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Doctor!Sevika who expects you to answer her questions no matter what you’re doing.

You’re surveying the severity of a life-threatening situation, walking around the gurney with practiced ease as Sevika strides in, watching like an overseeing hawk.

“What med do we give them?” She questions you directly, pulling on a pair of gloves and letting them snap against her thick, bruising fingers as she walks over.

“Epinephrine 1:10,000, one milligram for cardiac arrest.” You didn’t look up at her.

“Correct.”

Doctor!Sevika who smokes outside of the hospital by the ambulances at bay. She liked the nicotine rush. Liked the feeling of the smoke grazing her lungs despite knowing in depth what it did. Or maybe—just maybe, she liked when you would come out for a break, panting as if you were on the midst of a breakdown, and immediately straighten up when you see her, aiming to make a dry joke about her addiction to smoking beneath it all.

“Smoking, doctor?” You managed to catch your breath, making the words come out slippery and airless. “Thought you’d know better…” you shot her a sheepish smile—one that was supposed to be teasing, but your face was too exhausted in pouting lines to move sharply into real amusement.

“None of us know better in reality, we chose to work here, after all.” Sevika scoffed, though you saw—or hoped, and begged, that your words landed right as you saw her upper lip twitching north momentarily.

Doctor!Sevika who never lets you break news to a patient’s loved one’s alone. She can see the hollowness prolonging your face after losing a patient. One as young as a teenager—she sees the familiar blame, the guilt—the nauseating shame of needing to do something more than you could have done. It was a baggage she had learnt to leave at doors.

Doctor!Sevika who takes up a lot of space in the ER, bouncing between rooms like she was made to save lives. Despite the scrubs she wears, hiding any trace of body underneath, stethoscope loose around the neck, she never fails to be everywhere all at once, even if you told yourself that wasn’t possible.

Doctor!Sevika who never lets you overwork yourself.

Your arms ache, pain springing through it like stabbing needles from the chest compressions that never seemed to bring back even a faint pulse. Sweat created a sheen like layer over your skin, reflecting fluorescent light like a beam of a flashlight. The patient’s face becomes blurry in front of you, chapped lips—blood stained across their face. You couldn’t lose another one. Couldn’t afford anymore blood on your hands for the sake of your sanity.

Your fingers trembled, echoed voices directing information before a familiar one cut through.

“Switch. Now.”

You looked up swiftly. Your breathe staggered, head shaking.

“I’m fine.” You retorted back sharply, letting out a pant.

“This isn’t about you this is about the patient. You’re losing quality. Laura, switch with her now.” She waved her hand dismissively towards you, another doctor moving past you as you stumbled back. Her words were harsh and cold, but nothing could match her eyes landing onto yours amongst the storm.

“Take ten.”

“I’m fine.” You repeated, stepping closer to the end of the patient as your eyes scanned over them again.

Whatever Sevika was thinking behind her grey eyes; it was clear she wasn’t having your refusal. She stepped closer—dangerously close, intimately close, brushing a hand against your arm.

“I said take. Ten.”

Doctor!Sevika who started driving you home after your shifts has finished. You were waiting for another nurse to sign off for the day, leaning against the car-park as the weariness of the day that had burrowed itself deep within you starting to slither out.

You let out a tired sigh, the loneliness of the shifts always felt daunting after losing a patient. But it was inevitable. You heard the same lines everyday.

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Don’t let it get to you.’

‘Leave the baggage when you come through the door.’

‘You did all you could. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.”

But that gnawing hollowness inside of you was interrupted by a flash of head-lights. You looked up, seeing that familiar stature with gripped fingers against the steering wheel.

Sevika.

She didn’t speak—didn’t bother to roll down her windows against the soft patter of the rain, only nodded her chin towards the passenger seat, unlocking the car with a subtle click.

Doctor!Sevika who , very dangerously, lets the line slip between professional and unprofessional. One too many times she’s dropped you off now, and each time she does she keeps getting closer and closer to your apartment, walking you in—taking a coffee for herself, smoking outside despite the winds disallowing the lighter to work for several minutes. It becomes to a point where you just invite her in. You were exhausted. Drained. Witnessed two deaths while the other three became your own. A busy day for the ED meant your barriers lowered, seeking out a warmth you thought you’d never get—which was undeniably Sevika. And after long, lilting glances, an emergency room made up of your equally as short glances and awaiting praise from Sevika, the tension became a presence the whole department could feel.

Doctor!Sevika who had to have you. Little visits became more profound. Her keys sometimes left on the side of your nightstand—her bag left at the front of the house, and her strap she purposely left at home for you to use left tangled on the bed.

Ever since things got serious—and you were occasionally switched out for night shifts, Sevika became almost snappy with the rest of the staff when she couldn’t order her favourite little thing around. Instead, during breaks—she’d FaceTime you, already expecting you to be up, and coerce you into angling the phone just right where she could see you bouncing on her strap, whining like a pathetic mess for her.

“Sevvy…come home,” you whimpered out, squishing your own breast as you heard her suck up a deep breath on the other side. But you were meant with a perilous coldness that felt too personal just for you.

“Tch. You have a lot of audacity, love.” She drawled, watching the phone. “Be a good girl and fuck yourself f’me. yeah baby?”

Doctor!Sevika who insists on doing ‘pelvic exams’ on you.

You know you’re soaking. She knows it as well. And yet you still drag your soddened panties down, wiggling off your trousers to kick them to the side.

“Part your legs.” Sevika hummed, letting her fingers skim over your upper-thigh, trailing further inwards towards the heat radiating off of you.

“Your pussy has no self control, does it?” Her steel eyes snapped to your face, her fingers sliding through your folds, collecting the slick there. “Not around me, anyways.” She smirked crookedly, letting her thumb rub slow circles on your clit.

You breathe hitched, hips pistoning forward against her fingers. So cold. Always so rigid like frost over your usually-warm body. “Sev..” you whined—a sound that reverberated from wall to wall.

“Tender, sweetheart?” She moved forward, easing two fingers into your weeping hole as they stuffed your cunt until they were full with her fingers. She knew exactly where to hit—how to hit, how to push and pull her fingers inside of you, watching you leak deliciously around her. “So sensitive for me…you have a thing for your attending, darling?” She shook her head, smirking to herself, before she wiped it off her face completely.

“How unprofessional.” She tutted, smacking your pussy as quick as her fingers had just entered you. “I’m just doing an exam, love.”

Doctor!Sevika who is always moaning at you to do your charting. You always want to skim around the generic work—but being more hands on meant recording everything else much frequently in bigger chunks. And you hated it…occasionally. The only reason you wouldn’t hate it was because it got Sevika’s attention. She turned to behind you, giving you an expecting look that meant trouble for later if you didn’t do as she said.

Doctor!Sevika who lets you break down in her arms after you’ve suppressed everything all day. She’s warm—feels like home beneath muscles you rarely got to see.

“Sh sweet thing, you did well f’me today.” She mumbled into your neck, her breathe warm against it as your frame trembled against her.

“I did well? I-I lost…I-“ you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Words that felt too heavy even grief couldn’t compete in that moment. A feeling of utter despair.

“Who you lost doesn’t equal to your performance. Even then, you were excellent.”

Doctor!Sevika who occasionally breaks down with you. Sevika is a tough women who prides herself on staying composed no matter the situation, but whenever kids and children where involved, and loss followed, it always seemed to be the burrow of her day.

“I…” the warm lighting of your apartment lamp glowed directly onto Sevika’s face, smoothing away the prominent lines that would usually be there. And even then, the melancholy engulfing her features was hard to miss. “I had two patients. One six. One ten years older,” she swiped the edge of her nose with her thumb, leaning forward, elbows planted atop her knees. “Sisters, in a bad car crash.”

You stayed silent in these moments. It was rare an attending would break like this, especially someone like Sevika. Her voice was hoarse, unmistakable shakiness erasing the roughness of it.

“Couldn’t save them.” She finished—grey eyes like dull clouds hugging the floor ground, the tilt of her head avoiding the chase of light, bringing back those harsh lines that was like a remnant of the ED taken home with her.

You watched her hunched figure, eyes passing between the side of her face glowing in the light, and the other side shielded by the past.

“Sev,” you whispered—a nickname you gave her, even at work where other med students teased you about it, slipping from your tongue as you moved from the opposing sofa to sit next to her. But now the nickname felt more intimate. Felt more reserved for you and her only. “I know…” you let out a little empty laugh, faking flat in the air around. “I know you’ve heard this…so many times but..” you gulped, looking towards her. “I mean..I know I have but…it’s not your fault. You did everything you could’ve possibly done.”

You expected her to scoff. Expected her to roll out a cigarette that would burn her lungs into numbing her emotionally—but it didn’t come. Nothing came. Except for one sentence.

“You know, I only believe it when you say it.”

Doctor!Sevika who makes you exam her body late after shifts—night hitting the bar when you’re both alone in the apartment. You’re stripped of your clothes, wanting to writhe and moan atop of her as she lays before you, in the same state of undress.

You started at her neck—going into the anatomy, the potential problems—the way it works, all the while she kept a vibrating buzzing against your pussy

“Focus.” She’d snap, watching you try to grind down against her. “How are you going to be a doctor if you can’t focus under pressure?”

Doctor!Sevika who notices your self-destructive behaviour after a particular gruelling day. You don’t know how many patients you’ve lost across an almost fifteen hour-shift, but the day came together into one solid thing; pure turmoil. Drinking. Self harming. Pushing and pulling against her. No matter what though, Sevika will always be there for you.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She’d stand firmly in your apartment, watching tears travel down your face as if racing against each other. “If you think this will make me leave, you obviously believe I’m in the wrong profession.”

Doctor!Sevika who loves washing the grime off of your body after a long day. You’re half asleep, eyes half-lidded as she kneads your breast beneath her palm.

And you just let her. You let this older woman—with more experience than you and others combined, wash away the troubles on your body. It’s only when she trails her kisses down your body, ending up at your clit where she eagerly makes out with it, so you fully wake up.

“Mm…sweet girl.” She’d groan against you. “Sweetest thing i’ve had all day.”

Doctor!Sevika who rarely teases you when you’re both working. She’s focused—the same stern doctor who you had a crush on before all the confrontation, and it’s only occasionally where her warnings come off as a promise for what she’ll do to you later.

Doctor!Sevika who never lets any other attending or patient doubt you.

“Are you sure she should be doing this-“

Sevika cuts them off without so much as acknowledging them, scrubs heavy on her skin. “Do it.” She nods towards you, before leaving the room to supervise elsewhere.

Doctor!Sevika who loves the late-nights of eating takeaway and binge-watching a tv show when you both can’t sleep. You both know the reason why. In and out of shifts without a wink of sleep would do that to you sometimes—and the trauma of the hospital sometimes haunted your home.

Doctor!Sevika who will finger you to sleep, mumbling about some, ‘I can’t have my favourite resident lacking sleep. Rest, sweetheart.’ All while her fingers gently coerce you to sleep, cooing against that sweet spot inside of you that made you melt to mush.

Doctor!Sevika who knows when you’re trying to deflect the pain after a shift. You both ended up at your apartment again, the door slamming shut as a thickening silence comes through the home.

“Sev?” You looked up, pulling the bag of your back as you grasped onto her wrist, pulling her into a kiss that felt too demanding, even for you.

She raised an eyebrow for a moment, sliding her lips over your own before she pulled back—the taste of coffee and a shared cigarettes lingering on your tongues.

“Not now, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” She sees your fingers trembling, but you reluctantly let go of her, eyes watering as she leads you through your own home with practised ease. “I want to, trust me I do. But you need to process this.”

Doctor!Sevika who never lets you out of her sight during work after hearing about you losing another patient. She’s like a constant camera tracking you, telling you to ‘take ten’, ‘take five’, to ‘go home’ when it got too much. She cared too much, and it ended up being the thing that softened her fully.

Doctor!Sevika who ends up loving you unconditionally.

Taglist

2000 - Age 6

CIELA

The lunchtime sun hung low over our school playground that day, casting long shadows across the worn patches of grass and concrete. It was one of those perfect Barcelona autumn afternoons where the air felt warm but not sticky, where you could run forever without getting too hot. The playground was filled with the sound of kids everywhere, shouting, laughing, arguing over whose turn it was. A group of boys were playing some complicated game that seemed to involve a lot of pushing, and just for them to claim they weren't actually pushing.

I loved lunchtime. It was my favourite part of the day, better than art class, better than PE. Lunchtime meant freedom. It meant I could talk to anyone, do anything, be everywhere at once, and I was very good at being everywhere at once.

I'd already made my rounds that day. I'd talked to Maria and her friends about the stray cat that lived behind the bins. Then I'd bounced over to the boys playing marbles near the back fence, watched them for a bit, offered my opinion on their technique, they didn't appreciate it, but I was right. I'd complimented Sofia on her new hair clips, which had little butterflies on them, and they were beautiful.

My mama said I had "energy enough for three children," which I took as a compliment even though I wasn't entirely sure she meant it that way. My brothers said I was annoying, but they said that about everything, so it didn't count. Papa said I had a "generous spirit," which sounded fancy and important, so I decided that's what I was.

I was mid-conversation with Lucia about whether dolphins or sharks were cooler, dolphins, obviously, because they were smart AND nice, when I noticed her again.

The quiet girl with the football.

She was always there, on the far side of the playground, away from everyone else. I'd seen her before, lots of times actually, always in the same spot, always with that same ball at her feet. She had light brown hair that caught the sun, and she moved with this careful focus that made her seem older than six, like she was thinking about important things that the rest of us were too silly to understand.

I'd wanted to talk to her for weeks, but something always stopped me. Maybe it was because she looked so serious, so concentrated, like she was in her own private world, and I'd be interrupting something important. Or maybe it was because she seemed perfectly content being alone, and I wasn't sure how to approach someone who didn't seem to need friends the way I did.

I was curious. So curious because she was GOOD. Like, really, really good. I'd watched her kick that ball, watched the way it curved through the air exactly where she wanted it to go, watched her chase it down with speed that made her look like she was flying. My brothers played football in the street sometimes, and they were okay, but this girl was something else entirely.

"Ciela? CIELA?"

I blinked and realized Lucia was waving her hand in front of my face.

"Sorry! What?"

"I said, what do you think? Dolphins or sharks?"

"Dolphins," I said automatically, still watching the girl with the football. "Definitely dolphins. They're like the nice version of sharks. Sharks are just angry dolphins."

Lucia seemed satisfied with this answer and wandered off to tell someone else about her dolphin opinions. I stood there for a moment, watching the quiet girl line up another shot.

She dropped the ball to her feet, took a step back, and I could see her take a deep breath. Even from this distance, I could see how much she cared about getting it right. Her whole body was focused, like this one kick was the most important thing in the entire world.

She struck the ball cleanly with the side of her foot. It was beautiful. The curve was perfect, the height was perfect, the spin was perfect. I watched it arc through the air, mesmerised by how something could be so exactly right … but then it wasn't right anymore.

The ball veered suddenly, wildly, shooting off in completely the wrong direction. I had just enough time to think ‘Oh, that's coming toward …’ before it slammed into the side of my head with a solid THUNK that made my teeth rattle.

The world went a bit spiny for a second. I blinked hard, wobbled on my feet, and then grinned.

That was AMAZING.

I'd been hit by worse. Way worse. One-time brothers had been practicing cricket in the garden, and Santiago had completely missed the ball and hit me in the head with the bat instead. Mama had screamed, Papa had yelled, as both Xavier and Santiago had been irresponsible. That had hurt. This? This was nothing.

Plus, the girl who'd kicked it was running toward me, and she looked absolutely horrified.

She skidded to a stop in front of me, her face flushed pink, her eyes wide with panic. "I'm so, so, so sorry! I didn't mean to! I wasn't aiming at you! I'm really sorry!"

She was even prettier up close. She had these serious brown eyes that looked like they were trying to apologise with every blink. She had her hands clasped together, and she looked like she might actually cry, which seemed like a massive overreaction to accidentally hitting someone with a football.

I grinned at her, probably wider than necessary, but I was excited. This was it. This was my chance to finally talk to her.

"Nope! I'm great! I've been hit by way worse. One time, my brother hit me with a cricket bat because he's completely uncoordinated and missed the ball entirely. This is NOTHING." I looked down at the ball sitting at my feet, then back up at her. "That was a good kick, though. Like, really good. You kick SO HARD. You're like a tiny rocket launcher."

She just stared at me, and I wondered if maybe I'd said something wrong. Maybe comparing someone to a rocket launcher wasn't a compliment, but it seemed like one to me. Rocket launchers were powerful and impressive and a little bit scary, but in a cool way.

"I'm really sorry," she said again, her cheeks still burning red. "I didn't see you."

She had a nice voice, quiet, but nice. She spoke carefully, like she was thinking about each word before she said it.

I bent down and picked up the ball, holding it out to her. It was more worn than I'd expected, the leather soft and scuffed from what must have been hundreds of hours of practice. "Wanna play?"

She hesitated, and I could see the surprise flash across her face. "You... want to play with me?"

"Yeah! I like football. My papa and my brothers watch it all the time. They shout at the screen loads, like they're the manager or something. You'd think they were the ones making the decisions. It's kind of funny, actually. Papa gets so worked up he forgets to eat his dinner, and Mama has to tell him to calm down …”

I stopped myself. I did that sometimes, just kept talking until someone stopped me or I ran out of breath. My teacher called it "enthusiastic communication." My brothers called it "never shutting up."

She was the girl was smiling. Just a little bit, but it was there.

"You watch football?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly.

"Yep! We support Barça. I have the shirt, I have three of them actually, because I kept growing out of them and Papa keeps buying me new ones, and I have a hat, and a scarf that's really scratchy, but I wear it anyway because it's got the colours. The last time we went to a match, Papa bought me this MASSIVE flag, like, it was way bigger than me, and I can wrap myself up in it like a burrito. A Barça burrito." I giggled at my own joke. "We go to the games sometimes when they're playing at home. Papa saves up for the tickets, and we all go together, and it's so LOUD, and everyone's singing, and the players look so small from where we sit, but you can still see everything, and …"

I stopped again because she was staring at me with this expression I couldn't quite read. Not annoyed, not bored, but something else. Something that looked almost like... relief?

"I support Barça too," she said quietly, shyly, like she was admitting a secret.

My heart did a little jump in my chest. "NO WAY."

"Yes way," she said, and her smile got a tiny bit bigger.

"That means we're friends now," I declared, because it was obvious. If you both supported Barça, you were automatically friends. That was just how it worked.

"It does?" She looked confused, which was adorable. She had a small frown in her brow.

"Yep," I said, already reaching out to grab her hand. Her fingers were warm and a little rough, probably from all that football practice. "Come on! Show me how you kicked it so hard... but maybe don't hit me again. Once was fun, twice might actually hurt."

She laughed. It was small and quiet, but it was a real laugh, and I felt ridiculously proud of myself for making it happen.

We walked back toward the open space where she'd been practicing before, and I was bouncing the ball as we went, trying to do tricks like I'd seen the players do on TV. Mostly, I just ended up kicking it too far ahead and having to chase it, but she didn't laugh at me. She just walked beside me, and I could feel her starting to relax.

"My dad says Barça are the best team ever," I told her, because I was incapable of walking in silence. "My brothers say it too. They argue about who's the best player, though. My dad says it's the striker because he scores all these amazing goals, but my brother Xavier says it's the keeper, because he saves everything, and without him we'd lose every match. They argued about it for like an hour last week. A whole hour spent arguing about football. Who does that?"

"Who do you think is the best?" she asked, and I liked that she actually seemed interested in my answer.

I thought about it for a second. "I like the striker. I guess. He's fast, and he scores goals, and goals are the whole point, right? Like, saving them is important, but you can't win if you don't score."

"You're fast," I said, and she looked at me in surprise. "I saw you running earlier. You were like..." I zoomed my hand through the air, making a whooshing sound. "Nyyyeeeeeooooommm. Like Michael Schumacher in his Ferrari."

I saw the pink develop in her cheeks and get warm.

"I want to race cars when I grow up," I told her. "Like, proper racing. Formula One. My brothers say girls can't do that, but they're wrong. Girls can do anything. Papa says so."

"I think you'd be good at it," she said simply.

"Yeah?" I grinned at her. "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

She looked down at the ball, then back up at me. "Play football. For Barça."

She said it so quietly, like she was afraid I'd laugh at her, but I didn't laugh. I didn't even think about laughing.

"That's brilliant," I said. "You're good enough. Like, really good enough. I've been watching you practice, and you're amazing."

Her eyes widened. "You've been watching me?"

"Not in a creepy way!" I said quickly. "Just... you're always over here, and you're really good, and I wanted to talk to you, but you always looked so focused, and I didn't want to interrupt, and …" I stopped, realizing I was rambling again. "Sorry. I talk a lot. My brothers say I never shut up."

"I don't mind," she said, and she meant it. I could tell.

We'd reached the open space, and I dropped the ball between us. "Okay! Kick it to me!"

She nodded, took a breath, and tapped the ball gently toward me. It rolled perfectly to my feet, like she'd measured the exact amount of force needed. I tried to stop it the way I'd seen players do on TV, putting my foot on top of it, but I misjudged, and it rolled past me.

"Oops," I said, chasing after it. "That was supposed to be cooler."

"It's called trapping," she said, jogging over to help. "You have to cushion it, not just step on it."

"Cushion it," I repeated, like this was very important information that I would definitely remember. "Got it. Cushioning."

She showed me, stopping the ball gently with the inside of her foot, letting it settle against her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then she passed it back to me, and I tried again.

This time, I actually managed to stop it. Sort of. It bounced off my foot a bit, but it didn't roll away completely.

"Did you see that? I did the foot thing! The stop thing! The... cushioning!" I threw my hands up in victory. "I'm amazing!"

She giggled, actually giggled, and it was the best sound I'd heard all day.

I kicked the ball back to her, putting way too much enthusiasm and not nearly enough accuracy into it. The ball went flying off to the left, and she had to sprint to catch up with it, but she did catch up with it, because of course she did. She was fast and skilled, and everything I wasn't when it came to football.

"You're really good," I said when she came back, hands on my hips in what I hoped looked like a coach-type pose. "Like, REALLY good. You should be on TV. You should play for Barça for real."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "I just practice a lot."

"How much is a lot?"

"Every day," she admitted. "After school. Before school sometimes. Weekends."

"Every day?" I was impressed, but I got it. You could stick me in a go-kart, and I could go for hours, and I’d never get bored. I could run laps of the same track over and over again and never ever get bored. "That's... that's so much practice.”

"I love it," she said simply.

The way she said it, so certain and pure, made something click in my chest. She really did love it. The same way I loved talking to people, loved making friends, loved the feeling of being surrounded by noise and laughter and life. She loved football with that same intensity, that same joy I had for driving cars.

"Well, I'm going to practice too," I declared, because if she could be dedicated to something, so could I. "Then we can both be on TV. You can play for Barcelona and win everything, all of it. I'll be racing cars and beating all the boys, and we'll both win everything, and everyone will say, 'Wow, those girls are so cool and amazing.'"

She looked at me for a long moment, and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. Then she said, very seriously, "That's never going to happen."

For a second, I felt deflated, but then I realized she wasn't being mean. She was just being realistic, the way adults were always realistic about things, telling you to "be sensible" and "think practically."

I turned to face her fully, putting my hands on my hips again. "Only delusional people get what they want."

She blinked at me. "What?"

"People who get what they want are the ones who are crazy enough to believe they can have it. Everyone else just... gives up before they even try. So yeah, maybe it's delusional to think I'll race in Formula One, and maybe it's delusional to think you'll play for Barça … but so what? Better to be delusional and happy than realistic and boring."

She stared at me for a moment, and then she smiled. A real smile this time, not a shy one, not a small one. A smile that reached her eyes and made her whole face light up.

"Okay," she said. "Let's be delusional together."

"Deal," I said, grinning back at her.

We played for the rest of lunch break. She taught me how to trap the ball properly, how to pass with the inside of my foot instead of just kicking wildly and hoping for the best. I wasn't very good, but she was patient, showing me over and over without getting frustrated, but when I actually managed to pass the ball back to her in a straight line, she cheered as if I'd just scored the winning goal in the Champions League Final.

I told her about my family, about Papa, who worked in IT but loved football more than anything, about Mama, who rolled her eyes at all of us but secretly loved it too, about my brothers, who were loud and annoying but also taught me how to be tough. She told me about her family too, more quietly, more carefully, but she told me. About her mother and father, about how they supported her football even though some people thought it was weird for a girl.

"People are stupid," I said matter-of-factly. "Girls can do anything boys can do. Usually better."

She laughed at that, and I decided right then that making her laugh was going to be one of my new favourite things.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch, we both groaned. I didn't want to go back to class. I wanted to stay here, in the sun, playing football and talking about impossible dreams.

"Same time tomorrow?" I asked hopefully.

She nodded, tucking the ball back under her arm. "Same time tomorrow."

"And you'll teach me more football stuff?"

"If you want."

"I want," I said firmly. "I'm going to be the best football-playing race car driver ever. I'll need skills."

She giggled again, and I felt that warm glow in my chest that came from making a real connection with someone.

As we walked back toward the school building, I slipped my hand into hers without thinking about it. She didn't pull away. She just squeezed my fingers gently, and we walked together through the playground that was slowly emptying of kids.

I didn't know it then, but that moment, that accidental collision, that conversation, that shared dream of being delusional enough to want impossible things, that would change everything. She would become my best friend, the person who understood me in ways no one else ever would.

Right then, at six years old, all I knew was that I'd finally talked to the quiet girl with the football, and she was even better than I'd imagined. Her name was Alexia, I learned later that afternoon.

I knew she was going to be the best footballer in the world. I was sure of it. Even if she wasn't sure yet herself.

2007 - Age 13

CIELA

The house was quiet at two in the morning. That particular kind of quiet that only exists in the dead hours of the night, when even the street outside has stopped humming with cars and the neighbours’ dogs have finally stopped barking. I'd been lying in my bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the trees as they dance across the plaster.

I couldn't sleep. Again.

