claudia is slumped forward, chest to her knees, heaving breaths wracking through her body. So impossibly close.

It is late by the time you leave, sun dipping in the sky until it is stained orange and pink. You drive quietly, humming along to the radio, but you cannot ignore the bounce of Claudia’s knee in the passenger seat. She’s getting antsy, the frustration almost giving way to something more vulnerable, a place you never meant to push her to. Still, not long now.

Back at the apartment, she showers first. She comes back to the bedroom, face flushed from the hot water, and her scowl shifts when you meet her eye and immediately see that she has been on her best behaviour. Still, you must ask, even just to get her to say it.

“Did you come, princesa?”

She shakes her head, legs pressed together, and a shuddering breath escapes her.

“I didn’t. I’ve been good. So good, I—“

“Wait there.” You cut her off, and she goes quiet, immediately.

“On the bed. Don’t get dressed, I’ll be five minutes.”

Claudia climbs up onto the bed as soon as you’re gone. She lays back, wet hair clinging to the pillows, and takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady her heart rate. Her whole body feels like a live wire, burning and fizzing, somehow both dangling dangerously over the edge and irretrievably far from what she needs.

She’s been so good.

Quite the image greets you when you return. Her knees are open, feet planted against the mattress, hands fisted in the sheets. She is completely quiet, eyes closed, breathing steady, and you might almost think she were at peace were it not for the occasional twitch of the muscles in her thighs. In truth, she’s just barely holding it together.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

She lifts her head a little, looking at you. Relief floods her when you knee up the bed, between her legs, and lean down to kiss her.

She pleads with her mouth, hungry and clinging, biting your lower lip and sucking your tongue, hard.

When you pull back, breathless, she thinks she might actually come then and there, without being touched.

“You know,” you begin, sliding back to drag careful, promising kisses down her chest,

“You can be a real stroppy bitch when you need me.”

She whines as your tongue flicks over a nipple, but doesn’t say anything,

“Were you like that on camp? Pissing everyone off with your attitude, because you needed to come? Bet nobody knew why, either.”

“Cata knew.”

They’re the first words out of her mouth since you came back into the room. She’s done it on purpose, a small, smug smile playing on her lips. She can see what it does to you— the itch to ask, to find out, but also the vague sick feeling that you don’t want to know.

“And for that.” You suck hard above her hipbone, basking in the moan that bubbles up as a bruise forms there,

“You will take one more. That’s three. And if you come this time, without permission, well. No more.”

For a moment Claudia is scared. Scared that you mean it, that you’ll kick her out and maybe never see her again. It thrums through her like an electrical current, stealing her breath. But before she has a chance to steel herself, you’re on her.

She is soaked. And not just wet, hot, the throb of hours of blood flow humming under your tongue. Her thighs are sticky, smeared, despite all of her efforts to keep them apart. You start there, not wanting to build her up too fast— she’s already close enough without you doing anything. You mouth over her gently, kissing really, resisting the temptation to latch on and watch her fall apart. No, this one isn’t for fun— it’s punishment, for what she said.

When your tongue dips inside her, Claudia screams. Not just a moan, a throat ripping shriek like she’s being exorcised, back bowing up from the bed. Her release is almost immediate, swilling around your tongue, and you swallow gratefully against her. You keep going, pulling out, licking closer to her clit. She should know it’s not happening, that she won’t come like this, but a part of her seems to have forgotten. She bucks her hips, grinding frantically, a hand eventually coming up to tangle in your hair, to pull you closer.

You reach up and remove it without speaking, holding her wrist down against the bed. At the same time you still your head, tongue flat against her, just allowing her to roll her hips helplessly, clit brushing over your mouth but never enough. She gets more and more frustrated, almost sobbing, so you pull back.

“NO!” She snaps immediately.

“That’s not FAIR! You’re an evil bitch! It’s not—“

“Shhh,” you stand, reaching down to smooth her hair back. It instantly soothes her, and the anger gives way to tears.

