Background Person

Natasha's eyes finally meet yours, still half-fiery from the glare you shot Pietro. The corner of her lip twitches, barely. Wanda's eyes avoid yours like the plague, a slight pink tint dusting her face.

“Natasha,” She introduces herself, a smug smirk on her face. “And that's Wanda.”

The other woman glanced up at you with a small smile before looking back down again.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply politely, before hitting Pietros chest. “Seriously, give me my drink back.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, handing it back. You take a sip, swallowing it down.

“C'mon, Y/N/N. We gotta go.”

You hum. “See you around, ladies.”

Pietro spins you, walking with his arm around your waist for a few strides before breaking apart, blowing a mocking kiss. “Later. Love you.”

“Bye. Love you more,” you reply sweetly, waving as you walk in opposite directions. Wanda and Natasha's eyes are fixed on you as you leave. Clearly, Pietro was your boyfriend. But God if they didn't think you were stunning anyway.

________________________________________

A few weeks later, Wanda and Natasha have unfortunately learned two things.

The first was that Pietro was apparently incapable of existing within a five-foot radius of you without touching you somehow. An arm around your shoulders. His head in your lap. Your legs across his. Random hugs.

The second thing they'd learned was that every single time they started convincing themselves maybe you weren't dating, Pietro would do something ridiculous. Like now.

"Y/N/N!" You barely have time to react before Pietro launches himself dramatically onto the couch beside you.

"Move."

"No."

"You are sitting on my leg,” you complain, shoving his shoulder.

"Good."

"You are literally crushing me." Pietro grins and settles more of his weight on you.

Across the common room, Natasha look away before she could accidentally commit a felony. "They're definitely dating," she mutters.

“Definetly.” Wanda sighs miserably.

“Ow, my foots going numb! Move!”

“Nope,” Pietro replies, popping the P dramatically. “I'm cofmy.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, glancing at Wanda. Pietro eventually does move.

Mostly because you threaten to spill your drink on him. "Violence," he says dramatically, standing up. "Against your own boyfriend."

"You ate my fries."

"Exactly what a loving boyfriend would do."

Across the room, Wanda freezes.

Natasha slowly lowers her coffee. Boyfriend. There it is again. Not friend. Not roommate. Not "we're basically siblings." Boyfriend.

Pietro steals one final fry from your plate before sprinting away when you try to kick him. You point after him. "He's the worst."

"You're obsessed with me!" Pietro yells from the kitchen.

"I hope a bird steals your wallet!"

Natasha watches the exchange with a thousand-yard stare.

Wanda looks physically pained. "Maybe they're joking?" Wanda offers weakly.

Natasha gestures toward where Pietro is now blowing kisses at you from across the room. "...No."

________________________________________

Another frat party. The girl beside you laughs, touching your arm lightly as she talks.

Across the room, Wanda's eye twitches.

"Nat."

"I see it."

"That's flirting."

"I know."

Meanwhile, Pietro is currently leaning against a wall charming the life out of another woman across the room.

Natasha narrows her eyes. "...Is he also flirting?"

Wanda follows her gaze. "...Oh my God."

The two women exchange a horrified look. Because now it isn't just a relationship. It's apparently two people cheating on each other at the exact same party. "Maybe they're broken up?" Wanda offers.

"Then why is he blowing kisses at her?"

As if summoned by the accusation, Pietro catches your eye from across the room and dramatically blows you another kiss. You respond by flipping him off. Natasha stares. Wanda stares. "That's not helping."

A little later, Natasha decides she's had enough. The second your conversation with the girl ends, a hand wraps around your wrist. "Come with us."

You blink. "What?"

"Now."

"Am I being kidnapped?” you ask. "Wanda?"

"Now."

They drag you into an empty guest bedroom upstairs. The door closes. You stare between them. "...Am I in trouble?"

"Are you cheating on Pietro?" Natasha asks immediately.

You stare. "What?"

"At least look guilty."

"I don't know what's happening."

Wanda throws her hands into the air. "The girl downstairs!"

"What girl?"

"The brunette!"

"The pretty one?"

"YES THE PRETTY ONE."

"Oh."

Natasha points accusingly. "You were flirting with her."

"Yeah?"

"And Pietro was flirting with someone else."

"...yeah?"

"You're dating."

Silence. Then you start laughing. Not a little laugh. A full-body, doubled-over laugh. Wanda and Natasha exchange confused looks.

"What's funny?" Wanda asks.

You wipe tears from your eyes. "Oh my God."

"Y/N."

"No—"

"Y/N."

"No, because this is actually incredible."

Natasha crosses her arms. "We're waiting."

You take a breath. "Pietro and I aren't dating."

The room goes silent. "What?"

"We're not dating."

Wanda blinks. Natasha blinks. "What do you mean you're not dating?"

"We've never dated."

"But he called himself your boyfriend."

"He calls himself lots of things."

"He said he loved you."

"He also told a professor he was legally dead so he could get an extension."

“Explain,” Natasha tells you bluntly.

“Well I told him the paper was due the next day, and he still waited until 11pm to start it and fell asleep, so he had to go ask fo—”

“The dating, not the paper.”

Then comes the real explanation. A year ago, at a different frat party, Pietro had stupidly started flirting with one of the frat leaders girlfriends. You realised this, and had quickly pulled him away, telling everyone that you were his girlfriend, and he thought the other girl was you because he was drunk.

"You've let us think you're dating for months?"

"Nobody asked."

Wanda groans. Natasha drops onto the edge of the bed. "I need a drink."

"You were jealous?" Both women freeze. "Oh."

"Oh no," Wanda mutters.

Your grin grows. "You were jealous."

"No.”

"Natasha."

"No,” Natasha tells you seriously.

"Wanda."

"...a little."

"A little?"

Natasha laughs. "A lot."

"So you thought I was dating Pietro this whole time?"

"Yes."

"And you still liked me?"

Wanda snorts. "Unfortunately."

"Very unfortunately," Natasha agrees.

You smile. "Why?"

The answer gets softer. Because now it's real. Because now they aren't hiding behind jealousy.

Wanda admits she fell first. Natasha claims that's a lie. Wanda insists she spent six months staring at you. Natasha immediately points out Wanda once drove forty minutes to buy your favourite coffee.

Then they accidentally expose all the ridiculous things they've done because they liked you. And you just stand there staring. "You two are idiots."

"Correct,” Wanda admits.

"Huge idiots."

"Also correct,” She repeats.

You smile. "I kinda like you too."

Silence. Wanda freezes. Natasha freezes. "You what?"

"I said I like you."

Wanda immediately grabs Natasha's arm. "She said yes."

"I heard her."

"She said yes. Can I kiss her?" Wanda blurts.

Natasha laughs. "That's your first question?"

"It's an important question."

You nod. "Yeah."

Wanda kisses you first. Soft. Sweet. The kind that's been waiting far too long. When she pulls back, Natasha immediately looks offended.

"What?"

"I waited months too."

You laugh. "Then come here."

And Natasha kisses you too while Wanda is still smiling like she's won the lottery.

“Here, we're gonna double check with my boss if it's okay for you to stay, alright? She can be a little scary sometimes, okay?” he warns you, raising a fist to knock on the large dark oak door.

“Enter.” you hear a woman's voice from inside.

Your dad pushes the door open, the office room inside just as dark as the corridors. The office looked too big. Everything in it was tall. Tall windows. Tall shelves. A tall black desk that looked wider than your entire bedroom at home. Even the ceilings felt giant, disappearing high above your head where soft golden lights glowed warmly.

It smelled nice though. Like coffee and fancy perfume and something woodsy you couldn’t name. You stood just inside the doorway, your shoes sinking slightly into the soft dark carpet while your eyes wandered everywhere at once.

The windows were the first thing you noticed. They stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling, showing the whole city below like tiny toy buildings. Cars crawled through the streets like ants, their headlights blinking in little lines far beneath you. Rain tapped softly against the glass.

Then the desk. It was shiny and dark, so clean it barely looked used. No piles of paper. No mess. Just a little lamp, a glass bottle with brown liquid inside, and one pen sitting perfectly straight like somebody measured it with a ruler.

Behind the desk sat Natasha. She looked small compared to the room somehow, even though everybody else always seemed smaller around her.

One leg crossed over the other. Red hair glowing softly beneath the lights. Black rings on her fingers tapping once against the arm of her chair while she listened to someone talking on the phone in Russian. You didn’t understand the words. Only the tone. Quiet. Calm. The kind of calm that made grown men nervous.

The shelves behind her were filled with books you couldn’t read and little statues and boxes with locks on them. One shelf had a chess board set up halfway through a game, pieces frozen in the middle like someone had walked away and never came back. The whole room was quiet except for rain and Natasha’s voice. No clocks ticking. No people talking outside. Nothing. It felt like the office was holding its breath.

Your dad's hand still held yours tightly, and as the woman puts the phone down, your dad pulls you further in. “Good morning, Ms Romanoff,” your dad greets, bowing his head slightly.

Natasha nods in return. “Morning.” She glances down at you. Her face doesn't change. “I see we have company.”

“Hi,” you reply shyly with a wave.

Natasha’s eyes linger on you for a second too long. Not annoyed. Not even surprised, really. Interested. Which is somehow worse.

Your father clears his throat nervously beside you, talking quietly, like he didn't want you to know. “I’m sorry, Ms Romanoff. My wife left this morning and I didn’t exactly have childcare arranged and—”

“She left?” Natasha interrupts calmly.

Your father visibly hesitates. “Temporary situation.” Even you know that’s not true. Natasha knows it too.

Her gaze flicks back to you. Tiny backpack. Velcro shoes slightly unbuckled. One sock folded lower than the other. You smile at her anyway, because adults liked smiles. Usually. “You brought your child to a mafia headquarters,” Natasha says flatly.

Your dad swallows. “Just for today.”

Silence.

Rain taps softly against the giant windows behind her while Natasha leans back slightly in her chair. The black rings on her fingers catch the warm office light as she studies you carefully. “What’s your name?” You tell her shyly.

Natasha nods once. “And how old are you?”You hold up five fingers proudly. “Hm.” Her expression doesn’t soften exactly, but something shifts faintly behind her eyes. “Can you read?”

Your father blinks. “What?”

“I asked the child.”

You puff your chest slightly. “A little bit.”

Natasha gestures toward the chessboard sitting on the shelf behind her. “Do you know what that is?”

“A game.”

“What kind of game?”

You think very seriously for a moment. “…the horsey one goes like this.” You wave your hand in a crooked L-shape through the air. A quiet sound escapes Natasha’s nose. Not quite a laugh.

Your father looks more confused by the second. Natasha stands then. Tall. Sharp black suit. Red hair spilling over one shoulder. The entire room somehow straightens with her, like even the furniture knows she’s important. You stare openly.

She walks around the desk slowly before crouching in front of you instead. Expensive perfume. Cold rings. Calm eyes. Scary, your dad said. But not really. “Do you know what your father does here?” she asks.

Your dad immediately panics. “Ms Romanoff—”

“He talks to angry people on the phone,” you answer proudly before he can stop you. “And he types really fast. And...and some other stuff.”

Natasha hums softly. Honest. Observant. Comfortable around dangerous environments already. Interesting. Very interesting. Her eyes flick upward toward your father. “You said your wife left today?”

“…yes.”

“And there’s no family?”

“No.”

“No nanny?”

“I can’t exactly hire one on this notice.”

Natasha goes quiet again. Then she looks back at you. You’re staring at one of the locked boxes on her bookshelf now, curiosity written all over your face. “Do you know why people like children?” Natasha asks suddenly.

You blink at her. “'Cause we’re little?”

A real laugh almost appears this time. “Partly.” Her fingers tap once against her knee. “People underestimate children. They ignore them. Stop noticing them after a while.”

Your father looks increasingly alarmed now. “Ms Romanoff…”

Natasha ignores him completely. “You know what that means?” she asks you. You shake your head. “It means children hear things.” Your father pales instantly. Natasha finally stands again smoothly before walking back toward her desk. “The child stays.”

Relief floods your father’s face immediately. “Thank you, Ms Romanoff, I swear she’ll stay quiet—”

“She won’t.” He stops. Natasha picks up the glass bottle from her desk, pouring amber liquid slowly into a crystal tumbler. “Quiet children are noticeable. People remember them.” Her eyes flick toward you over the rim of the glass. “Friendly children disappear into rooms.”

You beam proudly despite having no idea what that means. Your father, however, looks like he’s about to faint. “Ms Romanoff… respectfully… what exactly are you suggesting?”

Natasha finally smiles. Small. Dangerous. “Oh,” she says calmly, “I think your daughter is going to be very useful to me.”

“Mhm I can colour really goodly!” you announce happily.

“Thank you, Ms Romanoff, it won't happen again.”

“If the child is truly as useful to me as I think they will be...you can bring the child anytime.” She replies. “You may go.”

Your father looks moments away from cardiac arrest as you carefully pick up the knight between both hands. “Ms Romanoff, I really don’t think—”

“You think I’m going to recruit your child into organized crime?” Natasha asks dryly.

“…aren’t you?”

Natasha takes a slow sip of her drink instead of answering immediately. Honestly? Maybe.

Not now. Not directly. But children were useful. Invisible. People talked freely around them. Guards ignored them. Politicians smiled at them while accidentally saying too much. And this one? Observant.Comfortable. Unafraid. Natasha gestures toward the chair near her desk. “Sit.”

You climb into it immediately, legs dangling far above the floor while your father stands there awkwardly like he still isn’t sure if he should leave or call somebody.

Natasha opens one of her desk drawers, pulling out a thick folder before sliding it toward you. Inside are photographs. Buildings. Faces. Maps. You blink down at them curiously. Your father looks horrified. “Ms Romanoff—”

“Relax.” Natasha doesn’t even look at him. “The child can’t exactly decipher money laundering routes.”

“She can hear you.”

“And?”

You’re already pointing at one of the photographs. “That man looks mean.”

Natasha’s eyes flick toward the picture.

One of her business rivals. Interesting. “Why?”

“He got angry eyebrows.”

“…angry eyebrows,” Natasha repeats. You nod very seriously.

Natasha leans back slowly in her chair again, studying you in silence now while your father shifts nervously beside the door. Children noticed things adults trained themselves to ignore. Tone. Body language. Fear. Instinct. And instinct couldn’t really be taught.

“You will pick them up at six.”

“Yes, Ms Romanoff,” your dad replies after a minute, the door shutting behind him.

“Not like this man,” you tell her, pointing at another picture.

“How come?”

“He looks scary, and...his eyes, I think.”

Natasha’s fingers tap slowly against the crystal glass in her hand while you continue sorting through the photographs with complete seriousness. “That one looks sad,” you announce.

Natasha glances down at the picture. A senator currently under investigation for skimming money through shell charities. “He embezzled from children’s hospitals.”

You gasp softly. “That’s mean.”

“Yes,” Natasha agrees calmly. “Very.”

You point at another photo next. “This one’s pretending.”

That gets her attention. “Pretending what?”

“To be nice.” You squint harder at the picture. “His smile doesn’t match his eyes.”

Silence settles across the office for a moment. Natasha studies you carefully now. Not just amused anymore. Evaluating. Because adults lied with words. Children noticed the face underneath them. Interesting. Very interesting.

Your first “job” happens three weeks later. Nobody calls it that around you, of course.

Natasha simply crouches in front of you one afternoon while one of her men buttons your tiny coat wrong because his hands are too big. “I need your help today,” she says.

You brighten immediately. “Like colouring?”

“Not exactly.”

You tilt your head. Natasha smooths a strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. “You’re going to get a little lost for me.”

“…on purpose?”

“On purpose.”

That sounds exciting. Your father looks significantly less excited standing near the office door. “Ms Romanoff, I really don’t think—”

“The child will be perfectly safe.” That somehow does not comfort him. Natasha ignores his concern entirely, focusing on you instead. “Do you remember what I told you?”

You nod proudly. “People don’t notice kids.”

“Good.” Her mouth twitches faintly. “And what do you do if somebody asks where your parents are?”

You recite carefully, “I can’t find my daddy.”

“Very good.” Your father looks physically ill now.

The rival mob’s restaurant smells like cigar smoke and expensive food. You stand outside for exactly thirty seconds before the nerves hit.

Because Natasha’s men aren’t beside you anymore. The building is huge. The men at the door look scary. And suddenly this doesn’t feel like a game. One of the guards notices you almost immediately. “…kid?”

Your bottom lip wobbles before you can stop it. “I can’t find my daddy,” you whisper. Oh. Oh, you’re really crying now.

Real tears spill down your cheeks fast enough that even you seem surprised by them. Your chest hurts suddenly. Everything feels too loud. Too big. The guards exchange awkward looks instantly. “Well shit,” one mutters.

“I lost him,” you hiccup.

The larger guard crouches awkwardly in front of you like he’s handling a bomb. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…” Which only makes you cry harder.

Inside, Natasha would’ve been impressed. Nothing sold a performance better than reality. Within minutes you’re sitting inside the restaurant wrapped in somebody’s oversized suit jacket while mobsters awkwardly attempt to calm you down with orange juice and breadsticks. It works a little. Mostly because you’re distracted. Adults really do ignore children after a while. Especially crying ones.

“Whens the shipment coming through?”

“It can't come through Jersey anymore. Customs flagged two containers last time.”

“Use the Canadian route. We paid six million for the hardware already.”

“Then transport them in charity trucks. Noone searches medical equipment.”

You sit swinging your legs beneath the chair quietly while eating free bread. Nobody lowers their voices around you anymore. Interesting.

One man even pats your head absentmindedly while arguing about weapons inventory. Another complains about “the redheaded psycho” watching ports.

You memorize everything because Natasha likes when you remember things. Eventually one of the older men sighs heavily. “We should probably take the kid somewhere.”

“Police?”

“No cops.”

“Foster services then.”

You sniff dramatically on cue. The older man softens immediately. “Hey, hey, kid… we’re helping you.” You nod miserably.

The foster center smells like crayons and disinfectant. You hate it instantly. Too bright. Too loud. Too many strangers.

A tired woman behind the desk kneels in front of you gently. “Do you know your phone number, sweetheart?” You shake your head. “Address?”Another shake.

Truthfully, Natasha told you not to answer too many questions. You curl tighter into the plastic chair instead, clutching the stuffed rabbit somebody gave you twenty minutes ago.

You wonder briefly if Natasha forgot you. Then the front doors open. Black coat. Red hair. Sharp eyes scanning the room once before landing on you. Natasha. Relief hits so hard your tiny body practically launches out of the chair.

“Mama!”

The entire room freezes. Natasha catches you effortlessly as you crash into her, one arm wrapping securely around your back. Her expensive coat smells like snow and perfume and safety now. “Oh, there you are,” she murmurs smoothly into your hair.

The social worker blinks rapidly. “You’re her mother?”

Natasha doesn’t hesitate once. “Guardian.”

Close enough. “She never gave us a name.”

Natasha sighs softly like she’s exhausted rather than running one of the largest criminal organizations in the city. “She wanders off when she’s upset.”

You hide your face dramatically against her shoulder. The social worker melts immediately. “Well, she’s been very brave.”

“I know.”

Natasha rubs a hand slowly up and down your back while signing paperwork with the other. Calm. Controlled. Perfect.

Nobody notices the subtle nod one of the workers near the door gives her. Nobody notices the black car waiting outside. Nobody notices this entire situation was orchestrated hours ago. Except you.

Back at Natasha's office, the world is quiet again. Calm. “Tell me everything.”

“They was talking about...Canadian.” you reply.

“Canada? What about it?” she asks.

“I think...about the ships.”

Natasha pauses for a second, thinking. “The shipping routes?”

You nod. “And...they paid six for the ware.”

“How many 'six'?”

“Lots of six. A bajillion six!”

Natasha stares at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiles. Not the sharp, dangerous kind she gives everyone else. Something quieter. Almost proud. “A bajillion six,” she repeats thoughtfully, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “Very expensive hardware.”

You nod seriously from where you sit curled sideways in the chair, still clutching the stuffed rabbit from the foster center. One of its ears droops sadly over your arm. “And charity trucks.”

Natasha’s eyes sharpen instantly. “What about them?”

“They said nobody checks them.”

The room goes still.

One of the men standing near the office door straightens subtly. Another glances toward Natasha, waiting. Your father looks like he might actually throw up.Because that’s it. That’s the shipment route they’d been trying to find for months. And you found it by crying over breadsticks.

Natasha leans back in her chair slowly, studying you with a look your father can’t quite decipher anymore. Not amusement now. Not curiosity. Calculation. “You remembered all that?” your father asks weakly.

You look confused. “I got good listening ears.”

Natasha snorts softly through her nose before setting her glass down. “Clearly.”

One of her men steps forward carefully. “Boss… if the shipment’s moving through medical trucks—”

“I know.” Natasha lifts a hand slightly, silencing him instantly. Her gaze never leaves you. “What else did they say?”

You think hard, swinging your legs beneath the chair. “One man smelled weird.”

“…helpful.”

“He had angry eyebrows too.”

Natasha’s mouth twitches faintly. “Did angry eyebrows have a name?”

You gasp suddenly. “Tony!”

The room stills again.

Your father blinks rapidly. “You remembered his name?”

“He yelled a lot.” you explain simply. “And he called you a psycho.”

A dangerous little smile appears on Natasha’s face now. “Did he?”

You nod enthusiastically. “But I thinked he was scared of you.”

That smile grows. Cold. Pleased. “Smart man.”

Your father rubs both hands down his face tiredly. “Ms Romanoff, with respect… this is insane.”

Natasha finally looks at him. “No,” she says calmly. “What’s insane is that your daughter walked into a rival operation, extracted information, and walked back out unharmed before dinner.”

“She’s five!”

“Yes.” Natasha’s eyes flick back toward you again. “Which is why nobody saw her coming.”

You smile proudly despite not fully understanding. Natasha gestures toward the untouched pastries sitting near the edge of her desk. “You hungry?”

You nod immediately. “Take whichever one you want.”

You scramble off the chair happily, immediately grabbing the chocolate-covered pastry twice the size of your hand. Natasha watches you carefully while you settle back into the chair with it. Crumbs instantly scatter across your coat. Your father looks horrified. “Don’t eat over Ms Romanoff’s desk—”

“It’s fine.”

“But—”

“It’s a desk,” Natasha says flatly. “Not sacred ground.”

You beam at her around a mouthful of pastry. Natasha reaches forward without thinking, brushing chocolate from the corner of your cheek with her thumb. The movement surprises everyone in the room. Including her.She pauses for half a second afterward. Then continues like nothing happened. “You did well today.”

Your entire face lights up instantly. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Can I help again?”

Your father makes a strangled noise. Natasha ignores it entirely. “We’ll see.”