It had been happening more and more lately, this restlessness that settled into my bones and refused to let go. Mama said it was hormones, that thirteen-year-old girls were supposed to be moody and unpredictable. Papa said I was spending too much time on the computer before bed. My brothers said I was just being dramatic, which was rich coming from Santiago, who'd cried for an hour the  week before Barcelona lost the El Clásico.

None of them understood. None of them knew what it felt like to lie in bed with your thoughts spinning so fast you couldn't catch them, with this ache in your chest that you couldn't name or explain or make go away. None of them except Alexia.

I rolled over, checking my phone for the hundredth time. No new messages, but I hadn't expected any. Alexia would be asleep by now; she always was. She had training tomorrow, and she needed her rest because she needed to be sharp and focused and ready.

I needed her more than she needed sleep. Over the years, I had developed this very unhealthy habit of only being able to sleep well when she was around.

The thought made me feel guilty and selfish, but it was true. When I was with Alexia, the spinning stopped, and the ache eased. Everything that felt too big and too complicated and too overwhelming somehow became manageable when I was near her.

I sat up slowly,  just listening. The house was still. Papa's snoring drifted from down the hall, a steady, rhythmic sound that meant he was deep in sleep. Mama never snored, but I knew she'd be out too. She always took her sleeping pill at ten, and once that kicked in, nothing short of an earthquake would wake her.

The twins were the wild card. Santiago and Xavier had a sixth sense for trouble, an uncanny ability to know when someone was doing something they shouldn't be, but their room was on the other side of the house.

I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. I'd done this enough times now that I had it down to a science. I grabbed the hoodie I'd left draped over my desk chair, one of Alexia's old Espanyol hoodies that she'd given me last year when she'd grown out of it. It was too big on me, the sleeves hanging long on my arms, but it smelled like her. Like grass and clean laundry and that specific detergent Eli used.

I pulled it on, then grabbed my phone and slipped it into the pocket. My shoes were by the door, my trainers that I could slip on without making noise. I'd learned the hard way that flip-flops were too loud, the slapping sound echoing through the quiet house like a gunshot.

The hardest part was always the door. My bedroom door had this tendency to creak if you opened it too fast, so I had to ease it open slowly, inch by inch, holding my breath the entire time. Once I was in the hallway, I had to navigate past my parents' room, past the twins' room, down the stairs without hitting the one step that groaned under pressure. The fourth one from the bottom was the danger child; I'd memorized it months ago.

The front door was easier. It had a good lock that didn't make much noise, and once I was outside, I was home free.

The night air hit me like a cool wave, washing away some of the restlessness. Barcelona in October was perfect, not too hot, not too cold, just this comfortable in-between that made you want to stay outside forever. The streets were empty, lit by only the orange glow of streetlights, and I could hear the distant sound of the city that never fully slept.

I knew the route to Alexia's house by heart. Ten minutes if I walked at a normal pace, five if I hurried. I usually hurried.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, my heart jumping. To my disappointment, it wasn't Alexia, it was just a notification from some app I'd forgotten to silence. I silenced it now, then opened my messages and typed quickly.

I'm coming over. I know you're asleep. I'll be quiet. I just need to be there.

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then shoved the phone back in my pocket and started walking faster.

The thing was, I knew this was probably weird. I knew that most thirteen-year-olds didn't sneak out of their houses in the middle of the night to crawl into their best friend's bed. I knew that my brothers would mock me endlessly if they ever found out. I knew that Mama would have a full-scale panic attack if she discovered I was gone.

I also knew inside myself that I couldn't do it. That the pull toward Alexia was stronger than my fear of getting caught, stronger than my guilt about worrying my parents, stronger than anything else.

Seven years. We'd been inseparable for seven years, ever since that day on the playground when her football had collided with my head and somehow knocked something loose in both of us. Seven years of shared dreams and whispered secrets and promises about the future. Seven years of her teaching me football, and me teaching her how to talk to people without looking terrified. Seven years of growing up together, changing together, becoming whoever we were supposed to be, together.

Lately, something had shifted, or maybe it had always been there, and I was only just now noticing it. This needs to be close to her, to touch her, to know that she was real and solid and mine. This feeling intensified every time she smiled at me, every time she reached for my hand without thinking, every time she looked at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

I didn't have a name for it yet. I wasn't sure I wanted one.

I turned onto her street, my pace slowing slightly as I approached her house. It was a modest place, smaller than ours, but it had always felt more like home than my own house did. Maybe because Eli never made me feel like I was intruding, never questioned why I was there so often, never suggested that maybe I should go home and give Alexia some space. Eli understood. I think she'd always understood.

I went around to the side of the house, where Alexia's bedroom window faced the small garden. The window was already cracked open; she always left it that way for me now, ever since the third or fourth time I'd shown up and had to throw pebbles at the glass to wake her.

I pushed it open wider, grateful that it didn't squeak, and climbed through with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this too many times to count. My feet hit the floor softly, and I straightened up, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.

Alexia's room was exactly as I'd left it two days ago. The walls were covered in posters, her trophies lined the shelves, gleaming even in the dim light from the streetlamp outside. Medals hung from hooks on the wall, ribbons in blue and red, evidence of every victory she'd earned through sheer determination and talent.

However, my favourite part of her room was the photos. They were everywhere, tacked to a corkboard above her desk, stuck to the mirror, pinned to the wall beside her bed. Photos of us. At Camp Nou, both of us grinning with our faces painted in Barcelona colours. At the karting track, me in my racing suit with my helmet under my arm, Alexia beside me with her arm around my shoulders. Photos of us holding trophies we'd won, celebrating victories that had felt monumental at the time. Silly selfies taken at three in the morning during sleepovers, both of us laughing at something that probably wasn't even funny.

Every important moment of the last seven years was documented and displayed like a museum of us, but there, in the middle of it all, was Alexia.

She was asleep, curled on her side facing the window, her dark hair spilled across the pillow. The covers were pulled up to her chin, and she looked peaceful in a way she never did when she was awake. When she was awake, she was always moving, always thinking, always three steps ahead, but when she was asleep, she looked younger. Softer. Like the girl I'd met on the playground who'd been so horrified about hitting me with a football.

I toed off my shoes and padded over to the bed, lifting the covers carefully and sliding in beside her. The mattress dipped under my weight, and Alexia stirred slightly, making a small sound in the back of her throat.

"Shh," I whispered, pressing close to her. "It's just me."

She relaxed immediately, her body recognising mine even in sleep. She rolled over, her eyes still closed and reached for me with the automatic certainty of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. Her arm came around my waist, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, tucking myself against her chest.

This. This was what I needed. This feeling of being held, of being safe, of being exactly where I was supposed to be.

"Cece?" Her voice was rough with sleep, barely more than a mumble. "What time is it?"

"Late," I whispered back, stroking the side of her face. "Or early. Depends on how you look at it."

"You okay?" Her hand found my hair, fingers threading through it in that absent, soothing way she always did when she was worried about me.

"Yeah. I just... I couldn't sleep."

She didn't ask. She never did. She just held me tighter, her chin resting on top of my head, her heartbeat steady and strong beneath my ear.

"Go to sleep, you ridiculous human."

I settled against her, my hand fisting in her shirt, my legs tangling with hers. She was warm and solid and real, and the spinning in my head finally, finally stopped.

"Love you, Ale," I mumbled, already halfway to sleep.

"Love you too, Cece."

Her hand found mine, our fingers interlacing automatically, and I felt her press a kiss to the top of my head. It was such a casual gesture, so natural and easy, like it was something we'd been doing forever. Maybe we had been. Maybe this was just who we were now, two people who fit together so perfectly that it was impossible to tell where one ended, and the other began.

I drifted off with her heartbeat in my ear and her arms around me, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.

ANA

I was panicked from the second I set foot into Ciela's room. The carpet under my feet was soft and cushioned, but as I walked further into the room, everything was wrong. The morning light filtered through her curtains, casting pale golden stripes across the floor. The blanket that sat on the end of Ciela's bed, which would usually be found crumpled on the floor come morning, was still sitting perfectly folded on the end of the bed, undisturbed. The duvet covers on the left side of the bed had been thrown back hastily, as if someone had gotten out in a hurry.

The room still smelled faintly of Ciela's vanilla body spray. Her desk was cluttered with schoolbooks and racing magazines, a half-drunk glass of water sitting on her nightstand. Everything looked normal. Everything except the empty bed.

Ciela's bed was empty, which spiked my panic because Ciela was not a morning person; that girl would sleep until noon if I let her, but it wasn't immediately alarming. Maybe she'd gone to the bathroom. Maybe she was already downstairs. I swiftly checked the en-suite bathroom in Ciela's room, pushing the door open with trembling fingers. The tiles were cold and dry, no steam on the mirror, no damp towels. Empty.

The twins and Emiliano were downstairs having breakfast. I could hear the clatter of dishes, the low murmur of voices, but nothing had been heard from Ciela. My panic set in properly then, a cold wave washing over me as I rushed out of the bathroom and over to the bed. I pressed my palm flat against the sheets where my daughter should have been sleeping.

The bed wasn't just cold but stone cold, meaning Ciela hadn't been in it for hours. Maybe not since I'd checked on her last night, when I'd peeked in and seen her dark hair spread across the pillow, her breathing deep and even.

My blood ran cold at the thoughts running through my head as my hand felt the coldness of the sheets. I tried to reason with my own mind, maybe she'd gotten up early, maybe she was in the garden, maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation, despite knowing in my gut that Ciela was nowhere in the house. I would have heard her. I always heard her.

I rushed downstairs, my feet barely touching the steps, panic rushing through every fibre of my body. The kitchen was warm, filled with the smell of eggs and toast. Emiliano stood at the stove, spatula in hand, while Santiago and Xavier sat at the breakfast bar, both scrolling through their phones between bites.

"Has anyone seen Ciela this morning?" My voice came out higher than I intended, tight with barely controlled fear.

Emiliano glanced over his shoulder, completely unaware of the panicked state I was currently in, paying far too much attention to whatever he was cooking. "No. I've not seen her since last night. Why?"

"Where is she?" I was on the verge of tears, every possible worst-case scenario running through my head. My baby girl was missing. My thirteen-year-old daughter was gone, and no one seemed to care.

"Is she not still in bed?" Emiliano asked casually, still blissfully unaware, turning back to flip whatever was in the pan. "You know how she is in the mornings. Probably just sleeping in."

"No, Milo." My voice cracked. "If she were in bed, I'd know where she was, but she's not there, and she's not in the house. I've looked everywhere for her, and I can't find her anywhere." All the panic came flowing out in my words. "Her bed is cold, Milo. Stone cold. She hasn't been in it for hours. What if something happened? I saw her in bed last night, asleep. I went to check on her before I went to sleep, and she was there, and now she's just... gone. What if someone has broken in and kidnapped her?"

The spatula clattered against the pan. Emiliano turned fully now, his eyes finally registering the terror on my face. He took the pan off the heat, moving towards me quickly. He took me in his arms, cradling my head into his chest, and I could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. Over the many years we'd been together, Emiliano had learnt that sometimes the only way to calm me down was the sound of his heartbeat. Since then, it had become tactic number one.

"Ana, calm down, okay. Breathe. Just breathe." His voice was low and soothing, his hand rubbing circles on my back. "If she was in bed last night, she'll be somewhere. We'll find her. I promise you, we'll find her."

"You hear about it on the news, Milo. You hear people being abducted in the middle of the night, but you never think it would happen to you or your children." I was sobbing now, my words muffled against his chest. "Ohhhh, Milo, what if someone's taken her? What if someone broke in while we were sleeping and …"

"Mamá, she's not been child snatched. Calm down," Santiago said from behind us, his voice dripping with teenage indifference, completely unaffected by my current state over the fact that his sister was missing.

Xavier just laughed along, that infuriating laugh that made me want to throttle him. He hit Santiago's arm to get his attention before he spoke, a smirk playing at his lips. "She's like a stray cat. She'll come back eventually. She always does."

I pulled away from Emiliano, whirling to face my sons. "This is not funny; your sister is missing," I cried, my voice breaking. "We need to call the police, Milo. Right now. We need to …"

"Ana, just take a breath ... okay ... we'll find her." Emiliano's hands were on my shoulders, grounding me. "She was here last night; she'll be somewhere. Nobody broke in and took her. Look at these two." He gestured to the twins, who were both very deliberately not meeting our eyes. "You two, however, seem so sure she'll come back ... where is she?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." They both said in perfect sync, neither of them looking up to meet their father's intense gaze, suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates.

My heart was still racing, but something in their tone, in the way they wouldn't look at us, made me pause. They knew something.

"Santiago?" Emiliano's voice dropped lower, taking on that tone that meant business. Our boys knew something; they knew way more than they were letting on.

"I don't know," Santiago answered, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Xavier?" Emiliano pushed, taking a step toward them.

"Sorry ... don't know anything," Xavier answered as well, but his biggest giveaway was on show. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the one he always got when he was hiding something.

"Depending on where we find Ciela, she's facing a grounding," Emiliano said, his voice deadly calm now. "So, either you talk and give up what you know, or you will face the same fate, and trust me, boys, you don't want to test me on this."

"PAPA!" The twins protested in unison, finally looking up, their faces indignant. "That's not fair!"

"That's completely unfair!" Santiago added. "We didn't do anything!"

"Yeah, we're innocent bystanders here," Xavier chimed in.

Emiliano let out a low laugh, simply holding up his finger to silence our boys. "Don't even try to argue. My house, my rules ... now talk. Where is your sister?"

They both just looked at each other, having one of those silent twin conversations that had always unnerved me slightly. Santiago raised an eyebrow. Xavier shrugged. They both knew where Ciela had gone; I could see it written all over their faces.

"Fine," Xavier finally said, rolling his eyes. "Check Alexia's."

The drive to the Putellas' house took less than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I sat in the passenger seat, my hands twisted together in my lap, my mind still racing with worst-case scenarios even though the twins had essentially confirmed where Ciela was.

Emiliano's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "She's fine, Ana. She's probably been there all night, safe and sound."

"She snuck out, Milo," I whispered. "Our thirteen-year-old daughter snuck out in the middle of the night, and we didn't even know. What kind of parents are we?"

"The kind who are about to have a very serious conversation with their daughter about boundaries and safety," he replied, but his voice was gentle. "First, let's just make sure she's okay."

The twins sat in the back, unusually quiet. Even they seemed to sense that this wasn't the time for their usual antics.

When we pulled up to the house, the morning sun was fully up now, bright and cheerful, completely at odds with the anxiety still churning in my stomach. We all climbed out of the car, and I realized with a flush of embarrassment that we were about to descend on Eli's doorstep at eight thirty in the morning, the entire family in tow, looking for our wayward daughter.

I rang the doorbell, smoothing down my hair self-consciously. I was still in my pyjamas, with a cardigan thrown over the top. Some of the panic had subsided, replaced now with embarrassment and a growing anger at Ciela for putting me through this.

Eli opened the door, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion as she took in all of us standing there. "Ana? Emiliano? Is everything okay?"

"Morning Eli. We're so sorry to do this," I started, my words tumbling out in a rush. "But we can't find Ciela anywhere, and we were wondering if she might be here? I know it's early, and I'm so sorry to bother you, but—"

"No, we haven't seen her since she left yesterday to go back to yours," Eli answered, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Check Alexia's bed," Santiago shouted from the back of the group, he and Xavier just watching the chaos unfold, absolutely loving it. For once, they were not the instigators, instead just witnesses, and they were both revelling in it.

I let out a long sigh, utterly embarrassed about how this morning had played out with my children's actions. Here I was, standing on someone else's doorstep, first thing in the morning, in my pyjamas, trying to clear everything up, about to ask to check her daughter's bed. "I'm so sorry, Eli. Can we just check? Please? The boys seem to think... well, they seem to think she might be here."

"Yes, of course you can," Eli said, stepping aside immediately, her eyes wide. She moved aside to let us in, and I could see the curiosity on her face, the way she was trying to piece together what was happening. She was equally intrigued as to what or who she might find in her daughter's room.

We trooped up the stairs, me leading the way with Emiliano close behind, the twins at the back. My heart was pounding again, but for a different reason now. If Ciela were here, if she'd snuck out to spend the night at Alexia's without telling us, without asking permission...

I pushed open Alexia's bedroom door quietly, not wanting to startle anyone if they were indeed inside.

The scene should not have surprised anyone, but still, it surprised everyone.

Alexia's room was exactly as I'd seen it a hundred times before, but I took it in with new eyes now. The bed sat with its headboard against the wall, sticking out into the middle of the room to make space for all of Alexia's things. Posters covered nearly every inch of wall space, Barcelona merch was everywhere, a staple of the décor: scarves draped over her desk chair, a signed jersey framed on the wall, a football sitting in the corner. Various medals and trophies from different competitions over the years lined her shelves, glinting in the morning light streaming through the window.

Among all of that, a picture of her family on the nightstand, and so many pictures of Alexia and Ciela. Every single win they'd ever had was accompanied by a picture of them together, documented and displayed like precious memories.

The duvet was pulled high up over Alexia's body, the cover rising and falling with her breath, but she wasn't the only one in that bed.

A perfectly manicured hand was sticking up from above the covers; the nails were painted a soft blue, Ciela's signature colour. Even though she was only thirteen, Ciela had been taught by me that appearances matter.

That perfectly manicured hand was tangled in Alexia's dark brown hair, cradling the side of her head, which Alexia had leaned into, even in their sleep. Ciela was lying on Alexia, her face hidden in the crook of Alexia's neck, her dark hair spilling across the pillow and mixing with Alexia's. They looked peaceful. Safe. Completely content.

I stood there in the doorway, my hand still on the door handle,  all the panic, fear and anger were still racing through my body. Yet now there was a small part of relief, but also something more complicated. My little girl wasn't so little anymore that she had this whole other life, these relationships that existed outside of me, outside of our family. That she would sneak out in the middle of the night, not for anything dangerous or reckless, but just to be close to her best friend.

CIELA

I woke up to shouting.

"CIELA LLORIS DIAZ!"

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

That was Mama's voice. Mama's very angry, very panicked, very much about to ground me for the rest of my natural life voice.

I lifted my head from where it had been buried in Alexia's neck, blinking against the morning light streaming through the window. Alexia was still asleep beneath me, her face peaceful, her breathing deep and even. My hand was tangled in her hair, and her arms were wrapped around me like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go.

It was also very, very bad timing.

Standing in the doorway of Alexia's bedroom was my entire family.

Mama looked like she'd been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was a mess, and she was wearing her pyjamas. Papa was behind her, one hand on her shoulder, looking equal parts relieved and exasperated, but behind them, looking absolutely delighted with the chaos, were Santiago and Xavier.

The twins were grinning as they'd just won the lottery. Santiago had his arms crossed, looking smug. Xavier was barely containing his laughter.

"Shhhhh," I mumbled, my brain still foggy with sleep. I turned my head slightly, trying to shield Alexia from the noise. "She's asleep."

"CIELA … " Mama started, her voice shaking.

"Don't wake her up," I continued, my words slurring together as I burrowed back into Alexia's neck. She was so warm, and the bed was so comfortable, and I was so tired. "She has training..."

I felt Alexia stir beneath me, her hand moving to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. "Cece?" she mumbled, still half-asleep. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," I whispered, even though everything was very much happening. "Go back to sleep."

She made a soft sound of agreement and pulled me closer, adjusting slightly so I was more comfortable against her. Her hand found mine under the covers, our fingers interlacing automatically, and she pressed her face into my hair.

We were both still completely out of it, operating on pure instinct and muscle memory. The instinct that said, hold onto each other. The memory that said, this is safe, this is home, this is where we belong.

"I told you," Santiago said from the doorway, his voice dripping with smugness. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Stray cat," Xavier added, barely suppressing his laughter. "She always comes back eventually."

"This is NOT funny," Mama said, but her voice had lost some of its panic. She sounded more exhausted now, like all the fear had drained out of her and left only tiredness behind. "Ciela, you scared me half to death. I thought … I thought something had happened to you. I thought someone had taken you, or … "

"I'm fine, Mama," I mumbled into Alexia's neck. "I'm always fine."

"You can't keep doing this," Papa said, his voice gentle but firm. "Ciela, you can't keep sneaking out in the middle of the night. Your mother is going to have a heart attack."

"Sorry," I said, though I wasn't sure how sorry I actually was. Sorry for scaring them, yes. Sorry for coming here. Not even a little bit.

There was a long moment of silence, and then I heard another voice. Eli.

"I'm so sorry," Eli was saying, and she sounded genuinely apologetic. "I had no idea she was here. Alexia didn't tell me …"

"It's not your fault," Papa said quickly. "We should have... we should have known. The boys knew."

"We always know," Santiago said cheerfully. "She does this all the time."

"ALL THE TIME?" Mama's voice pitched up again. "How long has this been going on?"

"Couple months?" Xavier said, like he was guessing at the weather. "Maybe longer. We stopped keeping track."

I groaned, finally accepting that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. I lifted my head, squinting against the light, and found my entire family staring at me. Mama looked like she couldn't decide whether to hug me or kill me. Papa looked resigned. The twins looked absolutely thrilled.

Eli, standing just behind them, looking ... understanding. There was something in her expression, something soft and knowing, like she'd suspected this was happening and had just been waiting for everyone else to figure it out.

"Told you she'd come back," he said. "Stray cat."

"Shut up, Santi," I mumbled.

Xavier laughed. "You're so grounded."

"I know."

"Like, so, so grounded." Santiago laughed. They were the only two laughing.

"I KNOW," I muttered through gritted teeth.

All of a sudden, I felt Alexia’s arms wrap around my waist, and her head came to rest on my shoulder. In that moment, despite everything, everything felt right in the world.

2009 - Age 15

CIELA

The plane had landed twenty minutes ago, but it felt like hours. I'd been sitting in the back seat of Papa’s car, watching the familiar streets of Barcelona slide past the window, and every second that passed felt like torture. My leg bounced restlessly against the seat, my fingers drumming against my thigh in a rhythm that matched my racing heartbeat.

A month. I'd been gone for a whole month.

England had been incredible with the racing, the tracks, the competition. I'd won three out of four races; I’d stood on the podium for all of them and felt that rush of adrenaline as I crossed finish lines. My team had been ecstatic, talking about my future, about opportunities, about how far I could go.

Yet the entire time, all I could think about was coming home.

Coming home to her.

"Ciela, stop fidgeting," Mama said from the front seat, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "We're almost there."

"I know, I know," I said, but my leg kept bouncing. I couldn't help it. The anticipation was eating me alive.

I'd texted Alexia from the airport—just a simple landed, on my way home—and she'd responded immediately with I'll be waiting. Three words that had sent my heart into overdrive and made the twenty-minute drive feel like an eternity.

Because something had changed while I was away, or maybe it had been changing for a while, and the distance had just made it impossible to ignore.

I'd missed her, I'd missed her so much it physically hurt. I was starting to realise it wasn't just the normal missing-your-best-friend kind of ache; it was deeper than that, more consuming. Every race I'd won, the first person I wanted to tell was her. Every moment of triumph or frustration or boredom, she was the one I reached for.

The texts we'd sent over the month had been different … more careful, like we were both dancing around something we were afraid to name.

Miss you, she'd written one night.

Miss you too, I'd replied. Can't wait to come home.

Home to Barcelona or home to me?

I'd stared at that message for ten minutes before responding. Both. Same thing, really.

She'd sent back a little smiley face, and I'd spent the rest of the night analysing what that meant.

"You're going to wear a hole in the seat if you keep bouncing like that," Papa said, amused. He was driving, his eyes fixed on the road, but I could see the smile tugging at his lips in the wing mirror.

"Sorry," I muttered, forcing my leg to still. It lasted about five seconds before it started up again. I couldn’t help it.

Mama turned in her seat to look at me properly. "You know, you could have at least pretended to miss us while you were gone."

"I did miss you!" I protested. "I missed you loads!"

"Mm-hmm." She didn't sound convinced. “Really, because from the second we pick you up, all you can talk about is seeing Alexia."

"That's not … I didn't …" I fumbled over words, feeling my cheeks heat. "I'm excited to see everyone."

"Sure, you are," Santiago said from beside me, grinning like the absolute menace he was. He and Xavier had insisted on coming to pick me up, claiming they'd missed their little sister. I should have known they just wanted front-row seats to my obvious desperation.

"Shut up, Santi."

"I didn't say anything," he said innocently. "I'm just observing. You know, as your loving older brother."

"You're observing that I'm excited to be home. Congratulations."

"We’re observing," Xavier chimed in from the front passenger seat, "that you've checked your phone approximately forty-seven times in the last ten minutes."

"I have not …"

"Forty-eight now," Santiago added helpfully.

I shoved my phone into my pocket, glaring at both of them. "You're both terrible. I don't know why I missed you."

"You didn't miss us," Xavier said, turning to grin at me. "You missed Alexia. We're just the unfortunate obstacles between you and your … "

"Don't," I warned.

"… best friend," he finished, but the way he said it made it clear that wasn't what he'd been about to say.

Papa chuckled from the driver's seat. "Leave your sister alone. She's been away for a month. It's natural to miss your friends."

"Oh, is that what we're calling Alexia now … a friend … got it," Santiago muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

I kicked him in the shin.

"Ow! Mamá, Ciela's being violent!"

"Ciela, don't kick your brother," Mama said automatically, but she was smiling. "Even if he deserves it."

"Thank you," I said primly.

"However," Mama continued, and my stomach sank, "you're not running off the second we get home. You've been gone for a month. You can spend at least an hour with your family before you even plan on disappearing."

"Mamá … " I protested.

"Non-negotiable."

I sigh dramatically as I slump back in my seat, trying not to pout. An hour. I could survive an hour. Probably. Maybe.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out before I could stop myself.

Almost here? Alexia had written.

Five minutes, I typed back quickly. Mama says I have to stay home for an hour first.

An hour???

I KNOW! I'm going to die.

Me too.

I stared at those two words, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. Me too. Such simple words, but they felt weighted with meaning. Like she was saying, more than just agreeing that an hour was a long time. It was like she was saying she'd been dying without me, too.