“I’ve been so good for you. I didn’t come, not once. Not even when you couldn’t see.”

“I know, princesa.” You kiss her softly, thumb grazing over her cheek. She closes her eye.

“My perfect, brilliant girl. You’ve done so well. So perfect, so absolutely perfect for me. Now, I think it’s about time you got that reward, don’t you?”

Her eyes flutter open, and she sees the harness in your hand. Slowly, with a small smile, she nods.

“Yes please.”

She sits back on her heels, eyes wide, as your fingers work the buckles at your hips. Her entire body feels like she’s on fire, or freezing, shivers wracking through her every few seconds, snatching her breath, leaving whines that betray her echoing in her mouth.

“You look so pretty on your knees bebé,” you purr, fingers catching under her jaw. Her body slackens immediately, chin resting in your palm. For a second she closes her eyes, like you might slap her, but the relaxation comes when your thumb taps her lower lip.

“Open, cariño.”

She does, swollen pout parting as she looks up at you through her eyelashes. Her eye contact doesn’t break as you tap the head of the strap against her mouth, as you ease it in, her tongue shifting to take more. Those glittering eyes gaze up at you in complete surrender, like she has needed this and is finally being given permission. Her eyes only close when the silicone meets the back of her throat, her body tense as she gags slightly, eyes fluttering shut. It’s almost too much, your body pressing into the strap, the sight of her so open and vulnerable, chin still resting in your hand.

You withdraw your fingers and feel her shift slightly, like she’s lost some support. Instead you take both hands and rake your fingers lazily through her hair, not moving her, just listening for the indulgent moan as you scratch over her scalp. It vibrates through you, the needy sound she makes, and to your surprise she moves on her own. Claudia plants her hands on her thighs, takes a breath through her nose, and shifts back to allow the strap to slide from her mouth. When she presses back down it is faster, although a little shallower, like she’s figuring out what feels good for her. Like this is for her.

The sight of her there, trying to keep her composure as the tendons in her neck flex and she shivers beneath your hands in her hair, is almost enough to kill you off. You moan, urging her on, although the angle does not provide you with much, it is her mere participation that ruins you. Before she can get you too close though, you pull back, cupping her jaw as she strap slides from her mouth with a slick pop. She whines, half in shock, but the need in her eyes does not waiver when you drag her to her feet.

“Hands and knees.” You say simply, and she does not fight it. She settles comfortably, head on the pillows, and the way she arches her back and offers herself to you is actually mouthwatering. So much so, that when you kneel behind her, you allow saliva to drip from your mouth and down her cunt. She feels it, viscous and warm, and whimpers as your fingers collect it and swirl through her own wetness. You know, really, that she doesn’t need any warming up, and yet you can’t help but touch her, trickles of satisfaction in your stomach when she keens, canting her hips back. She almost pushes your fingers inside herself, wriggling and curving her spine to reach for you. When they do eventually go, after what is really only moments of teasing, she moans from so deep in her stomach that you can almost feel it vibrate within her. You don’t manage to spend more than a few seconds gently curling against the soft flesh inside her, before she pulls herself forward, away from you, and twists around. Her face is flushed, hair a tangled mess and clinging to her temples with sweat.

“Please,” she whispers, and it almost sounds like a prayer. Her eyes flicker down to your hips, just far enough from her not to be touching, and she screws up her face in a way that is nothing but a plea.

“You ready?”

She nods frantically, and makes a tiny sound, like she might cry. The whine melts into a moan, high and cracking, as the head of the strap presses into her. You are impossibly gentle, hands tracing delicately over the smooth skin of her back as you ease in. Your hips press against her finally, and the heat radiating from her entire body is intoxicating, like the rush of a shot of tequila in your chest. You exhale and sit back a little, watching transfixed as the silicone slides from her, almost all the way, not missing the whimper she lets out when she thinks you’re going to leave her completely.