That answer alone is enough to make you kick your feet happily beneath the chair. Natasha watches the reaction quietly. Strange. She’s handled politicians, assassins, billionaires, entire criminal empires without blinking. Yet somehow one tiny grin from a child feels dangerously rewarding. One of the men near the door clears his throat carefully. “Boss… should we move on the Canadian shipment?”

Natasha’s gaze hardens instantly. Business again. Cold again. “No.”

The room stills. “No?”

“They think they’re invisible.” Natasha picks up her glass once more. “Let them keep thinking that.” Her eyes drift briefly toward you again. “For now.”

You yawn suddenly, nearly dropping the pastry in the process. It’s late. Your tiny body finally catching up to the exhausting day. Natasha notices immediately. “Tired?”

You shake your head automatically while actively falling asleep sitting upright. Natasha huffs the faintest laugh before standing. “Take the car downstairs,” she tells your father. “My driver will bring you home.”

“That really isn’t necessary—”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Your father immediately shuts up. Natasha walks around the desk then pauses beside your chair. For a second, your father genuinely thinks she’s about to hand you back politely and return to work. Instead, Natasha bends slightly and lifts you effortlessly into her arms.

You barely wake, instinctively curling against her shoulder with a sleepy hum. Pastry still clutched in one hand. The room goes silent. Because Natasha Romanoff does not carry things gently. Natasha Romanoff breaks things gently.

Yet here she is adjusting your tiny body carefully against her coat so your head doesn’t bump her shoulder. One hand supporting your back automatically. Your father stares. “Ms Romanoff…”

One thing that was different, was relationships. Friends, romance, even just a teacher-student relationship. Sure, you all considred yourselves sisters within the confines of the Red Room, but at the end of the day it wasn't real. You weren't really sisters by blood, more like bonded through a shared hell-like life. But it was never said out loud, never recognised. You could have it used against you, a vulnerability. Something you have to kill.

Here, though, at this high school in New York, it was different. Girls walked in large groups, chattering down hallways. People kissed, laughed, held hands. They wouldn't last a day in the Red Room.

One girl, you realise, has taken a particular interest in you. She sits with you at lunch, helps with your homework since your learning is a little behind, laughs at anything you say.

So you decided to ask your big sister, who had experienced more of the world than you had. "Nat!" You call loudly, the apartment door clicking behind you.

"In the kitchen," Natasha replies.

You drop your backpack beside the couch and follow her voice. Natasha stands at the counter chopping vegetables, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It still amazes you sometimes; the former Black Widow, one of the deadliest women in the world, making dinner. "School okay?" she asks.

You shrug. "Fine."

Natasha glances over her shoulder immediately. Fine usually meant something was bothering you. "What happened?"

You sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island, swinging your legs slightly. "There is a girl."

The knife stops mid-chop. Natasha slowly looks up. "A girl." You nod. "A problem girl?"

"No."

"A bully?"

"No."

Natasha sets the knife down completely now. "Okay. Tell me about the girl."

You think for a moment. "She sits with me at lunch." Natasha hums. "She helps me with homework." Another hum.

"She laughs at my jokes." Natasha's lips twitch. "Even when they're not funny."

"Maybe you're hilarious."

You ignore that. "She walks with me between classes."

"Mhm."

"She gave me one of her cookies yesterday." Natasha is openly smiling now. "She said she likes spending time with me."

The smile grows. "And?"

You frown. "And what?"

"That's it?"

"Yes."

Natasha stares. You stare back. Then Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"She has a crush on you."

You blink. "A crush?"

"Yes."

You genuinely look confused. "No."

Natasha laughs. "Yes."

"No."

"Y/N."

"She is being friendly."

"She is flirting."

You fold your arms. "I know what friendship looks like."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "You spent your first week at school convinced the librarian was adopting you because she remembered your name."

"She was very nice."

"She worked there."

You huff slightly. The concept still feels strange.

In the Red Room, nobody gave gifts because they liked you. Nobody spent time around you because they wanted to. Everything had a purpose. Everything was a test. A weakness. A weapon. Not... affection. Not because someone simply enjoyed being around you.

Natasha's expression softens immediately when she notices you growing quieter. "Hey."

You look up. "She likes me?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

The question comes out genuinely confused. Natasha pauses.Because that was the real issue. You still didn't understand why anyone would choose you. Not after everything. Not after the Red Room spent years teaching you that love was something people exploited.

"Because you're smart," Natasha says. You immediately make a face. "Because you're funny." You make the same face. "Because you're kind."

"That seems unlikely," you continue. "I've done...not good things."

Natasha's expression softens. "So have I." You look up. "That doesn't mean we're only the worst things we've ever done."

You almost smile. Natasha points a carrot at you. "There it is."

"What?"

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"The reason people like you."

You frown.

Natasha smiles. "You don't even realize you're lovable." The words hit harder than they should. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Natasha reaches over and bumps your shoulder gently. "Do you like her?"

You think about it seriously. "She makes me feel... comfortable." Natasha nods. "She remembers things I tell her." Another nod. "And I like when she sits with me."

The smile on Natasha's face becomes almost impossible to hide. "Congratulations."

"For what?"

"I think you might have a crush too."

Your eyes widen. "Oh." A pause. "Oh no."

Natasha bursts out laughing. "Welcome to being a normal teenager, sestra."

The next morning arrives slowly. 

Gray light spills weakly through (Y/n)’s curtains, soft and rainy and dim enough that for a few seconds, (Y/n) isn’t fully awake. 

She just drifts there. 

Venom is curled up against her legs, his purring faint and steady. 

The room smells like rain, and coffee, and jasmine shampoo. 

Her body hurts, a deep ache in her muscles, exhaustion pressing into her bones, and the familiar, awful pounding in her chest. 

(Y/n) opens her eyes slowly. 

The other side of the bed is empty. 

For one irrational, exhausted second, panic flares low in her stomach.

Then she hears voices out in the hallway.

One of them is Rumi’s—and she sounds angry. 

“. . . don’t care if rehearsal gets delayed,” comes Rumi’s voice, sharp and low somewhere down the hall.

(Y/n) blinks blearily towards the cracked bedroom door. 

There’s a pause. 

“She is exhausted because she’s been forcing herself to keep up with us while feeling like that,” Rumi says, voice shaking now with restrained anger. “And instead of being worried, you made her feel guilty for it.”

(Y/n) pushes herself up against her pillows, a wave of dizziness rolling through her almost immediately. 

“I know what you say to us. Our faults and fears must never be seen,” Rumi says bitterly. “You repeat it constantly. She can barely stand up half the time,” Rumi says, slightly quieter now. “She’s exhausted constantly, and instead of helping her, you made her think collapsing was just an inconvenience.”

(Y/n)’s stomach twists.

Rain taps softly against the windows.

“Oh, bullshit. I don’t want to hear it,” Rumi snaps, something very unlike her. “Goodbye, Celene.”

Footsteps move slowly back down the hallway. 

The bedroom door opens carefully a few minutes later. 

Rumi steps inside carrying a mug in both hands. She freezes slightly when she notices (Y/n) awake. Immediately, all the anger from moments ago disappears from her face, replaced instantly by concern. “Hey,” she says softly. “You’re supposed to still be asleep,” she murmurs.

“My body had other plans, I guess,” (Y/n) murmurs.

Rumi’s expression flickers immediately with concern again.

She sets the mug carefully on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

The mattress dips softly beneath her weight. Up close, she looks exhausted too. There are faint shadows beneath her eyes. Her hair is still messy from sleep. And even now, tension lingers in her shoulders like she hasn’t fully calmed down since yesterday.

Guilt stabs at (Y/n), and her gaze drops instinctively. “You were fighting with Celene,” (Y/n) says softly. 

Rumi exhales quietly through her nose, “She was being an ass.”

“You yelled at her,” 

That almost earns a tiny smile.

“Yeah,” Rumi admits softly. “I did.”

(Y/n) fiddles weakly with the edge of the comforter, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Rumi looks at her for a long moment. Then, very gently, “Yes. I did.”

The certainty in her voice makes (Y/n)’s throat tighten.

Rumi reaches over slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from (Y/n)’s forehead. Her fingers are warm. “How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.

The automatic answer rises immediately.

Fine.

(Y/n) stops herself this time. “. . . tired,” (Y/n) admits instead.

Something soft flickers across Rumi’s face. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I figured.”

Rain continues tapping softly against the windows.

Venom stretches lazily against (Y/n)’s legs without waking up fully.

The apartment feels still.

(Y/n) stares down at her hands.

They’re trembling faintly again.

Without saying anything, Rumi gently reaches over and threads their fingers together loosely on top of the blankets.

(Y/n)’s chest aches suddenly, “I really scared you yesterday, huh?” The words come out small.

Rumi goes very still beside her. Then she laughs softly once, but there’s no humor in it at all, “You passed out in my arms. I thought . . . ” Rumi swallows hard. “I don’t know what I thought.”

(Y/n) looks over at her quickly. Rumi’s eyes are fixed on their intertwined hands now.

“She kept saying you were just tired,” Rumi says quietly. “But you looked so scared.”

(Y/n)’s stomach twists. “I’m sorry,” she whispers automatically.

Rumi closes her eyes briefly. Then she leans closer, resting her forehead lightly against (Y/n)’s temple. “No,” she murmurs. “No more apologizing for you.”

(Y/n)’s throat tightens painfully. She stares down at the blankets. “I wasn’t just Celene,” she admits. “I didn’t want everyone looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m fragile. “

Rumi pulls back just enough to look at her properly, “You know that’s not what I was thinking, right?”

(Y/n) blinks slowly.

Rumi brushes her thumb gently across the back of her hand. “I was thinking that I love you,” she says quietly. “And that you scared the hell out of me.”

(Y/n)’s lips twitch slightly in a small smile. “I love you too.”

For a few moments, neither of them says anything. 

Venom shifts sleepily at the end of the bed, stretching one paw before settling again with a grumpy little huff.

Rumi’s fingers stay loosely laced with (Y/n) as she settles down against the pillows at (Y/n)’s side. 

Rumi’s gaze drops toward their intertwined hands again, her thumb brushing absently over (Y/n)’s knuckles. “You really thought I’d look at you differently?”

The question is quiet.

(Y/n)’s chest tightens immediately. “I don’t know,” she admits softly after a moment. “Maybe.”

Rumi’s face crumples slightly around the edges, “Baby . . .”

(Y/n) looks away toward the rain-streaked windows, “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It kind of is,” (Y/n) mutters weakly. “I just . . .”

Her throat tightens.

God.

Rumi waits quietly beside her.

“I’m used to handling things myself,” (Y/n) says finally. “And lately it feels like my body can’t do anything right anymore. I can’t stand up without getting dizzy. I’m tired all the time. Half the time I feel like I’m gonna pass out if I move too fast.” Her fingers tighten weakly around Rumi’s. “And everybody kept looking at me like they were worried.”

“Because we were worried.”

(Y/n)’s eyes sting unexpectedly, “I know.”

Silence settles again.

Rain against the windows.

The soft hum of the apartment.

Rumi shifts a little closer beside her until their shoulders touch. “You know what I saw yesterday?” Rumi asks quietly. (Y/n) shakes her head once. “I saw someone who pushed herself way past her limit because she didn’t want to let people down.”

(Y/n)’s throat burns. “I’ve kinda just . . .” she shrugs weakly. “Handled things myself for a long time.”

Rumi watches her carefully, and slowly, something sad settles into her expression.

She knew (Y/n) lost her parents when she was eleven.

They know she bounced between foster homes for a while. 

Too many bags being packed and unpacked. 

Sitting here now, Rumi realizes she’d never really understood what those years had done to her girlfriend. Yes, her parents had died when she was very young, but she had Celene growing up. 

“You were a kid,” Rumi says softly.

“Didn’t really matter.”

“It should have,” the immediate fierceness in Rumi’s voice makes (Y/n) glance up. Rumi’s eyes are shining slightly now. “You shouldn’t have had to learn that the only person you could rely on was yourself.”

Something painful twists hard in (Y/n)’s chest.

She doesn’t even remember learning it. It just became true one day.

Adults stopped checking if she’d eaten. They’d stopped noticing when she was sick. They’d stopped paying attention unless she caused problems. So she’d stopped causing them.

“You learn pretty fast that people get tired of difficult things,” (Y/n) says quietly. “Especially when they already have their own stuff to deal with.”

Rumi shifts closer again until their knees press together beneath the blankets. “Hey,” she says softly, waiting until (Y/n) finally looks back at her. “You do not have to earn being cared for.” Rumi’s thumb brushes gently beneath her eye before (Y/n) even realizes tears had gathered there. “You being sick doesn’t make you inconvenient,” Rumi whispers.

(Y/n)’s breathing goes uneven for a second.

“I know you think if you stop holding everything together, people will leave.” Rumi swallows hard. “But I’m not going anywhere. And neither will Mira and Zoey. We all love you.”

(Y/n) presses her lips together hard, trying unsuccessfully to keep herself composed.

. . . 

It takes a bit of convincing from Rumi to get (Y/n) to leave her room. 

Rumi stays slightly behind her as they walk down the hallway, Rumi close enough that if (Y/n) needed anything, she’d be there.

The TV is on in the living room, playing some terrible reality show. 

Zoey and Mira are curled up together on one of the couches. 

Mira’s leaning against the armrest with a blanket over her lap, with Zoey practically draped across her. 

" . . . there's no way that's legal,” Zoey comments, gazing at the TV screen in mock horror.

"It's absolutely legal,” Mira replies.

"She's putting ranch on spaghetti,” Zoey protests. “That's a crime. It has to be.” Then she spots (Y/n). Her expression brightens immediately, "Hey."

"Hey,” (Y/n) smiles at her. 

Mira glances over next, "Morning."

"Afternoon,” (Y/n) corrects. 

Mira checks the clock, ". . . huh."

(Y/n) lets out a snort of laughter. 

Zoey points at the TV. “Tell Mira she’s wrong,” she tells (Y/n) as she sits down on the other end of the couch. 

"I'm not wrong."

"She's wrong."

"What am I judging?" (Y/n) questions. 

"The ranch."

(Y/n) squints at the screen. The woman on television is, in fact, still, pouring ranch dressing onto a bowl of spaghetti. “Oh,” she says. She pauses, “Yeah, that’s horrifying.”

“Thank youuuuu!” Zoey says. 

Mira groans as Zoey throws both arms into the air in victory. 

(Y/n) finds herself smiling, leaning back into the couch. 

Rumi disappears into the kitchen for a few moments. 

When she comes back, she places a water bottle on the coffee table in front of (Y/n) and sits down beside her. 

For a while, they just sit there—watching bad TV, listening to Zoey argue with people through the screen, and listening to Mira occasionally teasing Zoey about yelling at people that couldn’t hear her. 

. . . 

A few days later, the rain has gone. 

Sunlight spills through the penthouse windows in warm golden rectangles. 

For the first time in what feels like forever to (Y/n), she wakes up and doesn’t immediately want to go back to sleep. 

She takes her time getting up. 

She drinks water. 

She eats breakfast without Rumi having to practically beg her. 

Even Venom seems to notice her good day. 

. . . 

By afternoon, everyone else is scattered through the penthouse. 

Mira was working on choreography. Zoey is loudly arguing with some piece of technology. 

Rumi was on the phone somewhere. 

And (Y/n)’s in her room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her guitar resting in her lap. The window beside her is cracked open lightly to let a warm breeze from outside drift in.

Sheets of paper on clipboards are scattered all around her—half-finished lyrics, crossed-out verses, random notes scribbled in the margins. 

Her notebook sits open beside her. 

(Y/n) absentmindedly plucks a progression, adjusting notes. 

Her fingers move automatically. 

Slowly, the door to her room opens. 

She doesn’t hear Rumi approach, too focused on the notebook lying on the floor beside her knee. 

“That sounds really nice . . .”

(Y/n) jumps, her knee knocking into the guitar. 

She whips around. 

Rumi is standing in the doorframe, trying and failing not to laugh. 

(Y/n) glares playfully at her, “You almost got hit with a guitar.”

Rumi pushes herself off the doorframe, stepping into the room. 

Her gaze falls on the notebook, then the pages scattered around, and then to the guitar in (Y/n)’s hand. 

Her expression softens. 

(Y/n) notices the look immediately.

“What?” she asks. 

“Nothingggg,” Rumi replies. 

“Rumi,” (Y/n) knits her eyebrows. 

Rumi sits down at (Y/n)’s side, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips, before leaning lightly against her shoulder. 

“Keep singing,” Rumi murmurs.

(Y/n) hums, beginning to strum chords again. 

“Darlin', I will give up everything

Who I'll be and who I am

You can have it all

Baby, you could start a cult, you see

Anywhere you go, I'll be

You are so much more than beautiful to me” 

"Of course you have not," she hisses, tails lashing like so many snakes waiting to strike. "You are too busy murdering anything that doesn't reek of humanity to listen. It is a wonder they have let you live."

The pink-haired hunter and the small one wince, and Mother-fox delights in the lightning-strike of pain that burns across their features. Yes, feel ashamed, foolish Hunters. For once truly feel your due.

The child, the one whose human stink is mingled with the ash and earth and mustiness of the jeoseung saja, sits taller, and meets the gumiho's eyes. There is no fear, and none of the shame she has come to associate with patterned demons. Instead something that glints like a gumiho's pride. "We've changed."

A lip curls back from fangs itching for blood to drip off their lengths. Change. Hunters, who for generations have strung them up by their tails and stained their moon-white coats with red, changing to welcome a gumiho. A joke. The sort of cruel, ironic thing that only humans would be so heartless as to play. "Lies."

The child- so like her kit, this child!- is not cowed. "If you don't want to believe that we've changed, at least believe that we want to help Celine. She..." Her throat jumps as she swallows, and she drops her eyes to the ground. The gumiho watches as rounded fingernails dig into the earth, clenching the soil. When the human speaks again, there is a heaviness to her voice that...the gumiho's heart knows.

"I think she needs her mom."

Small One and Pink-Hair's fingers twitch in the ways Hunters do before they pull their weapons from their glowing barrier, plucking at invisible strings.

Years ago -- a lifetime ago -- those fingers had plucked a chain from the air and lashed her across her chest and it had felt like fire being poured into her lungs. And that chain had twisted around her kit's neck and the hunter and pulled and her kit had screamed and when the hunter lifted her kit up by the scruff of her neck, she had hung so limply in that hunter's grip she had looked dead.

And then a spear had sliced through the sapling near her head and she had --

She had abandoned her kit.

To these --

"Zoey, Mira," the child says, sharply.

She has her back to Mother-fox. Foolish child. Wasn't she ever taught to never turn her back on a danger?

Shorter and Pink-Hair, this... Zoey and Mira, still their hands and the strings of light wrapping around their fingers fade away.

"It's okay," the Child says, looking from her hunters to Mother-fox and back again.

Strange.

To tell her hunters to not draw their weapons.

Was it possible that she was ... genuine?

Mother-fox wants to laugh at the thought. But this half-child who should not have existed, who was raised by a gumiho, even if her kit had been so thoroughly beaten down that she no longer transformed, would have been hers. If her kit had been allowed family.

"My child -- it has been a long time," Mother-fox says, reluctantly. "She does not remember her blood kin."

The hunters look at each other.

"Well, you never know unless you see her, right?" Zoey asks.

"You don't even have to come in," Rumi adds. "Just... I don't know, hang around? So she can smell you, maybe?"

Mira is nodding.

Seven days.

That’s how long you’ve been away from home, assisting Katara with an advanced healing seminar at a clinic in a small community. An entire week since you’d last seen your girlfriend, and the distance was slowly driving you insane.

It wasn't just the physical absence of her, it was the silence. You knew Toph better than anyone. Which means you knew the very idea of dictating her private thoughts to Sokka just so he could scratch them onto parchment was mortifying to her.

But usually, when you were away, even if only for a few days, something found its way to you. Most of the time in the past a messenger hawk would arrive with a blunt two sentence note about her day or a jab about the spirit spa baths you and Katara were teaching people about. Sometimes, she would even send a metal bent token as a way to show she's still thinking about you without all the mushy words attached to it.

You weren't expecting her to pour her heart out to you, but you at least hoped she'd send something to hold you over until you were back. But by the third day, the responses to your letters began to dwindle. And by the fifth, they stopped entirely.

A part of you had hoped Toph was just swamped with investigations and the daily grind of running the police force. You knew better than anyone that there would always be people to protect and criminals to bring to justice. You understood that her duty to Republic City and commitment to the badge often came first which was fine.

But there was another part of you, the part that's spent years learning the intricate map of Toph Beifong’s soul that felt a persistent, nagging worry.

When Toph went radio silent, it usually meant she was retreating into herself, reinforcing those metal walls she used to protect the vulnerable heart she so rarely lets anyone see.

It was heartbreaking to think about really. You’d spent so long stripping those defenses down, piece by piece, reassuring Toph that her mind, her body, and her heart would always be safe with you. And now, walking toward her apartment, you were terrified that a single week apart had convinced her it was safer to be alone again.

The streets of Republic City were a chaotic blur of noise and color, but you moved through the crowd with singular focus. Every step you took brought you closer to the cause of the ache in your chest that now felt like a gravitational pull that brought you closer to the woman you loved.

The gravel crunched beneath your Water Tribe boots that you hadn't even bothered to change out of. Stopping at your own apartment for a fresh set of clothes seemed like a waste of time when your heart was leading in the direction of Toph's place.

Besides, you’d rather just borrow one of her oversized shirts anyway, it smelled more like home than anything you owned anyways.

The hallway in the complex was quiet, the air inside the building felt charged with all the words you havent been able to say in your letters. It felt like you were stepping into a sinkhole of your own making. It was well into the evening, dinner time to be exact and you found yourself praying to the spirits that she was actually home and not still buried in paperwork at the precinct.

As the door came into view, your pace quickened, the thud of your boots echoed off the walls in the hallway. You didn't knock. You didn't wait. You pulled out the key Toph specially made for you that felt like a piece of her trust in your palm and turned it in the lock.

The silence of the apartment was heavy, but it wasn't empty. You spotted her bag slumped over the back of the couch and the discarded pile of her RCPD uniform on the floor. Which was a good sign, it meant she’s been home long enough to strip off the chief persona, but not long enough to settle the restlessness you could feel vibrating through the walls.

The click of the lock as you shut the door behind you sounded like a small bomb going off in the quiet room. You dropped your bag right where you stood, not caring that it cluttered the entryway. Your only focus was the shadow of her in the next room.

The scent of her shampoo, floral and crisp hit you the moment you stepped into the hallway. It was a domestic, intimate smell that made your chest ache even more. You pushed the bedroom door open just a crack, the light from the hallway spilling across the floor.

There she was.

She looked softer like this, hair damp and clinging to her neck, one of your old shirts that you left snug around her. Seeing your clothes on her, the silent admission that she’d been reaching for you while you were gone nearly broke your resolve.