"Forty-nine," Xavier said.

I groaned, glaring at both of them, "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

He was right. I didn't, but I was definitely going to make his life difficult for the next week.

The car turned onto our street, and my heart rate kicked up another notch. Almost home. Almost there. Almost … then I saw her.

Alexia was standing at the end of our driveway, hands tucked deep into the pockets of my racing jacket. The oversized one I'd left at her house months ago. She was wearing my jacket, and she was rocking slightly on her heels, and even from this distance, I could see the nervous energy radiating off her.

She'd been waiting for me.

The car hadn't even fully stopped before I was pushing the door open.

"Ciela, wait for the car to …" Mama started, but I was already out, my feet hitting the pavement, my bag forgotten in the backseat.

I ran.

The distance between us disappeared in seconds, and then I was crashing into her, my arms wrapping around her so tightly I was probably crushing her ribs. She laughed, that soft, surprised laugh that I'd missed so much as she hugged me back just as fiercely, her forehead pressing against my shoulder.

"You're home," she murmured, and her voice was thick with emotion.

"Yeah," I said, my own voice coming out rough. "I'm home."

We stood there for a long moment, just holding each other, and I felt something in my chest finally settle. This was what I'd been missing. Not just Alexia, but this feeling of completeness that only came when I was with her.

She smelled like shampoo and that perfume she always wore. I breathed it in, trying to memorise it, trying to make up for a month of not having it.

"I missed you," I whispered into her shoulder.

"I missed you, too." Her arms tightened around me. "So much."

From behind us, I heard the car doors opening, heard my family getting out, heard Santiago say something that was probably mocking, but I didn't care. Let them watch. Let them tease. Right now, nothing else mattered except this.

Except her.

Eventually, I pulled back just enough to look at her. She was smiling, that small, private smile that was only for me, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You're wearing my jacket," I said stupidly.

She glanced down at it, then back up at me, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "You left it here. I've been... borrowing it."

"Borrowing it?"

"Okay, fine. I've been wearing it." The blush deepened. "It smells like you."

My heart did something acrobatic in my chest. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

We were still standing there, arms around each other, when Mama's voice cut through the moment.

"Ciela! Come help with your bags!" My Mama yelled, giving no room for misinterpretation, authority laced through every word.

I groaned, but I didn't let go of Alexia. "I have to go inside for a bit. Mama's orders."

"I heard." Alexia's smile turned sympathetic. "I can wait."

"You don't have to … " I tried to argue, but Alexia just interrupted me as she pushed my hair back behind my ear.

"I want to." She said it with a certainty and honesty that just made my throat feel tight.

"Okay," I managed. "Okay. Just... don't leave?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

I forced myself to step back, to let go of her, even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to stay right where I was. Mama was waiting, and I'd already pushed my luck by running out of the car before it had fully stopped.

She just looked at me and back to Alexia, who had moved and was sitting on the edge of the curb. She just sighed as she passed me one of my many bags.

"Come inside?" She offered to Alexia. "You can help her unpack. Or just sit there and talk to her. I really don't care.”

"Okay," Alexia said as she sprang up from her seat, both of us smiling at each other.

We walked back to the house together, while I tried to ignore Santiago and Xavier's knowing looks. I could hear Mama mumbling something to herself, but from what I could hear, it sounded like she’d said, ‘Why do I even bother with those two?’

"I'll just take these upstairs," I said, gesturing to my bags.

"Take your time. I'm sure you and Alexia have a lot to catch up on." I could hear the slight sarcasm in her voice, but I really did care. It was the way she said it that made it clear she knew exactly what was going on. Or at least suspected, but she didn't push, didn't tease, just waved us toward the stairs.

Alexia followed me up to my room, and the second the door closed behind us, I felt like I could breathe properly for the first time in a month.

My room looked exactly the same as I'd left it, bed unmade, posters on the walls, trophies and medals scattered across my shelves. It felt different somehow, smaller, like I'd outgrown it while I was away. Or maybe I'd just gotten used to hotel rooms and unfamiliar spaces, and now being home felt strange.

I dropped my bags on the floor and turned to find Alexia watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. I just..." She shook her head. "I'm really glad you're home."

"Yeah … me too."

We stood there for a moment, the air between us feeling charged with something I couldn't name. Then Alexia moved to sit on my bed, tucking her legs under her, and I joined her, sitting close enough that our knees touched.

"So," she said. "Tell me everything. I want to hear about all of it."

"I call you every day. You already know everything." I laughed quietly.

"I want to hear it again, in person, with all the details you left out."

So, I told her. I told her about the tracks and the races and the other drivers. About the hotel rooms and the team dinners and the moments of triumph and frustration. About standing on podiums and feeling like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

As I spoke, I was aware of how close she was. How her hand was resting on the bed between us, just inches from mine. How she was watching me with that focused intensity she usually reserved for football matches.

"You're incredible, you know that?" she said when I finally ran out of things to say. "Three wins out of four races. That's amazing, Cece."

"It was a good month," I admitted. "But it was also... lonely. Even with the team around me all the time, it felt lonely."

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft, careful.

"Yeah ... because you weren't there." I looked down at my hands, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Every time something good happened, or something bad happened, or just... anything happened, you were the person I wanted to tell.  Texting didn’t really have the same effect as having you there."

"I know what you mean," she said quietly. "I had a match last week, we won 3-1, and I scored twice, and all I could think about was how you weren't in the stands. How I couldn't hear you screaming encouragement and embarrassing me in front of everyone."

I laughed despite myself. "I don't embarrass you."

"You absolutely embarrass me, but I love it." She paused, then added, "I missed it. I missed you."

The way she said it made my heart race. There was something in her voice, something vulnerable and honest and terrifying.

"Ale," I started, then stopped, not sure what I wanted to say.

"Yeah?"

"I..." I took a breath, trying to find the courage. "Do you want to go for a walk down to the beach? I feel like I've been cooped up in cars, planes, and hotel rooms for weeks. I need to move."

It was a cop-out, and we both knew it, but she nodded anyway, standing up and offering me her hand.

"Let's go." She said with a bright smile.

We made it precisely ten steps out the front door before Mama called after us.

"Ciela! Where do you think you're going!"

"I'll be back in an hour!" I called back, already pulling Alexia down the driveway. "I promise!"

"You just got home!"

"I know! I'm sorry! I just need some air!"

There was a pause, and then Papa's voice, calm and amused: "Let them go, Ana. They've barely seen each other in a month."

"But … "

"Let them go." He pushed.

I didn't wait to hear Mama's response. I just kept walking, Alexia's hand warm in mine, as I tried not to think about how natural it felt. How right it all felt.

The walk to the beach took about twenty minutes, and we filled it with easy conversation, her telling me about training with Espanyol, me telling her about the other drivers I'd met. Surface-level stuff. Safe stuff.

Yet underneath it all, there was this current of tension, like we were both waiting for something to happen.

The beach was quieter than usual for a late afternoon. A few families scattered across the sand, some kids playing in the shallow water, but nothing like the crowds that would descend. We walked along the shore, our shoes crunching on shells and damp sand, until we reached the far curve where the rocks jutted out into the water.

This had always been our spot. Ever since we were kids, we'd come here to talk, to think, to just exist together without the rest of the world intruding.

We climbed up onto the rocks and sat close enough that our knees touched, looking out at the water as the sun started its slow descent toward the horizon. The sky was streaked with orange and pink, and the air was warm and salt-tinged.

"I love this place," Alexia said softly.

"Me too."

We fell quiet, and I could feel the weight of all the things we weren't saying pressing down on us. The conversation kept stuttering in strange places, like we were both thinking about something else entirely.

"You're weirdly quiet," Alexia said after a while, trying for teasing but landing somewhere closer to nervous.

"So are you," I replied, picking at a bit of seaweed stuck to the rock. "It's like we've run out of small talk."

"Maybe we have."

We both laughed, but it came out thin and shaky. The waves filled the silence that followed, rolling in and out like they were waiting for something too.

I opened my mouth, closed it again, fingers curling into the sleeves of my hoodie. My heart was racing, and I felt like I was standing on the edge of something huge and terrifying and wonderful all at once.

"Ale," I started, then stopped.

"Yeah?"

"I..." I took a breath, trying to find the words. "This is going to sound stupid."

"Everything you say sounds stupid," she said automatically, then winced. "I mean... no, not stupid, just... ugh, you know what I mean."

"I really don't," I said, smiling despite my nerves.

A long pause. A swallow. A glance at the sand, then at the sky, then, finally, at each other.

"There were moments," I said, my voice lower now, "when I'd finish a race and think, I can't wait to tell Ale about this, but then I realised that was the part I missed most. Not the racing, not the winning. Just... telling you about it. Being with you."

Alexia let out a slow breath. "I kept writing messages," she admitted. "Then deleting them, because I didn't want to make it... something."

"Make what something?"

"This." She gestured vaguely between us. "Us. Whatever this is."

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. "What do you think this is?" I knew what I thought this was, and I hoped she thought that as well, but I needed to know for sure.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But it's not just friendship. It hasn't been for a while."

"No," I agreed quietly. "It hasn't."

Another pause. Longer this time. The sun dipped lower, painting the water gold.

"I didn't want to ruin anything," I said finally. "I didn't want to say something and have it change everything between us."

"What if I want it to change?" Alexia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I looked at her sharply. "What?"

"What if I want it to change?" she repeated, and now she was looking at me with those brown eyes that always made me feel like she could see straight through me. "What if I've been wanting it to change for months, maybe longer, and I've just been too scared to say anything?"

My breath caught. "Ale … "

"I like you," she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "More than I should. More than I've been pretending I do. This past month without you has been torture because all I could think about was how much I missed you, and how it wasn't normal to miss someone this much, and how maybe that meant something."

I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest. "You... you like me?"

"Yes, you absolute idiot. I like you. I've liked you for ages. I just didn't know how to tell you."

"Oh," I breathed. "Good … because I've been trying so hard not to say anything, and it's been driving me mad."

"You have?" She looked stunned, like she genuinely hadn't expected this.

"Of course I have Ale. I think about you constantly. I dream about you. Every good thing that happens, you're the first person I want to tell. Every bad thing, you're the person I want to run to.  This past month, being away from you, it felt like I was missing a part of myself."

"Really?" Her voice was so small, so hopeful.

"Really."

The tension between us shifted, softened, warmed. Our shoulders brushed, and neither of us pulled away this time.

"So," Alexia said slowly, a smile starting to tug at her lips. "What do we do about this?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never done this before."

"Me neither."

"We could just... see what happens?"

"We could." She reached out, her fingers finding mine, interlacing carefully. "Or we could stop pretending we don't know exactly what this is."

"What is this?" I smirked.

"I think," she said, her thumb brushing over my knuckles, "it's you and me. The way it's always been. Just... more."

"More," I repeated, testing the word. "I like it more."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I confirmed.

We sat there for a moment, hands linked, hearts racing, both of us grinning like idiots, and then, because I'd never been good at waiting for things I wanted, I leaned in.

The kiss wasn't smooth. Our noses bumped first, and Alexia let out a nervous laugh that made me laugh too, but then we adjusted. We found the right angle, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

Her lips were soft and warm, and she tasted like that strawberry lip balm she always wore. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, both of us testing this new territory, but then her hand came up to cup my cheek, and I leaned into her touch, and that kiss deepened.

It felt like coming home. Like every moment of the past nine years had been leading to this. Like this was exactly where we were supposed to be.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless, both smiling, both glowing with that stunned, overwhelming joy that comes from finally getting what you've been afraid to want.

"Wow," Alexia whispered, her forehead resting against mine.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Wow."

"Can we do that again?" She asked with a small smile.

I laughed, pulling her closer. "Absolutely."

The second kiss was better than the first. Slower, deeper, more certain. We kissed until the sun had fully set and the sky had turned deep purple, until the beach had emptied out and we were alone with just the sound of the waves and each other's breathing.

When we finally pulled apart for good, Alexia was looking at me with such tenderness, such open affection, that I felt my throat tighten.

"I love you," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "I know it's so soon to say that, and maybe it's too much, but I do. I love you. I have for a long time."

"It's not too soon," she said softly. "And it's not too much, because I love you too. I think I've loved you since we were six years old and you got hit in the head with a football and decided we were friends."

I laughed, tears pricking at my eyes. "Best decision I ever made."

"Mine too."

We sat there as the stars started to come out, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and I felt like everything in my life had finally aligned. Like all the pieces had clicked into place.

This was it. This was what I'd been missing. Not just Alexia, but this, us, together, finally admitting what we'd both known for so long.

"We should probably head back," Alexia said eventually, though she made no move to stand up. "Your mama's going to kill you."

"Worth it," I said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Completely worth it."

"You're going to be in so much trouble."

"I don't care."

She laughed, that bright, joyful sound that I loved so much. "Come on. Let's go face the music."

We climbed down from the rocks and started the walk back, hands linked, shoulders bumping, both of us unable to stop smiling. The world felt different now. It felt brighter.

"So," I said as we walked. "What happens now?"

"Now?" Alexia squeezed my hand. "Now we just... keep being us. Just more."

"More," I repeated, grinning. "I really like that word."

"Me too."

As we walked back through the darkening streets of Barcelona, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Not just in this city, not just on this path toward racing and dreams and impossible futures.

With her and always with her.

2011 - Age 17

CILEA

The journey back to Barcelona was the longest eight hours of my life.

I managed to get a last-minute flight out of Austria, but it involved a layover in Munich and cost more money than I wanted to think about. I didn't care. I would have paid anything and done anything if it meant I could get home faster.

I spent the entire flight staring out the window, my mind spinning with thoughts I couldn't control. Jaume was gone. How was that possible? I'd seen him just two weeks ago, before I'd left for Austria. He'd been fine. Healthy. Smiling. He'd hugged me goodbye and told me to drive safely, to make him proud.

Now he was gone.

I thought about Alexia, about how she must be feeling right now. Jaume had been her hero, her biggest supporter, the person who'd believed in her football dreams when everyone else had said girls couldn't play. He'd driven her to training sessions, stood on the sidelines in the rain, and celebrated every goal like it was the World Cup final.

Now he was gone, and they were alone, and I wasn't there.

The guilt was crushing. I should have been there. I should have been in Barcelona, not halfway across Europe chasing my own dreams. What if she needed me and I wasn't there? What if one day …

My phone buzzed with a text from Eli.

We're still at the hospital. When you land, come straight here. I'll text you the details.

I typed back immediately. On my way. Tell Alexia I'm coming. Tell her I love her.

I will. She knows.

Did she? Did she really know how much she meant to me? How I would drop everything, abandon everything, for her?

I guess she was about to find out.

The hospital was a maze of white corridors and fluorescent lights that made everything look washed out and unreal. I'd gotten a taxi straight from the airport, and now I was standing at the reception desk of the cardiac ward, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I need to know where Jaume Putellas Rota is, please."

The receptionist didn't even look up. Her tone was dismissive, bored, like she'd had this conversation a thousand times and couldn't be bothered to care about the thousand-and-first.

"Are you family?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation.

"Really?" Now she looked up, her expression sceptical. "Because his family is already here."

I felt something hot and sharp flare in my chest. "I am family."

"What's your relation to the patient?"

How did I even begin to explain? Technically, I wasn't related to Jaume by blood. Technically, I was just his daughter's girlfriend. That word, girlfriend, felt so inadequate for what we were, what we'd always been.

I'd known the Putellas family for eleven years. I'd grown up in their house, eaten at their table, celebrated birthdays and holidays, and victories with them. Jaume had been at my karting races since I was seven years old. He'd taught me how to change a tire, how to check my oil, and how to be brave when I was scared.

He'd looked at me when I was fifteen and told me I was going to do great things. He'd believed in me when I didn't believe in myself.

Two years ago, when Alexia and I had sat her parents down and nervously explained that we were together, really together, he'd smiled and said, "I know. I've always known, and I'm happy for you both."

That family was my family. They always had been.

"That family is my family," I said, my voice shaking with emotion and barely suppressed anger.

"Unless you're immediate family, I can't give out confidential patient information to just anyone."

"You listen here," I said, leaning over the desk, my voice rising. "I know you're doing your job, but you're not listening. I have known that family since I was six years old. I have known that man since I was six years old, ever since I ran into his daughter on the playground. That is eleven years of my life that I have seen that family every single day. So if you want to argue that that family is not my family, then go ahead, but you are simply wrong. I have just travelled from Austria, and it's a fucking emergency, so I need you to tell me where the fu—"

"Cece."

The voice was soft and broken, and I knew immediately who it belonged to. That voice could be the quietest voice in a grandstand full of people, and I would still be able to pick it out of the crowd with ease.

I recoiled back from the desk, turning to where Alexia was standing in the hallway.

My Alexia. My Alee, but she wasn't the Ale I'd left two weeks ago. This version was shattered, hollowed out, like someone had reached inside her and torn out everything that made her bright and fierce and alive.

Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Her hair was a mess, pulled back in a careless ponytail. The sight of it made my heart crack open.

"He's gone," she said, and her voice broke on the words. "He's gone."

I moved without thinking, crossing the distance between us in seconds. Her knees gave out the moment I reached her, but I was there to catch her, my arms wrapping around her as she collapsed against me.

"I've got you," I whispered, cradling her head against my chest as her body shook with sobs. "I've got you. I've always got you."

"He's gone," she sobbed into my shoulder, her hands fisting in my jacket like she was afraid I'd disappear too.

"Shhhh," I murmured, carefully lowering us both to the floor because I didn't think either of us could stand anymore. "I've got you. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She cried harder, and I just held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other wrapped protectively around her back. I didn't try to tell her it would be okay. I didn't try to offer empty platitudes about time healing wounds or him being in a better place.

I just held her and let her break, because that's what she needed right now. To break. To fall apart. To let out all the grief and pain and devastation that was consuming her.

I would be here for as long as she needed. I would be here to catch every piece. Always.

I don't know how long we sat there on that hospital floor. Time felt meaningless, measured only in the rhythm of her sobs and the steady beat of my heart against her ear. I managed to move us both from the middle of the floor to the designated chair on the side of the room. It was a slow process of coaxing Alexia to move, but I got her there.

Eventually, the tears slowed. Not stopped, I don't think they could stop, not yet, but slowed enough that she could breathe again.

"You came," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Of course I came."

"You're supposed to be in Austria. You have a race … " She tried to argue.

"I don't care about the race," I said firmly. "I don't care about anything except being here with you."

"But …" She hiccupped, trying to argue back again.

"No buts. There is nowhere else in the world I'm supposed to be right now. Nowhere."

She pulled back slightly to look at me, her eyes searching my face like she was trying to understand how I could be real.

"I love you," she said, the words tumbling out desperately. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I said, cupping her face in my hands, brushing away her tears with my thumbs. "I love you more than anything. I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm not leaving."

She nodded, then buried her face back in my neck, and I held her close, pressing kisses to her hair, murmuring soft reassurances that I wasn't sure she could even hear.

After a while, I became aware of other people around us. Eli was there, her own face tear-stained, watching us with a mixture of grief and gratitude. While Alba was curled up on the chairs on the opposite side, her eyes were red and puffy.

"Alba," I said softly, and she looked up at me. "Come here, sweetheart."

She didn't need to be asked twice. She came over and curled up against my side, and I wrapped my free arm around her, holding both Putellas sisters close.

"I've got you both," I whispered. "I've got you."

We stayed in that hospital waiting room for hours. Alba eventually fell asleep with her head in my lap, and I ran my fingers through her hair in slow, soothing strokes, the same way Mama used to do for me when I was upset.

Other family members came and went. Aunts and uncles and cousins, all of them crying, all of them taking turns going into the room where Jaume's body lay. Each time someone came back out, they were crying harder, and I felt my own grief building in my chest.

I couldn't break down. Not yet. Not when Alexia and Alba needed me to be strong.

"You're supposed to be in Austria," Alexia said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

I looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. You have a race tomorrow. You're going to get in trouble with your team."

"I don't care," I answered bluntly. Not to be mean, but to make her understand my point.

"Ciela … "

"Ale, listen to me." I shifted so I could look at her properly, my hand cupping her cheek. "There will be other races. Other teams. Other opportunities. There is only one you. I get one chance in this life with you, one chance, and you mean more to me than anything else in the world. More than racing, more than winning, more than any dream I've ever had. You are my priority. You will always be my priority."

Her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do," I said firmly. "You deserve everything good in this world, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know that."

She kissed me then, soft and desperate and salt-tinged with tears, and I kissed her back, trying to pour every ounce of love and comfort and promise into it.

When we pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too. I always have, and I always will. Don't you ever question that? Ever."

"I won't," she promised.

Eventually, Eli came over to where we were sitting. Her eyes were red, her face drawn with exhaustion and grief, but she managed a small smile when she looked at me.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly. "I know what you gave up to be here."

"I didn't give up anything that matters," I said honestly.

She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "You're a good girl, Ciela. Jaume always said so. He loved you like you were his own."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and I felt my composure start to crack. "Can I..." I swallowed hard. "Can I see him? Just for a minute?"

Eli nodded. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

I carefully extracted myself from Alexia and Alba, pressing a kiss to Alexia's forehead. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," she whispered.

The walk down the hallway to Jaume's room felt endless. My legs were shaking, my heart pounding, and I had to keep reminding myself to breathe. The room was quiet and dim, lit only by the soft glow of the machines that had been turned off. Jaume lay on the bed, looking peaceful, like he was just sleeping.

I moved to the side of the bed, my hand reaching out to touch his. His skin was cool, and that simple fact made everything real in a way it hadn't been before.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

The tears came then, hot and fast, and I didn't try to stop them.

"I'm really going to miss you," I continued through my sobs. "You've been... you've been like a second father to me. You taught me so much. About cars and football and how to be brave when I'm scared. You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself."

I took a shaky breath, wiping at my eyes.

"I promised you once that I would always race for the love I had when I was seven years old, parking my go-kart on your driveway like it was a real car. I'll keep that promise. I'll keep racing, and I'll make you proud. I swear I will."

My voice broke again, and I had to pause to collect myself.

"But more than that, I promise you I'll take care of them. Your Elisabeth, your Alba, your Alexia. I'll always make sure they're safe and loved and looked after. They're yours, they'll always be yours, but I promise you I'll be there for them. For everything."

I squeezed his hand, my tears falling onto the white hospital sheets.

"You know how much I love your daughter. You've always known. I promise you, for as long as I live, she will always know how loved she is. How much I love her. I'll always put her first. I'll always take care of her. I'll always support her and champion her and believe in her."

A small, watery laugh escaped me. “Because let's be real, even if she doesn't know it yet, we both do. She's already incredible, but she's going to be the best. The best the world has ever seen, and I'm going to be there for all of it, cheering louder than anyone. I promise you, I will always love her. Forever and ever and ever."

The grief overwhelmed me then, and I collapsed into the chair beside the bed, my chest tight, my breathing ragged. I cried for Jaume, for Alexia, for Alba, for Eli. For the loss of someone who had been so important to all of us.

I cried for myself, for the man who had welcomed me into his family and made me feel like I belonged.

Three days later, I stood in a black dress that Mama had helped me pick out, my shoulders already damp from tears that weren't my own.

The funeral was beautiful and heartbreaking in equal measure. The church was packed with people whose lives Jaume had touched.

I stood between Alexia and Alba, one arm around each of them, and I held them up when they couldn't stand on their own. I held them through the service, through the burial, through the reception afterward, where people kept coming up to offer condolences that felt hollow and inadequate.

I held them together because that's what I'd promised. That's what Jaume would have wanted.

When it was finally over, when everyone had gone home, and it was just the four of us, sitting in the Putellas' living room in an exhausted silence. Yet I felt the weight of that promise settle over me like a mantle.

This was my family. These were my people, and I would protect them, care for them, love them, for the rest of my life.

Alexia was curled against my side, her eyes closed, her breathing finally even after days of crying. Alba was asleep on the other end of the couch, her head on Eli's lap, but Eli was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For being here. For being here for them … for her."

"There's nowhere else I would be," I said honestly.

"I know." She smiled, sad but genuine. "Jaume knew too. He always said you were special. That you and Alexia were going to do great things together."

"We will," I promised. "I'll make sure of it."

I meant it. Every word.

I'd made a promise to a man I loved, to a family I'd chosen, to a girl who was my entire world.

I would keep that promise. Always.

2013 - Age 19

ALEXIA

The flight to Germany had been turbulent, which felt appropriate somehow. My stomach had been in knots since I'd booked the ticket three days ago, the moment I'd realized I actually had a weekend off.

I could have stayed in Barcelona. Could have rested, recovered, caught up on sleep. My body probably needed it, but the second I'd seen Ciela's race schedule and realised she'd be at the Nürburgring, the decision had made itself.

I needed to see her, needed to be near her, needed to exist in the same physical space instead of just through pixelated video calls and text messages that never quite captured what I wanted to say.

Watching Ciela do what she did best, standing at the back of the garage while she spoke to her engineers, her inability to not talk with her hands. Every now and then, she would be talking, and she’d turn to look at me, her eyes raking over my face and my body, constantly checking that I was okay. I always was.

Watching her race her car, watching the speed at which she drove, always gave me slight heart palpitations. I’d have to stand at the back, watching the live feed, watching as the other crashed out, turned into each other, or the barriers. Having to watch people retire from the race for a multitude of different reasons. I’d stand nervously with my headphones just listening to the calm and controlled nature of Ciela's voice, as she spoke to the engines. She was in full control, she had the plan, and she was executing it.

Watching as she stood on that top step of the podium for both races that weekend, she had a smile on her face, which just made her phone face light up, and the way her eyes would always scan the crowd, only stopping when they found me.

By the end of the weekend, the hotel room felt too quiet.

The hotel was nice, nicer than it could have been. The thing most people on the outside didn’t realise was that there was no money in racing unless you sat at the top. Getting to the top was a whole different thing; you want to race, you pay.

We ordered food, pasta, because it always had to be carbs after a race. We ate on the couch, her feet in my lap, talking about everything and nothing. My season with Barcelona, her season in GP3, the gossip from back home.