You don’t. You fuck her slow, deep, not yet punishing or frantic, just an experiment in how gently you can push her until she breaks. It doesn’t take much, and soon it is more than clear to you that this is what she has been waiting so dutifully for.

Claudia is almost entirely lost. Her fingers knot in the sheets, and all she can think about is the riptide surging through her nerve endings as she backs up to meet you, the curve of her spine guaranteeing the perfect path of the strap inside her body. She does not care, not any more. You said you were going to reward her, and this is exactly that— her taking what she wants. There’s no shame in it, and her voice spills from her in time with the slap of her ass against your thighs, high, pleading cries sighing out of her with every impact. Her head is spinning, but she cannot deny the heat coiling rapidly in her stomach, the electricity fizzing like copper around a magnet. She focuses in on it, the acceleration, the way your hips pick up the pace as if you can sense it.

Because of course, you can. Her head is bowed low, chest pressed into the bed, back arched so harshly you wonder that it doesn’t hurt. With each roll of her hips the muscles in her back flex, and it makes you want to dig your fingers into her sides and fuck her until she cries. But you don’t— don’t need to, not with the way she is bouncing back against you, mouth open and suspended in a continued stream of soft, high pitched sighs. You hear as they start to rise, like she’s straining for something, reaching, and give her more as requested.

“My good girl, waited all day for this. Go on, come for me, amor. Let me hear you.”

She jolts your thrusts to almost a complete stop as her body tenses and her muscles lock, hard. You ease, just grinding into her gently, as she collapses forward on her forearms, spasms wracking up her spinal cord in a way that makes her arch like a marionette being tugged by some invisible hand. It is beautiful, a complete undoing, drenched in sweat and spit and desperation and relief. You pull out, a little sharply, and she whines immediately at the loss.

“Good girl. So good for me. Now can you come here?”

You stand and walk around to one corner of the bed. Against the wall opposite the foot of it— almost out of line with the corner, but not quite— is a full length mirror. The angle is not perfect, but with one knee resting on the mattress and the other foot planted on the floorboards, you are balanced enough to pull her back to your chest and hold her there. She goes willingly, keening as she leans back on her heels, and feels the wet slide of the strap against her ass.

You take your time though, hands roaming her body lazily, in a way you’ve never really done before. Her breasts are perfect, cupped neatly in your hands and highly responsive as her nipples pebble under your fingers. She pushes her chest harder into your touch, head dropping back onto your shoulder. You lavish her with attention, with firm but not demanding hands as you traverse the planes of her waist, the ridges of her stomach, the swell of her hips and the curve back up her spine. As you hold her, your mouth finds her neck in the way you know she loves, nipping and sucking at the fragile skin there until the bruises that have only just faded are reinstated twice over.

As your palms reach her thighs she shifts, pressing her body back into you, like she’s waiting. It only takes you a moment to line her up again, strap still slick with her fluid and pressing into her cunt in a way that is demanding of her before you even think about it. Your arm anchors at her waist, other hand drifting down to rest on her thigh as you push in. That first thrust is heavenly; her body giving way so easily that you shudder at the sight of it reflected back at you. And she sees it too— you did not ask her to look, but she is.

Her own hands play with her chest, body curving back into you in request, but her eyes are fixed on the mirror at the end of the bed where she sees, clear as day between her knees on the mattress, the drag of the strap as you slowly ease in and out of her. The angle like this is delicious, a pressure so deep it takes her breath away, the way your bodies fit together leaving little space inside her to be stretched by it. She is still half throbbing from her last climax, melting against you as the burn of overstimulation fades into a new wave of pleasure.

“Fuck,” she whines, eyes squeezing closed for a second before she refocuses on the reflection in the mirror. She watches your face, the sparkle in your eye as you pick up your pace. It’s rougher like this, more skin on skin, sticking together like melting ice, unable to escape it. She feels hot tears on her cheeks although she is far from distressed, body responding despite her judgement that even too much could not be enough, not like this.