Toph didn't turn around. She didn't offer a snarky comment or a welcome home. She just moved with a deliberate, quiet huff, climbing onto the bed and curling into the covers, with her back to you.

The silence in the room wasn't peaceful, it was filled with the weight of everything she wasn't saying. If you didn't know any better, you would probably think she just looked tired after a long day. But you could see the tension in her shoulders as she stiffly lay there. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the mattress so she wouldn't have to acknowledge the frantic, hopeful rhythm of your heart echoing through the floorboards.

You moved, stripping down to just your under garments, not wanting the outside clothes to touch the clean sheets. As you crawled onto the mattress, the bed groaned under your weight, but Toph remained a statue, her back still turned to you. It was only when you moved to straddle her, settling onto her lap with your thighs on either side of her hips, that you felt the sudden, sharp intake of her breath.

Being this close, you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, but more importantly, you could feel the tension. Toph's hands clenched into fists at her side, she was worrying her lip between her teeth so hard she nearly drew blood.

Over the years you have seen her run into collapsed buildings without blinking, stand toe-to-toe with the most dangerous benders in the world with her jaw set and her stance unbreakable. But here, with you in the quiet of her bedroom, stripped of her uniform and her bravado, she looked dangerously close to shattering.

You don’t think you have ever seen her look this fragile. You lifted your hand, fingers curling around her chin as you gently turned her head, forcing her to face you. Seeing those milky eyes usually so full of fire and defiance beginning to water had your heart breaking into pieces.

“Toph...” You breathed her name, the sound laced with an affection that bordered on reverence as you searched her face. “Tell me what's wrong.”

The sound of your voice, so gentle and familiar, seemed to act as a final blow against a weakening dam. She flinched, her breath hitching in a way that sounded like a sob she was trying to turn into a growl.

“What's wrong?” She repeated, her voice cracking as she finally let out a watery laugh. She tried to pull her chin from your hand, not to get away, but to hide. You didn't let her, you needed her to know she couldn't run from this. “Everything is wrong! The city is too loud, this bed is too big, the apartment is too quiet and the ground... the ground felt like it was shifting under my feet for seven days because you weren't here to keep it still.”

It was probably one of the most romantic things she has ever said to you, but you knew better than to point it out. If you teased her or made it a thing she’d retreat and bury that rare vulnerability under a layer of sarcasm and stubborn denial.

So, you just listened. You let her frustrations bleed out, her words tumbling over each other as she struggled to navigate the storm of feelings she usually kept under lock and key. Toph was a woman of action, of force. But when it came to the messy, quiet complexities of the heart, she often felt like she was punching at shadows.

She was angry, not really at you, but at the power you had over her peace of mind. She hated that she couldn't just be fine on her own anymore. You had infiltrated every layer of her life. You were in the scent of her sheets, the walls of her home, and most inconveniently, the quietest parts of her heart. The truth was, Toph didn't know how to be the iron willed, brooding chief and the woman who wore your shirt to bed when you were gone just to feel close to you.

“I missed you too, you know.” You say softly, interrupting her downward spiral. The pads of your thumbs tracing her jaw. “It was hard being away from you for so long. All I could think about was what you were doing, how your day was, what you were feeling. I was driving myself and Katara insane.”

Toph’s eyes welled up, a single, silent tear finally breaking free and trailing down her cheek. The sight of it was so rare and so heavy with the weight of her loneliness it drew you in instinctively. You leaned forward and kissed it away, your lips lingering against her skin for a moment longer than necessary, just to let her feel the warmth and the promise behind the gesture.

When you pulled away, the space between you felt electric. Toph didn't move, she remained frozen in your hold, her breathing uneven as she processed the tenderness. The frustration that had fueled her all evening seemed to evaporate, replaced by a stunned surrender. She looked smaller in that moment, now that her damp hair was framing a face that had finally run out of ways to hide.

“I mean it, Toph.” You whispered, your voice sounding much louder in the quiet room. “I was a mess. Every time I looked up at the moon, I was just counting the hours until I could get back to you.”

“Good,” Toph finally whispers, though her voice is thick, “You should be miserable. It’s only fair.”

The soft laugh that escapes you vibrates against her skin as the last of the tension finally snaps. You never want to feel that distance again, or that hollow, aching silence that made the world feel like it was titled.

Toph’s arms wind around your waist with a sudden, desperate strength, hauling you flush against her until there’s no air left between you. She buries her face in the crook of your neck, her breath hot against your pulse. You stay rooted in her lap, letting her take what she needs.

Her hands weren't gentle, they moved with an urgency that she's rarely displayed before. They glide across your body, her palms calloused and warm, mapping every inch of your ribs and spine as if she were trying to memorize every curve through her fingertips. It felt less like a caress and more like she's reclaiming her territory, her nails occasionally grazing your skin to ensure that you’re solid, real, and most importantly hers.

“Mine,” Toph mutters against your skin, her voice muffled but fierce. “Don't you dare leave me again. I don't care how many patients need healing, I'm the one who's falling apart when you're gone.”

The room falls into a charged silence as you let her possessive words hang in the air. You don't answer her, you knew when she got like this she needed to feel the declaration of your love against her skin.

So you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was a soft, bruising collision of a week’s worth of unspoken longing. Toph's lips tasted of the kind of relief that only comes with you being home.

As your mouth moves against hers, your hands finally slide beneath the hem of your shirt that she’s wearing. The feel of her warm, toned skin against your palms sends a current directly to your core. You moan into the kiss and toph drinks it in, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue like she was starved and you were the only thing that could sate her hunger.

The feel of you pressing her into the mattress as you deepened the kiss had her entire body buzzing with need. Toph’s breath hitches in her throat, her head lolling back in total surrender as your thigh settles firmly between her legs, providing the solid pressure she’s been starving for.

Fresh tears sting Toph's eyes, blurring a world she already cannot see but now feels with so much clarity. She is moving against you with a frantic desperation now, grinding down onto your leg as if she was trying to carve her essence into your bones so you could never forget how it feels to have her against you. Every thrust was a silent scream for the relief her body has been aching for since you've been gone.

“Yes, just like that, baby,” You encourage against her lips, your voice a low, sultry vibration that shatters whatever remains of her restraint.

Toph’s hips stutter and hitch as you flex the muscle in your thigh, increasing the firm, unyielding pressure right where she needed it the most. She chases the sensation with a fevered desperation, her head pressing into the pillow as the pressure building low in her belly began to spread across her entire body.

“Are you going to come on my leg for me, pretty girl?” The question, the possessiveness of it nearly breaks her.

A choked, sobbing moan spills from her lips as her body goes rigid, her fingers clawing into your shoulders.

“Yes!” Her breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps, and she nods frantically, her forehead bumping against yours as you kiss her sloppily. “Fuck, I missed you so much baby you feel so good against me.”

You lift up, breaking the kiss just enough to see the flush spreading across her cheeks. Your hands roam back up her sides, tracing the lean muscle of her ribs before finally molding the soft swell of her breasts. The moment your fingers make contact, Toph arches sharply off the bed, her body a live wire of unspent tension that she knew only you could handle.

She continues to grinds her core against your leg with fevered thrusts, her movements desperate and uncoordinated as she tries to close every inch of space between you. You felt the sting of Toph's fingers as they dug into your arms with a bruising intensity. Toph hitches her hips higher, trying to swallow the solid strength of your thigh.

Your own breathing was ragged as you watched her become consumed by her pleasure, succumbing to the feel of you as she fucked herself against your thigh. You can see how close Toph was to shattering in the way her lips were parted in a silent, breathless plea.

You give her peaked nipple a sharp flick before rolling it between your fingers, applying just enough pressure to draw a sharp cry from her lips. Your own core aches, clenching around nothing as you watch Toph become completely undone right before your eyes.

“Baby-” She was grasping at your shoulders trying to pull you down onto her more so she could feel the full weight of you on top of her. “Please I need to feel you, I need more.”

Your hands were tight around her hips, fingers indenting the creamy skin there. You stilled her movements and Toph whined. Your eyes traveled down between your bodies that were still pressed together. Your entire thigh was coated with her slick, and the sight of it had you groaning deep in your throat.

Fuck, this woman was going to be the death of you.

You allow your fingers to trace a slow, deliberate line down the center of her body, your nails lightly grazing her skin and catching on the hard ridges of her abs. Toph's stomach flexes instinctively under your touch. Her labored breathing following the path of your hand, acting as a physical map of her anticipation.

When you finally reach the soaked lace of her underwear, a deep, guttural moan escapes you. You slide down the length of the bed, settling between her trembling thighs to hover over the damp, ruined silk of her underwear that was a direct testament of just how much she’s been aching for you since you've been gone.

Your nostrils flare as you lean in, the scent of her arousal overwhelming your senses as you press your face against the fabric of her underwear.

You bury your face in her soaked cunt, the bridge of your nose brushes against her clit through the thin fabric. Toph arches her back sharply off the bed, a low, involuntary sound vibrates in her throat because of how sensitive she is. Toph's fingers tangle desperately in your hair, her nails scratching at your scalp to pull you even closer to where she needed you the most.

“Please don't tease me.” She begs hoarsely.

“I won't." You breathed, voice wrecked. "I promise, I won't. Just let me admire you baby, it's been so long.”

You don’t wait another second, your flattened tongue darts out, licking a long stripe across the soaked fabric, right where the heat is most intense. The thin fabric only adds a rough, tantanizing friction that has Toph nearly screaming.

Every time your tongue swirls over her through the material, she jolts, her hips bucking upward in a rabid, clumsy attempt to meet the pressure. Her fingers still cling to your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she pulled. The combination of the heavy, wet heat of your tongue and the rasp of the fabric was pushing her over the edge far quicker, than you have ever seen her come undone before.

You continued to make out with her pussy, slow at first, before you couldn't take not feeling the warmth of her on your tongue anymore and you just about tore the fabric off of her and discarded it on the floor.

With the last barrier finally discarded, the cool air hit her aching cunt making her shiver despite the heat radiating between you. Toph’s breathing became a series of shallow, broken hitches as she lay exposed, her thighs wrapped around you trembling in need.

You moaned deep in your throat at the sight of her swollen pussy lips that were glistening like jewels with her slick heat. Her clit was erect, the bundle of nerves throbbing and begging for you to wrap your lips around it.

You kissed the inside of her thighs first, nipping and biting the skin there. You were savoring each quiver of her body, each tug in your hair, and desperate demand for you to stop teasing her.

You only give in to her after you are satisfied with the marks you left on her inner thighs. You paused only for a second, hovering just shy of where she needed you the most. You puckered your lips, blowing warm air on her dripping cunt in one last effort to tease her. Toph's toes curl against the matters, her entire body stiffening as she mewled.

“Baby please,” Toph whined, her breath hitching into a near sob as the pressure building inside her core becomes an unbearable ache. “Please, I cant take it-”

You responded by parting her lips with your fingers, licking a stripe up her soaked cunt to silence her cries. Toph’s warm slick coated your tongue and you moan at the taste of her. You pulled away just a fraction, your darkened eyes catching the string of Toph's wetness that dripped from your own tongue.

“God, baby. You're soaked its so fucking sexy.” You moaned, before diving back in with more fever.

Toph arches off the bed up into your mouth, her legs completely falling open as she offers herself to you. Your tongue delves deep into her folds sweeping her cunt as you feel the flutters of her pussy walls as they constrict.

A broken cry is forced from her lungs. Toph's head snaps back against the pillow as her fingers tighten their grip in your hair, pulling you closer with a strength born from her earthbending.

The feel of your warm, wet tongue against her needy cunt has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Toph begins to move with you, her hips lifting to meet every firm stroke of your tongue. It became a desperate dance, her breath coming in quick gasps as you finally take what’s yours.

Your fingers smooth over her hips before sliding upward, your palms spreading wide over her taut, trembling stomach. You interlock your fingers over her midsection, using the weight and grip of your hands to secure her firmly in place against the mattress as your tongue teased her entrance before slipping inside and curling.

“Yes! Your tongue is so fucking deep, baby.” Toph's entire body was twitching, her breath uneven and sharp, her thighs tightened around your head, as you fucked her deliciously with your tongue.

You used your waterbending to amplify each stroke of your tongue. Playing around with the temperature, cooling the slick just enough for her to thrust into your mouth.

You ate Toph out like she was a deity you were worshiping, with each flick of your tongue serving as a desperate devotion. You were continuing to fluctuate the temperature as you fucked her with a reverence that bordered on something holy. Every deliberate stroke you gave her was a silent prayer her body was openly receiving.

Your own wetness was dripping down your thighs as you watched the woman you love completely give herself to the divine weight of your focus. Her body shuddering as she began to believe in the devotion you’re pouring into her.

The room echoed with the wet sounds of your consumption as your mouth suctioned around her slit to apply more pressure as you ate her out sloppily. Her wetness covered your cheeks and dripped down your chin but you didn't stop, you wanted to be baptized in her essence to the point it became apart of you.

Another melodic sound escapes Toph then. Part sob, part moan as she tries to lift off the bed but your arms are locked around her midsection holding her in place. Toph's hands moved from your hair to press against your cheeks instead, guiding you even deeper into her cunt as you tongue fucked her. Your jaw was starting to ache but you were so drunk on her pussy and the sweet sounds that were coming from her parted lips that if you died in that moment you would die happily where you belonged.

“You fuck me so good baby, you're the best I've ever had ahh..”

Toph's hands release you, tangling in the sheets, and then a pillow, as they desperately search for something to anchor herself to as the world was currently spinning out of her control.

You watched, burying yourself deeper, before licking your back up to her pulsing clit. Your tongue swirls around the hardened bundle, flicking it, as your now chilled lips wrapped around the sensitive nerves, sucking hard. You used your waterbending to make the wetness that pooled in your mouth and coated your tongue vibrate. It was a electric thrum that grew with each pulse of her clit that you could feel with you blood bending.

“Oh my god, baby I-”

The release hits her like a physical shock, starting deep in her core and radiating outward in powerful waves that pulse against your tongue. Toph lifts her hips off the bed, a loud, broken, keening sound tore from her throat that was quickly muffled by the pillow she was biting down onto.

You watch as her hands clench around the fabric with enough force to nearly rip the seams of the pillowcase, her legs shake uncontrollably as her chest heaves with every rapid breath.

You slowed your strokes but didn't stop your ministrations, her slick pooled in your mouth and you moaned, relishing in the taste as you licked the heavy current seeping out of her. The sound of it vibrated against her cunt causing her thighs to clench around your head once again.

Toph’s body continues to shudder in powerful aftershocks well after her release, her muscles still twitching from the phantom vibrations of your tongue. As the tension finally begins to ease, you release your firm hold on her, leaning down to place one last kiss to her center, before trailing your lips along the sensitive skin of both thighs.

You slide back up her shaking body, the heat of your skin the only thing she can really register at the moment. When you finally capture her lips again, the kiss is different, no longer a demand, but a slow sensual joining of lips and tongue.

Toph had met you halfway, a long, content sigh sounding in her throat. Her arms, still weak, find their way around your neck, pulling you down as if she’s trying to merge her very breath with yours in the quiet air of the room.

Toph moaned at the taste of herself on your tongue, her hands gripping your shoulders before sliding down your back and over your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. She was already sliding your ruined panties down your legs, her fingers desperately searching for your slick heat.

Your forehead rests against hers, your breath coming out in hot, harsh breaths as you spoke. “Baby if you keep doing that I won't be able to stop and I know you need rest.”

“You need to come.” Toph breathed against your lips. Already pulling you down so your thighs could slip between hers, aligning your slit against hers. “I want you to come with me this time please?”

Hearing her beg, something she rarely does, breaks something deep inside you. Toph wasn't just asking, you knew what she really craved was the intimacy of it, feeling you close as you come together. You felt the heat of the night bleed away until all that was left was the lingering arousal and the profound love you both have for eachother. You could never deny this woman. As long as she was yours she would have everything she desires.

You press a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling the dampness off her skin that was your own doing. “Okay baby.”

You shifted, slipping a pillow under her hips to elevate them. You then hooked one of her thighs over your hip, aligning yourself until your sopping cunt was flush against hers.

“Fuck” Your chorused whimpers echoed in the room as you slid your wet center against her, rolling your hips before grinding down in quick burst.

Toph's fingers dug into your wrist as you pressed down into her, her leg hooked over your shoulder as you smeared your wetness all over her cunt.

“Spirits, you're so wet for me baby you're going to make me come again.” Toph says, her head was strewn back againt the pillows, her hair spawled across the sheets as the heat between you became smoldering.

You could feel her all over, the way her clit delved between your folds. The sounds of your combined wetness filled the room mingled with your ragged breaths. The intensity of it was enough to have your own thighs stuttering. Each drag of your clit against hers sent waves of pleasure that erupted throughout your entire body.

“You feel so good, baby. Fuck, you’re so wet and perfect against me,” You growl, the words thick with a hunger you can no longer contain.

Your hands tighten around her thigh, your fingers digging into the flesh there hard enough to bruise as your pace quickens to match her as she grinds up into you. You kiss her ankle, dragging your tongue along her calve as Toph's thighs started to shake, her breath catching as the press of your warm pussy against hers has her nearly vibrating off the bed.

She clings to you, her fingers curling into your shoulders as you rut against her. The air in the room was now filled with the desperate sounds of the both of you breaking.

“I love you-” Toph's voice breaks, the words dying in her throat as you grind against her with a raw, relentless pressure. “I love you so much fuck!”

Your hips buck, your pace quickening as you reach your own breaking point. “I love you too. Now come for me baby, I want your pretty pussy to come all over me.”

Toph shatters at the sound of the command with a sharp, piercing cry that is instantly swallowed by the force of your lips crashing against hers. The sound vibrates between you, raw and unbridled, as you roll your hips in a way that draws out every last wave of her orgasm.

You collapse forward, completely on top of her now as you rut into her with quick, powerful thrusts, every muscle in your body coiling until the tension snaps and your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your entire body shake. A deep, guttural sound is torn from your throat, muffled by the heat of the kiss, as you press yourself firmly against her.

For several long, breathless seconds, the world ceases to exist, there is only the pulse of your shared release and the crushing weight of your bodies merging into one.

You bury your face in the crook of Toph’s neck, both of your bodies slick with sweat and the lingering heat of your shared intensity. You’re panting, the air in the room was still thick and heavy from your release.

Toph’s hands move lazily up your spine, her fingers tracing soothing patterns that ground you both as a peacefulness settles in the room. She lets out a small, characteristic snort after a moment. Her voice was still breathy and rough from exertion as she spoke.

“Well,” Toph teased, you could feel the smirk playing on her lips, “That’s one way to make it up to me.”

You hum tiredly, the lazy patterns she’s tracing on your spine acting as a sedative. Between the grueling travel and the intensity of the night, exhaustion was finally pulling at you.

“Anything for my baby,” You mumble sleepily, your voice muffled against her skin as your eyes drift shut. “I hope you’re comfortable, because I’m not moving.”

When she spoke next, her voice was a rare, soft hum, a sound Toph reserves only for the quietest hours of the night, exclusively for you.

“It’s okay, my love,” Toph reassures, her words a warm breath against your temple. Her arms tighten around you, pulling you into the solid safety of her embrace as if she’s shielding you from the rest of the world.

“Go to sleep,” Toph whispers, her fingers continuing their slow patterns against your back. “I’ll be right here holding you when you wake.”

Now secure in her hold and her promise settling in the air around you, the last of your exhaustion finally takes over. As you drift off to sleep the room fades into a peaceful silence, leaving only the synchronized beat of your two hearts.

you restlessly wandered around the castle that entire day. you usually spent your time in the sweet confines of your room, entertaining yourself with needlework or piano practice, but since you had a knight on your heels today — and a very annoying one at that — you decided to tire him out yourself, refusing to linger too long in one place.

what kind of knight would be happy about having to follow a spoiled princess all day through the most mundane of tasks? maybe if you kept this up, he’d back out himself, and your father would have nothing left to say, no more options to offer you. you snickered to yourself at how genius this plan was.

that is, until you’re the one who gets tired first. you’d been waiting for a reaction, a quip, a question— anything! anything so you could scold him for talking back to you or kicking him out.. but he simply stood up whenever you did, kept watch whenever you sat, all while keeping the safe distance you requested without a word.

this pissed you off. why was he giving you nothing to complain about?

“princess,” that low, smug voice pitched up again, “you seem out of breath. may i suggest a break?”

you scoff, getting up once more, wiping at the forming sweat on your forehead, “silence. i have no idea what you’re talking about. i want to walk more; i want to run, actually. is there a problem?”

a muffled chuckle slipped through the cracks of his armor, “none at all. lead the way, your highness.”

you mumbled a curse under your breath, picking up the pace as you raced through the corridor, casting furtive glances at him behind you. ugh, was he not the least bit inconvenienced? he had to be. you wished he didn’t wear that huge helmet covering his entire face, so you could at least see if there was any hint of irritation in his features. why were even his eyes hidden? you’d never seen a knight covering their eyes. his main purpose was to serve and fight, so how do you do that without your sight?

after some more laps up and around the castle, you stop at the back garden, panting heavily as you lean your weight against a wall, watching the sun set in a pool of pink and orange.

“.. are you sure you’re fine, princess?” the question is so rhetorical, so cocky, you feel more heat flood your cheeks along with the flush of all that running.

you pointedly glare at him, chest heaving with exhaustion, “ask me that one more time, and i will have your head.”

“so hot-tempered,” toph sighs, shaking his head, “no wonder you need a knight, princess. you wouldn’t last a day on the battlefield with such a short fuse.”

now that hit a nerve. a particularly sensitive one at that. you absolutely fucking hated when a man commented about your strength so matter-of-factly, when he had no way to know that through a simple exchange with you. seriously, he would’ve never said that if you weren’t a woman!

“listen here, you little shit.” the informal term slips out, too angry to think it over, as you quickly step over to where he stood. if metal wasn’t covering his whole fucking face, you would’ve given him the slap of the century. you settled on giving him a rough shove to the chest, though he only budged a bit, “don’t get too arrogant around me, you fool. you men are all the same! all pigs, overly confident and entitled, thinking the only show of strength is brute forcing your way through ranks of enemies— ah ah!”

you cut him off when you hear the hint of a confused protest about to leave his lips, shoving him again, “no! silence from you! i will not take any more of your disrespect, much less your sexist bullshit. father might like you, but i don’t, and i never will. i will be sending you off tomorrow and i hope to never see your face again— well, not like i can see it anyway! why are you even wearing that!? your gear’s ridiculous, i have never seen anybody as pretentious as you! you think you’re so—”

“hey!” his voice rises over yours, and as offended as that gets you, the assertiveness of it makes you falter for a second. he seizes that brief moment to interject, “you’re spiraling, your highness. you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. the thing is—”

“s-shut up!” you spit out, even angrier at his dismissal. he was just your fucking average male! acting so superior over you, like he was the voice of reason while you were just some hotheaded little girl, like he had you all figured out already! tears pricked at your eyes from the rage bubbling up inside you, but you refused to show weakness in such a crucial moment.