Normal things. Comfortable things. The kind of conversation we'd been having for thirteen years, but underneath it all, there was this current of tension. Not bad tension, maybe just an awareness of how long it had been since we'd been alone together. Of how much I'd missed her, of how temporary this was. I'd have to fly back to Barcelona tomorrow night, and then it would be weeks before we saw each other again.

After dinner, while she showered, I changed into the comfortable clothes I'd packed. When she emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and smelling like soap, wearing just a tank top and shorts, I felt my breath catch.

"What?" she asked, noticing my stare.

"Nothing," I said. "Just... I missed you."

Her expression softened. "I missed you too. So much."

She crossed the room and climbed onto the bed beside me, and I immediately curled into her, my head on her chest, her arms wrapping around me. This … this was what I'd needed. Not just to see her, but to feel her, to be held by her, to remember what it felt like to be close.

"Tell me about your week," she murmured, her fingers combing through my hair.

So, I did. I told her about training, about the tactical sessions that had run long, about the new player who was struggling to integrate with the team. I told her about Mamá and Alba; about the dinner we'd had last Sunday.

When I ran out of things to say, we fell into comfortable silence. The room was dim now, lit only by the lamp on the nightstand and the fading light coming through the window. Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of the city, but in here, it was quiet. Peaceful.

"You okay?" Ciela asked after a while.

I nodded against her chest. "Just tired."

"Long weekend."

"Long everything," I murmured. "Your world is crazy."

She hummed in agreement, her thumb brushing the back of my neck. "I'm still glad you came, though. Despite the crazy. Having you here makes it feel slightly less crazy."

"I wasn't going to miss your race weekend," I said. "Not when I actually had time off. That's like... a miracle."

She laughed softly. "I know, but it still meant a lot."

I wanted to say you mean a lot, but the words stuck in my throat the way they always did when the feelings got too big. I loved Ciela more than anything in the world; she knew that, I knew that, but sometimes the magnitude of it overwhelmed me. Made me feel small and inarticulate.

So instead, I just held her tighter, and she seemed to understand.

We lay there for a long time, wrapped in the kind of silence that only existed when two people trusted each other completely. Her heartbeat was steady under my ear, her breathing slow and even, and I felt myself starting to drift.

A thought that had been nagging at me all weekend suddenly pushed its way to the surface, demanding attention.

"Cece?" I said quietly. I moved my head from lying on her chest, so now my chin was resting on her chest, so I could look up at her.

"Mm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

Her hand stilled in my hair, and I felt her attention sharpen. "Always."

I sat up more, enough to look at her properly. Her eyes were soft in the dim light, patient and open, waiting for whatever I needed to say.

"Today scared me," I admitted.

She blinked, clearly surprised. "Scared you? Why?"

I could see her mind working, trying to figure out what I meant. The race had gone well. She hadn't crashed, hadn't even had any close calls. Everything had been smooth.

"Not the race," I clarified. "The... everything else."

"I don't understand."

I took a breath, trying to find the right words. "When I was in the paddock today, watching you work, there were all these people around you. Your engineer, your mechanics, and other drivers. And some of them were ... they were looking at you in a way that made me ..."

I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding jealous or possessive or insecure.

Ciela's expression had already shifted to understanding. "Ale..."

"I know it's stupid," I said quickly. "I know you're with me. I know you love me, but watching all these people, those men, talk to you, laugh with you, stand too close, the way some of them touch you, they look at you like they had a chance... it made me realise something."

"What did you realise?" she asked gently, sitting up too, so we were facing each other.

My heart was pounding now, the words forming before I'd fully thought them through. "That I can't lose you. That the thought of losing you to this world, to the fame, to the attention, to someone who can be there for you in ways I can't … it terrifies me."

"You're not going to lose me," Ciela said firmly, cupping my face in her hands. "Ever. No one could take me away from you."

"I know," I said, even though my throat was tight. "I do know that, but it made me realise something else too. Something bigger."

Her thumb brushed my cheekbone, gentle and grounding. "What?"

The words were there, right on the tip of my tongue, and suddenly I knew I had to say them. Had to make this real.

"That I love you," I said, my voice trembling. "More than I've ever loved anyone. More than I knew I could love someone."

Ciela's breath caught, her eyes widening slightly.

"And I don't want to lose you," I continued, the words coming faster now. "Not to fame, not to racing, not to the world. I want you. For the rest of my life. All of it. The chaos, the quiet, the races, the matches, the nights like this ... everything. I want everything."

"Alexia..." Her voice was barely a whisper.

I reached for her hands, holding them tightly between my own. My heart was racing so fast I thought it might burst out of my chest, but I couldn't stop now. This felt right. This felt like the right thing I'd ever done.

I took a shaky breath. "Marry me?"

The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever. Ciela just stared at me, her eyes wide, her lips parted in shock. For a horrible long moment, I thought I'd made a terrible mistake. That I'd moved too fast, asked for too much, ruined everything.

Then her eyes filled with tears, and a smile broke across her face, that brilliant, joyful smile that I'd been in love with since I was six years old.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Yes," I said, more certain now. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

"Alexia, we're nineteen …"

"I don't care how old we are," I interrupted. "I know what I want. I've known what I wanted since I was fifteen years old and kissed you on that beach. Maybe even before that. I want you. I want this. I want us, forever."

She let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're crazy."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But I'm crazy about you. So... will you? Will you marry me?"

For a moment, she just looked at me, her expression full of so much love and wonder and disbelief that I felt my own eyes start to burn with tears.

Then she whispered, "Yes."

The word hung in the air between us, perfect and complete.

"Yes?" I repeated, needing to hear it again.

"Yes," she said, louder this time, more certain.

I didn't remember moving, but suddenly I was kissing her, my hands in her hair, her arms wrapped around me, both of us crying and laughing at the same time. The kiss was desperate and joyful and tasted like salt from our tears, and it was perfect.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, she rested her forehead against mine.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

2014 - Age 20

ALEXIA

The morning of the wedding, I woke up alone. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom, trying to process the enormity of what was about to happen. Mamá had insisted on the tradition of not seeing each other the night before the wedding, so Ciela had stayed at her parents' house while I'd stayed here, in the room where I'd grown up, surrounded by old football posters and trophies and photographs of us at every age.

There was one on my nightstand, Ciela and me at seven years old, gap-toothed and grinning, her arm slung around my shoulders. I’d just won my first football match, some informal game at the park, and she looked so proud of me. The way she looked at me in that photo was still the way she looked at me now, even when she knew everyone was watching.

I picked up the frame, running my thumb over the glass. That little girl had no idea what was coming. Had no idea that the chaotic, brilliant girl beside her would become her entire world. Her best friend, her partner, her home.

Her wife.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. "Alexia … you awake?"

"Yeah, Mamá. Come in." I called back

She entered carrying coffee and toast. She set it on the bed beside me and sat down, her hand coming to rest on my knee.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Terrified," I admitted. "Excited and happy. All of it at once."

She smiled, that soft, knowing smile that only mothers could manage. "That sounds about right."

"Is that how you felt? When did you married Papá?"

Her expression flickered at the mention of him. It had been three years since we'd lost him, and the grief was still there; it would always be there, but it had softened into something we could carry.

"Yes," she said. "Exactly like that. Like I was standing on the edge of something huge and wonderful and terrifying, and all I could do was jump."

"Did you ever regret it?" I asked. "Jumping?"

"Not for a single second." She squeezed my knee. "Your father and I had our challenges, like any couple, but choosing him and choosing to build a life with him, having you and Alba... those were the best decisions I ever made."

I felt my throat tighten as I pushed back the tears. "I wish he were here."

"I know, sweetheart. I do too." She reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face. "He is here, in a way. He's in you, in the way you love so fiercely and completely. He'd be so proud of you today. Of the woman you've become, of the love you've found."

"You think so?"

"I know so. He loved Ciela, and you know that. He always said you two were inevitable."

I laughed despite the tears threatening to spill. "Everyone always said that."

"It was true. From the moment that football hit her in the head, and she decided you were friends, it was inevitable. You were always going to end up here."

Maybe she was right. Maybe this had always been written somewhere in the stars. Maybe Ciela and I had been moving toward this moment since we were six years old, since the first time she held my hand, since the first time I realised that being near her felt like coming home.

"Eat your breakfast," Mamá said, standing up. "Alba will be up soon to help you get ready, and you know how she gets when you don't eat."

"Bossy?"

"Protective. Like her sister." She leaned down to kiss my forehead. "I love you, Alexia, and I'm so, so happy for you."

"I love you too, Mamá."

The next few hours passed in a blur of activity. Alba arrived with our cousins, and suddenly my room was full of people, doing my hair, helping me into my suit, offering opinions on jewellery and shoes, and whether I should wear my hair up or down.

I'd chosen a cream-colored suit, tailored to fit perfectly, with a soft open jacket that felt elegant without being too formal. It felt like me, understated, classic, comfortable. Ciela had seen it when we'd gone shopping together months ago and had immediately said, "That's the one. You look perfect."

Now, standing in front of the mirror while Alba fussed with my collar, I hoped she'd still think so.

"Stop fidgeting," Alba said, swatting my hands away. "You're going to wrinkle it."

"Sorry. I'm nervous." I said, smoothing my hand down my shirt for the thousandth time.

"You're marrying your best friend. The person you've been in love with since you were basically a fetus. What's there to be nervous about?" She said so matter-of-factly.

"Everything," I said honestly. "What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if I cry so much I can't say my vows? What if …"

"Alexia." Alba turned me to face her, her hands on my shoulders. "You're going to be fine. Better than fine. This is Ciela. Your Ciela. She's not going to care if you trip or cry or forget every word you're supposed to say. She's just going to be happy you're there."

I took a shaky breath. "You're right."

"I know I'm right. I'm always right." She grinned, then pulled me into a hug. "I'm really happy for you, you know. Both of you. You deserve this."

"Thank you," I whispered into her shoulder.

The beach was perfect.

I'd been worried about the weather, but today was clear and warm, with just enough breeze to keep it comfortable.

The chairs were arranged in small rows, each decorated with white ribbons and sprigs of wildflowers that Ciela's mother had picked from her garden. The scent of salt water drifted through the air, mixing with the sweet smell of the flowers. It was intimate, private, exactly what we'd wanted.

Our families were already seated, Mamá and Alba in the front row on one side, Ciela's parents and brothers on the other. A few close friends filled the remaining seats. No one else. This wasn't a spectacle or a performance. This was just us, making promises to each other in front of the people who mattered most.

I stood at the edge of the water, hands clasped in front of me, trying to breathe evenly. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and I felt like I might either burst into tears or laughter at any moment.

Alba stood beside me, her hand briefly touching my elbow in silent support. "You've got this," she murmured.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

The officiant, a kind woman we'd met with several times over the past few months, smiled at me reassuringly. "Ready?"

Was I ready? I'd been ready for this since I was fifteen years old, since the moment I'd kissed Ciela on that beach and realized I wanted to spend my entire life kissing her. Since the moment she’d held me in a hospital corridor and promised to always be there. Since the moment I'd proposed in a German hotel room, and she'd said yes.

"Yes," I said. "I'm ready."

Ciela appeared at the top of the small path leading down to the sand, and my breath left me in a rush.

She was ... she was breathtaking.

The sunlight caught in her long, dark hair, making it shine almost black. Her ivory dress flowed around her like water, simple and elegant, with a ribbon over her shoulder, flowing down her back as the skirt moved with the breeze. She held a small bouquet of colourful dahlias tied with a pale ribbon.

It was her face that undid me. That soft, almost shy smile. Those eyes, a warm brown and full of so much love, locked on mine like I was the only person in the world.

She started walking, slow and steady, and I felt tears prick my eyes. I didn't bother trying to hide them. Let everyone see. Let them know how much this meant, how much she meant.

When she reached me, she let out a tiny laugh, breathless and joyful. "Hi."

"Hi," I whispered back, my voice cracking.

She handed her bouquet to Alba, then turned back to me, and we took each other's hands. Her fingers slid between mine with the ease of fourteen years of practice, and I felt something in my chest settle. This. This was right. This was exactly where we were supposed to be.

The officiant smiled warmly at us, then turned to address our families.

"Welcome, everyone. Today is not just a wedding. Today is the continuation of a story that began long before either of them understood what love was."

I squeezed Ciela's hands, and she squeezed back, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Some people meet their soulmate at thirty," the officiant continued. "Some at twenty. These two met at six, when a football hit a little girl in the head, and instead of crying, she laughed and declared them friends."

Soft laughter rippled through our families. I felt my cheeks flush, but Ciela just grinned at me, proud and unrepentant.

"They grew up side by side," the officiant said. "They learned the world together. They learned from each other. They were inseparable long before they knew why."

I thought about all those years, the playground, the sleepovers, the races and matches, the late-night conversations, the way we'd always gravitated toward each other like magnets. How even when we'd been too young to understand what we were feeling, we'd known that being together had felt right.

"And when life became difficult," the officiant continued, her voice softening, "they held each other through it. Through grief. Through distance. Through fear. Through the moments that could have broken them, but instead bound them closer and stronger."

My eyes flickered to Mamá, to Alba, and I felt the familiar ache of missing Papá, but as I did, I felt Ciela's hands tighten around mine, grounding me, reminding me that I wasn't alone. That I'd never be alone again.

"Today," the officiant said, "they choose each other again. Not for the first time, and not for the last. Before we begin the vows, I'd like to invite you both to take a moment. Look at each other. Really look."

We did, though, honestly, I'd been looking at her since the moment she'd appeared. Looking at her was as natural as breathing.

I saw every version of Ciela I'd ever loved. The chaotic six-year-old with the too-big grin. The thirteen-year-old who'd climbed through my window in the middle of the night. The fifteen-year-old who'd kissed me on this very beach. The seventeen-year-old who'd held me together when my world fell apart. The nineteen-year-old who'd said yes when I'd asked her to marry me.

I saw the future too, all the versions of her I hadn't met yet, all the moments we'd share together, all the ways we'd grow and change and love each other through it all.

"Now," the officiant said gently. "Your vows."

My heart stuttered. This was it. The moment I'd been both anticipating and dreading, because how did you put fourteen years of love into words? How did you explain what someone meant when they were your entire world? I took a breath, trying to steady myself, and began.

"Ciela..." My voice was already shaking. "Loving you has never felt like something I learned. It felt like something I remembered. Like something that had always been there, waiting for me to grow into it. You've been the quiet thread running through every version of my life. Even when we were small, even when we didn't have the words for what we were feeling, you were the person I reached for without thinking. You still are."

I thought about all those moments, reaching for her hand in the playground, calling her first when something good or bad happened, turning to her in the hospital when my world was ending. Always her. Always.

"You've always had this way of bringing colour into my world. You walk into a room, and everything shifts; it becomes brighter, louder, warmer, and somehow, you've always known how to quiet it again when I needed that too. You've been my balance for so long that I don't remember what it felt like before."

My thumb brushed over her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steadiness of her presence.

"You've seen me in every state a person can be seen in, the brave parts, the messy parts, the parts I tried to hide even from myself, and you've met all of them with patience. With gentleness. With that look you give me that makes everything feel a little less impossible."

I had to pause again, my throat tight with emotion. Ciela's tears were falling freely now, but she was smiling, that beautiful smile that was only for me.

"So, my promise to you is this: I will keep choosing you. Not in grand gestures, not in dramatic declarations, but in the small, steady ways that build a life. I'll choose you in the quiet mornings, in the long nights, in the moments when everything feels too heavy or too light. I'll stand with you, grow with you, and love you in all the ways you've taught me love can look."

My voice broke, but I pushed through.

"You've been home to me for as long as I can remember, and I want to spend the rest of my life coming home to you."

The silence that followed felt sacred. Ciela was crying openly now, and I realised I was too, tears streaming down my face that I didn't bother to wipe away.

Then she took a shaky breath, and it was her turn.

"Alexia..." Her voice was thick with emotion. "You've always been the calm in my chaos. Even when I was all noise and motion, you never asked me to be less. You just ... understood me. You always have."

I felt my heart clench at her words, at the truth in them.

"You're the person I've always wanted to tell things to. The big things, the small things, the things that only matter because you're the one hearing them. Somehow, you make everything feel more real. More grounded. More mine."

She laughed quietly, brushing tears from her cheeks with her free hand.

"You've held me together in ways I don't think you even realise, and you've let me hold you in ways that changed me. You've been my safest place, my favourite place, the one constant I never had to question. Even when life was loud, even when everything felt too big, you were the steady heartbeat underneath it all. So today, I promise to love you the way you've always loved me. I promise to protect what we've built, to stand beside you when life gets messy, and to keep choosing us, every day, in all the small ways that matter."

She squeezed my hands; her eyes locked on mine.

"You are the best part of every version of my life, and I want every version of my future to have you in it. I want the ordinary days, the extraordinary ones, the quiet moments, the loud ones … I want all of it for as long as I live. You’re my heart. My home. My always."

The last word came out as barely a whisper, and I couldn't hold back anymore. I was crying fully now, overwhelmed by the weight of her words, by the promise in them, by the sheer magnitude of being loved like this.

The officiant gave us a moment, letting us just exist in the emotion of it, before she spoke again.

"May we have the rings?"

Alba stepped forward with a small wooden box. Inside lay two simple silver bands. Nothing flashy. Just solid and real and permanent.

I took Ciela's ring first, my hands shaking slightly as I held it.

"With this ring," I said, my voice steadier now, "I give you my heart, my loyalty, and my life."

I slid it onto her finger, watching as it settled into place, as it had always belonged there, as we'd always been moving toward this moment.

Ciela took my ring, her own hands trembling, her eyes still wet with tears.

"With this ring," she murmured, "I give you my love, my trust, and my forever."

She slid it onto my finger, and I felt the cool metal against my skin, felt the weight of it. A reminder of our promise.

The officiant smiled, her own eyes shining. "By the power of love and the promises you've made today, I now pronounce you married."

Married. The word echoed in my head, surreal and perfect.

"You may now kiss."

Ciela laughed through her tears, and I didn't wait. I cupped her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away her tears, and whispered, "Come here."

The kiss was soft and gentle, both of us crying and smiling at the same time, but then it deepened, became more certain, and I felt everything else fall away. The beach, our families, the world, none of it mattered. There was only this. Only her. Only us.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, our families erupted in cheers and applause. I heard Alba whooping, heard Ciela's brothers shouting something probably inappropriate, heard our mothers crying happy tears.

I was only looking at Ciela, at my wife.

My wife.

She was grinning at me, that brilliant, joyful smile that I'd been in love with for fourteen years, and I felt my heart swell so much I thought it might burst.

"I love you," she murmured. "So much."

"I love you too," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Always."

I meant it with everything I had, with everything I was, with everything I would ever be.

Always.

your lollipop crunched between your teeth as sweat trickled down the thick line of her shoulders, red hair curling at her temples in the humidity that you so desperately wanted to tangle your fingers in.

the sound of cleats hitting concrete started you out of the very hyper-realistic daydream of you licking the salt from the dips of her abs. and there she was. your adonis of a girlfriend dripping sweat from the tips of her hair as she leant down to greet you.

‘wassup, baby?’ vi greeted, sharp canine grazing the curve of your earlobe as your nails curved over her shoulder, pink and glittering and perfect against her muscle.

‘mm, hi gorgeous.’ you giggled, pressing a kiss to her golden cheek as you scratched lightly at her shoulder, nails skimming the edges of her tattoo. ‘good practice?’

vi hummed in response, and pulled back to look at you. those taut arms folded over her chest, brow furrowing as her eyes flicked down to the tiny denim skirt that just about skimmed the tops of your thighs. that crooked cupid’s bow curled, just slightly. oh fuck. oops.

‘so what’s my girl doing wearin’ shit like this to come to practice?’ her breath came hot against your cheek as she dragged you upright, palm splaying hot and firm at the base of your spine, turning your knees to jelly at the press of her fingertips. ‘you want the whole team to see those pretty little thighs?’ her voice dropped as her palm slid down, down, nudging beneath your skirt to take a firm handful of your ass and squeeze. ‘you want my teammates oglin’ your ass, hm? is that it?’

you yelped quietly, nose wrinkling as your lips pressed into a glossy pout, nails digging into her shoulder. ‘what? no, baby. ‘s just a pretty skirt, i-‘

you were cut off as she stepped closer, pressing the curve of your spine into the cold metal edge of the bleachers. ‘it’s alright, doll.’ her tone was gravel now, rough and catching at the back of her throat. ‘we both know there isn’t enough room in that pretty little head of yours to care about all my teammates. just ellie. isn’t that right?’

a low gasp caught in your throat, her fingers curling tighter around the swell of your ass, nails pressing in. ‘mmn, no, baby i swear it-‘

vi didn’t exactly give you a chance to answer.

the thick curve of her bicep was already wrapping around the backs of your thighs, hoisting you over her shoulder like you weighed less than a fucking feather. the pure power in the coiling shoulders beneath your stomach made your toes curl in your boots.

‘vi! baby, everyone can see my ass.’ you squealed, clawing at her shoulders as each of her steps sent your skirt riding higher, the curve of your thighs bare to the cold wind whipping at your skin.

‘should’ve thought about that, doll face.’ vi muttered, unbothered as her palm curled around the meat of your thigh, holding you steady and groping at the same time. ‘you wear a tiny skirt like a slut, you get treated like one.’

her strides were heavy as she carried you across the pitch, the snick of her cleats sinking into the grass a warning bell as every step brought her closer to the tiny storage room the soccer team used for gear.

the second the door was shut behind you both, you were being shoved face first into the wall, her chest a solid curve of muscle at your back. ‘baby, not so rough, watch the makeup-‘ you whimpered, but vi was too busy listening to the base impulses rushing to her skull, pawing with those big hands at your ass.

‘yeah? is that what you want?’ she panted, breath hot against the shell of your ear as thick fingers found the waistband of your panties and ripped, ‘you want me to be sweet? treat you like a fuckin’ princess? nah. think you like bein’ my dirty little slut baby. ain’t that right? tell me?’ the slew of filth tumbled from her lips as she pinned you to the wall with a hand between your shoulder blades. ‘fuckin’ tell me, use your words babygirl.’

‘no, mmf, fuck-‘ the whines were already spilling from your throat before you could stop them, ass arched and the stale air of the storage room brushing the soaked curve of your folds.

‘that’s what i fuckin’ thought.’ she muttered, voice hoarse and low with shouting on the pitch, with heady arousal. her palm cracked hard against the curve of your ass, the handprint stinging with the imprint of her rings as she shoved her shorts down the v of her hips.

‘have you had that on the whole practice?’ your neck was craned back, panting as you stared at the familiar leather harness digging into tanned skin, your favourite pretty pink strap bobbing proud between her thighs.

vi just grunted, catching the hem of her jersey to hold between her teeth, voice muffled. ‘makes me play better, baby. makes me think about comin’ back to this perfect cunt. you gonna take it like a good girl for me?’

the stark overhead lights caught the sweat dripping down her abs as she moulded herself to your spine, the blunt head of the strap dragging through your folds, teasing even now. ‘answer me, sweetheart. or you ain’t gettin’ anythin’.’

you gasped for breath, lipgloss smearing against the harsh stone of the wall, chest heaving under the weight of her attention. ‘please, vi. hah, need you so bad baby…’

that got a smile out of her, the cocky tilt of those perfect lips as she arced her hips, shoving the silicone past your entrance in one brutal thrust. ‘such a good little slut for me.’ she cooed, forearm keeping your shoulders in place as her free hand gripped your hip, setting a ruthless pace that had your ass jiggling against the grooves of her abs. ‘you gonna say it?’ the words came close to your ear, low and dripping with filth, ‘gonna tell me what a sweet cocksleeve you are for me? drooling over my strap, hm?’

the words sent you dizzy, the head of the strap grazing your cervix hard enough to make your thighs turn to jelly as drool mingled with your gloss against the wall. ‘s all for you, vi. hah- mmn-, feels so good. can’t-‘

her hips stuttered as the blaring of her phone cut through the chorus of grunts and whimpers and the wet slap of skin and skin.

she cursed under her breath as she fumbled for it, eyes narrowed until she clocked the name of the caller.

‘ayo, dickhead.’ vi laughed, hips driving into you harder, enough to crush your tits firmly against the wall. ‘the fuck is so important you had to call me?’

the voice on the other end was tinny, but unmistakably ellie’s. you couldn’t quite make it out, too busy with the strap drilling into your cunt and the haze turning all your thoughts syrupy slow.

‘yeah, i’m a little busy, man.’ that sharp barking laugh came again, her free hand kneading your ass as she watched it bounce. ‘fuck do you think? yeah i’m with her. don’t get too jealous.’

if you were more coherent you would’ve pulled her up on it. what did she mean? ellie? jealous? but the thoughts faded just as fast as the phone was put on speaker, held close to your lips.

the startled whine that her next thrust wrung from your lips echoed down the line, and vi’s voice twisted gruffly down your spine. ‘doesn’t she sound fuckin’ gorgeous?’ she grunted, holding the phone steady as she spanked your ass harder, the sound sending your walls fluttering around the silicone head of her cock.

ellie’s voice was low, amused, quieter than vi’s but just as interested. ‘fuck, she does. hi pretty girl.’ she cooed, and you could hear her shifting on the other end as vi’s strap sent you cross-eyed. ‘sounds like you’re hurting her, vi.’ she snorted, the sound rattling over the phone. ‘got her squealing like a bunny.’

‘that’s my girl.’ vi grinned, nails biting into your waist as she rolled her hips, wedging her strap deeper in the tight heat of your pussy.

your cry caught on the walls, acrylics scrambling against stone to catch yourself as pearly waves of cum seeped down the pink silicone of the strap, your knees giving out.

vi caught you with an arm around the waist, lips pressing to your temple as she snickered, low and smug. ‘easy, doll. watch those claws.’ she flicked the phone off speaker, bringing it back to her ear as she kept you upright, pulling out with an obscenely loud schlick.