She cries, properly, letting her weight fall back against you as she sobs. But she’s still rolling her hips, begging for something she can’t quite name. Then she jerks— your hand has wrapped around from her thigh, fingers finding her slick folds where the silicone parts them, working up without hesitation to press over her clit. She’s already grinding, but the new pressure is enough to make her scream again, the tears choking in her throat as she shudders under your hand.

You are not slow, not careful, not precise— just fast, hard, allowing your fingers to fly over her faster than you’re fucking her, the fluid coating them and smearing down her thighs in a way that feels both excessive and absolutely necessary.

Her second orgasm arrives much faster than the first— maybe because she was already halfway there, or maybe because you’ve simply given up on being gentle with her. Either way, it hits her like a freight train, her head thrown back to expose her throat as she shakes, your arm around her the only thing preventing her from tipping off the bed or knocking you both over.

When you release her eventually she does wobble, but your hand stays steady on her bicep as you ease out of her, climbing off the bed and walking around to the end so you can hold her properly. The strap is wet and hot between your stomachs, but she does not seem to mind as your arms wind around her, nails scratching lazily over her back. Her pupils are completely blown and eyes hazy when she eventually looks at you, but she smiles in a way that says she is not done.

Still breathless, you kiss her— not hard, not aggressive, but deep, like you’d swallow her whole given the chance. She melts into it, gasping against your tongue, and then that needy, keening whine resurfaces in her throat. When you pull back, a smirk on your face, her eyebrows crumple and she whimpers,

“Bebé please.”

You are honestly, in that moment, in something like shock. The woman must be exhausted, drained, her entire body still trembling and twitching in your arms, and yet she is begging for more.

“One more princesa? Then that’s three for three.” You ask against her throat, but you’re already lowering her onto her back, golden waves spilling over the pillows. She just makes a noise, a hum of agreement, but it’s tinged with a breathy anticipation that jolts through your core. You’re vaguely aware of your own arousal, the slick coating your thighs and the persistent heat beneath the strap, but this is decidedly not about that. It’s about her, and somewhere along the way it became about how much she can take.

“Okay,” you agree, reaching down as she winds her legs around your waist. You drop down on one arm, and then two, as the strap presses back into her body, and although she shudders and groans she yields almost immediately and completely. It’s different again like this— far from the messy, frantic nature of fucking her from behind.

Holding her eye contact as you drag the strap from her body, seeing the plea and then the relief in her eyes when you press in again, is a whole different game to contend with. It’s raw, open, and completely vulnerable— you are seeing her, up close, as she melts around you without hesitation. But she is seeing you too— the way your power, the hunger, softens into something more generous when really faced with her.

Claudia closes her eyes softly and tilts her chin up, a little hum in her throat an almost silent request to kiss her. Of course you cannot deny that, slowing your strokes and keeping the strap deep inside her as her lips part and she kisses you back like she’ll never be able to claim enough of your mouth.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” you breathe, words hot on her neck in a way that allows you to not look at her as you say it, your mouth finding her again before she can speak. You can lavish her with praise all you want, but when you’re so close to something emotional, it’s suddenly almost too much. It’s funny though, kissing her through it, because you feel the shift in her breathing before you hear it, watch the tightening in her jaw that preludes the clench of her thighs around your waist.

“You gonna come for me bebé?” You ask, slowly picking up the pace again. She just nods, and does not protest when you sit up, hook your hands behind her knees and bend them up. It shifts the curve of her spine, and the strap hits her front wall in a way that almost immediately has fluid running down her thighs. You see it, of course, the viscosity is different around the strap— but this is not a sign to stop, only that she is close.