“you will regret this, i swear to you!” you give him a final shove, this time with both hands to make him fall a step back, then break into a run.

“don’t follow me!” you bark, even though you knew that order wasn’t going to be followed. you bunched up your dress over your knees, running out the back gate, ignoring his attempts at calling you back.

you disappear into the neighboring woods, deciding to use the trees to lose him. you ran until the clanking of his armor faded into the background, before taking cover under a leafy tree’s shade. you curled up on yourself, back against the bark, hugging your knees to your chest. you often sulked in this forest after an argument with your father, hiding from him until you cried it all out, and this occasion felt fitting too.

you felt a little ashamed for being so upset over such an irrelevant person, who didn’t deserve your tears in the slightest, but hits to your womanhood like these never failed to make you cry. maybe you overreacted, maybe you were too sensitive, but so what? it didn’t matter right now. you rested your face on your knees, a small hiccup leaving your throat. then a whimper, then a garbled sound, then you were sobbing, muffled by the heavy fabric of your dress.

minutes trickled by, and the sky darkened into more purple hues, nightfall close. you rubbed your eyes thoroughly, glancing around at your surroundings. ugh, maybe you went in deeper into the forest than you usually did. it’d be better to get a move on before everything goes dark.

but the second you shifted on the ground, your ears picked up on the sound of leaves crunching. the sound grew clearer and closer, heavy footsteps approaching you. you curled up on yourself again, pressing your back flush against the bark of the tree as you frantically wiped at your puffy eyes.

they came to a halt right behind you. you swallowed, huffing to try and conceal your hoarse voice, “leave me alone, toph. i’m not going back to the castle with you.”

“is that so?”

“very much s— huh?” you didn’t recognize that voice.

your blood ran cold immediately, quickly jumping out of your place to face them.

“a lost princess in the wild,” the silhouette approached you, a pleasantly surprised expression on their face. “i can hardly believe it. does your daddy know you’re here?”

when the man leaned down, sizing you up with his gaze, you felt terror seize your limbs. there was no way this was happening. you always came here and left safe and sound. spirits, just how deep into the woods did you go?

you crawled back, eyes blown wide in bewilderment. “d-don’t you dare come close to me. i’ll have you publicly executed.”

“i won’t hurt you, i promise,” he knelt by your side, an unsettling smile on his lips as his gaze sweeps over the outlines of your body, his hand sliding up your shin. a dreadful, dreadful shiver went up your spine. you immediately flipped over to quickly crawl away from his grasp, when a calloused hand drags you back to him by the ankle. the realization sets in, and you let out a shrill scream.

“shh.. don’t be so loud. i said i won’t hurt you,” the man tutted, grabbing both your legs to pull you closer to him, your dress riding up.

this wasn’t happening. this wasn’t happening. you’d heard the awful stories, but never in your life did you think someone as protected as you would ever have to worry about this. your vision got blurry from the tears welling up, jaw hung open in shock, lips quivering, completely paralyzed. you couldn’t move at all.

“d-don’t—” you pathetically stammered, tears streaming down your face, uselessly squirming as his touch travelled higher and higher. “please—”

you don’t understand what happens the following minute.

one second, you were helplessly watching his hungry smile, hands slowly pushing your legs open; the next second, you swore you saw his head fly off for a millisecond, but before you could even process if that was true or just wishful thinking, a thick burst of blood hit you right in the face, splattering all over your eyes.

that confirmed your doubts, and it took you over five seconds to remember how to breathe.

you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, slowly cracking them open. oh god. between your legs was now a decapitated man, blood gushing out in small fountains from where his head once rested. the sight broke you out of your stupor, adrenaline rushing back through your veins, and you screamed, kicking the body off you as you shakily sat up, utterly confused and terrified.

you only managed to rip your gaze off the gorey scene before you when the sound of a blade slicing through the air reached your ears.

you looked up to the source of the sound by your side, a big, armored figure looming over you. even though you recognized that familiar gear very well, your mind couldn’t fathom the fact that the intimidating person before you — droplets of blood trickling down the tip of their sword — was the very toph beifong you hung out with only some time ago.

he seemed so different, so out of reach. so unlike the annoying guard you knew.

his head turned to face your way, and you gasped, a new wave of fear rolling off your bones.

he stared at you for so long you half thought he was going to kill you too, until the blade suddenly dropped to the ground with a soft clink. you swallow, unable to look away, scared of his next move. this was all your fault— you ran off like a little child, almost getting yourself into your worst nightmare, and you made him kill. you made him kill.

he took a step closer to you, and you crawled back too, elbows digging into the dirt, lip trembling.

he stops in front of you, and your heart feels like it’s about to break out of your ribcage and fling itself off to the next planet. you flinch when his hands move, but they only land on his helmet.

you blink.

you watch it slowly slide off his head, a lump forming in your throat.

your breath audibly hitches, eyes blowing wide open.

long, black hair unrolls in thick curls and cascades down his back like a river of night, the rising moon gently highlighting his features. your sight adjusts to the setting darkness, analyzing his face — pretty lips tugged into a serious frown, a delicate nose slightly scrunched up in irritation, milky eyes glaring down at you — then a startled gasp slips out of your lips.

toph beifong was no “he”.

“about what you said earlier,” her voice makes you jump, the tone so low and serious and obviously female without the distortion of the armor, “here are your two answers. one, i’m not a man.”

“and two,” she leans down to your height, looking at some place a bit over your shoulder. “i don’t cover my eyes because i’m pretentious. i’m blind.”

you could only stare at her, mouth wide open but no sound coming out of it, too overwhelmed.

so much was happening all at once, you didn’t even get over your shock of being attacked by a man in the woods, and now you were trying to process that he was dead, bleeding out next to you, and you were saved by your knight. your valiant knight who turned out to be a blind woman.

“nevermind that,” she interrupts your train of thought, hands finding your shoulders, a deeply upset and frustrated expression on her face, “was i too late? are you okay? did that trash touch you? where?”

“i..” you trail off, lost for words. there was so much to be said, so much to process, so much to understand.. but when she soothingly rubs your back, all goes out the window and you break into a sob again.

funny how the very reason you even landed yourself in this situation was to avoid crying in front of her — or him, you thought then — and there you were now, bawling into the crook of her neck, armored arms holding you tight as she cradled the back of your head.

“he’s gone,” she whispers in your ear, running her metal-clad fingers through your hair, “he’s gone. for good.”

you were too far in to stop now, clinging to her tighter as you sobbed your heart out, fingers failing to curl around the metal of her gear. you could only cry in her arms for a while, even as the sky turned a charcoal black, both of you only illuminated by soft wisps of moonlight.

“i-i’m sorry,” are the first words you mumble, wiping your snot as you lift your head from her neck. you look up at her, and she only sighs, rubbing your scalp, “we’ll talk about this later. just hold onto me for now.”

her touch leaves you soon after, and you almost whimper at the loss, but when she stands up, you’re instantly picked up again, cradled in her arms.

the moon’s glow hits her right in the face at this angle, and you can only stare in awe, her long black hair blowing with the wind, sightless eyes sternly set forward, the femininity of her features warring with the image you had set of her.

“hold on tight,” she orders, and your arms loop around her neck immediately. you feel her foot repeatedly swipe over the ground, confusing you, until she feels the path of footsteps she left coming here. she begins walking, and your gaze drifts to the severed body over her shoulder.

you swallow, hesitant. “t-toph? are we just going to leave h—”

“the king will see to it.” her words are short and curt, spoken with such authority, worthy of a royal. you nod weakly, choosing not to push the matter any further.

“his majesty will agree with me,” she adds, tone lighter when she feels the tension in your muscles, “don’t worry, your highness. that scumbag does not deserve to live.”

you stay quiet for a little while, the clanking of her steps filling the background while you process your emotions.

“i..” you start, arms tightening around her neck as you chew on your bottom lip. “t-this never happened to me before. i.. i was so scared.”

“i know,” she says it so softly you almost want to cry again, “i know.”

you continue, voice breaking a little, “i.. i just never thought this would happen to me. and even if it did, i didn’t think i’d be so.. weak. i didn’t even put up a fight. i couldn’t move at all, my limbs felt so heavy, everything moved so slowly. maybe you were right, i’m not as strong as i think i—”

“hey.” she cuts you off, stopping in her tracks to look down at you. “don’t you dare say that. i didn’t mean what i said earlier that way, i’m sorry, i did not realize my poor wording. you’re not weak for not fighting back. you just froze, and that’s not your fault. you can’t predict how your body will react in surprise situations like these. you survived this, and that alone is proof of your strength. this was traumatic, so cut yourself some slack.”

for someone who pridefully refused to cry in front of other people, you managed to do the opposite of that over and over again this night.

she silently let you soak her neck, carrying you back home, mercifully not prodding further or showing you condescending pity. by the time you emerge out of the woods, you’d basically shed over a month’s worth of tears.

“w-wait, don’t go into the castle yet,” you try and rub off the evidence of your crying, and she patiently waits, feet anchored in the ground as she holds you.

her legs must be cramping from how long you had her stay still, and yet she did not complain. you gazed up at her, taking in her steely features, not a hint of discomfort in them.

you let out a shaky sigh, tapping her arm, “thank you, you can put me down now.”

“i’d rather not,” that makes you do a double take, looking back up at her, puzzled. she nods, “if you’ll let me, my mind will be more at ease if i take you to your chambers myself.”

you blinked, a blush creeping up your face at how she said that with a straight face. a knight personally taking you to your room?? how scandalous.. but now that you mulled it over, that was mainly under the assumption that all knights were male. you looked away, cheeks a little flushed, “i-i suppose i can allow that.”

she was a woman, so it was fine, right? the thought reassured you, but you didn’t know why it still had your heart racing.

you shamefully hide your face back into the crook of her neck, gasps and whispers filling the hallways as you pass them by. toph — whose face was only seen once in a blue moon — had ditched her helmet out in the woods, therefore many conspirational rumors started forming, some more ridiculous than the last. especially seeing you be carried as sweet as a doll, so unlike the fiery princess who adamantly refused help every time.

toph does not stop or pay them any mind, heading straight to your room. her stride is brisk and confident, and it now puzzles you further since you found out she was blind. how was she so good at it?

shifting your weight into one of her arms, she opens your doors with her now free hand, walking into your opulent chambers.

“where’s your bed, princess?” the innocent question makes your heart skip a beat, cheeks flushing deeper as you tried pushing your weird thoughts away. “j-just walk straight, then slightly to the right.”

the plush mattress sinks slightly under your weight, her arms finally detaching from you. you look up at her, uncharacteristically flustered. she then kneels between your legs in front of you, expression serious but gentle, “how are you feeling?”

you swallow, nodding, “good.. thank you.”

there was so much to thank her for, really. and you didn’t know where to begin.

you felt so embarrassed; not only did you throw completely off the mark insults at her, you gave her extra trouble by escaping so far into the woods — the fact that she found you even though blind baffled you — then having her slice off a man’s head, then carrying you all the way back home, all while offering you incredible reassurance and support through it all.. yeah, so much to thank her for. you really fucked up big time.

you take a deep breath, “um.. i’m s—”

“i’m sorry,” she interrupts you, tone airier than before, earning a quizzical “huh” from you. she gives you a small knowing smile, almost smug, “please forgive me princess, it seems i’ve broken all your rules. i followed you, didn’t stay five feet away from you — hell, i even had the audacity to barge into your room. i’ve truly gone and done it, haven’t i?”

confused was too small a word to describe how totally lost you were. what was she doing? what the hell was she talking about?

she feels around for your hand, then brings it to her lips to press a tender kiss there. “forgive me for being such a bad knight, your highness. i really, really hope you give me a second chance. i’ll prove myself better to you, so please keep me as your knight.”

your face scrunched in confusion, her words making no sense at all. after several seconds, it finally clicked.

she didn’t want you to feel like you were indebted to her. she didn’t want your confidence to be knocked down a peg as gratitude, or having you think she was pitying you. because in that change of your behavior, today’s events would be reinforced into your mind, and you would remember them in your every interaction with her.

she wanted to pretend this occurence never happened.

she had just killed for you, and she didn’t want to use that as leverage? she could have you — the kingdom’s princess — putty in her hands, reminding you of this deed if you ever gave her a hard time.. but she chose not to? she deliberately doesn’t want your gratitude?

“i..” you frown; you at least wanted to apologize once. “but i am sor—”

“oh, your highness!” she dramatically interrupts you, nuzzling your hand like an overjoyed puppy, “you’re too kind! really, what do you have to apologize for? you truly are the greatest. you’re so—”

“stop it!” you cringed, flushing red with embarrassment, “i just want to say sor—”

“ahhhhh!” she cuts you off again, grabbing your hand with both of hers now, “you’re too nice! too nice, your highness!” she’s practically screaming now, humiliating you further with the exaggerated show of devotion as she rubs her face against your palm.

“alright, alright! enough of this!” you whine in defeat, red as a tomato, prying your hand off her grasp.

she chuckles, ceasing her theatrics, and gives your leg a light tap, “good girl.”

you huff, silently watching her for a while, a million emotions coursing through you. but really, you were very grateful for this. she just witnessed you at your weakest, and didn’t use it against you — and for that, she earned your highest respect.

never in your life had you cried in front of someone, always putting up a mean rock-hard front, keeping your feelings to yourself— and if you eventually had to cry in someone’s arms, you were glad it was her.

it felt like a huge blow to your pride, so you were glad she genuinely did not intend to give you a hard time about it.

she rests her cheek on your knee, a smirk tugging at her lips, “so? do you forgive me, pretty princess?”

“p-pretty princess?” you stammer, flustered, then scoff, “you can’t even see me. how would you know i’m pretty?”

“oh, i just know you are.” she nods solemnly, “i can sense it.”

you raise your brow, a little curious, “you can sense beauty?”

she laughs, grinning up at you, “no. how would that even work? are you that gullible?”

you groan, blushing harder, and nudge her off your knee, “leave!”

your heart felt so much lighter now. you never thought you’d be grateful for how obnoxious and annoying she was, but this banter brought back an air of normalcy, slowly soothing you into forgetting all the earlier events.

she finally stands up, brushing some of her hair off her face, “though, i am wounded, princess. you thought i was a man this whole time?”

“ah..” you look away, abashed, “i-i didn’t—”

she sighs loudly, throwing her head back, “for someone who took that much offense in my apparent ‘sexism’, you surely played right into it.”

if you weren’t red enough, now you definitely were. steaming, even.

“t-that’s not the same! i just thought—”

“that’s what they all sayyy..” she drags the word, wiping her imaginary tears, “of course, a knight is always a man. never a woman, stupid weak women.”

“stop ittt!” you kick at her armored legs, your blush growing more pronounced as she lets out a booming laugh.

she leans down to your height, a devious smirk on her face, “so? what do you think of me now, hm? your father’s best knight is a woman, and a blind one at that. really cool, huh? got a crush on me now, i bet?”

now without the helmet, you could slap her. you pushed her face away from you, your hand splayed over her eyes, “l-leave me alone, fool!”

“alright then,” she fake pouts, standing back up straight. “need me to stay the night? cuddle you and sing you a lullaby?”

“.. get out.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You sit at your desk near the window, fingers curled around the edge, eyes fixed on the trees outside.

It’s easier that way.

“Y/N?”

Your shoulders tense.

You know that voice.

Soft.

Careful.

Like it doesn’t want to scare you.

You turn your head just a little. Your teacher, Ms. Maximoff, is kneeling beside your desk now.

Her red hair falls forward slightly as she tilts her head, studying you with gentle concern.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” she says. “Is everything okay?”

You nod immediately.

Her expression doesn’t change much, but something in her eyes softens even more, like she doesn’t believe you, but she won’t push. Not yet, at least.

“That’s alright,” she murmurs. “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

You look back at the window, not wanting to continue the conversation.

Wanda notices patterns. It’s something she’s always been good at. Like, small shifts, quiet changes, the things other people overlook.

It’s part of what makes her such a good teacher.

And you… You don’t fit.

Not in the way the other children do. You don’t laugh loudly. You don’t raise your hand. You flinch when someone moves too fast near you. You freeze when voices get too sharp.

And sometimes—this is what unsettles her the most—you look tired.

Not sleepy.

Tired.

That deep, bone-heavy kind of tired no child should carry.

She tries again a few days later.

“Y/N,” she says gently after class, when the other students have left.

You pause at the door, your small backpack hanging off one shoulder.

“Can you stay for a moment?”

You hesitate.

Then nod.

You step closer, but you don’t meet her eyes.

Wanda keeps her voice soft. “I just wanted to check in. I’ve noticed you’ve been a little… quiet lately.”

Silence.

Your fingers tighten around your sleeve.

“You know,” she continues, “sometimes when something is bothering us, it can help to talk about it. Even a little.”

You shake your head.

Still not looking at her.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

The words sound practiced.

Rehearsed.

Wanda feels her chest tighten.

“Alright,” she says, just as gently. “You can go.”

You leave quickly.

Too quickly.

-///-

That night, Wanda doesn’t stop thinking about you.

Her wife, Natasha, notices.

She always does, too.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Natasha says from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in her hand.

Wanda looks up from the couch. “What thing?”

“The ‘I’m worried but trying not to say it out loud’ thing.”

Wanda exhales softly, rubbing her hands together. “There’s a student in my class.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Only one?”

Wanda almost smiles, patting the seat next to her.

“She’s… different. Quiet. Withdrawn. But it’s more than that.” She hesitates, meeting Natasha’s eyes as she moves towards the couch. “She flinches. A lot. And she looks… exhausted.”

Natasha’s expression shifts instantly. Sharper now. Focused.

She sits down next to Wanda, knees touching her thigh as she tucks her legs underneath herself.

“How old?”

“Six.”

Natasha sets her mug down.

“Has she said anything?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Every time I ask, she shuts down. It’s like she’s… afraid of saying the wrong thing.”

That’s what does it.

Natasha straightens slightly, something cold and precise settling behind her eyes.

“Tomorrow,” she says, “I’m coming with you.”

Wanda blinks. “Nat—”

"Wands, I work in children's welfare. What you said is reason enough for me to look into it,” Natasha says calmly. “And if something’s wrong…” She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish.

Wanda nods.

She trusts her.

Always has.

-///-

The next day, you notice her immediately.

She doesn’t belong in a classroom.

Not like Ms. Maximoff does.

This woman is… different.

She stands near the doorway at first, speaking quietly with your teacher.

She’s dressed simply, but there’s something about the way she holds herself, straight, alert, like she’s always watching.

Her eyes scan the room.

And then they land on you.

You look away quickly.

But it’s too late.

She’s already noticed.

Natasha takes her time.

She doesn’t approach you right away.

Instead, she observes.

The way you sit too stiff in your chair. The way your gaze flickers toward the door every few minutes. The way you hesitate before answering even the simplest question.

And then—

A boy runs past your desk too fast, and a chair scrapes loudly.

You flinch.

Not a small reaction.

Not subtle.

A full-body recoil, like you were expecting something worse.

Natasha’s jaw tightens.

Yeah.

Something’s wrong.

Later, during lunch break, Wanda sits beside you on the bench.

Natasha lingers a few steps away, pretending to check something on her phone.

“You remember my wife, Ms. Romanoff?” Wanda asks gently.

You nod.

“She works with children, too,” Wanda continues. “She just wants to make sure everyone is safe and happy.”

Safe.

The word makes your stomach twist.

Natasha steps closer, crouching down so she’s at your level.

Her voice is calm and steady.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m Natasha.”

You don’t answer.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

You glance at her.

Just for a second.

Her eyes are different from everyone else’s.

They’re not soft like Wanda’s.

But they’re not harsh either.

They’re… certain.

As if she already knows something.

“Can I ask you something?” she says.

You hesitate.

Then shrug slightly.

It’s not quite a yes.

But it’s not a no.

Natasha nods once, like that’s enough.

“Do you feel safe at home?”

Your heart stops.

The world goes very, very quiet.

You stare at the ground.

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

Because if you say the wrong thing—

If you say anything—

Your fingers curl tightly into your sleeves.

Natasha watches the silence stretch.

The way your shoulders tense.

The way your breathing changes.

And that’s all she needs.

She doesn’t ask again.

Instead, her voice softens—just slightly.

“You’re not in trouble,” she says. “And whatever is going on… it’s not your fault.”

Your throat tightens.

You blink hard.

Still, you say nothing.

But Natasha doesn’t push.

She stands slowly, exchanging a look with Wanda.

A silent understanding passes between them.

This isn’t nothing.

This is something.

And they’re not going to ignore it.

-///-

That afternoon, as you sit by the window again, the classroom feels a little different.

Not louder.

Not quieter.

Just… different.

Because now, someone has seen you.

Even if you didn’t say a word.

And for the first time in a long while, you’re not completely invisible anymore.

The man introduces himself as Steve.

He doesn’t stand over you like most adults do when they want something. Instead, he pulls a chair out slowly and turns it so he’s sitting across from you—not too close, not too far.

Just enough that you know he’s there, but not enough to make you feel trapped.

“Hi,” he says, offering a small, careful smile. “I’m Steve.”

You don’t answer.

You keep your eyes on the desk, tracing a faint scratch in the wood with your fingertip. You’ve already counted it before—three fingers long, slightly curved—but counting it again feels easier than looking up.

“That’s okay,” Steve says gently, like he expected the silence. “You don’t have to say anything right away.”

The room is quiet. Too quiet.

Outside the classroom, you can hear the distant noise of other students—chairs moving, someone laughing, a teacher calling out instructions. It feels far away. Like it belongs to a different world.

“I heard you like sitting by the window,” Steve continues after a moment.

Your finger stills.

He notices things.

You don’t like that.

“It’s a good spot,” he adds. “Lots of light. And you can see outside.”

You don’t respond.

But you don’t move away either.

Steve shifts slightly in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. He doesn’t take out a notebook. Doesn’t write anything down.

He just… sits.

“I work with kids sometimes,” he says. “Mostly I just make sure they’re okay.”

Okay.

You swallow.

“I talk to teachers. Sometimes parents. Sometimes kids, if they want to.” He pauses. “But only if they want to.”

Silence stretches again.

Your shoulders feel tight.

Your chest feels tight.

“Do you feel safe at home?”

There it is.

The question.

It drops into the room like something heavy.

Your heart starts beating faster. You can feel it in your throat, in your ears, and in your fingertips.

You nod.

Too fast.

Too automatic.

Steve doesn’t react right away.

He just watches you.

Not in a scary way.

Not like he’s angry.

But like he’s… thinking.