‘yeah, alright smellie.’ she murmured distractedly, too busy wiping your sticky thighs with the hem of her jersey. ‘be there in twenty, grab us a beer yeah? and a coke for my girl. you know she can’t handle her drink. aight, see you in a bit dude.’

vi’s voice was quieter as she hung up, turning you around to check you over. ‘oh baby, your lipsticks fucked.’ she murmured, brushing her thumb slow over the curve of your bottom lip. ‘you good to walk, angel? or did i send you too dumb on my cock, hm?’

you shook your head weakly, arms curling around her neck to pull yourself upright, legs wobbly in your heeled boots. ‘i got it baby.’ you mumbled, wiping the mascara from beneath your eyes with a pout. ‘i told you watch the makeup.’

‘got carried away gorgeous. you can’t blame me for that.’ the famous smirk was back, tilting the corner of her lips as she unbuckled the strap and tossed it into her gym bag, still smeared with the mess of your release. ‘cmon.’ an arm slung low around your waist, proprietary, tugging you into the broad curve of her shoulders. ‘fuckface is waitin’ for us at the raz.’

the raz was the fucking awful dive bar the team insisted on inhabiting after friday night practices, the smell of cheap beer and worse BO making you wrinkle your nose the second a heel crossed the threshold. vi’s hand stayed low on your hip until she spotted ellie and the team, eyes lighting up as she jogged over.

vi clapped ellie on the shoulder, all ballsy bravado as they bumped chests like twelve year old boys.

‘dude, this lighting is doing insane shit for your jawline. have you been on that looksmaxxing bullshit?’ vi’s voice was too loud for the tiny bar, ellie’s answering snort lower than hers.

‘get off me, fat hands. that isn’t a real sentence.’ she punched vi’s shoulder a little too hard, dragging her by the sleeve of her jersey to the team’s booth. ‘also why the fuck are you limping like that?’

‘pulled my hamstring givin’ my girl the best fuck of her life.’ vi gestured you over with a curl of her fingers, those muscled thighs spread wide like she owned every fucking inch of the space. you settled in her lap, smoothing your hands down your skirt as your nose wrinkled. ‘you can be so crude sometimes, violet.’

‘you’re getting old as hell, dude. thought you were a fuckin’ athlete.’ ellie snickered, knocking vi’s shoulder before she leant in, her palm curved over your thigh, squeezing as she kissed your cheek. ‘hi angel, you alright?’

you glanced back at vi, uncertain, but she just smirked, broad palms settling at your hips.

‘i’m good, els.’ you tossed your hair over one shoulder, preening a little in vi’s lap as she squeezed you tighter. ‘someone just decided that she couldn’t keep her hands off me.’

ellie smiled at that, a slow curl of her lips as her eyes dragged from yours to vi’s. ‘can’t blame you.’ she shrugged, long fingers pressing into your thigh. ‘fine fuckin’ piece of real estate right here.’ as if you weren’t even there.

your attention was snagged away by one of their other teammates, natalie, asking you about one of the other girls at Delta Nu. snippets of your girlfriend and her best friend’s conversation filtered through the noise, but you couldn’t quite catch it. something about… rules? photos?

…weird.

aaah this is so exciting!! hope u guys enjoyed part one 💗 we wanted to explore the dynamics w each character properly before ending w the threesome. keep an eye on @elsfawns page for the next part and it’ll be linked on my masterlist for the series too!

taglist: @angryoilslick516 @stungjinx @uniquewombatexpert @himejoshimaxxing @cherry-kissesxox @toxiccyuriilovrr3000 @blvdveil @tohoko @lesmerri @poobugs @eclipscee @ieatmoss22 @heartsfromken @luvs4ellie @isnt-itstrange @billiebobasia @xxfalloverxx @lollylovesyou99 @deepmythclarity @a-dork-yable @wanttobeadoredxx @satellitespinner @angel-suicides @izzy-sevika @azxteria @ellvimatcha @caswomp @imrad1orebel @l4dyaranea @mceagp @crystaldesiree @luckywritesxox @rk-goth1ka @vahnilla @krisziestmblr @mariesmagix @wtchd0ll @beabablogger @lesbikitty @pupbutch-69 @savedforlaterr @tobesolxvely @lilas712 @lizzieicecreamqueen @assaultsofthought @cupidletterss @gglittergoddess @sevikaslabyrinthpiercing

Sevika did not account for falling hopelessly in love with you. In fact, she didn’t account for meeting you in general. In the time she’d been called to Moonbuck Coffee, she had not officially met you. She only heard your names through the employees who would run amok trying to take care of the customers. 

 It’s not until an issue with the HVAC vent that has her hauling ass to the shop that she has the opportunity to see you. The summer heat is blaring in the back of her head, and she’s entering the shop, the smell of coffee bean and syrup circling her nose. Sevika looks around for a second, and then she sees you. 

And you hold up your hand, waiting for her to circle the counter. You’re about a foot shorter than she is, doe eyes staring up at her. She notices everything. The way you stare at her face, and how your throat bobs as she towers you. 

Her eyes flash down to your tag. ‘Y/N’. And she says your name inside her head, thinking about it, even when she’s eyeing the inside of the vent, and you’re so eagerly passing her the equipment from the bag. She can see sweat beads along your forehead, and as you pass the equipment, her calloused hands brush yours. 

Heat rushes through her body, curling along her spine. What feels like bliss fizzes across her mind, and when she’s done, her eyes follow you. When the latter is back behind the shop, you’re quick to give her a cup. An iced coffee–something she never indulges in because sweets have never been her thing. 

But you look at her, with a smile, so soft and innocent, pupils slightly dilated, as her hands extend to yours. “On me,” you say, and she can spot the shakiness in your voice, “consider it a thank you for saving us from the heat.” 

Sevika stares at the drink before she takes it, purposely wrapping her hands just a centimeter above yours, a safe distance for her pinky to glide down and touch your skin. “Will I always get this kind of treatment when something breaks?” She murmurs, something akin to sarcasm and amusement behind her voice. 

You nod. Fast and eager, and Sevika imagines that it’s just for her, “Yes.”

Somewhere along the lines of her working through nine more vents, and some complaints about her gruff demeanor, she thinks about you. She thinks about your eager little nod and the way you looked up at her while fixing the vents. You curl along her frontal lobe, the smell of coffee beans and sweat infecting her brain until all she can smell is you. 

Sevika goes back to the coffee shop around closing time. A need for something. Perhaps a look at you, perhaps the smell of coffee. It doesn’t matter, but she needs something. When she arrives, you’re wiping down the espresso machine, all alone. 

“A little dangerous to be by yourself at this time.” Sevika steps into the counter, eyes staring you down. 

The sky had dimmed, and one could barely see anything from the windows, save for the little light post that continuously flickers. But you laugh at her, “‘m not alone… well, right now, anyways. The other workers are in the back, and it’s a slow night. How was that iced coffee?”

“Sweet. Too sweet, but…I liked it. Vanilla cold brew.”

You nod, “Are you still working?”

“Just a little longer, and then I’m finished.” Truthfully, she was done. There wasn’t any work left to do. She simply wanted to see you. You ring her up, and she watches you, while you’re working, eyes brushing along your neck, the curve of your spine, and the twitch in your finger. 

When you finish, you slide the drink to her, and she racks her brain about the times she’s seen you. A month working around Moonbuck, and she never once laid eyes on you. “Did you barely start working here?”

Your smile slowly fades away. “It is that bad?”

Sevika laughs, letting her shoulder shake. “No. No. It’s good. I mean, because I’ve come to do maintenance and I’ve never seen you.”

“Oh,” your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape before you shake your head, “No, I just get these odd hours, since I have another job. But I live around the area, so I’m a little focused on this one. Perhaps you’ll see me a lot more.”

Interesting. Her head tilts, “You live by?”

“Yeah, so I don’t need to drive. Just a quick twenty-minute walk. Not too bad, some days, I drag myself home, because standing up all the time, really works your muscles.”

“Still a little dangerous, don’t you think? Walking alone at night.” Sevika says it, and along her brain, she imagines protecting you. Making sure that you get home safely, perhaps walking you all the way inside. 

You give her a shrug, “Sometimes, but I can’t always have someone watching over me, to make sure I get home,” and you laugh, as if the thought is too ridiculous. But Sevika thinks otherwise.

Sevika smiles along, but she never comments. When she finally sits down, halfway into the cold brew, you begin to talk. You drone on about random crap, but she never really interjects; she simply pays attention, glancing at Vi, then turning her attention to you. Sometimes she’d say, “I understand”, and then “What do you mean?” and you’d elaborate. 

By the end, it almost feels as though you’ve given her every ounce of information about your life. Sevika memorises it all. Where you work, how much you hate some of your coworkers in the other job, and how tired you get sometimes. 

Sevika thinks about all the ways she can make it better, how good she’d treat you if you let her. How she’d make sure you stay happy and belly full with whatever you need. The amount of flowers she’d give you, if you just gave her a chance.

When Sevika leaves, she glides into her car, lighting a cigarette from across the street. You can’t really blame her, though; she has a soft heart, despite her appearance, and the thought of someone harming you makes her sick. So she stays there, watching while you clean and finish everything, then takes your bag and closes Moonbuck. 

You never really notice the older woman walking behind you. It’s difficult to actually gauge a presence behind you when you’re listening to music. But it doesn’t matter because Sevika makes sure that you’re alright, and even walks you to your house, stopping just at a small bush to make sure that you make it inside your apartment.

Sevika comes back the next morning, exactly around nine thirty, with the same order. A vanilla cold brew. Then the next day, and the day after that. You’re the one who rings her up, always. It becomes a routine, and on the days that you don’t work in the morning, she’s there at night, with an order of vanilla cold brew and maybe a burrito if she’s feeling different. 

And every other night shift that you cover, she’s also there, parking her car away from the shop, giving her enough leverage to watch you through the windows. It’s her routine after work, making sure that her pretty barista makes it home. 

On Monday, you head to your second job around nine pm, rushing out of the apartment, trying to put your hair in a ponytail, or just away from your face. There’s a cold water bottle in your hand, and a bag in the other, juggling them as you enter your beat up honda. Sevika isn’t working; it’s her off day. 

When you finally pull away from the driveway, you park the car, a street away, black cap on her head, rushing to the apartment complex. She already guessed which one is yours, and she stops in front of the black door, looking side to side, before she squats down, picking the lock.

When the door pops open, she smells lilac along with another flowery scent, and her eyes rake over everything, until her gloved hands are pushing open your room door. Sevika noses your bed sheets, pulling the cover back to smell you, inhaling a floral and sweet scent, close to fabric softener. “Mhm, my pretty girl.” Sevika groans. 

She wishes she could stop there, but her hands find their way into your drawers, fingertips trailing your ribbed bras, lacy and plain designs all along. Then your panties, and she holds onto her strength as she pulls them to her face, cock twitching, thinking of you wearing them for her.

And she’s quick to snatch a pair from your dirty hamper, stuffing them inside her jeans. Two pairs, one dirty and one clean, so she can smell your cunt on her break. The next day, she’s quick to stuff one in her jeans. 

She doesn’t pull them out until it’s afternoon, and calls become slower. With five minutes on the clock before her lunch break, she stuffs herself in one of the bathroom stalls. She’s quick to hold her shirt in her mouth, muffling a hiss as she pulls her cock out. It slaps her lean stomach, tip gleaming with precum, while thick veins jut out from along the shaft. 

Her hands grip onto herself as she reaches for your panties, shoving them on her face. Her tongue darts along the material as she fucks into her first, reaching to the head and spreading precum. Pleasure darts across her back, curling in her spine, and she can almost envision you in front of her. 

Please, Sevika, fuck my mouth. Sevika’s cock twitches imaging you begging for a taste, pink tongue out, pupils dilated as her cock slaps your tongue. A soft groan escapes her lips, “fuckkk, that’s it.”

And in her head, fuzzy with lust and need, as your tongue darts along the head, doe-eyes watering as you try not to choke on her, trying your best to please her. And she shouldn’t think about this, because you’re so young, and she’s nearly twenty years older than you.

Goosebumps spread across her skin, and her balls tighten as you pull away from her cock, opening your mouth to show her, spit circling your mouth. ‘Please, Vika, I’ll be so good for you, need you to take care of me.’

The thought of you saying that to her, all needy and whiny, nearly splits her brain in two, and her hand tightens around the head of her cock, hips twitching as cum shoots from the red slit. “fucckk.” 

Her loud gasp rings around, echoing until she’s leaning laxly on the wall of the bathroom. Her muscles twitch, orgasm spiralling through her system until she’s finally stopped seeing double. Guilt rushes through her system, and she pushes your panties inside her jeans.

She tries not to think about the fact that she came from just imagining you on your knees. Or the fact that in the good thirteen years she’s worked at Zaun, she’s never done that. It feels disgusting, yet so fucking good. 

She still stops by the Moonbuck during the night. And you still smile at her, sweet and so so fucking pretty, unaware that your babydoll panties, the ones with flowers embroidered on them, are inside Sevika’s jeans, nearly stained with her cum. 

“How was work today?” You ask her, wiping down the sticky counter, while the espresso machine softly hums behind you. “We had this guy come in, super pissed his mobile order was wrong, and he nearly threw the drink at us.”

She clicks her tongue, “People like that don’t deserve proper customer service. Sorry, you had such a bad day.”

“It’s okay…it wasn’t your fault, and you’re right.” You respond, “But tell me about your day.”

And Sevika recounts it. The boring details, how dirty she gets, and everything, but never how she came apart in the bathroom thinking about sinking into your sweet pussy, and the taste of you in her mouth. And you laugh along, loud and unabashed, shoulders shaking, while pieces of your hair stick out, and your uniform is a bit fucked up from moving around. 

For a second, she wished she could kneel and convince you to open your legs and let her fuck her tongue into you. Suck out all the exhaustion from your bones until you’re crying, and boneless against her. That is, until you’re starting to mop the floor, signalling her that she needs to leave and go back to making sure you get home safely. 

The next day, the same thing with HVAC happens again. It’s barely one in the afternoon, just hours after you served Sevika her regular Vanilla cold brew. Before she gets there, you’re in the backroom, inhaling the earthy scent of ground beans while the soft hiss of the espresso machine grinds in your ear.

 You can hear the jittery murmur of the crowd outside, and before you can stack another coffee bag, the loud scheet, akin to metal-on-metal grinding, echoes through the ceiling vents. You pause for a second, beads of sweat curl in the back of your neck. 

An electrical hum rings around, and you go back to packing more coffee. You don’t exactly realise something is wrong until you’re outside the backroom after a good ten minutes, firmly tapping the coffee ground onto a metal portafiler, and sweat builds in every crevice of your body. 

Ekko is the one who turns to you, with a sweat on his forehead, “Is it just me, or is it hotter than usual?”

You shrug until Jinx comes out. “I think the AC is out…or something, but the air is fucking gone,” she whispers, wiping her pink cheek. “Someone fix it, before I quit.” 

Heat curls along your belly. Sevika. With a flick of a switch, you lock the portafiler into the espresso machine, “Ekko, get this for me, I’ll call Sevika.”

Jinx smiles, “First name basis, huh?”

“Fuck off.” You whisper to her, heading towards the back again, and the wave of hot air makes you shudder. The mix of coffee beans has begun to make you sick, and it’s been only a year.

In the back, the phone rings, and a husky voice picks up. “Zaun’s Heating Service, what do you need?”

“Hi…it’s Moonbuck. I think our A/C is out, or something with the air is ou–”

“Y/N?”

You pause, finally recognising the husky voice, “Sev?”

“I’ll be right there, doll.”

Doll. Doll. 

You smile, cheek to cheek, until you can feel the guidiness in your scalp, toes, and fingertips. When Sevika arrives, you’ve taken off your headcap, and your hair is up. You can feel the sweat building in your temples, and the smell of toasted hazelnut, along with burnt sugar curls in your nose. There aren’t that many customers, though, not compared to the morning; oddly enough, the afternoon is quiet. 

She arrives wearing dark jeans, brown steel boots, and a dark blue shirt with the name ‘Zaun’s Heating Service’ in white. A small orange towel hangs from one of her front pockets, and she carries a thick black and yellow bag in her hand. A thick feeling of deja vu crosses your spine. 

It almost feels like the first time you met. Perhaps it’s the heat, or the way your fingers have touched every inch of your body, thinking about the much older sevika, that comes into work, keeping you company. Like your own shining knight.

You can’t help but stare at her. The way her muscles bulge out of the dark blue shirt, and how her thick dark eyebrows are knitted together, as she quickly passes to the back of the counter. “This feels a little familiar, don’t you think?”

She smiles, and god,  she takes up so much space, that when she stops in front of you, the immediate feeling to take a step back curls in you. Despite the smell of the shop taking over your nose, the scent of Sevika makes your stomach bubble. Sweat, oil, and wood. It hits you all that once, just like when you first met her. “A little.”

She follows you into the back room, and the ladder is already under the vent. Sevika drops her bag on the floor, and you’re already flushing from the heart, but your ears heat up as she leans into your space. Her leg is propped on one of the steps, “Are you messing with the vent just to see me, Doll?”

You blink at her, too focused on the fact that she could pick you up. How easily she could fuck you against the backroom wall, hidden in the corner where Caitlyn and Vi always sneak to. You bashfully look away, “You’ve figured out my plan.” 

“You can always call me, doll. You know my number.” Sevika drawls out, climbing up to the vent. Your ears heat up, and you only hum, trying to keep your face from showing too much joy.

She takes a look at the vent and then down towards you. Dark grey eyes stare back, taking a second before blinking and looking back up. She pops the ceiling tile out, while you’re staring at her broad shoulders, seeing tiny specs of dust drift down into the air. 

When Sevika begins to work, she’ll look down, mention some kind of equipment, then give you a dumbed-down description of it. “Pass the five-sixteenth bit out of the side pocket.” And she’s about to give you a description of it until you’re shuffling through the bag, reaching for the hex-head screw. 

You pass it to her, reaching up, and she gives you a wide smile. Wide enough to show all teeth, “Atta girl. Learning fast, ain’t ya?”

Jolts of heat rush through your body, feeling her warm, rough hand against yours. You bite back a whimper, the praise rushing through your body like wildfire, and it sounds exactly like you’ve imagined her saying it to you. 

You keep reaching down, touching her rough fingers, until a heavy clank screeches, and the hum of the HVAC kicks in, blasting cool, stale air. Sevika climbs down, wiping sweat from her brow, while dark stains cover her collar and armpit area. You stand there like an idiot, until she takes a step towards you, hands steady on the latter. 

Your mouth is slightly parted, doe-eyes still staring up. “Need help?” You whisper. 

“You don’t think I can carry it?” She laughs, grabs the ladder, and walks towards the back. You can’t tell what compelled you to act irrationally. Maybe it’s the heat getting to your head, but you follow her, taking small steps, until she’s turning, and you’re pushing her to the little corner away from the camera. 

You tiptoe until you’re pressing your lips to hers, and her back is hitting the storage shelves, rattling the myriad of coffee bean bags. A small sigh escapes your lips, and you’re clutching onto her strong shoulders. You freeze, pulling back when Sevika doesn’t move. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t look mad or disgusted. 

“I…I’m so s–”

And she’s quickly turning your back to the shelf, pushing her tongue inside your mouth, as you gasp. She licks, tongue darting to your teeth, until she’s tasting the residue of caramel on your premolars, sliding to your tongue. 

Her knee pushes between your legs, and your hips thrust down, whining into her mouth. You push back, trying to take a deep breath while she nuzzles her neck into yours, leaving sweat on the side, inhaling your scent. “Sev…” You breathe out. “More, please.”

She pulls back eyebrows knitted, “I can’t doll, I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have.”

“Why?” 

Her eyes dart down to your wet lips, “You’re so young.”

A sixteen-year difference that makes your body heat up. “Who cares about that? Just a couple of years,” You retort, trying to push her closer to you, “Please, I wa–need, I need it.” And you’ve never been above begging, even crying as you blink back tears. 

Sevika’s calloused hands cup your face, thump, wiping the little tear on your cheek. “Tell you what. I’ll take you on a date, and we’ll see.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Really?”

And she nods, leaning down to brush her lips against hers. Every ounce of warmth from her mouth shoots down to your cunt, until you’re sure your panties are soaked. A small voice calls out from the front, and Sevika steps back. She gives you a calculated smile before turning and grabbing her bag.

You watch Sevika leave. Eyes trained on her while Jinx makes you, fill a cup with liquid syrup, lining the inside with caramel sauce. You can’t stop thinking about the kiss when she’s gone, and the company car is no longer there. You don’t see her again, but you wait for her. 

The night finally falls, and while you’re supposed to be closing with Ekko, he comes from the back, slinging his baf over his head. “So you’re just going to leave me here alone to close?” you ask, staring at Ekko. 

“Sorry, but I'm supposed to be picking up Jinx from night school. I promised her, I’m… I’m really sorry, man.” He says, and there’s a guilty expression on his face that almost makes you crack up. 

You roll your eyes at him, “I know. She told me this afternoon. I’m fucking with you.”

“You’re a G. Text us when you head home,” And you watch him leave into the night, while you mop the floor and clean the tables. 

It’s while you’re cleaning everything that a sudden feeling of being watched hits your head. The hair on your neck stands up, and you stare outside, seeing nothing but darkness and the outline of the buildings. Paranoia seeps through you, and you practically jump when Sevika opens the door, walking inside. 

Your throat clamps up, and you’re biting the inside of your cheek, fingers tightening around the mop. “Hi…you’re finished with work?” You quickly look at the machines, “Machines are off, ‘m sorry.”

She nods at your word, enjoying how nervous you get around her. “Ahh. No coffee tonight then.” She replies coolly, sitting down, spreading her legs, “How about water?”

You’re quick to drop the mop and grab a bottled water from the small fridge. The only thing you haven’t plugged off. You’re still thinking about the date and most of her words.

“Can…you walk me home today?” You bite the inside of your cheek, shuffling from foot to foot. You don’t want her to think that you can’t protect yourself, but tonight is different. “It’s just really dark…but I under–”

“Yeah,” she breathes out, pinching herself for sounding too excited. You don’t notice and beam at her, mouth hurting from how much you’re grinning at her. 

“Thank you…I just have to finish cleaning, and that’s all.”

You only take a few minutes, and soon, you’re walking out of the quiet shop, while Sevika is on your side. She isn’t wearing her uniform. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, some strands falling to her face, just above her thick eyebrows. She’s in dark blue jeans, steel-toe brown boots, a white tank top stuck to her skin, and a thick jacket that makes her shoulders look even bigger. 

The silence isn’t awkward, but it makes your body heat up, a certain desperation curling behind your spine with a need to hear her voice. “I don’t mind our age difference…”

Your throat bobs, and she smiles, though barely illuminated by the light around you both. “I’m nearly at the age of back pains and muscle aches.”

Her words chime in your head, and you imagine Sevika coming from work, taking off her shirt, flexing her muscles while you roll your fingers into the tension of her muscles. Slowly working them out, while she groans, each deep sound shooting straight to your cunt. 

You laugh, loose and easy, focused on how close you’re walking next to her, “I say you have a couple more years to go before that happens…but if it does happen, I’m sure someone close can soothe them out.”

Sevika hums in acknowledgement, lidded eyes looking down at you, “Certainly.”

You overthink every conversation you’ve had with her, replying to her words, until you’re in front of your building. You stop, and she halts next to you. “This is me…would you like to come inside? I have to thank you for walking me home.”

“Think nothing of it, as long as you're safe.” She says with a shrug, and you catch the movement of her shoes, quickly latching your hand on her shoulder. She pauses, nearly freezing, feeling the coldness of your hand on her skin. 

“Please,” You coax softly, knitting your eyebrows, “I insist.”

And Sevika holds her tongue, simply nodding. “Okay.”

You don’t have much in your apartment. It’s dodgy and small, but your own. Your keys twist, and you push the door, prying it open. Your automatic spray covers the initial scent of mildew, and your rushing inside to hide your t-shirt on the couch, and leftover bowls on the coffee table. 

“Very small,” Sevika grumbles. 

“Yeah, but it’s this or the streets.” You respond with a small laugh, putting down your bag on the couch. “I cooked this apple pie…really good, if you’d like some. I’ll preheat it, and take a quick shower.”

She nods, and you work around the kitchen putting the glass pan sheet inside the oven. You grab a water bottle, pop it open and hand it to her, staring at her hand until it lands on the bottle, on top of yours. Your shower is quick, lathering every inch with a flowery scented soap, until you feel clean enough.

You’ve never really tried to be sexy for someone, besides a couple of people you tried to talk to. A shitty ex and bad sex revolted you from the dating scene until Sevika. You put on a pair of black boxers that fit tight and short enough it’s snug against your ass. A sheer black lacy bra, and a complementary sheer black long rope with beige lace detailing on the sleeves and hem. 

You push your nerves out, walking out to the living room, and catching Sevika in the kitchen, cutting a piece of the pie. “It’s really go–” she stops, eyes taking in your clothing, “Good. It’s really good.”

“Really? I’ve been trying new recipes as of lately, you have to try my garlic butter shrimp scampi. It’s very good,” And you tell her all that, until you’re in the kitchen, mere inches away from her, fingers itching to touch her jacket. 

Sevika hums, and you reach for the fridge, grabbing the can of whipped cream, and inching toward her, shaking the can, as she looks at you, eyes darting from your eyes to your tits. “Whip cream?”

She visibly gulps, and you’re nearly on your knees, if not for her taking the can from your hand. “My doll is very hospitable.”

My doll. My doll. My doll.’

Mydoll.

Your pussy clenches around nothing. “You’re mean.” You whisper to her as the hiss of the can curls in your ear. She smiles, cheeks bubbling, and she shakes her head at your words. 

“Am I? I should be telling you that,” And she stops, leaning her side on the counter, eyes staring you down. Her hand come to your robe, thumbing the lace, tracing it until it crosses to your skin, and you’re taking a deep breath, as her skin touches yours. “Dressed all pretty…”

You want her to take advantage of you–not that, that would be the correct word, given how willing you are. But you need her to touch you even through her guilt. Your hand wraps around her wrist, pulling them to your breast, until she’s got a hand grabbing it. And she squeezes, just soft enough, that a shudder crosses your spine. 