“I’m so—“ she confirms, although the rest of the sentence is lost in a cry that tails off into a whimper. She shudders, but it comes from deep in her core, resonating waves like the rumble of an earthquake radiating out from the tense of her abs to the tips of her fingers. You stop, buried to the hilt, and gently lift a hand to brush the hair back from her face. She is looking up at you like she’s falling backwards, the rug pulled from under her, and tears continue to trickle down her cheeks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she breathes, and you smile and shake your head. But you tear your eyes away from her face, expression flayed open and vulnerable, and pull out of her slowly. Her breath shifts as you slide off the bed, allowing the strap to hit the floor, and she rolls to allow you space beside her. She curls into you like it’s an instinct, seeking as much skin as she can find, her muscles still trembling slightly as she settles against you. Your arm goes around her, fingertips massaging the back of her head, and she lets out a soft sigh.

“You’re okay, amor. You did so well today. So good for me. My perfect girl.”

She lays there for a minute, and you let her, just stroking your fingers through her hair and waiting as her body goes slack. Once she is settled you press a gentle kiss to her forehead, and slip from the bedroom.

Epsom salt turns the bath water milky white as it runs. The steam fills the room with the scent of lavender, clinging to the mirror and swirling around the lightbulb. You put a towel in the dryer, and leave it for ten minutes, going back downstairs to put the kettle on. You’re not sure she even likes tea, but it will help. It’s dark outside now, the rest of the apartment quiet and still. On your way back to the bath you poke your head into the bedroom— she is still on her side, curled in on herself, but her breathing is even and steady. You go back to her as soon as the bath is full, waking her with a gentle kiss to the temple and a hand on her waist.

“Princesa? Need you to get up for me.” She mumbles, and rolls over, arms instinctively coming up to your neck before her eyes have even opened. You sit beside her on the bed, giving her a second to come to. She blinks sleepily as you brush her hair back, twisting it up on top of her head.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s salt, in the bath. Don’t want it ruining your beautiful hair bebé.”

She scrunches her nose, as if this doesn’t make any sense, but doesn’t argue.

“How are your legs? Hurting?”

In response she swings them off the bed, plants her feet and stands slowly, testing them.

“No. I’m okay. You said bath?”

You nod.

“In the big bathroom. Come on.”

Claudia relaxes back against your chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She rests her head on your shoulder, dutifully keeping her hair dry, but you can see the strain lifting from her muscles as your hands wander over her skin. The water is hot, the oils and salt soothing, and all of the pent up tension of the day drains away when you pull the plug. Her towel is warm when you wrap her in it, kissing her forehead, and she grins and blushes.

“You spoil me.”

“I care, that’s all. Look, there’s tea, too, for your throat.”

She takes the mug, bare feet still wet on the tile, and sips.

“It’s gross.”

“I know, but it will help. Promise.”

Again, there’s no argument as she pads back to the bedroom. It’s not too late, not really, and you haven’t eaten anything yet, but you can see from her face that she’s ready to sleep. This time you bend to her will, slipping under the covers beside her, untangling the hair tie from her hair and allowing it to fall loose.

“Did you have a good day, amor?”

She thinks for a moment.

“I… yes. We did everything I wanted, in the end.”

“Good.” You kiss her nose, and she giggles.

“Training tomorrow?”

She settles beside you, head on your chest, and hums non committally.

“Yeah. Not early though, thank god. And then Ibiza.”

You’ve known about this— the team trip— for weeks. But it still makes your heart swoop, the thought of her off on an island, drunk and under someone else’s thumb.

“You looking forward to it?”

In response she kisses your sternum.

“Yeah. It will be good. But I’ll be keeping it lowkey— not letting those crazy girls drag me into anything. Not this time.”

It’s like she feels the tension in you, even when you try to hide it.

“I’m glad. I was hoping you’d come back to me.”

Her mouth rests lazily on your collarbone, fingers tracing the knobs of your spine. As usual, your hand finds her hair, brushing the tangles with your fingers, stealing gentle touches along her cheek and jaw. Then she looks up, eyes wide and bright, and smiles. It’s radiant, almost innocent, and sparkling with something that makes your lungs empty and your heart squeeze.