Like he’s trying to understand something you didn’t say.

“Okay,” he says finally.

That’s it.

No follow-up.

No pressure.

But somehow that makes it worse.

-///-

He comes to your house two days later.

You know it’s him before anyone says his name.

There’s something about the knock, firm but not aggressive.

Steady.

Your stomach twists so hard it almost hurts.

“Stay in your room,” your parent says sharply, already moving toward the door.

You don’t argue.

You never argue.

You close your door quietly and sit on the floor, your back pressed against the side of your bed. It feels safer down here. Smaller. Like, if you make yourself small enough, you won’t be noticed.

Voices drift through the house.

Muffled at first.

Then clearer.

“…just a routine check…”

“…she’s a quiet child…”

“…always been sensitive…”

You pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, pressing your face down.

You try to make yourself even smaller.

“…we would never…”

“…of course, we understand your concern…”

Their voices sound normal.

You know that tone.

You’ve heard it before.

It’s the voice they use for other people.

Not for you.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

If you don’t move, if you don’t make a sound, maybe he won’t come up here.

Maybe he’ll just leave.

Maybe everything will stay the same.

You don’t know if that’s what you want.

But it’s what you’re used to.

After a while, the voices fade.

The door opens.

Closes.

Footsteps.

Silence.

He’s gone.

Nothing changes.

At first.

Then everything does.

You don’t go to school the next day.

Or the day after that.

At first, you think you’re sick without knowing you were.

Or maybe in trouble.

You don’t ask.

You’ve learned not to ask.

“There’s no need,” your parent says when you linger near the door on the third morning, your backpack hanging loosely from your shoulder. “You’ll stay home for a while.”

“For how long?” you whisper.

They look at you.

Just look.

Your throat closes.

“…okay,” you say quickly.

Your backpack stays by the door.

You go back to your room.

-///-

Days blur together.

You lose track of time.

Morning feels like evening. Evening feels like nothing.

The window doesn’t help anymore.

You stop looking outside.

There’s no point.

No one is coming.

-///-

Wanda notices on the first day.

The empty chair.

Your chair.

She pauses in the middle of attendance, her eyes lingering just a second longer than they should.

“Y/N?” she calls out automatically.

Silence answers.

A student shifts in their seat.

“She’s not here,” someone says.

Wanda nods slowly, marking it down.

Absent.

It happens.

Kids get sick.

But something about it doesn’t sit right.

On the second day, she asks the office.

“No call or note,” they tell her.

Her concern sharpens.

On the third day, she calls.

No answer.

By the fourth day, she’s pacing.

“You’re wearing a path into the floor,” Natasha says from the kitchen, watching her with quiet focus.

Wanda doesn’t stop. “She hasn’t been in school all week.”

Natasha sets her mug down. “Did the office hear anything?”

“No. No call. No email. Nothing.” Wanda runs a hand through her hair, frustration and worry tangled together. “That’s not normal.”

“No,” Natasha agrees. “It’s not.”

Wanda turns to her. “What if something happened?”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away.

Because they’re both thinking the same thing.

“What if we missed something?” Wanda whispers.

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly. “You didn’t miss anything.”

“But she wouldn’t talk to me,” Wanda says, her voice tightening. “She wouldn’t talk to Steve either, and now she’s just—gone.”

Natasha straightens. “Then we go find her.”

Wanda blinks. “Nat—”

“I mean it,” Natasha says. “This doesn’t feel right. Not after what we saw.”

Wanda hesitates.

Then nods.

“I’m going there,” she says.

Natasha doesn’t argue.

“I’m coming with you.”

The house looks normal.

That’s the first thing Wanda notices, and it makes something deep in her chest twist uncomfortably.

The curtains are neat. The garden is trimmed. The front step is clean.

Everything looks… fine.

Too fine.

“She lives here,” Wanda says quietly.

Natasha stands beside her, eyes already scanning windows, corners, and small details most people would miss.

“Okay,” she replies.

Wanda steps forward and knocks.

The sound echoes too loudly in the still air.

They wait.

Nothing.

Wanda knocks again, harder this time. “Y/N? It’s Ms. Maximoff.”

Silence.

It presses in from all sides, heavy and wrong.

Natasha’s gaze flicks upward. “Second floor. Curtain moved.”

Wanda’s heart stutters. “She’s here.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says, already moving. “She is.”

The door is locked.

Of course it is.

Wanda’s hands are shaking now, panic rising fast and sharp. “Nat—”

“We saw movement,” Natasha says, calm but firm. “We’re not leaving.”

That’s all it takes.

Upstairs, you freeze.

You didn’t mean to make a sound.

You were trying to be quiet.

You’re always quiet.

But when you heard her voice—

When you heard your name—

Something slipped.

Now your heart is pounding so loud it feels like it might give you away.

They’re here.

They came.

You press your hand over your mouth, trying to silence your breathing.

Maybe if you stay still—

Maybe if you don’t move—

They’ll leave.

Like everyone always does.

The door downstairs opens.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Your stomach drops.

They didn’t leave.

Wanda barely registers how they get inside. The house feels too still, too empty in a way that doesn’t make sense.

“Y/N?” she calls, stepping forward.

No answer.

Natasha moves ahead of her slightly. “Upstairs.”

They climb quickly.

Each step creaks.

Wanda winces at the sound, like she’s afraid it might scare you.

At the top of the stairs—three doors.

Two open quickly.

Empty.

The third stays closed.

Wanda’s chest tightens. “This one.”

Her hand trembles on the handle.

“Wanda,” Natasha says quietly behind her.

Wanda pauses.

“Whatever’s on the other side,” Natasha adds, “we handle it together.”

Wanda nods.

Then she opens the door; the room is dim.

Curtains drawn tight.

Air stale.

And there in the corner.

You.

Small.

Curled in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

Wanda’s breath catches.

“Y/N…”

You don’t move at first.

Then slowly, your head lifts.

Your eyes find hers.

And something in her chest breaks instantly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says softly, stepping closer. “It’s okay. It’s me.”

You flinch.

Even at her voice.

Natasha steps in behind her, taking in everything in one sharp glance—the room, the stillness, you.

Her jaw tightens.

But when she speaks, her voice is gentle.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Your lips part.

“I didn’t say anything,” you blurt out suddenly, panic cracking through your voice. “I didn’t tell him anything, I promise, I didn’t—”

Wanda drops to her knees in front of you. “Oh, honey—”

“I didn’t—” Your voice shakes harder. “I didn’t say anything—”

“Hey,” Natasha says, crouching down in front of you. “You’re okay.”

“I didn’t tell—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, firm and steady.

You freeze.

Your breathing stutters.

“I promise,” she adds, softer now.

Wanda’s hand settles carefully against your arm.

“You haven’t been at school,” she says gently. “We were worried.”

“I’m not supposed to go,” you whisper.

The words are small.

Fragile.

But they hit like something heavy.

Natasha’s expression sharpens slightly. “Who told you that?”

You shake your head quickly. “I just—I’m not—I don’t—”

The words won’t come.

Your chest feels too tight.

Everything feels too big.

And then—

The front door downstairs opens.

The sound is loud.

Final.

Your entire body goes rigid.

You try to pull away instantly, panic flooding through you.

“They’re back,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “They’re back—”

Footsteps.

Voices.

Getting closer.

“No, no—” you start, trying to move, trying to make yourself small again, trying to get away—

Natasha doesn’t let you.

Her hand steadies you immediately.

“Hey,” she says, low and firm. “Stay with me.”

You shake your head frantically. “I can’t—”

“You can,” she says.

And then she shifts.

Just slightly.

But enough.

Enough that she’s between you and the door.

Solid.

Unmovable.

Wanda moves closer to your other side, one hand on your back, grounding.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs. “We’re right here.”

The footsteps reach the stairs.

Each step is louder than the last.

Your hands are tight in Natasha’s shirt.

You can’t breathe.

The hallway creaks.

Then—

The doorway fills.

“What is going on?”

The voice is sharp.

Demanding.

Wrong.

You flinch hard.

Instinct.

Natasha notices.

Of course she does.

She rises slowly to her full height, placing herself fully between you and them.

Her posture is calm.

Controlled.

But there’s something underneath it.

Something dangerous.

“We came to check on Y/N,” she says evenly.

“You can’t just break into our house,” your parent snaps, stepping forward.

Natasha doesn’t move.

Doesn’t give an inch.

“You left a minor alone,” she replies, voice still calm—but colder now. “No school. No contact. No supervision.”

“That’s none of your business—”

“It is now.”

The words land hard.

Final.

Wanda feels you shaking beside her. She pulls you gently closer, one arm wrapping around you protectively.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You’re okay.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you whisper again, clinging tighter. “I didn’t tell—”

Wanda’s heart cracks all over again. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“Don’t talk to her,” your parent says sharply.

You flinch.

Natasha sees it.

And that’s it.

Something in her expression settles completely.

Decision made.

“She’s coming with us,” Natasha says.

“No, she’s not.”

Natasha steps slightly forward.

Just enough.

“You can argue that with child services,” she says, voice low and controlled. “But right now? She’s not staying here.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Tense.

Heavy.

Your parent hesitates.

And that hesitation is everything.

Natasha turns slightly, her voice softening instantly when she looks back at you.

“Hey,” she says gently. “Come on.”

You don’t hesitate.

You move straight into her, clinging tightly, your fingers gripping her shirt like it’s the only solid thing in the world.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs.

Wanda stays close, her hand never leaving your back.

“You’re safe,” she whispers again.

And this time—

You believe her.

-///-

The car ride is quiet.

You sit in the back at first.

For all of thirty seconds.

Then—

“No.”

Your voice is small.

Panicked.

“I don’t—I don’t want to sit back here—”

Wanda turns immediately. “Okay. That’s okay.”

Natasha has already pulled the car over.

“Come here,” Wanda says softly, opening the door.

You move quickly, climbing out and into the front, into her side, before you even realize what you’re doing.

You cling to her.

Hard.

Your face pressed into her shoulder.

Your hands gripping her sleeve.

She wraps both arms around you instantly.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, pressing her cheek gently against your hair.

Natasha glances over.

Something in her gaze softens.

Then she starts driving again.

Slow.

Careful.

Like she’s carrying something fragile.

Like she knows she is.

-///-

Their home is warm.

That’s the first thing you notice.

Not just the temperature.

The feeling.

It’s quiet—but not empty. Soft—but not suffocating.

Wanda guides you inside, her hand never leaving you.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs again.

Natasha locks the door behind you, quick and automatic. Then she looks at you.

Really looks.

Her gaze lingers, taking in your face, your hands, and the way you’re standing.

“Hey,” she says gently, crouching slightly so she’s closer to your level. “When was the last time you ate?”

You blink at her.

You don’t know.

Or maybe you do.

But it feels too far away to explain.

Your shoulders lift in a small shrug.

That’s enough.

Natasha glances at Wanda.

Wanda’s expression softens immediately. “Okay. Food first.”

You sit at the kitchen table, feet dangling slightly above the floor.

The chair feels too big.

Everything does.

But the kitchen smells warm.

Safe.

Natasha sets a plate down in front of you.

Dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

You stare at them.

Really stare.

“Don’t worry, it’s chicken, not dinosaur,” Wanda says softly, a small smile tugging at her lips as she folds laundry at the end of the table.

Your eyes flick up to her.

Then back to the plate.

“Mm,” Natasha hums, settling into the chair beside you. “You say that, but you also insisted heart-shaped pasta tastes better.”

Wanda glances at her. “It does taste better.”

“It’s the same pasta.”

“It’s not the same experience.”

Natasha huffs quietly, something almost like a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Right. Of course.”

You let out a small sound before you can stop it.

A soft, surprised giggle.

Your hand flies to your mouth immediately, like you need to hide it.

But it’s already there.

They both look at you.

Not sharply.

Not suddenly.

Just… gently.

Wanda’s smile softens.

Natasha’s expression shifts—something warmer, quieter.

Neither of them makes a big deal out of it.

They just… let it exist.

And then Wanda goes back to folding.

Natasha stays beside you.

Like nothing’s changed.

Like everything has.

Your hand moves slowly toward the plate.

Careful.

Uncertain.

You pick one up.

Take a bite.

You try to go slow at first.

You really do.

But your hands move faster than you mean them to.

Bite after bite.

Like if you don’t eat it now, it might disappear.

Natasha doesn’t interrupt.

Doesn’t reach in.

Doesn’t tell you to slow down.

She just shifts slightly closer.

Grounding.

Present.

Wanda notices next.

Her hands still for just a second before she quietly reaches for a napkin, placing it within your reach without a word.

No pressure.

No attention drawn.

Just… there.

“Hey,” Natasha murmurs after a moment, her voice low and steady. “It’s okay.”

You freeze for a second.

Still chewing.

“There’s more,” she adds gently. “You don’t have to rush.”

You nod quickly.

A little too quickly.

She doesn’t comment.

Just stands, moving back to the counter.

There’s a quiet clink of a plate.

The soft sound of more food being set down.

No hesitation.

No questions.

When she sets it beside you, her hand lingers for half a second near your shoulder.

Not touching.

Just close.

“I’ve got you,” she says quietly.

Something in your chest tightens.

But it’s not sharp.

Not like before.

Wanda glances up at Natasha, then at you.

And there’s something unspoken in the look she gives her.

Something soft.

Something certain.

Wanda steps closer, brushing lightly past Natasha as she moves.

Her hand rests briefly against Natasha’s side—familiar, absent-minded.

“You’re hovering,” she murmurs.

Natasha exhales softly. “I’m not hovering.”

“You are a little,” Wanda says, but not unkindly.

A pause.

“…it’s okay, though,” she adds quietly.

Natasha doesn’t answer.

But she stays right where she is.

Close.

And you keep eating.

Slower now.

Because for the first time—

You believe it won’t be taken away.

It’s only after you’ve finished eating that Natasha notices.

The smudge of something on your cheek.

The dirt still caught under your nails.

The way your sleeves hang stiff.

Natasha moves to look at Wanda, only to find Wanda already watching her.

“Okay,” Wanda says gently, stepping closer. “How about we get you cleaned up a little?”

You hesitate.

Just a second.

Then nod.

-///-

The bathroom fills with steam.

Warm.

Soft.

You sit in the tub, water wrapping around you, and for a moment you just… stay still.

Let it happen.

Wanda kneels nearby, her voice soft and steady as she talks about nothing—about school, about flowers, about things that don’t hurt.

Natasha moves quietly in and out, grabbing what she needs.

Towel.

Cream.

At one point, she pauses, watching you for a second.

Making sure you’re okay.

You glance at her.

She gives you a small smile.

It stays.

After, everything feels… lighter.

Not fixed.

But softer.

You stand in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, while Wanda gently helps you into one of Natasha’s shirts.

It’s huge.

It swallows your form.

You glance down at yourself, unsure.

Wanda smiles. “Looks perfect.”

“Alright,” Natasha says, leaning lightly against the counter. “Come here a second.”

You step closer.

She holds up a toothbrush.

You hesitate.

Then step closer anyway.

“Open,” she says gently.

You do.

And then—

She starts brushing your teeth.

Carefully.

Slowly.

And—unexpectedly—

She starts humming.

Then quietly singing.

“Brush, brush, make them shine, Top and bottom, take your time…”

Your eyes widen slightly.

You weren’t expecting that.

“…little circles, nice and neat— Gotta take good care of teeth.”

A small sound escapes you before you can stop it.

A giggle.

It surprises you.

It surprises her too because she pauses for half a second, then—she smiles.

Really smiles.

Soft. Warm. A little amused.

“There it is,” she murmurs. “Knew you had more of those.”

Your face feels warm.

But not in a bad way.

-///-

Afterwards, stand awkwardly in the hallway.

“There’s a room you can use,” Wanda says gently, opening a door.

You look inside.

The bed.

The space.

The quiet.

Your chest tightens.

Too quiet.

Too alone.

You take a small step back.

“I—”

Your voice shakes.

“I don’t want to be by myself.”

The words come out barely above a whisper.

But they’re clear.

Wanda doesn’t hesitate.

“Okay,” she says immediately.

Natasha nods once. “That’s okay.”

They don’t question it.

Don’t push.

Just… accept it.

-///-

You find yourself in their bed, full and clean.

Your legs are tucked under you while you absently play with the wedding ring on Natasha’s finger as she sits beside you.

You twist it gently, careful, like you’re not sure you’re allowed but hoping you are.

She doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t even comment.

Just lets you.

Wanda stands behind you, gently brushing your hair.

Slow strokes.

Working through tangles without pulling.

“You’re being very patient,” she says softly.

You nod a little.

Your focus is on the ring.

The way it catches the light.

The way it spins.

Natasha and Wanda talk quietly above you.

Low voices.

Calm.

You don’t understand all of it.

Something about calls. Paperwork. Tomorrow.

But their voices are steady.

Not sharp.

Not scary.

Just… there.

Wanda’s fingers begin to braid your hair, movements careful and rhythmic.

You lean slightly into the feeling without realizing it.

Into the warmth.

Into them.

And for the first time, everything feels slow.

Safe.

Yours.

Even if just for tonight.

-///-

The cake is a little uneven.

You notice that first.

The frosting swirls aren’t perfect, and one side dips slightly like it leaned too long, but it’s still the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

Because it’s yours.

“Okay,” Wanda says softly, setting it down in front of you, a small smile on her face. “Ready?”

You nod, even though your chest feels full in a way you don’t completely understand.

Natasha stands just behind you, one hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“Make a wish, baby,” she murmurs.

You close your eyes.

You don’t even have to think about it.

Then you blow out the candles.

Wanda claps softly, laughing a little. Natasha’s hand squeezes your shoulder once, and when you look up at her, she’s smiling—small, but real.

“Presents?” Wanda asks.

You nod again, a little more excited this time.

There aren’t many.

But that doesn’t matter.

Wanda hands you a small box first. Inside is something soft, a sweater in your favourite colour.

You smile, hugging it close.

“Thank you, Mom,” you say quietly.

Her eyes soften instantly.

Natasha hands you the last one.

It’s not wrapped like the others.

Just a folder.

You tilt your head slightly. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” she says gently.

You do.

At first, the words don’t make sense.

They’re too big. Too official.

Then you see it.

Your name.

Their names.

Together.

Something shifts.

Something settles.

You look up, your hands tightening slightly on the paper.

“…Mama?” you whisper.

Natasha’s expression softens completely. “Yeah.”

You turn to Wanda, your voice smaller now but steady.

“…Mom?”

She nods, her eyes shining. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

Your grip on the paper loosens as you move forward without thinking, wrapping your arms around both of them.

And this time—

You know you’re not going anywhere.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in each chapter.

01 ⎯⎯ㅤ⁞⁞⁞ㅤ Prologue ㅤ୭ৎ

02 ⎯⎯ㅤ⁞⁞⁞ㅤ coming soon! ㅤ୭ৎ

Unfortunately, Alexia was moving way too slowly, and it looked like she had never once been expected to do teamwork, which was a shame for a player of her aptitude.

"Alexia," you said for what had to be the tenth time, pulling off the elastic band from your side of the fitted sheets while watching her struggle with hers for the last two minutes. "Have you ever changed a fitted sheet once in your life? Why the hell is it taking you so long?"

"Of course I have!" She scoffed. 

You raised an eyebrow, and she folded.

"The elastic on this one is ridiculously tight, okay?! I have to stick my hand under the mattress," She held up her fingers in protest. "And I got my nails done yesterday. I don't want to ruin them!"

You blinked at her. "You cannot possibly be serious right now."

Suddenly, there was an impatient knock on the door, and Alexia let go of her side of the mattress. Of course she did. 

You closed your eyes tight, breathing in and out to not scream at her.

While Alexia wandered off towards the door, you walked to where she was once standing to do the (very, extremely) simple work of removing the fucking fitted sheets off yourself. 

All the while, a voice you knew very well called out from the other side of the door.

"Open up! We need to leave soon!" Clara's voice was sunny, and buoyant and utterly unwelcome, well, at least, by your part.

You froze in place with a handful of fitted (damp) sheets gripped tightly in your fist. "Oh no–"

Alexia apparently did not seem to understand that this was possibly the worst time to let a nineteen-year-old into the room. Instead, she smiled at the sound of Clara's voice and reached for the lock before you could mutter a word of protest. 

If she had taken one single look at your face, she would have seen the panic written all over; she would have noticed your eyes widening, the internal screaming for her to step away from the door immediately, but since she did not, the door swung open, and your lovely sister walked right in.

Clara was as cheerful as she was the last time you saw her on the pitch, except now she wore clean clothes instead of her dirty match kit. The kid took one step into the room, and her eyes quickly landed on you. 

You gulped, forcing a smile that did not come. Judging by the way Clara's eyebrow immediately lifted, you were probably frowning instead of smiling.

Your sister paused and narrowed her eyes. You could see that Clara instantly sensed your distress, like a shark sensing a droplet of blood in the ocean. Very slowly, very Hollywood-like, her gaze drifted to the now-bare, stripped mattress. 

You watched colour draining from her cheeks, her pale face turning to Alexia, who was just beaming, wholly oblivious to the situation happening around her.

"Hi, Serra!" Alexia greeted her happily, leaning against the wall next to the entrance,

She was treating Clara as if they hadn't seen each other in months instead of hours. Cute… completely adorable! But also deeply unhelpful! Where was her sense of urgency?! 

"Did Patri tell you what time she was meeting us or–?"

"Deu meu! No!" Clara's jaw dropped a centimetre per millisecond. "Please, por favor, don't tell me you two just–"

"Oh… perfect," You groaned as a furious blush rushed out from your neck all the way to the capillaries of your cheeks. You quickly threw the balled-up sheet and shoved it inside the wardrobe just to get it out of sight. "Clara, just close your eyes and try to pretend you didn't see the sheets, okay?"

Alexia stood perfectly still for a moment, slowly taking in the situation. But then, it all clicked in her head: Clara's reaction, the bed, and finally, what exactly you two had been doing before Clara walked in that resulted in you two having to strip the bed—

"Oh. Oh…" she said, her smile faltering. "Mmnn. S-sorry Serra, I don't think I should let you in…just yet."

You looked at Alexia deadpan, crossing your arms. "Oh, you think, Putellas?"

"Ay!" She protested, pouting. "Don't last-name me, mi amor! I was just excited to have the girls here, and I thought Patri was with‐"

"It's been less than an hour since we got to the hotel," Clara interrupted, looking like someone who had seen disgraceful things. "How can you two have already had sex?"

You and Alexia exchanged looks for a second, and then both of you looked at the girl.

"That's… that's actually plenty of time to–" Alexia began responding, right at the same moment Clara clamped both her hands over her ears.

"Ew!!" Clara said, offended, practically jumping backwards. "Don't tell me the details! That's so disgusting! What's wrong with you?!"