Your ragged breath matches hers, and your eyes flutter open and closed, catching a look at a tent on her jeans. “I want this...you wouldn’t be taking advantage of me.”

“As if you cared if I did.” She snarls, hand disappearing to the back of your neck, as she leans down. You take a breath, feeling her tongue push into your mouth, sucking on your tongue, as she pushes you into the counter. 

She licks along your teeth, moving to suck on your bottom lip, nipping at it, until you’re giving her a soft whine. Your hardened peaks rub against the soft material of your bra, and your hand curls along her jeans, touching her belt. 

Your hips push into hers, the material of her belt cold against your warm skin. Each glide of her tongue against yours, as you whine, soft sighs falling until she groans, and you nearly feel her chest vibrate.

 Sevika’s hand glides to your chin, cupping it as she pulls away, a line of spit connecting your lips. “Want to make that pretty mouth useful for me, doll?” She purrs, and you nod, letting her steer your body to the living room. 

Coldness launches across your skin when you sink to your knees, and she sits on the couch, thighs spreading while her cock pushes into her jeans. Sevika leans back, hands on her sides, a faint red blush on her cheeks. She doesn’t move, but your shaky hands dart to her belt, while the crackle of metal sounds so loud in your ear. 

You’re softly shaking, but you unhook her belt, working her buttons until they’re undone. There’s a wet patch on her briefs, and you’re so fucking needy, pushing your head to her tent, inhaling the strong scent of musk, earth and skin. 

Your tongue touches her through the briefs, scraping the cotton material and salivating on it, while Sevika sighs into the air. You pull back, pushing her boxers down, letting her cock spring out, and her stomach twitches as you run a hand across her jean-clad thigh. 

The tip of her cock gleams with wetness, pouring from the angry red slit, and a thick patch of curly hair surrounds her cock. You lick the head, delivering small kitten licks across while you have a hand on her shaft, and the other settles on her thigh.

Her salty taste curls across your taste buds, and you pull back, tongue switching to lap at her balls, sucking on one until a deep groan pours from her mouth, while specks of hair scrape against your skin. “That’s it, doll. Should’ve fucked your mouth…this afternoon.”

You lick up to the shaft, wrapping a hand around the head as you swirl your tongue on the cockhead. Spit darts from your mouth, and your eyes shoot up to her as your hand coats it all over her shaft. Sevika’s bottom lip is etched between her teeth, and her chest heaves up and down, while you slowly slip her inside your mouth, hand still working, pumping up and down. 

A loud moan curls from her throat, and her hips buck into your mouth, pressing so fucking deep, until she’s occupying every inch of your mouth. You can’t take much of her, she’s too fucking big, but you work her through, cupping her ball, and hollering your cheeks. 

Her hand grabs a fist full of your hair, pushing you off her cock, spit drilling down your chin. And she’s breathing heavily, eyes lidded and blown. “Open.”

Your tongue darts out, mouth open, and she’s smirking, ends of her lips curling as she slaps her cock on your tongue. Every rational thought has swooped out of your brain, lusting, curling along the ridges of your brain. “Maybe I should take you to work, have you be my little desk pet…keep your mouth full, and head empty, would you like that, baby?”

Your head bobs up and throws, eyes gone, tongue still out as spit accumulates and slides from the end of the muscle. You fear you won’t be able to live without the taste of Sevika’s cock on your tongue, and she knows this, because she’s grinning like she’s just won the fucking lottery. 

And she leans closer to you, hand still gripping a fist full of your hair, until she’s pulling just enough that it makes you moan, needy and high-pitched. Her cock twitches, “Please,” You gasp wetly, “fuc–fuck my...mouth.”

“You’ll need to earn it.” Her boots push in between your thigh, the end of it touching your cunt, just slightly. “Go on.”

Humiliation rattles through your bones, and you straddle the boot, pressing your chin on her kneecap, digging into the meat of her knee. Your hands wrap around her leg, pressing yourself down, focused on the tendrils of pleasure as you press all the way down. “Feels…good. So so go–good.”

You try to ride her boot, gasping at the light pressure against your folds, nails digging into the texture of her jeans. It’s infuriating how the pleasure curls against your spine, then fizzes away, every time Sevika moves her boot, purposely trying to see you writhe against her leg.

“Sev…” You whimper, eyes fluttering open, and you’re completely focused on the pleasure, drooling on Sevika’s jeans, to pay attention to your system. You work in motions, eyes in and out of focus, sometimes watching Sevika’s smile. 

“Doesn’t it feel good, Doll?” She rasps, and you can see her cock twitch against the white tank top, while your tongue salivates, and small tremors rip against your skin. “Just a little more…I won’t touch your pretty cunt until you’ve left a print on my boot.”

And she finally presses her boot against your cunt, with the right amount of pressure pressed against your clit that has you moaning, eyebrows knitted, and cunt clenching. Your legs burn, hips bucking into her boot, while you’re slipping into a soft headspace, trying to keep your mind afloat.

Sevika makes it so difficult, petting your hair while precum coats her cock, and she’s whispering sweet praises at you. “My pretty doll, stick your tongue out, doll.”

A condescending laugh rings across your fuzzy brain, and she’s watching spit pool down, until two fingers glide inside your mouth. You clamp down, lips wrapping around her thick fingers, and she’s pushing inside, feeling the rough pad of your tongue on her fingers. 

Your hips stutter, stomach twitching as warmth slowly pours along your flesh, and you’re louder and louder, hips grinding your clit down with intensity while trying to choke on her fingers. Spit dribbles down the corner of your mouth, licking her and tasting the saltiness of her flesh. 

“That’s it,” Sevika whispers, “Keep fucking yourself on my boot. Isn’t this what you wanted? To fuck yourself on an old pervert like me.”

Lighting strikes across your spine, and you clamp down, hips jerking as you cum on her boot, a high-pitched mewl making your chest vibrate. Your body melts against her leg, the aftershock of your orgasm making your clit twitch. Your mind is fuzzy, slipping and sliding across the pleasure, drinking in Sevika. “So good for me…you deserve a reward for that.”

“Need,” You rasp, throat dry, and she moves her hand to the bottle on the coffee table. The liquid slides down your throat, freshening your hot flesh. “Ple–please…need yo–you in my mouth.”

Her hands wrap around your wrist, stopping you from reaching her cock. You’re all fucked out on her legs, breathing heavily, begging for her cock, and Sevika is close to cumming. Because this feels exactly like one of her many wet dreams, yet you pout at her, pupils dilated, “Please.”

And she’s so fucking weak for you, letting go of your wrist and leaning back down to the couch, as your lips attach to the head of her cock. Each action is done clumsily, too needy, yet Sevika holds in her sanity, fingers gripping the couch, as you suck on the head of her cock, lidded eyes staring at her. 

It’s as if the last measure of embarrassment left your system, leaving nothing but need and want. Your hand reach for Sevika’s, pushing it to your head, and her hips buck, drowning you in her cock, until halfway in, and the head reaches just an inch away from the back of your throat.

You keen at each of her groans and deep moans, filling your ear and the air. It’s blinding, how much you need her, when you finally pull off with a deep breath, spit circles her cockhead, attaching it to your mouth. “Just a little more…” Sevika murmurs, pushing you back on her cock, all the way down, until the oxygen in your brain slowly depletes, and you feel her everywhere, eyes rolling back. 

Your hips flex, pushing down, searching for some relief for the ache building in your pussy.  Your body goes lax, hands lying on your side, while Sevika moans, keeping your head down on her cock as she twitches around your throat.

When she pulls you off, your eyes are unfocused, pawing at her knees, whimpering, and she gets off on it, “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make you feel better.” She croons. 

Sevika pulls the robe off your body, scooping you off the floor and into her arms. You press kisses across her cheek, down her neck, licking and nipping at her skin, trying to make it red. She drops you on the bed, letting you softly bounce, before she shrugs off her clothing, letting the clink of her belt hit the floor. 

Your eyes rake over Sevika’s body, mouth watering at her brown, hard peaks, and how her cock twitches, curving to the left. “You’re a pervert…trying to undress me,” You whine out, meekly trying to cover your body, as Sevika crawls to you, “You’re taking advantage of me.”

“Am I?” She purrs, and there’s a short flash of guilt as you look at her with your pretty-does eyes, breath shallow, and spit slowly drying in the corner of your mouth. She’s going to defile you, like she’s done to the lacy underwear she’s taken from your drawers. Not that you need to know. “Tell me to stop.”

Sevika’s hands reach for your shorts, slowly pulling them down, waiting for you to push her off, or for the words to hit her eardrum, yet you watch, helping her pull them down, heat rising to your chest as a slick connects your pussy to the shorts. The warmth of Sevika’s skin makes you shudder, and you’re reaching for her tits as she rams her mouth on yours, and it’s all teeth and tongue–unlike the kisses you’ve had before.

Filthy, wet and noisy, pulling little whines out of you while she groans into your mouth. “Months of dre–dreaming of you…fucking me,” You whimper, against Sevika’s mouth, a little hazy, from the pleasure. 

“Really?” Sevika asks, as if she’s bewildered by the idea of you dreaming of her. You nod eagerly as she lowers her lips to your jaw, kissing and breathing you in.

Her tongue licks the sweat on your flesh, nipping the skin, until you’re whining, and each breath sounds punched out. “Don’t worry…I’ll give you the real thing.”

She keeps going lower, kissing along your chest until her mouth is on one of your hardened peaks, and you gasp, feeling her suckle on it. Her tongue twirls, her other hand coming to pinch and play with your other nipple, making your clit twitch. “Sev…”

You squirm in the sheets, feet softly kicking, and Sevika takes her time, rotating between your tits, until they’re puffy and sensitive, a single touch making you moan and whimpers. Her teeth graze at the peak, softly biting them, and it makes your stomach swoop with heat. Your cunt pulses, the aching feeling becoming unbearable, yet your brain melts. 

You can barely utter words, too entranced in the pleasure, until Sevika’s away, and she’s back to trailing kisses along the bottom of your tits. She reaches your naval, nose pressing into a thick patch of hair, and she moves down and down, until she’s breathing against your pussy. A little whine pours from your mouth when her fingers dip down, pulling your wet folds apart, watching slick coat your pussy. 

“You’re dripping, aching for someone to touch you?” Sevika coos, “All needy for me,” and you shut your eyes, nodding dumbly, until Sevika’s tongue licks your clit. You try your hardest not to clamp your thighs, but she’s pressing her face in and in, sucking the swollen, pulsing bud.

A loud whimper bounces on the wall, making Sevika groan, and the vibrations curl against your spine, making your hip buck into her mouth. 

“Fuc–fuck, sev…sev, feels–” Your mouth tumbles over the words, as Sevika licks deeper into you, flattening her tongue, and licking from your sopping hole to your needy clit. She hums to every one of your reactions, fucking you with her tongue, then fluidly moving to suck on the bud.

A filthy squelch rings in your eardrum, and Sevika’s hand on your hip disappears into your legs. Your eyes rush to see her, yet she’s focused on your pleasure, eyes closed as a finger slides so fucking easily inside you, you barely feel it until it curls, pressing that spot.

You moan, loud and whiny, blinking back tears, while she quietly slips another finger in, curling them both and fucking into the spongy spot. “Nnng, har–harder, please. Please…” you hiccup, hand flying to grip Sevika’s short hair, trying to press down. “‘m clo–close.”

Your vision blurs, fat tears rolling down freely, and Sevika savors your pussy, assaulting your clit, until warm spreads across your stomach, and your muscles are tightening. Your pussy clenches against her fingers, and she continues pressing them in, sliding and out of your walls, then curling them. 

Heat pools in your lower back, muscles burning, until everything jolts and your eyes are crossing, waves of pleasure rolling through your system. Your spine lifts from the bed, foot pressing down, indenting the mattress, until it feels too much. Your cunt spasms, and your body softly twitches, until Sevika pulls away, chin wet.

“Did so good for me,” She whispers, kissing your cheek, leaving a trail of wetness on your cheek. You lean up to kiss her, whining into her mouth as she pries you open with her tongue. You can faintly taste yourself on her tongue, and it’s filthy. “So pretty, like this…all fucked out and crying.” 

Sevika pulls away from your mouth, a hand gripping your waist, and the other slapping her cock against the skin of your stomach. “Big…”

Sevika smirks, moving her hips until she’s grinding her cock against your wet pussy, mixing in your slick with her precum. She’s dripping, balls full, trying to keep her composure, while he presses the head against your clit, grinding on it. Your feet kick, hips twitching from slight overstimulation. “You’ll be my good doll, and fit it in, won’t you?” She groans, fingers tightening her grip on your waist.

You hum, clutching the bed sheet, nodding dumbly, trying to slip her inside you. “Please,” and Sevika finally presses the head inside you. A whimper falls from your lips, and Sevika bucks her hips, forcing herself into you. 

“Breathe, doll,” She murmurs, big hands slipping to the back of your thighs, folding them, and pressing them just close enough to feel the heat of your own skin against your stomach. 

She leaves you in that position, and you don’t move, not even when she has only one hand on the back of your thigh, and the other reaching down you pussy, rubbing your clit in slow circles, slowly inching inside you. The feeling of fullness makes you delirious.

“Sev…mo–more,” Your words slur, brain working too slow to form a proper thought. And when she finally presses all the way inside, you whimper. Your cunt feels so fucking stretched out, and you’re sure you’re dripping. 

“I know, doll,” she coaxes, “I know…don’t worry, ‘m going to break you in until you can’t fuck anyone but me.” Her hips buck, finally moving in a slow, languid pace, then picking up speed until her hips are hitting the flesh of your ass. 

Your pussy sletches, wet sounds making you even more fucking aroused, because it’s almost as if your cunt is speaking to her. “Fas–faster.” 

And Sevika snarls, fast thrusts, rocking you forward into the bed, making your tits bounce with every movement, while you’re taking big breaths, each moan and whimper punched out. “Your pussy is swallowing me in,” she groans, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Goosebumps spread across your skin, and you’re clenching around Sevika, eyes unfocused but taking in her beauty. Sweaty body, and the strands of hair sticking to her forehead as her lidded eyes watch her cock disappear inside you. 

Little ah, ah, ahs spill out of your mouth, nails digging into the mattress, until heat curls in your spine, you feel too stupid to worry about the spit dribbling at the corner of your mouth. You’re addicted–will be addicted, because Sevika is fucking you like she’s imagined this a million times, and mapped exactly where to buck into. 

The head of cock shifts, plunging into that spot again, leaving you breathless, and so so fucking floaty. Small hiccups leave your lips, and tears stream down your cheek, smudging in the small dashes of eyeliner, leaving a faint black smudge of tears. Sevika looks up, and she moans seeing how wrecked you look for her.  

“Squeezing me…so tight,” Sevika moans, “What is it, baby? Want me to fill you up?” And she gasps, feeling you tighten again around her cock. Jackpot. Your back arches, cunt pulsing, head swimming in the thought of Sevika filling up your belly, leaving some of her inside you. 

“Nngg ye–yes,” You gasp, “Inside…inside.” 

Your body trembles, thigh muscles shaking until you can see your skin twitch, and Sevika’s so fuckiing loud, damn near in your groaning and moaning at the pace of your own whiny, high-pitched mewls. “Come…come stay with me. Move in with me,” Sevika breathes out, “Be my wife…my…my pretty bride. C’mon, say you’ll come with, and I’ll let you cum.”

Oh, god.

Your eyes roll, nodding and nodding, trying to make small coherent yes’s and only babbling, but Sevika sees. And she grins, mouth wide, pushing in deeper and faster, until your nerves are on fire, and hypersensitive, body tightening. 

Your toes spread out into the air, and your pussy gushes on Sevika’s cock, coating it in clear liquid. A choked sob rings in the air, and you feel drunk and high at the same time, as flashes of your ceiling and Sevika’s face cross your eyes. Every muscle in your body seizes, and a deep, guttural groan rings, until you feel so so fucking full. 

Sevika empties herself inside you, teeth reaching down to your calf, etching into your skin until pain shoots through your spine. When she pulls away, there’s a mark, and she's still fucking into you, riding her own high and fucking yours out, until you’re twitching. 

Your mind is pliant and fuzzy, body lax on the body, while every move is in slow motion, in and out of view. A long moment of silence passes, and your body is still shuddering, thigh twitching, brain slowly coming to work. Soreness picks at your skin, and you suddenly feel empty, too empty. “Need to clean you, doll.” A voice murmurs next to your ear. 

After a beat, you’re cold, and your eyes finally flutter open, while Sevika is wiping you down. She’s radiating, pupils blown, with a hazy smile on her lips. Her eyes snap to yours, and she leans down to press a kiss on your stomach, then on your forehead, “My sweet doll, so perfect. So good for me. ‘m gonna take care of you.”

“You…bit me?” You gasp out, and she darts to the waterbottle on the nightstand, lifting your head, until you’re drinking in small sips. Your insides cool, and Sevika’s still staring at you, a little unfocused and wild. 

She hums, “Yeah. You belong to me now. You’ll live with me…sleep with me, shower with me.” And her words are so soft, yet firm to the point they rattle your bones, making you sink into the bed. “You said yes.” 

You aren’t sure of what to do. Somehow your brain can’t come up with any scenarios in which you’re apart from Sevika, and it feels so, so suffocating, and exhilarating, you’re crying again. Sevika croons at you, hand wrapping around your chin, licking your tear, “Shh…don’t cry, doll. I can’t have my wife crying…now, tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” You whimper, voice faltering, a shiver running down your spine. “Belong to you, and only you. ‘m your wife.”

You do move out of your shitty apartment, somewhere near Moonbuck. It’s sort of a hazy memory, the way Sevika inserts herself into your life, like she’s meant to be there by divine or human intervention. Like she’s etched her place beside you, and glued you to her skin. 

You find your ‘lost’ panties a month into moving with her, and she doesn’t deny anything, and you don’t fight about it. But again, it’s not like you’re able to when she shoves them in your mouth and bends you over the counter, recounting every detail about how she protected you, her pretty barista, throughout those months. 

You absolutely could not confide in Rose about your little dinner plans with her mom, nor Edward. You saw how well he kept secrets right before the trip. You quickly had to re-adjust from your vacation mentality back to work, and the person you needed to talk to the most right now was…

“Eve, what a pleasant surprise.” You took the paper bag she gifted to you. 

“I was at a spa this weekend, right?” She started. “And I got this freebie because I promised that I’d bring a friend next time I came. So, as an offering, will you come with me? Please?” She clasped her hands together and tried to persuade you horribly. 

You took the time to look at the label on the bag, trying to see what exact spa this was. 

“Green Gardens Rejuvination…oh wow…” You turned back to Eve, tracing the indents of the fancy gold lettering.

“What’s wrong?” 

“That old place is still standing? I was a receptionist there a million years ago.” Hearing the place again was something you thought you would put behind you for good, ever since you walked out of that place, barely in one piece mentally.

“No. Way.” Her eyes widened. 

You were confused as to why you had her full attention now, completely rolling out of her cubicle to face you, but look at the cute bath set she gave you, complete with a mini loofah and everything. “Thanks Eve.” 

“Even if you did work there, will you come get a full treatment with me next Sunday?” It was all so sudden, as you never really brought any friendships outside of your workplace, so this was new. It couldn’t hurt though. You were older. You needed to build some more rapport with co-workers. 

“Sure thing. But you’ll promise to help me pick out something to wear from my closet Friday night.” 

Her eyebrows raised. “Oooh, someone’s putting herself out there again.” She nudged you with your elbow, leaving you stammering. 

“No, it’s not that,” you swallow nervously. “Sevika asked me out on a date at seven that night, so—” 

She absolutely lost it, cheered with you, cried with you, congratulated you, and asked a plethora of questions. She violently rocked your office chair, causing multiple side eyes from your co-workers and a couple of shushes. 

“Keep it down, Eve. I’ll text you my address.” 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ⚜ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

“Too plain. No, that one’s too short—where are you even going?” She soon sighed, spent by watching you try on different dresses you’ve had back in your day. 

“I don’t know, she only asked me to wear something pretty.” You hung a dress that barely saw the light of day back onto the rack in your closet. “Her favorite’s purple. Will I look like I’m trying too hard if I wear purple?” You held a casual dusty pink long-sleeve in front of Eve. “I didn’t even know I owned this.” 

“Keep looking, that one’s too plain.” She dismissed it easily. 

You dug and felt some cloth in the back of your closet and you pulled it out, not expecting anything good. 

But as cliche as it sounded, you found a stunning red dress with a sweetheart neckline, no straps, and a silhouette that hugged your figure.

“Oh damn. Try it on.” Her eyes lightened and a glint of hope was reignited. 

“No.” You swallowed. “Last time I wore this was when Sevika cancelled our date plans last minute.”  And to both of your demise, the dress zipper was broken, already served its time before it was put to good use. “Should’ve worn this when I had the chance.” But wearing something that would only perpetuate the bad thoughts wouldn’t make you feel confident in the slightest too.

You remembered that it was also the era where you had quit working at Green Gardens Rejuvenation because of something you also wanted to bury. You brushed the thought off and grabbed a hold of another dress. 

It was a dark purple, made you look flattering, accentuating instead of adding or subtracting anything from your body.

The threadwork was intricate, spanning the whole length of the dress. Cutting off right at your chest, it flowed right down to your ankles, with a delicate slit that stopped just below the knee. As you walked, you could get a small sliver of skin peeking out from the fabric.

It was much more your size, even if it was most likely more than a decade old. Better, breathable. When you came out of the bathroom and looked at yourself in the floor-length mirror, you couldn’t remember looking better than ever. 

Eve clapped excitedly and brought you to where you kept your shoes to start looking there. 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ⚜ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

It was around 6:15, makeup just about done, with the wholehearted support of Eve, your chest beated in anticipation. Not out of fear, but out of excitement this time. 

You batted your eyelashes in the mirror. Being all dolled up instilled a new form of confidence in you, something you hadn’t felt in a while. Were you trying too hard? No. It wasn’t your job to impress her every time you met. Tonight felt much more special—you were meeting her on better terms at a fancy place downtown. 

“I should’ve made you wear that ugly one,” Eve said out of the blue. 

“Huh? Why?” 

“You’re not gonna need it later, so why bother?” She gave you a wink and grabbed her bag to leave. Immediately, the thoughts from that night you and Sevika made up (and made out) came rushing back to you, causing a wave of heat to overtake your body.

“Okay, maybe I won’t go to Green Gardens with you.” You playfully clapped back, putting a hand on your hip, the dress airily moving with you.

“Wait, I was just kidding—!” 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ⚜ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

Eve left to go somewhere shortly after. Knowing her, she’d probably be waiting in line at a new bakery that opened, or going to some niche event to meet new people.

Finally, as you waited eagerly by the peephole of your apartment to see Sevika’s truck below pulling up, right on time, you received a text and heard the engine of her vehicle hum in the distance down on the first level of the building. You were just about to open the door until you read the message that popped up on your phone. 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ⚜ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

Sevika: I’m here. Don’t go outside just yet.  You: I’m not a princess. I can walk down some stairs by myself.  Sevika: I bet you look like one now, though.  You: Shut up.  Sevika: Too late, I’m heading up now.

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ⚜ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

Her and her words. It made something heat up inside of you. You smiled and slid your phone back into your bag as you heard her steps. Once the door knocked, you had to muster some self-restraint to make it look like you weren’t waiting at the door like some poor puppy waiting for its owner.

After a few seconds and some deep breaths, you unlocked the door to see Sevika in a crisp suit greeting you with a sheepish smile and a bouquet of lilies in hand. And what was better, the flowers closely resembled the shade of your dress. What a coincidence. 

“Hi.” She looked you up and down and gulped. 

“Hey.” You couldn’t contain a smile peeking from your lips. 

“Oh— I got you flowers,” Sevika held out the bouquet, the wrapping paper crinkling. She remembered how you liked them so much. You almost had one tattooed somewhere on yourself. “You’re beautiful by the way.” 

Admittedly, your compliment left you frozen for a moment until you focused back onto the bouquet. “You as well…” You took it out of her hands. “I love it, thank you.” You extended the door, smelling the strong-sweet scent of the flowers. “Let me put this in a vase. Come on in.” You offered, extending the door so Sevika could come in. 

She brushed past you, leaving a lingering trail of her favorite cologne, something you haven’t smelled in years. 

As you placed the bouquet at the counter, you were on your toes to reach into a high cabinet in the kitchen to find the perfect vase. When was the last time you had flowers in your apartment, much less received some? The vase was stacked up very high, and you struggled a bit to reach it. But you felt a looming presence behind you. Sevika retrieved the vase you wanted and began filling it with water without a word. 

“Thanks…” You trailed off, but quickly prepared the bouquet and put it in the vase. Teamwork. When was the last time that happened?

Coming to think of it, Sevika hadn’t ever been in your apartment before, so she took it all in. You’ve been living here for the past decade. Old, but reliable. You even converted Rose’s old room into a space for extra storage, but left the bed there just in case she needed a place to stay. 

After she moved out, you didn’t really consider moving or getting a one-bedroom instead. You clung onto the memories made with your daughter, where you built yourself up from absolute despair. 

You didn’t experience the symptoms of empty nest syndrome too harshly, as you were confident that she’d do well in the world. After all, it did give you a chunk of free time to spend on yourself. That is if she didn’t barge in unexpectedly at any hour of the day.

“Nice place you have here,” Sevika said, walking towards the front door again. She slipped her shoes back on and opened it for you. “Shall we go?” She extended her hand out, and that just made your heart skip a beat. 

“Yes.” You took her hand. It brought back some unwanted flashes of memories, but you suppressed them for now. What truly mattered was the woman standing in front of you at that moment, wanting to try this time around. 

She opened the passenger’s door for you. Ever the gentlewoman she was. During the drive, she played some random radio station on low as her eyes watched the road ahead. The ride there was steady, as she kept one hand on the wheel. 

“What restaurant are we going to?” 

“I remembered you telling me that your co-workers were raving about the place. I could see it in your eyes back then—you were curious.” 

“You remembered all that?” You fake gasped, taking a jab at the gray strands peeking from her hairline. “I’m glad.” You said quietly.