"You were the one who asked the question-?" Alexia pointed out, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Sí, pero–"

"Can the two of you please stop talking about this!" you interrupted loudly while wrestling a clean sheet onto the mattress. "Why does everything always seem to circle back to my sexual life!"

"My?" Alexia gasped, looking completely offended. "Excuse me? Our. I'm part of your sexual life!"

"I'm going to puke," Clara gagged. "I'm serious… I'm so nauseous."

"Please do so in the hallways and not in our room, por favor," Alexia replied, gesturing rather dramatically toward the open door, as if having to clean vomit would be the greatest inconvenience imaginable. You were a doctor, you were kind of familiar with it, so it wouldn't be that bad, right?

But Clara didn't move. Instead, her eyes widened even more, squinting intently at your collarbone  "Y/n… Is that a– a hickey!?"

You felt your stomach drop as though someone had put stones on it. Your hand flew up on pure instinct to cover your throat before you even thought about it. You hadn't had the chance to put on concealer yet. "No, it's not."

"Then why are you covering your neck?" Clara challenged, crossing her arms.

"B-because–"

Before you could come up with a more convincing lie, Clara turned entirely to Alexia, looking unimpressed. "Really, capi?" she asked. "In the neck? That's such a beginner move… Everyone can see it."

Alexia tilted her head, looking pretty offended "Excuse me? Beginner move? she pointed at herself. "I'm thirty-two!"

"Do you want to tell me something, Clara?" You interrupted, your own eyes at your youngest sister, who, seemingly, overnight, had become suspiciously knowledgeable about the art of giving hickeys.

"Ugh, no!" Clara said, blushing creeping up her cheeks, while she held her hands up defensively. "No! Of course not, mana!" her eyes darted away. "We can actually go back to talking about the fact that my captain was all over my sister!"

"Or," Alexia countered, a slow and dangerous smirk shining across her face as she sensed Clara's panic. " We can talk about you, Serra, and why you seem to know so much about the appropriate, hidden location to give people hickeys. 

Clara blushed so deeply and so rapidly that you became genuinely concerned about her blood pressure… Interesting, very interesting. You stared at her, making a mental note and snapping it into a place in your brain. You were definitely going to sit her down for a very long, very serious talk the second you got back from Oslo.

"Okay, stop!" you commanded, throwing your hands in the air. "No more talking about puking, and no more talking about sex, and no absolutely no more talking about hickeys!"

"Yes, Yes! Please, let's not talk about that ever again!" Clara agreed, clearly thrilled to have the spotlight off her own (possible) love life. 

Her enthusiasm only made her look guiltier. 

But then, in a change of mood of a true teenager, she looked towards Alexia, a smile shining bright on her face. 

"...And how's my favourite three time Bollon d'or doing?" Clara asked cheerfully, stepping forward to give Alexia a playful punch on her arm. "After today's game, you'll definitely win it, I can already see itAa Can I go with you? Please? To the red carpet?"

Alexia let out a dramatic huff, rolling her eyes as she walked into the bathroom. "There's no red carpet yet, Serra. You know I don't like it when you guys-"

"Yes! Yet!" Clara said. "You said yet. That's the spirit, capi!"

"Oh Dios mío," Alexia rolled her eyes.

"She's gonna win it, you know?" Clara whispered loudly to you and ignored the captain's attempt to modesty as she trailed behind Alexia into the bathroom. "Your novía is going to be a three-time ballon–"

"I can hear you, Serra," Alexia called out from the mirror.

You glanced over and found her frowning at her reflection while fixing her hair. Her expression should be annoying, but the faint smile tugging at her mouth ruined the whole effect completely. 

"-Loud and clear," she continued. "Stop, yeah?"

Clara grinned, and you couldn't help but grin too. 

The girls never missed a single opportunity to tease Alexia about her achievements, and despite all her complaining, she secretly seemed to enjoy it far more than she liked to admit, and you found that utterly hilarious. 

In the end, you realised a million things were happening at once: a possibly secret relationship brewing in your younger sister's life, a few too many (poorly hidden) hickeys burning on your neck, and an entire squad waiting downstairs while your girlfriend and your sister continued squabbling like siblings. 

But right now, your most pressing concern was getting your makeup done before the team bus left without you.

Both Alexia and Clara ended up crowded around the bathroom counter to finish their hair and makeup side by side. You leaned your shoulder against the doorway, simply watching with a small smile on your face. 

Alexia was so unbelievably patient and sweet with Clara. She shared her (expensive!!) products without complaining, gently helping her blend her blush the right way and correcting Clara whenever she got too impatient and tired and rushing through it. 

Watching the two of them together like that made you fall even deeper in love with Ale. A dangerous thought erupted in your chest without warning, making you wonder about future life with Alexia, one that involved living together. It made you wonder about (eventually) having a small version of her with those same hazel eyes clinging to your legs and calling you mama.

The image hit you so unexpectedly that you quickly shook your head, clearing the thoughts away. That was definitely not a conversation meant for right now. It was a conversation for a much, much older version of yourself… right?

In fact, you were so thoroughly blinded by love and distracted by your rather alarming thought that you completely missed the moment Alexia decided to pick up her phone and started an Instagram Live. 

Yes. 

Out of the two of them, Alexia was the one who chose to do it. 

This was a very unusual day.

"Hola culers!!" Clara beamed instantly as Alexia handed her the phone, only for Clara to focus the camera right back on the captain again. 

"Ay, no, no! Point it somewhere else," Alexia mumbled, waving her hand and leaning into the mirror to focus on applying her lipstick. "I don't like cameras."

Despite being literally one of the biggest names in women's football, Alexia was always shy whenever attention was directed solely at her.

It was ridiculous and incredibly endearing.

"It's your live and you don't even want to be in it?!" Clara asked, looking absolutely scandalised. "You're making your fans sad, Alexia!" 

"Fans, Serra? Please," Alexia laughed, shaking her head as she pressed her lips together to even out the lipstick. 

You chuckled from your spot in the doorway, and both of them snapped their heads to look at you at the exact same time. As if only now they remembered your presence.

Alexia paused, lipstick still held mid-air. The bathroom lighting was incredibly warm, hitting the sharp line of her jaw and making her look unfairly pretty.

You stared at her, your heart doing somersaults. 

You were definitely, absolutely going to have more sex tonight. In every possible position. Bedding be damned. Your back too.

"Guys!! Look who is here!"Clara immediately redirected the phone toward you. "This is my real hermana mayor! Say hi!! Oh, and be kind, yeah? she's a little shy." [Older sister]

You, just like Alexia, did not enjoy cameras.

On instinct, you spun around to escape being filmed… only to walk directly into a wall of a body. Patri had apparently let herself into the room at some point and was now standing right behind you. 

Great. 

Alexia's room was the official gathering point for the late-to-the-party teammates.

"Holaa chicas!" Patri smiled, her strong hands instantly grabbing your arms before you could take another step. "Can we go–Oh! Are you guys on live?" Her face lit up. "I want to be in it, too!"

She steered you back into the bathroom doorway with zero resistance to your protests, presenting you squarely in front of Clara and the phone as if you were the one who asked to participate in the live, and not her.

"Patri, no," You argued.

"Yes!" Clara and Patri said together.

"Jesus," you muttered, looking anywhere but at the screen. You looked so ugly up close! Damn, front cameras need to be destroyed.

"This is my mana," Clara continued cheerfully, shoving the phone close to your face as if you were not currently being held physically in place against your will.  "And this is my hermana mediana, Patri!!"

Patri smiled and leaned down to press a kiss on the top of Clara's head, then smoothly lifted the phone out of the nineteen-year-old's hands and turned the focus onto herself. "Serra was incredible today, right guys? Her and La Reina–"" 

You glanced at Alexia. 

She always went a little quiet when she heard that nickname, a faint blush appeared on her neck, a small dip of her head, like she still didn't quite know what to do with it, even after all this time. 

You kept your expression very neutral, digging your fingers into the doorframe to hold yourself back from crossing the room and kissing her.

"Are you the only one ready, y/n?" Patri asked, glancing at you with a grin, while Clara successfully wrestled the phone back in her own hand and went right back to chattering with it. 

You nodded.

"She's very efficient," Alexia said from the mirror, her eyes catching yours in the reflection. 

"I'm not efficient," you countered, voice low and shy, trying to ignore the spike of heat in your cheeks. "You and Clara just take double the time."

"Of course they do," Patri agreed, and without further warning, she reached out and took both Clara's and Alexia's faces in her hands at the same time, ruthlessly squeezing their cheeks together.  "Look at these two. Baby doll faces… munequitas!" [Dools]

Clara laughed loudly, the camera tilting. Alexia smiled awkwardly, blushing even deeper, completely helpless against the grip of her midfield partner.  

"Párate," Alexia mumbled, mortified, trying to swat Patri's hand away, but smiling nonetheless. [stop]

Clara was already scrolling through the comments on the live, squinting so hard at the screen that you were half tempted to confiscate the phone and send her to an eye doctor.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Someone just asked if Alexia always takes this long to get ready-?"

"I don't," Alexia said at the same time Patri said, "Yes."

Alexia shot her a grumpy look, and Patri smiled at her innocently.  Clara, meanwhile, continued to move through the comments. 

"Who is this girl? Guys!" She sounded offended."I already told you, she's my sister, like… my blood-related sister! We have the same last name!" 

Without any warning, she swung the camera towards you, catching you off guard again and making you recoil immediately. "Clara, stop it."

"She's a doctor, too!" Clara continued. "Do you want to come say hi, mana? Show the world your face?"

You shook your head immediately, hiding being Patri. "No." 

"Aw," Clara pouted, looking absolutely devastated. "Why not! Please, please, please!!"

"Just one hi, mi sol," Alexia said softly.

The words left her mouth before she could stop them, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror again. For a brief moment, neither of you reacted.

"You're gonna make the kid sad," she added, her voice dropping low, the usual cadence she reserved only for when you were both alone.

Mi sol.

Mi sol.

Mi sol.

Your mouth hung open, you looked at the phone, then at Alexia's obvious face. You lifted an eyebrow, trying to signal to her with your eye, "abort mission". 

"I- Mhm… S-she can handle a little sadness from time to time," you said back, your voice way too tight as you tried to pivot the conversation away from the term of endearment. "Y-you both spoil her far too much." 

"The people can hear everything you're both saying," Clara announced, more specifically to Alexia. She said it with the precise timing of a pest of a younger sibling who had been waiting for this. 

"W-what?" you asked.

"The whole… mi sol thing." Then she put her hand under the mic and whispered. "People are commenting about it!"

The bathroom went horrifyingly quiet. 

You and Alexia locked eyes in the mirror. Then, slowly, you both dropped to the phone, the live stream was still running perfectly, and the comments were scrolling faster than anyone could read them.

Mi sol. Mi sol. Mi s–

The eye contact with Alexia lasted longer than it should have. She had called your pet name, so… naturally. The atmosphere between you shifted into something awkward, of two people trying very hard to act normal and of course, failing spectacularly on it.

Alexia cleared her throat, suddenly becoming very interested in her makeup sponge. You, on the other hand, found a very tiny spot on the bathroom tiles that clearly required your absolute attention.

Patri looked between the two of you, then at Clara, then burst out laughing. It echoed off the walls and absolutely did not help the situation at all. If anything, it made it worse.

"I-I think I'm going to wait in the bedroom," you muttered, already turning on your heel to escape. 

Behind you, Clara was calling your name in a whine,e and Patri was still cackling, and Alexia had said nothing at all. But when you caught her eye one last time, she had her lips pressed together, staring very hard at her face in the mirror to keep from smiling.

You walked back out and collapsed onto the mattress, hoping for a single second of peace. But guess what happened once you settled into the warm and clean blankets? 

Salma walked straight into the room without knocking. It looked like Patri hadn't bothered to latch the door when she arrived. Salma, already visibly tipsy and glowing from the win, immediately threw herself at you, wrapping you in a massive bear hug.

"Mira, si no es la otra Serrajordi", she beamed into your ear. It was always a little weird hearing the player call you by your last name; usually, you just hear it around the hallways of the hospital back home. "How was the experience of the post-victory, huh?" [Look, it's the other Serrajordi]

You loosely pointed a finger toward the open bathroom door where Alexia's, Clara's and Patri's voices were echoing. The worst possible," you mumbled while rubbing your temples. "They are on li–"

"Estan en live?!" 

It seemed like your worst nightmare was Salmas'greatest joy.

She sprinted into the bathroom, and a second later, all you heard was a mix of laughter, screaming and teasing. Through the noise, you could hear Clara saying that Kika told her that everyone else was waiting for them to go to the bar. 

Usually, you were very good at finding your place in things. You were very good at minding your own business. But sitting out on the bed alone,  hearing the girls laugh while you waited… felt a little weird.

At the same time you wanted to be closer to Clara and Alexia, you were well aware that the internet would hyper-analyse every single frame of you and Ale together. So, you were taking one for the team.

Alexia, seemingly possessing super girlfriend powers, chose that exact moment to walk out of the bathroom. She shut the door behind her, locking the girls inside, and walked in your direction. 

She was wearing her dark blue champions shirt, just like every other girl on the squad. Her brunette hair was down, falling around her shoulders. She looked so breathtakingly pretty that you entirely forgot there were other people currently screaming in the next room over.

"Hey, guapa," she said softly. 

She reached down, taking your hands in her warm palms and gently pulling you closer to her. She forced you to sit upright on the edge of the bed, and since she was standing right on the floor at the edge of the mattress, she was towering over you perfectly. 

She stepped into your space, resting her chin right on top of your head and pressing a long and lingering kiss into your head.

"Why do I feel like your social battery is gone before we have even made it to the club?" she murmured.

"That's usually my baseline state after interacting with my sister for more than ten minutes," you mumbled into her shirt. You wrapped your arms around her waist, burying yourself in her before tilting your chin up onto her sternum to look up at her. "Sorry. I can't help it."

"Maybe with a few drinks in, you'll feel a little better," she suggested, a lazy, teasing smirk on her face as her thumb brushed your jawline.

"I can't drink," you said with a sigh. "My tolerance is practically zero."

"You can have one," she insisted softly, her eyes filling with affection.  "I'll take care of you. I promise I won't let you dance on top of tables or anything."

You chuckled, the tension in your shoulder starting to melt. Okay, maybe a drink or two would be nice. "How generous of you."

"I know," she said. "I'm a sweetheart."

For a moment, neither of you said anything, but then her smile faded slightly. 

"You are not mad, right?" she asked after a second, her teasing tone disappearing, turning hesitant, the change was very subtle, but of course you nodded it immediately. 

You frowned slightly, super confused at the shift. "Mad about what?"

"That I called you mi sol…?" she explained. "In the live, just now? I didn't mean to, it just… came out."

"Oh, of course not, love," you said immediately. "Of course I'm not mad. I mean, we've been together for months now. People are going to find out at some point."

"So you don't really mind," she pressed, looking way too vulnerable for a woman who had just won the champions league. "Being seen with me… like that?"

Instead of answering with words, you held onto her waist and firmly pulled her down. She let out a gasp as she fell right on top of you, her body pinning you.

Lying there under her, you were acutely aware of the muffled voices and laughter still coming from the bathroom, making the proximity feel entirely too reckless. "Never," you said, looking right into her eyes so she could see you meant it.

"Never, baby, I'm only like that because I love what we have so much, and I want to keep it just ours for as long as we can, okay? And… yeah, the public and the media scare me. I mean… not even my Instagram is public, so seeing this many people constantly watching you… watching Clara… It scares me. But it is never, ever, about you, Ale."

She smiled so beautifully, a look of relief flashing across her face, so much so that you couldn't help but reach up to kiss her. You parted your lips, testing her tongue as your hand came up to cup her jaw, pulling her further down to deepen the kiss. 

"My lipstick," she mumbled weakly against your mouth, though she wasn't actually trying to pull away. "You're going to completely ruin it."

"Mhm," you hummed. "Don't care."

"I spent a few minutes putting it on."

"I still don't care, Ale."

She smiled into the kiss and rolled her eyes, surrendering completely as she came back down to press her mouth to yours again. "Qué pesada eres, bebé," she muttered fondly. [you are so annoying, baby]

Even so, she leaned down again as your other hand slid down her back, moving lower to cup her ass over her jeans, pulling her hips flush against yours.

"Want you," you whispered, pout on your face.

"I know mi amor, but we can't–"

Like a bucket of ice being thrown directly over your head, the loud voices in the bathroom became calmer, and you heard the girl shouting goodbye to the live stream.

Alexia scrambled up from on top of you with the reflexes of a true professional athlete. She smoothed down her shirt and hurriedly walked to the vanity, correcting her lipstick with her thumb.

You sat up straight, smoothing down your shirt. 

The second the girls walked into the room, Clara immediately rolled her eyes while Patri and Salam exchanged highly amused smirks.

"What?!" you snapped defensively, your voice way too loud and fast. "What are you guys looking at? Vamos, the bus is going to leave us–"

"Chica," Patri interrupted, walking right past the bed, casually patting your shoulder, a look of mock pity written all over her face. "You have lipstick on your nose."

Your cheeks turned a deep crimson. You hissed out and raised the back of your hand to aggressively wipe at your nose, wishing the hotel floor would succumb with you.  "Oh fuck me," you said, more to yourself.

"You couldn't wait until after the club?" Salma smirked at you before shifting her gaze to wink at Alexia through the mirror. Alexia's shoulders went rigid, her cheek pink. "Damn, at this point I'm just going to start calling you two Lover girls."

"Please do not," Clara groaned, throwing her hand over her face.

By the time you arrived at the club, the panic of the Instagram Live disaster  – and the whole being caught thing – had mostly dissolved beneath the sound of reggaeton music and a few (too many) sugary drinks.

Barcelona had rented out a private venue exclusively for the squad, the staff, and their families. There were easily around a hundred people packed into the space, creating a dense sea of bodies in wildly different stages of drunkenness. Everyone was dancing, drinking and eating… simply having a good time.

Blue and red lights were shining over the room, but they were dim enough that you could barely make out anyone's face, which was honestly ideal. The team had a silent agreement about not taking photos or videos during the later hours of the party, when everyone was drunker than they should be, with mascara running down their cheeks, lipstick smudged, inhibitions lowered, and composure long abandoned. 

All the couples on the team were scattered around the club, completely unbothered as they kissed and danced freely now that the pressure of the cameras and public appearances had disappeared.

The atmosphere completely stripped away your usual reservedness, too.

You were tucked into a dimly lit booth beside Alexia, the heat of her body pressed against yours. You leaned your head back, looking around the room in search of Clara, but your sister was entirely occupied in the far corner of the club, laughing and dancing with the younger girls.

You turned back to Alexia. The alcohol humming pleasantly through your veins made you bolder than usual. Without really thinking about it, you leaned in, caught her jaw in your hand, and pressed your lips against hers. 

Alexia went completely stiff. She was clearly not expecting it. You had never, ever kissed her in a public place before. 

Even if the club was private, the reality of having her mother, your sister, her manager, and practically her entire professional circle in the same room usually kept both of you firmly on your best behaviour,  private, but, as it was obvious, tonight you seemed determined to break several rules at once.

The size of the crowd only made it feel more intimate; everyone was so wrapped up in their own celebrations that no one was paying any attention to the two of you tucked away. 

When you finally pulled back, the tables had completely turned. Now, you were the one pouting, staring at her with heavy, dissatisfied eyes.

"Kiss me, baby", you whispered, your fingers tightening slightly against her jaw. "Why don't you kiss me back? Don't want me?"

Alexia's pupils were blown wide, her breath hitching as she glanced nervously over your shoulder, but she made no attempt to move your hands away.  

"There are people here, mi sol," she murmured, her voice low. She said it as if you had forgotten where you were, it only made you roll your eyes. "We can't-"

"I don't care, Ale," you said, rather bratty, as you shuffled closer until your knees bumped against hers. "I've been thinking about you since we left the hotel."

Alexia tilted her head, an incredibly fond smirk breaking through her as she took in your flushed cheeks. "I think you might be a little bit tipsy, cariño. When you told me you had a low alcohol tolerance, I thought you were being a bit dramatic," she paused. "but… I guess not."

You pouted harder, leaning your forehead against her shoulder.

"I've only had two drinks, baby," you mumbled, voice so sweet you barely recognised yourself. "I am sober enough, yeah? So please... just one kiss?"

That was all it took to break her. Alexia also folded for you, always.

With a resigned growl, she slid her hand gently around the back of your neck to pull you back to her. The kiss lingered a little longer than it probably should have. It was enough for the kiss to turn heated and far too intense for a room full of people. 

Alexia's lips parted yours easily, her tongue tasting like the expensive drinks she had also been drinking. She slipped her tongue in, interviewing with you, completely devouring you with a sudden, desperate hunger that made your cunt pulse with need. 

The touching and the kissing got dangerous too quickly, and Alexia had to be the one to forcefully drag herself away, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rested her forehead against yours.

"My mum is here, baby," Alexia reminded you softly, breathing against your lips, her grip on your neck still there. "Clara, too. We can't do this here, alright? Later, I promise. Just a couple of hours and we'll leave."

You whined at the loss of contact and leaned forward to tease her lower lip with your teeth, biting it gently and feeling her trembling. Alexia closed her eyes as if she were trying her hardest to be the responsible one.

You touched her jaw, and Alexia opened her hazel eyes. You looked up at her through your lashes, completely undone by the alcohol and her touch. You were horny, the horniest you've been. 

That was exactly why you didn't drink.

"Please, mi amor," you whispered, your voice small, breathless and desperate. "I need you now, Ale."

Alexia's gaze dropped to your mouth, her jaw tightening as she fought a losing battle against herself. You never did this; you were usually the cautious one, the one reminding her to behave, the one who always worried about who might be watching. 

But right now, you were looking at her like the rest of the room had disappeared, and Alexia was the only person that mattered. 

"Joder, Y/n," she muttered, shaking her head. "What happened to you, baby? Want me that bad?"

Before you could answer, she stood up and grabbed your hand. "Come on."

You let her pull you up from the booth, guiding you through the crowd. A few of her teammates stopped to talk to her, but Alexia was good at pretending she was just taking care of her drunk girlfriend. 

"Hey! Where are you going?" Kika asked near the bar.

"Taking this one out for some fresh air," Alexia said, giving your joined hand a subtle squeeze.

Kika smirked, her eyes flickering between the two of you. "Oh, alright."

Alexia kept walking before Kika could say anything else. Instead of heading to the balcony, she turned left to make for the bathrooms. The second the door closed behind you, you were entirely all over her.

You didn't know what had shifted inside you between the hotel room and the club, but something had. Maybe if it was the alcohol,  maybe the celebration, maybe watching Alexia simply relax for once.

Whatever it was, it made you suddenly consumed by an overwhelming need to just take Alexia apart, or be taken apart by her.

For the first time, you completely understood everything she had said back at the hotel about cannibalism being an act of pure adoration and bla bla bla. You wanted to take physical bites of her, bit by bit, until there was nothing left of Alexia but you.

The bathroom was private and small, one of those single-occupancy ones. It had just a toilet, a mirror, and a sink with a counter. You immediately backed her up against the counter, wrapping your arms tightly around her neck to drag her face down to yours.

"I'm wet," you whispered against her lips straightaway. "I'm all messy, Ale."

A sudden, fleeting flash of your usual shyness hit you,u but it also disappeared immediately. You knew exactly what you had to say to make Alexia lose that stiffness in her shoulders. Right now, you didn't want her tense; you wanted her to want you, too, to not hold back.

Alexia let out a low groan, her forehead falling against your shoulder as she fought for what little restraint she still had. 

"Mi amor," she muttered, a mix of exasperation and affection. "I really don't think we should be having sex in a dirty club bathroom..."

But you were far too whiny, far too needy to listen to her logic or her reasoning.

The alcohol and the unadulterated craving for her had completely taken over. Without breaking eye contact, you reached down to unbutton your jeans, shoving the fabric out of the way. 

You caught her hand in yours, your fingers locking around her wrist as you guided her hand down between your thighs, forcing her fingers to press right against your soaked underwear. 

"Look, look amor," you whispered. "Look, I'm so wet, Ale. For you, baby."

Alexia let out a sharp moan into your neck, her entire body tensing at the sensation of your warm and slick underwear. 

"Oh, cariño... joder—" she breathed, her fingers were already slicking with your wetness as you tilted your pelvis hard into her hand. 

"Please, Ale?" you whimpered, your voice small, broken abnd desperate as you looked up. "We can do whatever you want with me once we get to the hotel, but please, I just need you now."

That was her absolute breaking point. 

Alexia didn't say another word. 

With a possessive growl, she hooked her fingers into the elastic of your underwear and hauled the fabric aside. She lifted you easily, setting your hips onto the edge of the counter, and jammed two of her long fingers deep inside you.

"Oh, fuck–" you moan, your head rolled back against the bathroom mirror, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as Alexia immediately attacked your neck. 

She was kissing, biting, and licking your skin all over, claiming you while her long fingers began to move in a deep, punishing rhythm inside your tight walls.

You were so wet for her; the intrusion felt so pleasing, it was exactly what you needed. 

"Who would have thought that my girl would want to be fucked in a club bathroom, huh?" Alexia murmured against your skin, her fingers stretching you open effortlessly. "Any other fantasy you want to tell me?"

You whined, a sudden wave of warmth hitting your face that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "No teasing, Ale. Please–"

"No?" Alexia chuckled right against your ear, her fingers picking up the pace, curling deep inside you to find the exact spot that made your toes curl. "Por qué no? Estás tan mojada...no podías esperar a que volviéramos?" [Why not? You are so wet… You couldn't wait for us to go back?]

You were well aware ( and deeply embarrassed) of how completely desperate you sounded right now. 

Having sex in a public bathroom was such a juvenile, reckless thing to do, so completely out of character for you. Under normal circumstances, you would have been the first person pointing out all the reasons it was a terrible idea, but under her touch, you couldn't help it. Common sense had abandoned you entirely.

You were undone, your orgasm was so, so close. 

Desperate to ground yourself, you tangled your fingers into the hair at the nape of Alexia's neck, pulling her face away from your throat to bring her mouth directly to yours.

"Aah," you whined into the space between your lips. "I love you, baby. I love you, Ale."

Alexia truly was the softest person alive when it came to you. Hearing those words was all it took to completely shatter her teasing, dominant facade. 

Her breath hitched, her entire posture melting as she kissed you with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness that made your chest ache.

"I love you too, mi vida," she whispered against your mouth, her voice thick and entirely gone for you. "So, so much. My sweet girl. My love."

"Not sweet," you mumbled, tightening your walls against her fingers.

"Oh, you are," she said, kissing your cheek, your lips, her fingers working so gently now. "You really are, my love. You taste so good, too. I can't wait to eat you as soon as we get into the hotel, gonna bury my face in this sweet cunt of yours."

"Ale–" you gasped, your nails running down her clothed back. "Baby–I'm close."

"Sí?" She asked. "Vas a correr para mí, mi nena?" [Are you gonna cum for me, my girl?]

"Uhum," you nodded, pouting. "I'm so close… c-can I?"

"You cum whenever you want, my love," Alexia said, "I'm here, amor, cum for me."

Alexia fused her mouth against hers and swallowed your cries as her hand kept moving, driving you toward your climax. 

With her thumb pressing against your clit and her fingers thrusting inside your pussy perfectly, the friction became too much to bear. Your hips stuttered against the cold counter, your body arching into her hand as a orgasm took over you.

Your breathing was all wrong. Your heart was beating too fast. Alexia had broken you, or maybe you had broken yourself. 

You could feel your pulse against her fingers, still buried deep inside of you; seemingly, she didn't want to leave you.

When the haziness finally passed, when your body felt like your own, the silence of the bathroom rushed back in, broken only by your ragged breathing.

The alcohol-fueled boldness completely vanished, replaced by an acute, overwhelming wave of post-climax embarrassment. 

Slowly, you realised exactly what you had just demanded of her in a public venue, and immediately scrambled off the counter, frantically pulling your pants up and buttoning them with trembling, uncoordinated fingers. 

You couldn't even look her in the eye, your face burning crimson as you stared intensely at the sink. 

"I-I'm sorry. I-" You put your hand over your face. "I-I think I was.. a bit horny."

Alexia just stood there, entirely amused, taking a step closer to the sink to wash your slick fluids off her hands. "Oh, you think?" She said, smiling.

She rinsed her hands clean under the water, shook off the excess, and then leaned against the counter. The way she looked felt too pornographic. She watched you with a fond grin playing on her lips.

"You are awfully shy today, cariño," she teased softly, reaching out to gently pry your hands away from your face. "Come here, let me see that pretty face of yours."

You pouted, stubbornly refusing to look at her, keeping your eyes on the white floor. "No, don't look at me. I'm so embarrassed. We are never speaking of this again, alright? Let's forget this even happened."

Alexia just laughed, leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your burning cheek.

"Whatever you say, mi sol," she murmured, but then, she leaned even closer, her mouth closer to your ear. "But I'm never forgetting the way you came so pretty all over my fingers."

You groaned, mortified. 

Alexia stopped her movements to really look at you, taking in your flushed skin and rumpled clothes. Her expression softened into something that you could only call protective and attentive.

She knew exactly how your brain worked, as much as she loved teasing you, she didn't want to actually push your embarrassment past its limit. 

"Hey," she said tenderly, her index finger hooking into your belt loop. She gave a slight tug, bringing you closer. "Want me to help you clean up?"

Your head snapped up, your eyes wide. "I said stop teasing!"

"I'm not teasing amor," Alexia said, her voice calm and reasonable, which only made you more embarrassed. "You were very wet, and you always complain that it makes you uncomfortable afterwards, and we aren't exactly at home with our towels, so–"

Unfortunately. Alexia was right, the wetness spread on your inner thighs and dampening your underwear was already slick and cold, ready to become a sensory hell if you didn't do something about it. 

"Stop, stop talking about towels and-and me being wet, please," you mumbled, your voice dropping as you let her pull you completely forward by your belt loop.

Alexia looked down. "So… want me to help you, or do you want me to turn around?"

You swallowed hard, and with a hopeless voice, you said "Turn around, please."

You carefully checked both sides of the hallway before stepping fully out of the bathroom corridor. To your relief, nobody seemed to have noticed your absence at all; the party was still going strong.

Feeling tired by everything that had happened over the last few hours, you and Alexia decided to come back to the same booth near the back to just sit down for a bit.

The second you slid onto the seat, you buried your face straight into the crook of her neck, still confused and mortified by what had just possessed you in that bathroom.

Alexia noticed your sudden retreat, but she didn't make a big deal out of it. Instead, she chuckled softly and wrapped her arm around your waist. Her thumb slipped naturally beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing lazy circles directly against your skin while she pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

A waitress stopped by the table a moment later, putting a couple of glasses on it. Alexia thanked her and picked up one of the glasses before pressing the glass into your hand. 

"Drink," she murmured close to your ear. "Your lips are cracked, and it's hot here."

"No," you muttered into her skin, completely pouty and refusing to lift your head.

"Why not?" Alexia asked, her voice tinged with amusement.

"I am too embarrassed to look at you right now."

Alexia burst out laughing. "Baby, we have done way worse things than that before... don't be embarrassed."

"That's not helping."

"Perdon, perdon…" she chuckled, thinking for a second. "What about this: You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about?"

"I acted completely desperate," you groaned, hiding deeper into her neck.

"You were desperate," Alexia pointed out mercilessly. "Un poquito, sí." [A little, yes]

You rolled your eyes against her skin, your cheeks burning hot. "You are enjoying this way too much."

Alexia's grin was huge, completely wicked and proud as her thumb kept stroking your waist. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping into a smoky whisper that sent a fresh shiver straight down your spine.

"Claro que sí. Te has corrido dos veces hoy y soy la campeona de Europa... Tengo todo el derecho a disfrutarlo." [Of course I am. I made you cum twice today, and I'm a European champion… I have the right to enjoy this.]

☆ A/n: I hope you guys liked it! Once again I'm trying very hard to make this universe as realistic as possible, it's not very easy because I have to do a lot of thinking, so I'm honestly drained from all the writing i've been doing the last few days haha.

but oh I've been having a lot of thought about this universe lately, , ones that would add a bit of drama hehe.... because what if Clara was dating someone a bit too old for her? and oh! Reader just told me she got a job offer in england! hehe <3.....

the end! or is it? ;)

Online, the fans were completely split into two teams. Half of them thought you had come solely to support Clara, your younger sister, while the other half suspected you were there for Alexia, your rumoured girlfriend. 

None of them knew you were there for both.

It was Clara's first time playing in a Champions League final, and since your parents were far too "busy" to make it to the game, you had made sure she would have someone cheering for her in the stands. At the same time, it was the first opportunity you had ever had to travel and watch Alexia play anywhere other than Barcelona.

Two birds, one stone.

When the final whistle blew, you were in the stands wearing a Guijarro shirt. The shirt had been a very strategic decision on your part.

Alexia and Clara had both suffered absolute meltdowns at the mere thought of you wearing the other's number and name. There was no chance you were subjecting yourself to the humiliation of a half-and-half shirt either, so you had ended the argument by picking up Alexia's phone, texting Patri yourself, and asking if she could sort you out a shirt with her name on it.

Clara had retaliated by making sure you could hear Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo playing from her room for three days straight. It was, indeed, torture.

Alexia, meanwhile, had pouted and declared that you were officially banned from kissing, hugging, or holding her hand until you came home with a shirt with her name and number eleven on it. 

You did not cave. 

She lasted four hours without kisses, hugs, or hand-holding. You didn't mention it when she finally folded. You just smiled into her hair as she pulled you in, both of you pretending the temporary ban had never happened.

Your plan had never been to go down onto the pitch for the celebrations. 

You didn't want fans spotting you and Alexia together, which you knew would happen the second you were within a few meters of each other. You had told both Ale and Clara that beforehand, and they had agreed, after, of course, being babies about it.

But then the fans began to leave the stadium, the medal ceremony things were dismantled piece by piece, and the red and blue ribbons settled in the turf.

That's when you saw it.

Across the pitch, Alexia was laughing with her mum and uncle, tucked between them as if she were a little kid. A little further, Cata was wrapped up with her girlfriend and parents. Pina was surrounded by her mum and cousins, all of them talking over each other.

And then there was Clara. 

She stood all by herself, a gold medal hanging around her neck, quietly watching everyone else. It was long past the moment when teammates were celebrating with each other; now they had all turned toward their own families. And Clara's family consisted entirely of you and your brother, who hadn't been able to take time off uni to come. 

You felt your heart crack right down the middle, pieces of it falling in the stands. Before you could think better of it, before you could remind yourself why you had promised to stay in the stands, you were already moving towards the barrier.

You showed your credentials to the security guards, and they let you through without a second glance.

Clara didn't see you coming.

You caught her by surprise, wrapping your arms around her shoulders from behind. She gasped when she saw it was you, and you knew it was a sound you were going to carry around with you for a long time. 

She was just so, so happy.

The expression on her face reminded you of when she was younger, doing dance recitals. Back then, she would search for you in the audience because your parents thought those performances weren't worth attending. As she spun around inside your embrace, her smile looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago. Except now, with fewer baby teeth. 

You pulled her into a tighter hug, burying your face into her shoulder because, of course, she was taller than you despite being the youngest. The edge of her medal dug painfully into your sternum, but you ignored it. 

"I'm so proud of you, Clarita," you whispered, "Te quiero, mana."

"Te quiero," she replied, kissing your cheek. "Thank you for being here."

Neither of you moved for a long time, and although there were plenty of people around, talking nonstop, it felt like this tiny space between the two of you was the quietest place on the entire pitch.

"You said you wouldn't come down," Clara murmured, squeezing you even tighter. "You said we would meet back in the locker room."

"I was being silly," you said, smiling up to her as the bear hug finally came to an end. 

Your ribs were hurting. When had Clara gotten so strong?

You pulled back just enough to take the medal in your hands, turning it carefully. "I needed to see this medal up close, no?" You smiled. "You deserved it, bebé."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Don't call me bebé. I'm nineteen."

You ignored her completely as you reached up and pinched her cheeks. "Mi bebezota!"

"Urgh!" Clara groaned, trying to escape your grip. "Stop! You are embarrassing me"

A grin tugged at your lips. That was exactly what you wanted.

"People are watching, you know," she added.

People were watching indeed. Including Alexia.

It hadn't taken long for her to find you.

You obviously spotted her before she saw you; she was standing several meters behind Clara.

The moment her hazel eyes landed on you, something in her whole posture softened; a beautiful smile spread across her face even as she held herself carefully still, stiff, almost rigid. 

Her shoulders were far too straight, the professional façace held tightly in place. She, as much as you, was entirely aware of how many broadcast cameras were following her every move.

It was almost as if she were waiting for you to make the decision. 

Seeing her standing there, her temples covered in sweat that slipped down her collarbones, her face flushed from the game and from being smothered in her mother's affection, the identical gold medal that also adorned her neck....

She was pretty, and yours and the distance suddenly felt far too ridiculous to be taken so seriously. 

You patted Clara on the back when Syd and Aicha called her to take some pictures. After watching her go, you turned and started walking towards Alexia.

She smiled at you the entire way.

When you stopped in front of her, you immediately pulled her into your side. You were hyper aware of your surroundings, so you kept the gesture simple, safe and casual. 

You slid your arm around her shoulder, nothing more. You leaned in close enough for only her to hear, whispering a "mi campeona" right into her ear. Then you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

You hear her breath hitched, the puff of air that came out of her mouth was slow and warm against your neck as she instinctively leaned into you. She squeezed your waist just a second too long, just a fraction harder than any friend normally would.

"I thought you weren't coming down?" she murmured the exact same word Clara had said only moments earlier. 

"Mhmm," you whispered, reluctantly stepping away from her, putting a more friendly distance between you. "I changed my mind."

Behind her, Eli and her uncle were watching the interaction with matching smiles.

You had met Alexia's family a few months ago, and along with the team, they were among the very few people who knew exactly what you meant to her. Something much, much more significant than her protegé's sister. 

"Hola, mi amor!" Eli exclaimed, stepping forward and pulling you into a motherly hug, completely unconcerned by the cameras around you. "I'm glad you came down! I told you, it's fun being on the pitch after they win."

"Hey, Eli," you said, smiling and kissing both her cheeks. "You were, once again, completely right." 

You turned in a slow circle, taking in the stadium, taking in everything.

"Everything feels far too big down here." You turned to Alexia. "How can you even play? I feel so tiny, like an ant."

Alexia shrugged, a soft look in her eyes. She always got those whenever you and her mom were together. 

"You get used to it and--Mama! I told you I'm not cold" she pouted.

Alexia twisted away, trying to dodge as Eli attempted to drape a heavy coat over her shoulder. 

"But you are shaking, bebé!" Eli insisted.

"I'm not shaking, mama," Alexia protested, already blushing. "I'm just–"

Before she could finish, you felt an arm suddenly land over your shoulder, dragging you slightly sideways. 

"Guapa! Hi! look who's decided to join us. Got tired of hiding in your cave?" 

Patri's voice was excited; she was always the sweetest on the team. She looked like she had been to war and back, maybe for them footballers, the Champions League final really was war.

"Hola!!!" 

Another voice came. Kika appeared beside Patri, vibrating with energy, her dark hair sticking out in every possible direction. You knew those two would party a lot tonight.

Patri's brown eyes dropped to your back, her grin widening as she noticed the name printed across the fabric.

She looked over at Alexia, raising one eyebrow with mischief. 

"Look at that, Ale," Patri teased, patting your shoulder proudly. "Your girl knows talent when she sees it."

Alexia's eyes narrowed playfully, her lips pressing into a tight, pouting line as she stared at the Guijarro shirt covering your torso. She looked at you, her eyes shining with that possessive spark you had come to adore. To expect.

Kika laughed, leaning into Patri's side. "Oh no... capi's a bit mad."

"I'm not mad," Alexia countered smoothly, though her eyes never left yours. "It's a nice shirt. It just happens to have the wrong number on it.

By the time you made it back to the hotel, Alexia had been grinning ear to ear for approximately forty minutes straight. She knew perfectly well what the two of you were going to do once you set foot into the hotel room.

The team bus wasn't leaving for the club for another hour and a half, but Alexia did not seem particularly invested in the public celebrations anymore. At the moment, she appeared to be significantly more excited about kissing your entire face.

The door had barely clicked shut behind you before her hands were on your waist.

"I'm so happy you are here, mi sol," she whispered against your lips, her voice raspy, probably from running so much and whatever singing had taken place in the locker room afterwards.

She kissed you gently at first, and then deeper, before resting her forehead against yours, breathing in slowly. Breathing you in. 

"You looked pretty in the stands," she murmured. "My favourite fangirl."

"I'm your favourite even while in Patri's shirt?" You teased softly.

"Shut up," she murmured with a breathless laugh, not allowing you to mutter another word as she captured your mouth again, sucking your tongue.

"You won't be wearing it much longer, so enjoy it while you can."

You were fairly sure you would.

Her hands settled on your hips as she slowly guided you backwards through the room. There was something confident in her steps; they were so deliberate and confident, for a moment, it was easy to forget you were in a hotel a few kilometres away from her actual home in Barcelona. 

The back of your knee bumped against the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall onto it, with Alexia following right after.

You kissed her, tasting her champagne-tinged tongue, she felt weightless on top of you. 

Her captain's armband was still hugging her bicep tightly; of course, she hadn't taken it off. Once you had told her how much you loved it when she fucked you with it, she had started to keep it. Her heavy gold medal was still hanging around her neck, swaying between you like a pendulum.  

Alexia was exactly as good as she thought she was, completely dominant on and off the pitch. The way confidence seemed to be radiating off of her in a way that was equal parts dangerous and attractive.

Your hand travelled down to her lower back, your finger sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts to squeeze the firm flesh of her ass. You shifted under her, tilting your body just right to force her pelvis closer to yours.

"It was hot watching you play," you murmured against her mouth. 

You leaned up, caught her lower lip between your teeth, biting into it enough for you to hear a small whimper fall from her tongue. 

She pouted at you, her eyes hazy, unfocused. She was completely fixed on you, silently asking you to kiss it better.

You didn't make her wait, pulling her down once more. 

"Soy su campeona?" Alexia whispered into the narrow space between your mouth. Her voice sounded much smaller than usual, completely bewitched, and slightly tipsy. [Am I your champion?] 

"Si," you whispered, your hand clutching her ass. "Mine, only mine."

Alexia smiled and caught you in a kiss.

Her hot mouth trailed down the line of your jaw, dragging over the side of your throat. One hand guided your head gently aside as she found the hidden and sensitive spot right behind your ear, choosing to brand you there, sucking firmly until you knew it would leave a purplish mark.

A mix of a giggle and a gasp escaped you as your hand settled on her shoulders. "A hickey? Really? You teased. "How old are you? Sixteen?"

She huffed a laugh against your pulse point. "I deserved it, okay? I won the Champions League. I can do whatever I want today."

"Mhm," you hummed, tipping your head back a little further to give her entirely uninhibited access to do as she pleased. "I suppose you can do whatever you want with me, yes."

"Si?" She asked dangerously. 

Even without looking, you could feel the slow, coy smile pressing right against your jugular. 

"Uhum," you nodded as much as you could under her weight.

"Joder," she cursed, her breath hitching as the absolute submission in your voice sank in. Her hips shifted, rolling hard and against yours as she pinned you to the mattress. "Voy a correr si sigues diciendo eso." [I'm gonna cum if you keep saying that.]

She kept moving against you; it was clear that the confession made her turn absolutely relentless. She took off your shirt, leaving your torso bare. 

She pressed her body completely flush, the medal a cool contrast between your breasts, while the rough fabric of her armband brushed against your arm. Her mouth claimed yours once more, her tongue pushing deep, the taste of champagne still there. 

You could, somehow, feel her wetness through the fabric of her shorts, slick and hot.

Your fingers dug deeper into the meat of her ass, squeezing as you tilted your own body, forcing her pelvis to drag exactly where you needed. "You're so fucking hot, Alexia."

Alexia moaned low straight into the kiss, then broke it to trail her lips back to your neck, sucking another mark right beside the first.

"Mía," she murmured, voice dropping as her hips found a steady rhythm. [Mine]

Her clit was pressing and sliding against yours through layers of clothing. Her chest was absolutely perfect against yours. She nipped at your earlobe, her breath becoming faster and faster with every passing second. 

"Dilo otra vez," Alexia demanded, grinding harder. [say it again.]

You arched up to meet her, your hands roaming beneath her shirt to feel the sweat-slick skin of her back. She trembled when your fingers dug into the tense muscles there. 

"You can do whatever you want with me, baby," you breathed right into her ear. "Whatever you want, sí? I'm yours; you deserve it. I'm all yours tonight."

"Ah," she moaned, the medal clinked softly with every roll of her hips. "I want to fuck you nice and slow."

She was growing impatient with the barrier of clothes between you.

She shifted, yanking her shorts down just enough to bare herself before turning her attention to you, working at your clothes with impatient tugs until skin finally met skin. 

Finally, you were both completely naked.

When her bare pussy finally settled over yours, your folds parted wetly under the weight. She resumed the grind right away, clit to clit, moving in slow circles.

"Oh god, you feel so good," you gasped, eyes dropping to watch the way her slick coated you, it was so messy, so raw, so fucking delicious. Your eyes landed on her armband again and that only made you get wetter. "Damn, Alexia. You are fucking dripping baby."