“I’m not that old, thank you.” She tried so hard to sound annoyed, but you saw—in a flash of light from zooming by the streetlights—she cracked a smile. 

Things were beginning to grow more natural, easier to talk, easier to crack jokes, and easier to look at her face without wanting to violently sob. 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ⚜ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

At the restaurant, she pulled up into a parking space nearly all the way in the back, lacking any lighting whatsoever. 

Sevika casually mentioned, “I made a reservation the moment you said yes.” 

You were beaming, smiling your ass off the duration of the night so far, might as well put on a propeller hat with a comically large rainbow lollipop in hand with how happy you were. 

Like a gentlewoman, she opened the door for you to exit her car. She held out her hand for you to take a stable step down without straining in your dress. “It’s no chariot, but it gets me places,” She mentioned. She really wouldn’t let go of the whole princess thing huh.

“Well I’m no princess, so my accommodations are just fine, thank you.” You checked your look in your compact mirror one last time. 

“You look plenty beautiful, princess.”

Inside the building, it was dim, full of conversations, mostly couples filled the room. You wanted to hide back in your shell again, but Sevika’s hand made it to your lower back as the host led the two of you to a small booth in the corner. 

It was an immaculate place—ornate light fixtures everywhere, but the atmosphere was dim. A live band serenaded the restaurant's patrons. Everything was top-notch, from fancy bottles of champagne that cost a considerable amount, to the whole vibe of one of the city’s long-standing hotspots. 

After you were handed the fancy menus, you each took a good look at the options. “...Sevika, this is so expensive. We can split the bill, really.”

As you looked up at her, she had pulled out a pair of simple glasses to read the menu better, squinting and holding it up to the candle in the middle of the table for better light. You didn’t want to tease her further, so you giggled to yourself and kept quiet. 

She held a hand up, stubborn as ever. “I said it was my treat. Anyways, I’m having the steak. What about you, doll?” Oh god, hearing her call you that made your heart swell every time. 

“Um, this.” You pointed at the menu. After realizing that she couldn’t see it, you turned it and showed her the words. “Looks good, I mean— sounds good.” You nervously chuckled. With sweaty palms, you closed the menu and took your glass of water, sipping it to hide your embarrassed face. 

You sipped your drink, and Sevika sipped hers in a comfortable silence. The wait service seemed like it slowed down as the music was at its peak. Up until now, you two just caught up, like you were supposed to months ago when circumstances made you see each other again. Like a ‘how’s life? Your job okay? Nice weather we’re having’. Small talk like that, things you’d say in the office instead of on a date, for goodness sake. 

Well, you two never established it as a date, really. More like the first step after reconciling.

Just as you were having a whirlwind of thoughts when you were transfixed on the music, her foot inched closer to yours, now touching beneath the white tablecloth. She shot you a grin, but for the most part she acted like nothing was going on. 

“Sev,” You warned, raising an eyebrow, but you couldn’t contain the rush it gave you.

“What? Not enjoying the music?” Oh, you see how it is. She slid her foot up further, through the tiny slit in your dress and traced along your bare shin, lifting your dress up to your knee. 

No one could see what was going on beneath the fancy tablecloth, the shine of Sevika’s leather shoe, the trembling of your thigh, down to the little goosebumps forming on your skin. 

“What if someone sees?” You whisper-yelled. 

“Let them.” 

God, she was acting like the two of you were young again. But you couldn’t say that you were opposed to it. 

Heat travelled up your body when she practically lodged her strong leg in between yours. You tried your utmost to keep a poker face when a waiter came by to ask how things were. Even though she wasn’t directly touching your core, she gave a strong hint that you’d be in for it tonight. 

Her leg retracted to her side of the booth for now. 

After the amazing food was cleared off your plates (and into your stomachs), the check came, waiter holding the payment machine in hand. Damn tapless transactions. 

Before Sevika could take her card out, you proposed: “We’ll split it this evening, thank you.” Sevika was going to object, mouth already open to say something, but your heel somehow accidentally stomped on her pinky toe through her polished shoes to keep her distracted. She winced and rescinded her card back. 

“Very well.” The waiter set the payment machine and held it out for you to tap your card first. 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ⚜ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

“I said it was my treat.” Sevika acted like a kicked puppy when you pulled that trick earlier inside the restaurant. 

The two of you now were walking back to her car, contently full and satisfied for the night.

“Too slow.” You gave a playful smile, walking ahead of her, facing backwards as you reached her truck. Once the two of you were nestled inside the vehicle, it was nothing but the crickets and you. The rush of dinner passed by, and everyone already left the parking lot. 

Her hand rested on the center console, and you placed yours atop hers. 

You sighed, feeling a little more loose. “I don’t want this night to end. Really, ‘Vika—Sevika.” 

“You can call me that. I already told you at the beach.” She looked down at her lap, her breath hitched.

“The same beach where we kissed?” Honestly, you wanted to relish in that moment forever, so you rubbed it in whenever you could. 

“Yeah.” Sevika wanted to bury her head in her hands and never looked up again. Damn it, why was she like this? Did she not like it? If she didn’t want you to bring it up, why’d she initiate another kiss as you parted last week? You were definitely overthinking it. 

“What’s wrong?” Your thumb caressed the top of her hand, awaiting an answer. “You can tell me.” God, you were scared that you might’ve said something wrong, ruined the good thing you two had going on in that moment. 

“Can I kiss you again?” She asked.

There she is. 

Alone, Sevika wasn’t as rough as everyone thought, not as cocky as the front she put up for everyone, and you knew that. Not many people knew she was a big softie on the inside, and you were trying to break down that wall of defense she put up years ago. 

And seeing her flustered and stumbling over every word made something flutter beautifully in your chest. 

“Of course.” You said as you took her chin in your other hand and lifted it up and pressed your lips onto hers, lipstick mixing. 

The kiss then grew deeper and deeper, your hands now cradling her face. You parted your mouth for her tongue to enter. Nothing new, of course, but nevertheless a sensation you’ve been craving for years. 

“All I could think about was you during those damn long ten years apart.” She humiliatingly confessed between kisses. “I don’t wanna rush this, but fuck, I can’t help myself.” 

Your eyes were half-lidded and everything was hazy, all you knew was that you nodded and reassured her as you brought your faces together again. 

Her warm tongue licked your bottom lip, and you granted her entrance again. Her saliva was a tangy mix of her favorite drink, and you cursed the damn center console for being the only barrier keeping you from pouncing on each other. You accidentally bit her bottom lip. You giggled. She did too. 

Once you separated, your hands were still on either side of her face. As you stared into her animated eyes, you knew something of that past relationship still lingered in your hearts. You thought it’d be better to start anew, start from square one, like a redo from both your wrongs. But what you didn’t expect was the terrible, unsuppressable, feeling that the past would slowly come back to haunt you. 

So fuck it, rushing into whatever you have or not didn’t matter when it was obvious that you two were dancing around the subject of being serious. 

“Well too bad, ‘Vika,” A lump formed in your throat, a hot sensation propagated throughout your whole body, tears began pricking the corners of your eyes. “You don’t have to worry about taking your time with me.” You promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry, that the tears were over, but never in your wildest dreams did you anticipate Sevika, here, as your broken heart mended itself with every kiss. 

You needed time. It was obvious that she needed time too. In order to fix what you had, not bury and forget. 

“I’ll give you all the time we need, doll. Promise” Her face was loose and free, giving you a warm smile. Beneath the faint light of the parking lot, Sevika looked surreal, like the version of her who was willing to try again.

You leaned in for another, softer, kiss on her lips. It was all so surreal. You never thought it’d happen again. You felt hot tears run down your cheeks and drip down to Sevika’s suit lapels, but you never ceased the outpour of the fervent messages your lips were sending each other. 

“Take me back to yours, ‘Vika.” You ran your hands up her arms, creating temporary creases in her suit like waves, which caused her to shiver at the mercy of your hands. She knew what you suggested, and immediately sat back and put her seatbelt on.  

The kingdom had always been yours, ever since the day of your birth. After two failed pregnancies, you were the miracle that broke headlines, the whole world loved you from the day you were brought into the world.

'Future Queen has finally arrived!'

'The new heir has finally graced us... it's a GIRL??'

'Will the King and Queen have another heir? Will the Princess be able to handle such responsibility?'

Growing up, you had grown used to the misogyny, grown used to the reporters and headlines claiming that a woman wouldn't be able to run the ship as tightly as your father had. Throughout your whole childhood you had learned the ropes, sitting in on meetings with your father, learning how he runs the kingdom with an iron fist. Despite your clear disagreement, you remained silent, being taught women are to be seen, not heard.

Your mother, who had no backbone whatsoever, always reminded you to keep quiet and look pretty. Especially when you questioned your father, which never ended well. By the time you were 16 you gave up on trying to change his mind, letting him be delusional in thinking you would sit there and take it quietly.

Of course when you became Queen you would never let these things slide... but for know you would wait.

"Never strike while the iron's hot. Let it sit, simmer, heat up. The waiting game is a game you will never lose if you have patience." That was your father's motto, and you learned from the best, right?

The summer you turned 18 was when your father hired Sevika... and you couldn't stop watching her. The youngest Knight in the Palace, only 21 years old and she already out-performed every other man there. The King respected her efficiency and strength, ordering her to guard you at all times. Though he very clearly was harder on her, pulling her up and punishing her for mistakes that if any other Knight had made, they would not see punishment.

Your father never openly admitted he didn't like her, though it was obvious he didn't, but he did appreciate efficiency, and that's what Sevika gave day in day out, which was why she was still around. Though Sevika was like you in some ways, not hiding her attraction to women in the slightest- what she did hide however was *which* specfic lady she was attracted too.

All over the Palace you hid drawings and sketches of her, behind photo frames or in vases that hadn't been touched in years. She was so protective over you, always advocating for your independence and sticking up for you, despite the punishments she got for it.

Sevika saw the fire burning in your eyes, she admired it. She yearned to be by your side, to be the one supporting each decision you made. Of course she was yours already -technically- as your Knight. Though she yearned to be more, to be the one you love, the one you come to with problems, the one who got to lay in bed with you in the dead of night where you could hide away together from the world.

⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

"You will marry, Princess. If you have not chosen a Prince before you turn 20 I will pick for you. Do not push me." Right now, on the night of your 18th birthday, you sat opposite your father to argue and stand up for your own wants and desires in life.

"Why must you insist I marry a Prince? There are plenty good people out there!" Natrually your arms folded in defiance- an un-ladylike gesture which earned a scoff from your father. He expected the same level of obedience from you as your mother gave him- you loved her but she was a weak woman, letting these men walk all over her, hiding her true personality. Back in the day, you heard she was quite a firecracker herself, its why your father fell for her... only you assume he liked breaking her down, not embracing her true nature.

You wouldn't let him do the same to you.

"Stop acting so childish, you're an adult now. And you will marry in the next two years and bear his children. I forbid you wasting your prime fertile years arguing with me." There it was, the fertile argument. After struggling to conceive with his own wife, he insisted you bear multiple heirs 'just in case'.

It was the only leverage you had over your father, and both of you knew it. The only problem with your father was that he saw you all wrong. Quiet and obedient, mistaking your independence for lingering childish behaviour. Over the next two years he would learn you don't always get what you wish for... even if as King you demand it.

⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

"My Lady, your father has requested your presence at the ball this evening. Your lady in waiting will arrive shortly to help you get ready." Sevika stood at the door of your Chambers, awaiting permission to enter. With a subtle nod gesture for her to come in. She does, closing the door softly behind her, laughing as you jump into her arms, she easily catches you, her strong arms holding you with ease.

"To find a Prince, I presume?" You roll your eyes, lifting her helmet off to see her beautiful face. Hard shadows covering her strong jaw, dark grey eyes fixated on you, lips twitching into a sad smile.

"Yes, I believe the ball is merely and excuse to find you a husband." Walking over to you bed she sits, placing you on her thighs gently as her hands roam your lower back- she knows you have issues with your spine from all the tight corsets you're forced to wear. "I'd much rather court you."

There you go again. Sevika sighs, burying her face into your neck. "We can't, princess. We both know that." She only lifts her head to meet your eyes as you cup her cheeks, forcing her eyes on yours.

"Then at least kiss me. As princess I demand it." Sevika squeezes your hips, in warning and affection. Her smirk matches yours as her lips barely brush agaisnt yours, claiming them so gently you'd miss it if you weren't completely touch starved.

"Who am I to deny the Royal Princess anything?" With that you press your lips to hers again, harder this time. Sevika was used to you taking what you wanted from her- not that she minded one bit. In heart and soul she was yours... even if the laws or nobody else accepted it.

The kiss grows warmer, wetter, hotter as your hips slowly start to rock agaisnt hers, the thin fabric of your nightdress hiking higher up your thighs. Sevika's calloused fingertips drag along the smooth, soft skin of your thighs as they disappear underneath, she can only barely grab the plump flesh of your thighs before your lady in waiting enters unannounced.

Though she's not shocked, nor surprised. This little fling between you and Sevika was only known by the three people currently in the room. "Your Highness." She greets politely, without looking back you can hear the amusement in her voice. Begrudgingly you break the kiss, licking your now swollen lips clean of shared passion.

The two of you share a look, one that's sad yet full of heat. "I'll see you at the ball? My handsome Knight." You smile, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to her cheek before you climb off her lap. Sevika stands, smoothing out her uniform, replacing her gorgeous face with thatstupid helmet.

"I wouldn't miss it, Princess." She courtesies dramatically, bowing down before exiting the room leaving you and your lady waiting, Aria, alone.

As you turn to face Aria, she's already smirking, fanning herself with a giggle. "You would be the hottest Royal couple this country ever saw. If only your father would budge." You take a seat as she drags you over to your vanity, brush in hand ready to style your hair.

"He will. I have a plan." The smile on your face was rare- because it was real. Dangerous. Aria's hands falter only for a second before resuming the gentle movements of brushing through your locks.

"Let me guess, I'm not in on this plan and neither is anybody else? You always were a spitfire, I should've known."

"I'm executing my plan tonight, no more fancy, lavish balls. No more chatting to simple minded men... he will have to listen to me, or he'll lose everything."

Aria sighs again as she pins your hair up with those pins you hate, they always pull far too tight. "Be careful with him. He's a powerful man, he won't take defiance lightly, you know this ma'am."

As she works on your hair you powder your face, acting like the perfect, obedient princess he's 'trained' you to be. Though you wouldn't keep the act up much longer, you were sick and tired of being treat like a mere object instead of a human... and above all else?

You loved Sevika, with every fiber of your being, so much you would risk being stripped of your title and kicked out of the Royal family. "Does Sevika know what you're planning?"

"No. I can't have her try to talk me out of it. She loves me enough to let me go, even though that's the last thing I want." Aria strokes your hair as you sigh sadly, understanding the connection you two have.

"She wants you to be happy, secure. But you're never going to be truly happy without her, are you?" The shake of your head is all the answer she needs. Aria had watched you grow up the past 19 years, did your hair every morning, drew you baths each evening, and she'd seen the fire in your eyes. It never left, you were strong, capable, not at all the helpless, obedient woman your father wanted -no needed- you to be.

You were his heir, he had to have control over you. The only problem was the 'control' he currently has is simply and illusion. He's never had power over you, not truly...

⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

This grand ball was as dreadful as any other. Thousands and thousands spent on food, drinks, live bands. All to have you meet Prince's from over the globe to pick and chose which one you wanted to marry like it was a catalogue. As if these men didn't have ambitions of their own.

Truthfully you only got along with Prince George the twelfth, and that's because you could tell the man was gay from a mile away- your gaydar was impeccable. He kept eyeing the Duke Of England like he was a snack ready to be ravished... the same way you kept stealing glances at a certain Knoght in the corner.

Sevika's self control was incredible, she had to watch these slimey men wrap their hands around your waist and dance with you, as if you weren't already claimed. After every shared dance your father would steal you away, hammering you with questions, asking if that Price was the one.

Atthe first opportunity you slip out of the ballroom, taking off your heels as you approach one of the quieter makeshift bars in the Grand Hall. "Tequila, double." You sigh and sit on the stool, taking the weight off your ankles... it was almost orgasmic.

"A princess doesn't usually drink tequila." You spin your stool with a smile, your eyes meeting Sevika's. Of course she followed you, it was her job, hopefully only she noticed you'd slipped out for a minute.

"And princesses usually don't kiss their Knights either..." you whisper quietly to avoid getting caught or heard. Sevika takes a glance atthe bartender- who hadn't heard or was very good at pretending he hadn't.

"Take your shot and then we'll head back inside before your father sends out the cavalries to look for you." The tequila burns deliciously down your throat as Sevika kneels to slip on the uncomfortable heels back onto your feet, though she gives your ankles a soothing rub before helping you stand. As she does her hand hovers near your lower back, loosening your corset just a little. "Better?"

"Much better." You smile, giving her a kiss on her cheek, over the stupid helmet of course. Before Sevika can scold you on being so openly affectionate you're off, entering the ballroom once more. Stunned, Sevika takes a few seconds longer before she's following you back inside, hot on your tail as you march towards your father, knowing you were about to do something... something he wouldn't like.

She knew that smile, she knew that glint in your eye.

"Father, a word? Upstairs." You interrupt his conversation with no shame whatsoever. It was highly inappropriate for 'a woman of your title' but you didn't care, not one bit.

Apologising profusely your father steps away, following you out of the ballroom and up to his study. The silence is deafening, heavy with tension and an brewing argument. As always Sevika follows a few paces behind, waiting outside the closed door, ready to comfort you- or calm you down when inevitably you storm out. You were stubborn as a mule, so was your father.

"I'm not marrying a Prince- no scratch that. I'm not marrying a man."

The silence stretches, longer and longer with each passing second. You watch your fathers jaw tick as he pours himself a bourbon and take a seat at his desk, oddly calm despite your little outburst. Then he laughs, a full on, belly shaking laugh. "Oh you got me there princess-"

"I'm serious. I will marry Sevika, or I won't marry at all." That stops him, shuts him up real quick. His little girl, the one he raised to sit up straight and be quiet was not only defying him by denying to marry a Prince, but she wanted to marry a commoner. Her own Knight.

"Absolutely not. I will not allow it, end of discussion." He throws back his bourbon, setting the glass down with a loud thud on his oak desk. One that will be yours one day...

"See... you don't really have a choice *daddy*." You say with slight mockery in your tone as you take the seat opposite his desk. "I'm your heir. Your ONLY heir, and unless you have someone lined up to take over who isn't blood... then you don't have a choice." Just to rub salt in the wound, you sit with your arms folded, closed off, rude, 'un-ladylike'.

"Are you threatening me, daughter?" He leans on his forearms, glaring at you like you'd set his world on fire. Only you meet his glare with a smile.

"Of course not, I'm simply stating what will happen if you keep pushing me, father. You see this isn't the 1900's anymore... your sweet little girl is gay, and there's nothing you can do about that. What you can do is be the supportive, progressive King everybody thinks you are and overturn the law that states I'm to marry into royalty."

You can tell he wants to speak, but for the first time, he lets you continue even though you can tell he's pissed.

"Either overturn the law and let me marry Sevika, or I'll abdicate. Your whole empire you've built? Will be given to some other man who can't run it the way you wish... and there will be a whole new bloodline. One that isn't your pure, royal blood. You wouldn't want that, right daddy?" He shakes his head, already poring himself another drink.

"You're forcing my hand, Princess. What happened to my little girl?" You almost feel bad at his tone, but you refuse to let him break you down.

"I grew up. I can take the backlash, I can defend my love and who I choose to share it with. So yes, I'm forcing you to man the fuck up and do what is right, otherwise you'll lose me completely. No matter how this conversation ends... whether I become queen or not, I am marrying Sevika, and you can't stop me."

Silence once more. It's almost overwhelming, you can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing up his options here.

Outside, unaware to you both is Sevika, listening to the entire conversation. Your fierce defense of her, how you claim to love her and chose her over your entire life... It's too much. Under her helmet, tears are rolling down her cheek as she whispers to herself one phrase, one mantra. "That's my girl."

Looking at you father, he seems defeated a look you rarely see on his old, withered face. "I don't support it, I think you're making a terrible mistake and I'll be here to pick up the pieces when it inevitably fails because no matter what you're my daughter. I will overturn the law, and you will... marry her."

Taking a deep breath you force yourself to overlook his very clear hatred for Sevika to remind yourself he just agreed. He agreed to overturn the law. No more hiding, no more sneaking around... admittedly you'll miss it, the rush you get, but it's nothing compared to the freeing feeling you have to be able to love her openly, without fear or an ounce of shame. "And when you're rolling around in your grave, watching us run your country better than ever did, you'll finally admit that I was right."

Biting his tongue he wafts a hand, dismissing you. "Go. I have work to do... lots of work to do now." With a smile you walk towards the door, giving him one last victorious look over your shoulder before you slip out of the door... to be met with a very tearful Sevika.

You probably should of told her first... right?

⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

"Does this mean we're getting married? I haven't even propsed to you yet! Or was that you proposing to me?... And does that mean I'm goign to be like a proper royal now? I can't be a royal! I don't know how to-" you clamp a hand over her mouth where her head was resting on your thigh.

"Sevika. Yes we're getting married, yes you're going to be a royal and yes you can do it. Now stop worrying and enjoy our first night together as a couple. Please?" Slowly you pull your hand away, just waiting for her to start spewing nonsense again... admittedly it was adorable, watching her flail.

She buries her face in between your thighs over your nightgown, though it does nothing as you can still feel her breath on your skin. "You're so hot when you get all demanding, and that's coming from me, who hates being told what to do." A giggle escapes you as she kisses you all over, your thighs, hips tummy- anywhere she can reach from where she's lay between your legs. Her uniform was discareded the minute you returned to your chambers, as was your gown and corset, swapped out for a simple nightgown.

"You like it when your future Queen controls you, don't you love?" You tangle your fingers in her messed up hair, tugging until she looks up at you. Her hands stilled on your hips, eyes full of love and arousal as she gazed up at you. "Yes, Your Highness."

Beneath her you shift, your legs falling open wider natraully. "Then prove it, love. Worship me, remind me why I'm marrying you." Sevika doesn't hesitate to move, pushing your nightgown up to bunch around your hips, the smell of your arousal flooding her senses instantly.

This was your fist night where she could take her time, she didn't have to hide how much she loved you, and she was going to make sure you felt it. She starts at your ankle, kissing her way slowly up your calf, her tongje dragging across the skin as she nips and bites your flesh, leaving her mark on her territory. "Gooood girl, that's it love." Your lips twitch as the little whimper that escapes her lips just as she reaches your knee.

"Anything for you, princess. Anything you want..." her fingers were already tucked into the waistband of your panties, ready to pull them off and devour you until you were satisfied. Admittedly, you were soaked. Sevika got you hot in ways you couldn't describe, she always had. But there was something about her, your protector, metaphorically on her knees for you... yeah, the wet patch on your white lace was justified.

Her kisses never stopped, never once faltered until she reached your core. Warm, wet and so inviting she couldn't help the shudder than ran over her. "This excited to get a taste love? You must be starved..." the teasing was worse. So much worse because it was true. Having to sneak around often left you both unable to get this far most of the time. Her birthday had come 8 months early. "I need to taste you princess... please?"

You lift her chin with two fingers, pulling her eyes away from your soaked panties. "Address me properly, use your words." Her eyes meet yours, heavy with lust and need like you'd never seen before.

"Please may I touch you, Your Highness? I promise to make you feel so, so good..." with a small nod you allow her to look back down, her eyes zeroing in on how your panties were sticking to your soaked folds. "Lift for me princess..."

As she peeled your spoiled panties down your thighs, the groan that left her was primal, natrual, like she had genuinely been so starved that she couldn't hold it in. Her hands groped your thighs, sure tk leave finger shaped bruises by morning as she dove in, burying her face into your heat like a woman starved. "Oh god... that's it love, make me f-feel good! Ohhh..." any preamble of being quiet was out the window, not that you needed to hide anymore, her warm, wet tongje dragging over your throbbing clit was enough to send waves of pleasure through every nerve ending in your body.

"So good... mmm taste- so good princess..." Sevika surprisingly managed to get out between desperate, needy licks and sucks on your cunt. Her nails were digging into your thighs deliciously as she feasted, your own arousal dripping down her chin, smeared all over her face. "Y-you're so messy love..." you cry out, tugging on her hair as she dips her tongue inside, her nose rubbing against your clit with each precise thrust.

"Need to get you some lessons in how to eat like a lady, don't I?" You tease softly, reveling in the little whine Sevika lets out into your cunt, the vibration only making it feels ten times better. Whether it was purely the fact that you were touch starved, or that it was Sevika or both... you were already so close. Your nails digging into her scaly, fists tugging her hair hard as your hips grind down, chasing her tongue despite it never leaving your heat.

"Please... please let me taste you princess..." Sevika mumbled, looking up at you from between your thighs with nothing but love and hunger swimming in those grey eyes. The combination of her tongue, her voice and her pure need sends you over the edge. Without hesitation Sevika laps up each drop of your release, simultaneously cleaning you up as you let go, unwilling to leave a single drop behind. She only stops -albeit with a whine- when you weakly tug at her hair, your hips twitching from overstimulation.

"That's enough love... you did so good just... give me a minute yeah?" You look down weakly, your fingers carding through her hair soothingly from where you had tugged on it too hard.

"We got all the time in the world now... right?"

"That's right. We've got it all."

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Not only did the King overturn the law requiring you to marry a royal, he wrote a new law, that the heir must not be married to be coronated as King or Queen. With the way your father acted and spoke about you your entire life you never thanked him, a last, subtle 'fuck you' to him. The media was in uproar, some claiming this was progressive and exactly what the world needed, other claiming it was a devastation and a 'disgrace to the Royal family'.

You could give less of a fuck what the medis thought, both you and Sevika handled it with grace in the public eye without letting yourselves be walked over, women had spent centuries taking it laying down and you would rather die than sit back and watch it happen for another second.