"Joder, amor" She hissed again, her voice cracking as overstimulation hit her. "Tan mojada-" [you're so wet]

Still, she kept the pace even, riding the shared wetness, her body soft yet controlled as she chased the edge without rushing towards it. 

Her medal continues to swing between you, a constant reminder of the massive victory waiting just outside the hotel room.

Her hands slid up your arms before settling around your wrists, pinning them above your head.

"You get so bossy when you win," you manage to say, rolling your eyes. You loved it when she got more dominant.

Your head suddenly felt so heavy.

You weren't sure whether it was exhaustion, dehydration, or simply the overwhelming intensity of the day catching up with you. 

You were so overwhelmed with the way her body was touching every centimeter of your skin, how her kisses were getting sloppy and wet.

She was desperate, and you were, too. Your cunts were grinding, making a mess on both your bodies, the slickness dripping down her pussy right into yours, soaking you completely.

"I'm bossy and you fucking love it," Alexia shot back, moving her body carefully, trying not to crush you, but apply the right amount of pressure to your clit. "You are soaked, mi amor, all for me, huh"

She was, of course, right.

Keeping one wrist pinned above your head with one single hand, Alexia used the other to grip your thigh firmly, spreading it wider.

"Stay like that," she whispered while absolutely devouring your neck. "Don't you dare move."

Alexia shifted you as if you were a rag doll, moving your legs how she wanted until her cunt was aligned to her liking.

"Next time you wear my shirt, si?" she murmured, jealousy still thick in her voice as her cunt moved with yours.

She looked down at you, her eyes dark as she kept rutting against you. "Tengo mi coño pegado al tuyo, y todavía no llevas mi camiseta?" [My cunt is pressed against yours, and you're still not wearing my shirt?]

"Mhmm," you moaned. Fuck.

You were gonna cum.

"Tell me who is going to make you cum," she asked, as if reading your mind, her voice was low as she continued her movements.

The pleasure was becoming so intense, you were going to snap.

Alexia's dirty talk was way too good. Her pussy was pulsing over yours, all slick, dripping down to soak the white sheets between your thighs.

Alexia pinched your arm. "Ouch!" You gasped, caught between pain and pleasure.

"Who is rubbing your cunt? Me or Patri?"

"Y-you," you managed to say, breathless.

"Who marked your whole neck?" She asked again. "Who gets to have you naked in her hotel bed? Who, mi sol?"

The sensation pushed you over the edge right after, your body arching up into her as waves of pleasure took over you.

"F-fuck, Ale," your body was going limp, all warm as the orgasm took over. "You baby, you, always you."

Alexia, sensing your orgasm, rutted her cunt faster until she was climaxing all over you. "Oh, god–" she moaned in your ear.

She stayed exactly where she was afterwards, naked and beautiful on top of you.

Your pussies were still pressed together, warm and dripping. Alexia nuzzled lower until she found your breast, drawing the nipple into her mouth with slow and comforting pulls. 

Her tongue flicked lazily, her breath warm and even against your chest as she settled in, tasting the mix of sweat on your breast, while her fingers played with your other nipple. 

"You didn't answer my question," she mumbled from your breast after a minute.

"Ahn?" You asked, your mind far too dizzy. You hadn't even realised she was on your breast, when you did, pleasure began to grow again. "I did, no-?"

"You'll wear my shirt?" She asked, her words slightly slurred. "Next time? Please?"

"Oh," you said, nodding against the pillows, your voice still shaky from the climax, it was so… intense. You weren't sure you would ever regain all of your breath.  

"Yeah, of course. I mean…" A laugh escaped you. "After this, how can I not?"

Alexia made a pleased sound deep in her throat and kept her lips sealed around your nipple. Her body stayed relaxed on top of yours, her frame soft pressing down.

You realised it was probably the first time she felt at ease and relaxed since she woke up.

Her thumb continued to touch over your nipple, rubbing slow circles before giving it a gentle tug and roll between her fingers.

"We need to get ready for the club," you murmured eventually, your fingers threading through her now-brunette hair. "It's getting late."

She whined softly.

She sucked a little harder for a moment, refusing to lift her head. Her thumb kept playing, flicking and pinching the other nipple while her hips gave one lazy grind that made both of you shiver, your clits brushing.

"No..." she mumbled around the peak in her mouth. "Stay like this. Just a little longer."

"I can't be the reason you are late," you said with a chuckle, still combing your fingers through her hair. "It's not good for my reputation. I'm new to the Barcelona circle, the girls need to like me... they won't if I make their captain late."

"The girls will never think anything badly of you," Alexia said, her mouth finally unlatching. She rested her cheek against your chest, listening to your heart. "You are too sweet for that."

You chucked at that, staring at the beige hotel ceiling. Was it beige? Or had it once been white and simply not been cleaned properly in years. 

"Sweet? Me?" You chuckled. "Okay, maybe love really is blind."

Alexia looked up, frowning. "What? You are sweet, gentle, caring-"

You shook your head, a hint of a self-deprecating smile on your face. "I'm not bebé. I'm stressed all the time. I'm moody as soon as I wake up. I'm constantly worried about something or someone-"

"Because you care," Alexia interrupted instantly. 

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, no longer putting her full weight on you; she looked down at you with a very fierce expression. 

"You are worried all the time because you care about your patients, about your siblings…" Her voice softened slightly. "About me."

You looked at her with soft (and slightly sad) eyes. 

"I think you see me in a much better light than I actually deserve." 

"I see you just right, mi sol," Alexia said, leaning down to kiss your lips. 

"My sweet." Kiss. 

"Pretty." Kiss. 

"Gentle." Kiss. 

"Loving." Kiss. 

"Girlfriend. 

You were smiling second one. You didn't try to stop it. 

"You get too cheesy when you cum," you whispered, a sudden blush creeping up your cheeks. "It's adorable."

"I know, perdon," Alexia replied, pouting down at you without a single ounce of regret.

"I'm sorry I don't get cheesy," you murmured. "But I swear I love you just as much."

"It's okay," she chucked. "I know you love me. This is the first time you have actually taken time off for someone. That has to be true love."

You squinted your eyes, your cheeks heating up even more. "And who exactly told you that?"

Alexia chucked, leaning down to press a warm kiss on top of your blush. "Your sweetheart of a sister."

"Of course she did."

As it turned out, actually getting out of bed and preparing for the night was considerably less romantic than the books made it seem.

Once Alexia finally untangled herself from you, the two of you were forced to acknowledge the mess the sex left on the hotel sheets.

There was a large, damp stain stretched across the middle of the bed. The lingering scent of sex and slickness was mixed with the light breeze coming through the window. 

Alexia did not seem remotely concerned about the ruined sheets, instead, she just propped her head up on her hand and simply watched you with a big and proud grin on her face.

You, in response, blushed all over, immediately scrambling for the duvet, dragging it up to your chin to cover yourself.

"Stop watching me like that," you pouted, clutching the fabric tighter.

Alexia rolled her eyes and continued to smile. 

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, moving smoothly without a single hint of instability; you were certain you would be wobbling if you had been topping the way she just did. 

She walked across the room to fetch the two white hotel robes hanging by the wardrobe.

She slipped one on herself before returning to bed with the second. She gently tried to pry the duvet away from your tight grip so she could put the second one over your shoulders.

"We had sex less than twenty-four hours after we met for the first time," she teased, tugging playfully at the duvet. "Back then, you had absolutely no problem being naked around me… And now you are embarrassed?"

You rolled your eyes, holding it for dear life. 

"Back then, I was thinner. But you know what they say, happy relationships make you gain weight." Your gaze dripped over her athletic frame. "Bon… unless you are a very disciplined footballer, then apparently, you don't gain a single kilo."

Alexia's playful expression vanished instantly, replaced by genuine worry. 

"What!??" She blurted. "Are you having issues with your body? Like... body image issues?! Mi amor, you are the prettiest woman alive!"

You rolled your eyes at her dramatics. This was exactly why you hadn't said a single thing until now.

"No, I'm not having any issues," you said. "I know I'm... fine. I'm just different than when we started dating and–"

"You are, like, hotter now," Alexia interrupted, stating it so blankly and firmly as if she was merely speaking facts. 

"Huh?"

"You are hotter," she repeated. "Because you are my lovely, beautiful girlfriend now."

You smiled at her, your heart feeling warm. The poor thing was trying hard to reassure you.

Your sweet, sweet girl. "Gracias, Ale."

"No, baby, I mean it," Alexia insisted, her tone changing to something so incredibly tender and sincere it made your chest ache. "You are perfect. Your face is perfect, and your body-" 

Your grip around the duvet loosened, and Alexia took advantage, finally managing to wrap the robe around you. "And your thighs are perfect, and your tummy is perfect… and everything about you–"

"Okay, love, that's enough--"

"If I could, I would eat you whole."

You blinked at her. 

"Okay, that's literally cannibalism."

"Some cultures see cannibalism as an ultimate act of love and adoration," Alexia countered immediately.

She said it with the most profound, soft, tender and deadpan face. She was completely serious, looking at you like a proud cat that had just caught a dead bird and was offering it as a sign of love.

"Oh, okay," you said, as you reached up and patted both her cheeks. "Thanks, my love. I'm feeling much better now. I would absolutely let you eat me whole if it wouldn't result in the complete ceasing of my existence."

"Really?" Alexia asked happily, her eyes lighting up. "Would you do the same to me?"

What the hell kind of sweet talk even was that?

"Oh... yes," you said with fake enthusiasm. "Of course."

Alexia beamed, looking incredibly happy and touched that her (bizarre) feelings were being fully reciprocated. 

Relationships, however, and as sad as it seems,  were not built entirely on sex and body image conversations that somehow end up in discussions of cannibalism, you see. Most often, they were not; there were arguments. Petty and ridiculous arguments.

Like the shower.

"Okay… we really need to clean up and get dressed," you said, glancing towards the bathroom. "The bus is leaving soon."

Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Let's take a shower together then," she murmured against your skin, her voice dropping to a seductive cadence.

You let out a dry laugh. "Nice try, Ale."

Alexia stepped in front of you, her face collapsing into a (guess what?) pout. 

"Mi sol, please?" she pleaded, yes, pleaded. "I love you and your body, and we love taking showers together, sí? Come on, please? Pretty please? You say I'm your champion, no? Don't I deserve to take a shower with mi amor?!"

You stared at her for two full seconds before you folded.

You always fold. It was entirely Eli's fault for creating a woman with the prettier, most stupidly devastating puppy face ever made in the world. Nobody could say no to those eyes.

"Ugh, fine," you sighed, letting her take your hand and lead you to the bathroom. "You do deserve it."

Slowly, the reality of what she had accomplished began to settle over you, a warm feeling took over your torso, a smile appeared on your face, and Alexia noticed it.

She grinned too, pushing you gently against her, one hand sliding to your robe as she backed you against the tiled wall.

She was all over you, kissing you until your knees felt weak.

You caught her jaw in your hand, and she leaned into the touch. "You really won, huh, bebé?" you whispered again, "yeah, yeah... you really do deserve it."

"Your girlfriend is a European champion," she whispered back.

She grinned again before she stole another kiss, her hips drifting a little to yours. 

"Ale, no," you gasped, pushing lightly on her shoulder. "We seriously cannot have sex again. We'll actually miss the bus, and I'm not taking an Uber to the club. That would be a proper walk of shame."

"No sex, no," she dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand. "Just a little kissing," she bargained, punctuating the statement by nipping at your chin.

"Okaaay," you said slowly. "Kissing, yes, but under the shower."

You both stepped into the shower stall. You reached over and turned the knob, settling the temperature to your preference. You waited a bit till the water completely heated up and then walked under the water, feeling it soak over you.

So warm. So perfect.

Alexia, still wearing that confident and romantic smile of hers, stepped directly behind you. Okay, maybe too could fit in a quickie and-

Alexia went completely silent behind you. Then… her eyes flew wide open. 

Before you could even register what was happening, a hand clamped around your waist, and she yanked you backwaters out of the stream of water.

"Joder! Estás loca?!!" She said, frantically wiping stray droplets of water from her face as though she had just been splashed with HCl. "The water is burning my skin! It's melting me!" [Fuck, are you crazy?!]

"That's the temperature I like to shower at!" You protested, completely bewildered by her reaction. "What is wr–"

"You are making a soup out of yourself!!" Alexia looked so genuinely horrified, you were starting to wonder if the water was really that hot. "You are a doctor, you, of all people, should know how bad this is for your skin! It's gonna fall off!"

You cautiously stuck a hand back under the stream. 

It felt oh so lovely… warm, comforting. Exactly how a shower should feel.

"You are being dramatic again, Alexia!"

"I'm not!" she said. "You want us to stand in boiling water!"

"You and Clara," you said, shaking your head. "Dramatic as hell. That's why you get along so well. Exactly the same personality."

Alexia opened her mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut. Apparently, she did not appreciate the comparison to her teenage protege, and got deeply wounded by it.

In the end, the romantic shared shower never happened. 

Alexia kept her robe on and sat on the closed toilet lid while you showered, her arm crossed, pout deep in her lips. She watched you through the steam the entire time, her eyes fixed on you, refusing to look away for even a second. 

When you finished, the two of you switched places.

Alexia then proceeded to shower at a temperature that, according to her, had been specifically designed for people who weren't actively trying to cook themselves alive.

Not everything is as romantic as it seems.

You were halfway through putting on your shirt when Alexia's voice drifted out from the bathroom, muffled by the glass door and the rushing water.

"You know I gained weight, too, right?"

You paused, confused, with your arms caught awkwardly in the fabric. "Uh?"

After a second, the sound of the shower cut off.

Alexia emerged wrapped in her hotel robe, her damp hair dripping down her shoulders and right onto the wooden floor. Unlike you, she actually had to wash her hair after being on the pitch for so long.

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

You silently counted every single drop that fell.

"You said disciplined athletes don't gain weight," she explained, pulling at the collar on her robe, which seemed too tight on her; her skin was red and irritated. "I gained two kilos this season."

You stared, still confused, but then the realisation finally set in. She was still thinking about what you had said earlier. 

"Bebé," you sighed, your arms dropping to your sides ."You don't need to do that."

"Do what?' She frowned.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about,' you said, turning away from her toward the small vanity to start doing your hair. "I'm fine, Ale. Really."

"Well," she began, stepping closer. "And you don't need to do that – saying you are fine just because you don't want to talk about something."

You rolled your eyes, focusing on the mirror and and how your hair was completely inconsiderate of the fact that you had places to be tonight.

Alexia didn't like to be ignored. 

Predictably, she appeared behind you a second later. For a brief moment, the angry dog in you wanted to snap her, tell her to back off because her wet hair was soaking through your dried clothes. 

But then she rested her chin on your shoulder. In the mirror, you noticed how her cheeks were still pink from the shower. She smelled overwhelmingly like generic hotel shampoo because she forgot to pack her own, and the lightning made her hazel eyes look somehow greener.

The anger completely dissipated. You let her stay.

"I love your body," she said quietly, her eyes on yours through the reflection.

You softened even more. "I know you do, Ale."

She pressed a soft kiss against your neck, and you continued. "I never worried about that. You have never given me a single reason to, okay?" you said.

It was the truth. Alexia had always looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Always. From the very first day back at her house until now. 

"You always make a point of showing it, ale," you murmured, feeling a deep need to reassure her.

"Okay, good," she said, pleased with herself. 

For a moment, you genuinely thought the conversation was over, and you could go back to fighting with your hair. But then her expression shifted, turning serious again. "So… where is this coming from, then?"

You looked away from her reflection, or tried to. A million different reasons passed through your mind, but none of them seemed serious enough or logical enough to be the actual reason behind it. 

Maybe it was the junction of it all. Maybe it wasn't just one thing. Or maybe it was just you, fighting with that universal human flaw, that dangerous voice that made it hard to feel fully satisfied with yourself. 

You shrugged, choosing the simplest answer you could find. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, but we are talking about it," she said, delivering with certainty as if a conversation didn't always need to be bidirectional. 

You rolled your eyes again. "Alexia, the bus–"

"The bus can wait."

"It literally cannot."

She pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, then finally released her hold on you. She let the robe fall carelessly to the floor, leaving her beautiful naked body entirely free for you to look at. 

She was really an unfairly pretty woman. Then, killing your fun, she grabbed a fresh towel to dry her body off. 

"Okay," she said, drying herself and then beginning to brush her wet hair. "We'll talk while we get ready, that way we wont miss the bus."

"Oh Jesus Christ," you groaned, letting your forehead rest against the glass of the mirror.

"The faster you talk," she sang out, completely cheerful. "The faster we leave."

"You are so annoying," you sighed. "And incredibly stubborn."

"And excellent at time management," she countered, clearly proud of herself. 

"And insistent," you mumbled, though you couldn't help but smile. "So annoyingly insistent."

"I prefer the word tenacious."

You rolled your eyes at that.

You were quiet for a moment, desperately hoping she would let the silence take over and drop it. But Of course, she didn't. She was tenacious, unfortunately for you.

"It' just…" You hesitated, thinking of ways to put it. "Everyone around you is so... fit. You know?"

Alexia paused her brushing, looking at you. "What? Everyone?"

"The girls on the team," you explained, your voice dropping a bit. "Their girlfriend, your other friends… Everyone in that circle is so into the gym and everyone is so athletic and they all look a certain way."

"And what does that have to do with you and your body, amor?" she asked softly. "They are them; you are you."

You opened your mouth to give a very sharp and pragmatic answer, but the words never came. You couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Yeah, what exactly did that have to do with you? 

For once in your life, you didn't have an answer, and you absolutely hated that. You were witty, rapid thinking, you always knew what to say, but right now, you were empty of logic and words.

Alexia instantly sensed your distress, as always, she saw right through the quiet. 

"Eres guapísima," she said tenderly, putting her brush aside and walking back over to you and gently cupping your face.

You felt your cheeks warm, but she didn't stop. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then your chin. 

"Hermosa, preciosa," she murmured against your skin. "Perfecta. Mía."

You laughed, weakly trying to push her shoulder to hide your face. "Okay, okay, got it. You are like, super, hopelessly in love with me."

Alexia just grinned. "Something like that, si."

She locked her arms around your waist, pulling you against her and bringing her mouth close to your ear. "You will always be the prettiest woman in every room – or pitch – that I ever walk in, okay? Don't forget that."

You rolled your eyes, trying your absolutely best to look unimpressed, but unfortunately, your smile completely gave away.

☆ A/n: I really really wanted to write something "realistic" and domestic about the final, so why not with our keeping score babies? Someone asked me once what shirt reader would wear to a game, so this is the answer hehe. I got an ask a few months ago about reader feeling a bit insecure because everyone around Alexia was so fit, so I decided to add it to this fic. I'm sorry if it was too random, but I feel that keeping score reader would be a bit upset and try to hide it and I didn't want to write a whole blurb around it.

● (fluff)

● (smut)

___

a/n: figured i need to feed my babies while working on the 3rd chapter of the domme sophia series

__ __ __ __

______

The world you live in has had humans and hybrids living side by side for generations now — same schools, same jobs, same grocery stores, same everything.

Basic facts get taught in middle school: dog hybrids are loyal and energetic, cat hybrids are independent and like warm spots, bunny hybrids are gentle, skittish, love soft things and sweet snacks.

That's it. Literally.

No one ever teaches you the specific little details, the weird biological quirks that no one talks about unless you're actually dating or sleeping with one.

Well, that ended up being the the main reason on how you exactly ended up making the worst (best) decision of your life when you filled out your university housing forms.

Because right at the bottom of the page just as you were finishing typing your details, a little pop‑up appeared:

"All human‑only rooms are currently full. Is it okay if we assign you a hybrid roommate? Please note: you will not be able to change rooms once assigned."

You clicked "YES" without even thinking. You have plenty of hybrid people in your life, you're friends with some, you're acquainted with many, it wasn't a problem to you at all.

So, not even a few minutes had passed when you immediately got notified that you were now rooming with a bunny hybrid.

A bunny hybrid?

Well, how bad could that be?

Bunny hybrids were supposed to be soft, quiet, harmless little things. You pictured coming home to someone who’d share carrot sticks with you, nap on the couch, and keep to themselves. You imagined a cute, fluffy roommate that your friends would coo over.

So, when you finally moved in... you absolutely, 100% did not expect to end up sharing a tiny 12x12 dorm room with Megan — a Holland Lop bunny hybrid who was 5'6 and a half of long, delicate limbs, lean figure, soft curves, and the most chaotic, shameless, horny little menace to ever walk the face of the earth.

First impressions were deceiving as hell.

Megan looked like an angel: tall and slender, no bulky muscle anywhere, just long graceful legs, smooth pale skin, and the prettiest face you'd ever seen. She had long, folded, velvety cream‑colored bunny ears that twitched and swiveled constantly like they picked up every sound within a 50‑meter radius, and a massive fluffy white cotton tail that stuck out from the back of her jeans or shorts no matter how hard she tried to tuck it away. Her nose also twitched nonstop, revealing those adorable whisker dimple. She's got big warm brown eyes that were always bright and shiny, and she smiled so sweetly at everyone that people would stop her in the hallway just to gush over how cute and polite she was.

Professors loved her, your friends thought she was the sweetest person alive, the dorm's RAs called her "the perfect tenant."

You knew better.

You learned the truth within the first 24 hours, and it only got worse from there.

Bunny hybrids were supposed to be calm?

Megan zoomed around the room at 7 AM like she'd chugged three energy drinks for breakfast, jumping over the bed, climbing on top of the desk, doing laps around the couch, thumping her feet loud enough that you were constantly getting passive‑aggressive notes slipped under your door from neighbors.

They were supposed to be shy?

She had zero sense of personal space whatsoever, constantly climbing all over you, stealing your hoodies, eating your snacks, and chattering your ear off about literally everything that crossed her mind.

They were supposed to be innocent?

Oh, no.

Fuck, no.

Megan was literally the biggest horndog you'd ever met, and her absolute favorite hobby in the entire world? Dry humping you. Everywhere. All the time. For literally no reason. And if that wasn't bad enough, she quickly figured out exactly how clueless you were about hybrid anatomy — and she started using it to her advantage to trick you into touching her in ways she definitely wasn't supposed to ask for.

 ______

It was mid‑semester, finals season was creeping up, and you'd dragged yourself to the university library at 10 AM with a giant stack of textbooks, determined to get at least some work done for once. You'd explicitly told Megan you were studying, told her to stay back at the dorm, told her you needed four whole hours of quiet and no chaos.

And of-fucking-course, twenty minutes later, you heard the soft patter of socked feet across the carpet.

You didn't even need to turn your head to know who was standing next to you.

You just knew.

You don't know whether it's because of her loud presence or the raging teenage hormones that was coming off of her, either way, you just knew that it was Megan.