With your father aging and getting old, too old to deal with the uproar you caused... he abdicated, leaving you to step up and take the role. Which you did so happily. On your 26th birthday, your coronation was aired for the world to see, with Sevika looking devastatingly handsome at your side in her tailored suit- which you could tell she hated with how she kept clenching her jaw.

Later that summer, the two of you would marry. The first Lesbian royal wedding the world had ever seen... people expected the grand gestures, guest lists thousands long, extravagant dresses and flowers galore.

So when you didn't even air it live and had a simple video uploaded of your normal sized, intimate wedding people were a little disappointed to say the least. You wouldn't give in, you being the first two royal women to marry gave them no merit to turn your marrige into a spectacle, into something for their own enjoyment.

Sevika was immensely proud of you, her wife, the powerful woman you were always meant to be with her lifelong protector at her side... even if behind those doors she was on her knees for you the instant you asked.

Barcelona 2011 - I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you.

You and Alexia have been dating for almost two years now and everything is perfect. At least you think everything is perfect. You're in your sophomore year and already thinking about college, you don't plan to go study abroad - hell no, being that far away from the life you built is something you can't even think of. Barcelona is your home, is where your girlfriend and family are, your roots are here, you belong to sunny Barcelona.

The city you learned to walk by yourself, where you know every hidden spot to kiss Alexia, the city where the sun never sets down. Even when it's cold, it's bright. Barcelona shines and you shine with it. You grew and learned that home is where the heart is, and yours belongs to Alexia. And hers belongs to you too, everyone knows that. The whole school knows it, even the teachers. Wherever you are, Alexia is there with you.

There is no Y/N without Alexia, and there is no Alexia without Y/N.

But there isn't Alexia without football as well, and you're not competing with it. You know she needs to work hard, she wants to make it to Spain national team and Barcelona's senior squad, so she needs to put effort to it. Late night training schedules, dates she forgets because of how busy she is… You learned to live with it, you keep going, you love her.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, last minute meeting tonight. Not gonna make it on time. Tomorrow, I promise," and you know she does. But tomorrow never comes, lately all Alexia have been saying are endless "I'm sorry's." You try so hard not to get mad at her, because you're proud of her, really, she's working for her dreams to come true - just like you are studying until midnight to build a strong curriculum. So you just reply some "it's okay, love," and go back to your study session.

You keep that pace during all sophomore year, you keep understanding her apologies because there's no harm in them. It's not her fault. Still, you made her your whole world, so when it starts to crumble down you don't know what to do.

When you put all of your strength into one thing only, there's nothing left when it ends. But of course you know that, you're smart, you read tons of books and gonna study Literature at University of Barcelona. You know the tricks behind a toxic relationship, and you and Alexia are not toxic.

Just like in the beginning, Alexia is still the sweetest girl in the world. She listens to you yapping about your books, she tells you how pretty you are, and God… she really knows how to kiss. Time passed and Alexia's body became more athletic, now she doesn't get lost when she touches you, she knows where to put her hands when she's pressing you against the wall, she knows where to put her mouth to make you whimper and take everything she wants to give to you. That way you two can manage high school, sure, you don't have much time off school, so you take everything you can in abandoned classrooms and vague classes.

You know Alexia is worth your patience because she loves you. She said it herself after your first time, right after some important match she won. You were both seventeen, too much hormones and too less restraint. It was perfect, though, you wouldn't change a thing.

You and Alexia may not have that much time to go on dates, or movie nights, or late night talks. But you always attend her games, you still study at the library while she's training and you know you can make it work, because she is doing her part.

She always text you first thing in the morning, and she sends you flowers, and kiss you at the library, and she always hold your hand in the school hallway. She points to you everytime she scores a goal, everyone knows she loves you. So you tell yourself you don't really want fancy dates, you don't need them, they're for the romance books only, in the real life what matters is if the love is true or not. The way it is shown doesn't matter if you feel it.

The restaurant was already loud by the time Alexia steps inside.

It was one of those long-table, rustic places the team loves - wood beams, clinking glasses, waiters weaving through chairs with practiced ease. Sunlight poured in through the front windows, catching on oversized blazers, jeans, sunglasses pushed into hair, the kind of soft, expensive casual that comes from being young and very good at what you do.

Patri was halfway through a story, gesturing with a fork. Mapi was leaning back in her chair like she owns the building. Pina had already stolen something off Cata’s plate. Jana - no longer technically one of them, though you’d never know it from the way she was wedged between Vicky and Kika - was laughing at something no one else heard. 

Alexia paused for half a second at the entrance, scanning automatically. 

The second she stepped into view, their heads turned toward her in eerie synchronization.

There was a beat.

Then Pina squints dramatically behind her. “Wait.”

Patri leans sideways, peering around Alexia’s shoulder. “Where is she?”

Alexia blinks. “Where is who?”

“Your better half,” Mapi said, deadpan.

Alexia looked genuinely confused now. “This is team lunch.”

“Yes,” Patri said patiently, like she’s explaining something to a child. “And?”

“And it’s for the team,” Alexia repeated.

“Exactly,” Pina said. “So where is Mara?”

The entire table nodded in defiant agreement.

Alexia stared at them. “She is not on the team.”

Salma gestures toward Jana. “Neither is she.”

“HEY,” Jana protested. “I bring value.”

Alexia slid into her seat, shaking her head. “She’s busy.”

There was an audible gasp.

“Busy?” Patri echoed, scandalized. “Too busy for us?”

“She was literally at our quarterfinal on Wednesday,” Alexia said flatly, leaning into her chair like she’d already lost this argument.

“That was three days ago,” Pina whined, dragging the words out.

“Yeah,” Kika added solemnly, folding her hands on the table. “We’ve suffered long enough.”

A few of them nodded in agreement.

Alexia closed her eyes for a brief second, the picture of patience. When she opened them, she reached for the water already waiting at her place and took a slow sip before answering.

“She’s working,” she said evenly. “She’s in the studio.”

The effect was immediate.

The table shifted from dramatic to electric in under a second. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations died mid-sentence. A dozen pairs of eyes locked onto her with predatory curiosity.

“Working on the album?” Patri leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I thought you said it was basically finished,” Pina cut in.

“What song?”

“Is it a new one?”

“Wait - is this the one you said was going to destroy us emotionally?”

“Who is she working with?”

That one lingered. Alexia’s gaze dropped briefly to her glass. Mapi caught it instantly.

“With who?” she repeated, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion, like a detective in a telenovela.

Alexia hesitated just long enough.

“…Young Miko,” she admitted, quieter than the rest of the conversation.

The table erupted immediately. 

Jana’s fork clattered onto her plate. “What?! That’s insane!”

“Be serious,” Pina gasped. “That’s going to break the internet.”

“The aura in that room,” Kika muttered, fanning herself with a napkin. “Unstable.”

Mapi leaned back in her chair slowly, studying Alexia with theatrical calm. “And you’re just… okay with that?”

Alexia blinked. “With what?”

“With two of the most charismatic women on the planet in a recording booth together,” Mapi clarified.

Patri added helpfully, “Eye contact, harmonies, late-night studio lighting.”

Alexia stared at them, unimpressed. “Be for real. They’re working.”

“Mm,” Pina hummed, but there was no real accusation in it, just delight. “I’m not worried about Mara.”

“None of us are,” Kika agreed quickly. “Mara is down catastrophically bad.”

“Historically bad,” Patri added.

“Embarrassingly bad,” Mapi finished.

Alexia tried very hard not to smile.

“Exactly,” Pina said. “Young Miko just has this aura. It radiates. It flirts. It exists.”

“And she flirts with everything,” Jana added. “Walls, microphones, air.”

Alexia’s mouth twitched. “So I’ve heard.”

“She’s harmless,” Patri said, shrugging. “But she’s very charming. That’s her whole thing.”

Her teammates exchanged grins. Clearly entertained by the idea of Alexia having to witness someone else be openly flirty around her girlfriend.

Jana leaned back, satisfied with the teasing. “So you’re picking her up after this?”

“Yes,” Alexia answered, steady. “After I drop Vicky off.”

Vicky, who had been unusually quiet for once, finally looked up from her phone. “Wait. Why am I being dropped off before the studio?”

“Because,” Alexia replied evenly, reaching for a piece of bread, “you live in the opposite direction.”

Vicky gasped like she’d just been personally betrayed. “Ale. Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“I want to meet Young Miko,” Vicky insisted, leaning forward now, elbows on the table, eyes pleading, hands clasped dramatically under her chin. “Please. Just five minutes.”

“No.”

“Ten.”

“No.”

“I will be quiet.”

The entire table burst into laughter at that.

“You will not,” Pina said immediately.

“You absolutely will not,” Patri echoed, not even looking up from her plate.

“I will,” Vicky insisted, offended. “I’ll stand in the corner respectfully.”

“You don’t know how to stand respectfully,” Jana told her.

Alexia shook her head, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “She’s working. It’s not a meet-and-greet.”

“I will not embarrass you,” Vicky promised, crossing her heart.

Mapi leaned toward Alexia, lowering her voice theatrically. “She most definitely will.”

Alexia exhaled through her nose, pretending to deliberate far more than she needed to. “If,” she said carefully, pointing a finger at Vicky, “we stop by, you will not interrupt. You will not scream. You will not ask for a picture.”

“Yes! Yes, I promise!” Vicky said immediately, bouncing in her seat.

Patri raised an eyebrow. “This is going to end badly.”

“Correct,” Pina agreed.

The energy at the table shifted from interrogation to anticipation, the drama dissolving into laughter as food arrived in waves. Plates were shared without permission. Someone ordered too much. Someone else stole fries anyway. The restaurant grew louder around them, but their table felt like its own orbit - stories overlapping, shoulders bumping, forks clinking against ceramic.

They moved easily between football and everything else. Someone brought up the quarterfinal against Wolfsburg again - the sharpness of the press, the way the second leg had felt almost inevitable once they found their rhythm. Patri and Mapi argued about who had actually started the counter that led to the second goal. Pina mimed the celebration that had nearly ended in her falling into the advertising boards.

Just as dessert menus were being waved away, Patri leaned back in her chair and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

“So,” she said slowly. “I heard something interesting.”

Alexia didn’t look up. “That’s usually a bad start.”

Patri ignored her. “Alba told someone that you’re looking at houses.”

The table went silent in a way that felt almost cinematic.

Alexia finally looked up. “Alba talks too much.”

“She does not,” Pina said. “She shares responsibly.”

“You’re buying a house?” Jana asked, eyes wide. “Like a grown adult?”

“Wow,” Alexia said dryly. “Thank you.”

Patri leaned forward, intrigued. “Where?”

“It’s just outside the city,” Alexia answered carefully. “Just a little quieter and more private.”

There was a subtle shift at the table - not dramatic, not heavy, but aware. They all knew why that might matter now. 

The media had caught wind of what happened at Alexia’s apartment within hours of the police report becoming public record. What had been a contained, deeply unsettling incident had quickly turned into headlines, speculation, and threads dissecting security footage that no one outside the building should have seen. 

 It was surreal, reading strangers narrate something that had left her shaking in her own hallway less than twenty-four hours earlier. The language flattened it, turned fear into content: “incident”, “intruder”, “security breach.”

None of those words captured the way her chest had tightened when the police described how long he’d wandered.

The team had been solid through it all. Texts that said I’m here. Teammates lingering a little longer after training. A quiet understanding that if Alexia didn’t want to talk about it, they wouldn’t make her. They closed ranks instinctively, the way they always did, the way Alexia always had for them.

Patri reached across the table now and squeezed Alexia’s arm once, steady and deliberate, before gently steering the mood back toward something lighter. “So,” she said, eyebrows lifting with careful neutrality, “have you made an offer?”

Alexia shook her head. “No.” She traced the rim of her glass for a second, then added, “I took my mom earlier this week to show her. She loved it. Which, in her language, means she approved after critiquing everything.”

A few laughs circled the table.

“But I wanted to show Mara before I offer,” Alexia finished, her tone softer but steady, like she didn’t see anything notable about the statement at all.

The reaction around the table suggested otherwise.

She glanced up to find half her teammates staring at her.

Mapi leaned back in her chair and let out a long, theatrical exhale. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Alexia asked immediately, narrowing her eyes. She already knew she’d said something they were going to run with.

“You are consulting with your girlfriend before making a major financial commitment,” Mapi said slowly, ticking points off on her fingers like she was presenting evidence in court. “You’re waiting to show it to her and factoring her opinion into the final decision.”

She dropped her hand onto the table for emphasis. “That is not casual behavior, capi.”

“It’s called being responsible,” Alexia replied evenly, reaching for her glass like this was a completely rational, unremarkable thing to do.

“It’s called being in deep,” Pina corrected, absolutely delighted.

There were approving murmurs and smiles. Jana pressed both hands dramatically to her chest like she was witnessing a live romantic drama unfold.

Alexia shrugged, but didn’t argue this time. There was a flicker of quiet pride in the way she leaned back in her chair.

“Okay,” she said simply. “And?”

That only made it worse.

“Good lord!” Vicky groaned. “You’re completely helpless.”

------

The elevator doors hadn’t even finished sliding open before Vicky was already halfway out of it.

“Okay,” she whispered loudly, bouncing once on the balls of her feet. “I’m normal. I’m calm. I’m a professional.”

Alexia reached forward without looking at her and placed a steady hand on her shoulder, gently steering her back into alignment. “You are none of those things,” she said dryly, guiding her down the hallway.

The studio floor hummed faintly beneath their feet, bass leaking through insulated walls in soft pulses. The air smelled like coffee and expensive equipment, warm from hours of use. Vicky’s eyes darted everywhere at once - platinum records framed along the walls, open doors revealing dimly lit rooms, the glow of mixing boards through glass.

At the end of the corridor, Dan and Drew were stationed outside the main studio room, relaxed but alert. They looked up immediately.

Alexia gave them a small nod in greeting.

Vicky, on the other hand, grinned like she’d just spotted old friends and lifted both hands. “Hi!” she stage-whispered, high-fiving each of them in turn.

Drew shook his head fondly. “Try not to break anything.”

“No promises,” Vicky replied cheerfully.

Alexia tightened her grip on Vicky’s shoulder for emphasis and pushed open the studio door.

Inside, the lights were low and warm, the control room glowing with layered screens and blinking meters. Through the glass, in the recording booth, Mara and Young Miko stood side by side, headphones on, bodies loose and relaxed.

The track rolled. Mara’s light background vocals filled the room.

“Aa-ah-ah, na-na-ah…”

Miko leaned into the mic first, voice textured and effortless.

“Ven pa’ acá…”

Mara followed, smooth and controlled, her tone sliding perfectly into the pocket.

“Ah-ah-ah, na-na-na…”

They exchanged a quick nod and grin between takes.

“¿A dónde vas?”

Mara’s last line came playful, almost teasing, she was smiling as she delivered it.

They were recording the final ad-libs - the short layers that make a song feel alive at the edges. It was the part of the process that required trust and instinct. They moved easily around each other, taking turns at the mic, harmonizing in bursts, laughing when one of them dragged a syllable too long just to see what it would do.

Mara was entirely in her element.

Confident and focused, she effortlessly commanded respect from everyone in the room. She lifted one hand mid-take, signaling for the engineer to let the track loop again. “One more,” she mouthed through the glass, already stepping back in.

Vicky went completely still. Her mouth parted slightly.

She had forgotten, for a moment, that this woman who teased her about her crushes and sent her ridiculous voice notes and let her steal fries off her plate was also this. A superstar.

She leaned closer to the glass, eyes wide. “Oh my god,” she breathed under her breath. “She’s… this is insane.”

Alexia didn’t answer.

She was watching too but differently.

Where Vicky saw spectacle, Alexia saw devotion. She saw the small crease between Mara’s eyebrows when she concentrated. The way she closed her eyes on certain notes. The slight lift of her chin when she knew she’d nailed something exactly the way she’d imagined it.

The final “¿A dónde vas?” lingered in the booth for a second longer than the others, Mara added a bit of desperation and emotion to her voice.

The producer’s voice crackled through the speaker. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

Miko grinned, slipping one side of her headphones off. “We ate that up.”

Mara laughed, already pulling her headphones down around her neck. She turned toward the glass instinctively and saw them.

Her entire posture changed.

“Oh my-” she gasped, eyes going wide. She didn’t even wait for the engineer to open the booth door fully. She slipped out the second there was space and crossed the room at speed. “My loves!”

Vicky barely had time to brace herself before Mara collided into both of them at once, wrapping her arms around their shoulders in a chaotic, squeezing hug.

She pressed a loud kiss to Vicky’s temple first. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I convinced her to bring me,” Vicky smirked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Mara threw her head back laughing, “of course you did! She is weak for you.”

She turned and cupped Alexia’s jaw with one hand, kissing her properly, warm and lingering and entirely unconcerned with the fact that there were several people in the room watching.

Alexia’s hands slid automatically to Mara’s waist, grounding her there, a small exhale leaving her when they parted.

“You were supposed to text me,” Mara murmured, already smiling.

“I did but you were working,” Alexia replied, but her thumb brushed once, low at Mara’s back, possessive in a way that was subtle but unmistakable.

Mara turned, pulling them both further into the room. “Okay, okay - come here. I want you to meet my friend.”

Young Miko was leaning against the console, arms folded loosely, watching the entire reunion with visible amusement.

Up close, her presence was undeniable - charismatic without trying, eyes sharp and playful, a kind of ease that suggested she’d never once questioned her own magnetism.

“Miko,” Mara said, tugging Alexia forward gently, unable to keep the pride out of her voice, “this is my girlfriend, Alexia. And this is Vicky.”

Miko’s grin widened immediately, slow and knowing.

“La referencia,” she said, eyes landing on Alexia first. She extended her hand, but at the last second shifted the gesture into a smooth half-hug instead, one arm looping briefly around Alexia’s shoulders. “La inspiración.”

Alexia laughed softly at that, dabbing her up easily before the hug, completely comfortable in the exchange. “That’s generous.”

Miko leaned back just enough to really look at her, gaze unapologetically appreciative as it flickered up and down once before settling again. “Nah,” she said, eyes glinting. “You’re the muse. We just write the song.”

She turned her head toward Mara then, letting her shoulder brush lightly against hers as she spoke. “You should see her in there,” she added, nodding toward the booth. “One lyric about missing you and she gets this look like she’s halfway on a plane already. I was like - should I step out and give you a moment?”

Mara rolled her eyes, though the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “Do not expose me.”

“I’m just saying,” Miko continued lightly, lifting her hands in surrender, though her shoulder lingered against Mara’s for half a second too long. “The inspiration is very… clear.”

Alexia felt it then - that small, instinctive tightening low in her chest. She was very aware that Miko had presence, she filled space without trying. And she was standing very close to her girlfriend.

Her hand shifted slightly at Mara’s back, fingers splaying a little lower, grounding and territorial in a not so subtle way.

“I’m honored,” Alexia said simply, tone even.

Miko’s grin widened at that, clearly enjoying the steadiness in Alexia’s voice - the confidence meeting confidence.

“You should be,” she said lightly, head tilting as she looked at her again. “You have no idea the power you hold. One look from you and she’s in there rewriting bridges.”

Mara groaned. “Okay. That’s enough.”

“I’m just saying,” Miko shrugged, unbothered. Then she looked back at Alexia, eyes bright with playful mischief. “If someone looked at me like that, I’d write an album too.”

There was a beat.

Vicky’s mouth fell open.

Mara’s head snapped toward her collaborator. “Okay,” she said immediately, stepping half a pace closer to Alexia without even thinking about it. “Relax.”

Miko laughed, hands up again in surrender. “What? I’m appreciating art.”

“You’re instigating,” Mara corrected.

Alexia felt the flicker of heat rise in her cheeks, flattered, yes, but mostly amused. She squeezed Mara’s hip lightly in reassurance.

“I mean,” Alexia said, voice calm and almost thoughtful as she glanced at Mara instead of Miko, “she already wrote the album. About me.”

Miko’s mouth dropped open in delighted disbelief. “Ohhh,” she breathed. “She’s smooth.”

Mara’s lips curved despite herself, though she tried to look exasperated. “Alexia,” she warned lightly, “don’t encourage her.”

“I’m not,” Alexia replied, eyes still on Mara, tone low and teasing. “I’m just pointing out that the evidence is what… fifteen tracks long.”

Miko let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t! This is too good! Two confident people in one relationship? Insane.”

Mara bumped her shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes. “You’re the one flirting with everyone in a five-foot radius.”

“I flirt recreationally,” Miko corrected without missing a beat. “There’s a difference.”

“Mm,” Mara hummed skeptically, but she was smiling.

Alexia watched the exchange, the last edge of tension dissolving completely now that she understood the rhythm of it. Miko’s charm was ambient - directed everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mara’s attention, though, was anchored. Every few seconds her body angled back toward Alexia automatically, like her inner gravity had a preference.

And that preference was obvious.

Miko raised her hands in surrender before she turned to Vicky, her entire energy shifting from teasing to warm in an instant.

“And you,” she said kindly. “I’ve heard about you. The honorary little sister.”

Vicky blinked. “You have?”

“Oh, all the time,” Miko said. “Mara talks about you like you’re a tiny menace she loves deeply.”

“Okay,” Vicky said quickly, trying to recover her composure. “I am not tiny.”

Mara laughed. “Debatable.”

Vicky attempted to stand cooler than she felt, nodding like she met global superstars every Tuesday. “Nice to meet you,” she managed, voice cracking just slightly on the last word.

Miko’s grin turned fond. “You’re cute. I get it now.”

Vicky malfunctioned.

Mara clapped her hands once. “Okay! Enough flirting with my girlfriend and stop teasing my little sister. Everyone sit down. I want to play you guys the track.”

Vicky gasped. “Yes please!! I need that.”

Alexia squeezed Mara’s waist once more before stepping back toward the couch, letting Mara take control of the room again.

The speakers came alive.

The beat slid in first - smooth, warm, seductive without being loud. Mara’s voice entered like silk, steady and intimate. Miko’s verse wrapped around it effortlessly, romantic and playful.

Vicky started bopping instantly, shoulders moving, completely locked in. “Oh this is - this is crazy,” she whispered. “This is so good.”

Miko watched her with delight.

The first chorus hit, lush and addictive.

Vicky was fully fangirling now. “This is going platinum. This is insane. The aura?? The aura alone-”

Then the second verse arrived and the lyrics landed harder.

The way Mara’s voice dipped when she sang about missing kisses. The way she lingered on the lines about wanting her close, about coming back, about the way Alexia moved and smelled.

Vicky’s face changed in real time.

The excitement drained. Her head tilted. Her eyes widened.

She turned slowly toward Alexia.

“…Wait.”

Alexia kept her expression neutral.

Vicky’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”

It clicked.

“This is about-” She pointed violently between the two of them. “This is about you two.”

Mara, shameless, didn’t even attempt to deny it. “Um yeah…”

Vicky physically recoiled.

“NO,” she cried, clapping her hands over her ears. “I do not need to think about that. I do not need to hear about that.”

Miko burst out laughing.

“It’s art!” Mara protested, delighted.

“It’s DISGUSTING,” Vicky shot back, horrified. “I was vibing! I was having fun! And now I’m thinking about you kissing and I hate it.”

Alexia finally lost her composure, laughing openly. “It’s a love song, Vicky.”

“Yes,” Vicky snapped, pointing at her, “but I didn’t realize it was a detailed love song.”

Mara gasped dramatically. “It is not detailed!”

“Second verse says otherwise,” Vicky replied, scandalized.

Miko wiped a tear from her eye. “This is the best reaction I’ve ever seen.”

Vicky stood abruptly. “I need a moment.”

She marched toward the snack table, muttering to herself.

“I support love. I really, really do. I just don’t need to be surrounded by sound evidence.”

Mara was laughing too hard to defend herself.

Alexia watched the entire scene with a soft, deeply satisfied smile.

Miko leaned toward her slightly. “She’s funny.”

She is,” Alexia agreed, watching Vicky dramatically inspect a bag of chips like she was in desperate need of distraction.

Across the room, Vicky was still muttering under her breath. “I was having a good time. I was proud. I was supportive. And then boom - kissing.”

Mara pressed a hand to her chest. “It’s called vulnerability!”

“It’s called causing trauma,” Vicky shot back without turning around.

The room dissolved into laughter again, even the engineer behind the console shaking his head.

Mara, still grinning, drifted back toward Alexia like gravity had shifted. She slid naturally into her space, one hand hooking into the beltband of Alexia’s jeans, the other resting lightly at her hip. 

“You liked it though,” Mara murmured quietly, just for her.

Alexia didn’t hesitate. “Of course I did.”

There was no teasing in her tone now. Just certainty.

Mara’s smile softened in a way it rarely did in public. “Good.”

From the snack table, Vicky gagged loudly.

“Oh my god, you two are unbearable.”

———

By the time they left the studio, the song had been saved three different ways and Miko had hugged them all twice.

Mara lingered longer than she needed to, going back into the booth one last time to listen through the final mix with her engineer while Alexia and Vicky waited on the couch. There was something extraordinary about the way she listened - eyes closed, chin tipped down, fingers tapping faintly against her thigh as if she could feel the structure of the song in her bones. When it ended, she exhaled, satisfied in a way that was quiet but complete.

“That’s it,” she said simply. “Lock it.”

Outside, the city air felt warmer than it has in weeks.

Vicky talked the entire drive back to her apartment, filling Mara in on the updates to her love life and team drama.

Mara gave her her full attention, twisting slightly in her seat so she could see her better, reacting in real time - eyebrows lifting at the right moments, laughing when Vicky overshared, asking the kind of follow-up questions that made Vicky groan and then immediately confess more.

Alexia, for her part, listened just as closely. One hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on Mara’s leg, she stayed mostly quiet but her eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror whenever Vicky’s voice dropped conspiratorially. Alexia, despite her endless denials, loved the gossip.

When they pulled up outside her building, she leaned forward between the seats, narrowing her eyes at them. “If you get engaged in that new house and I find out from Instagram, I will never forgive you.”

“We are not getting engaged today,” Alexia said calmly.

“Suspiciously specific,” Vicky replied, before hopping out of the car and blowing them an exaggerated kiss. “Text me if you cry.”

The door shut. The car grew quiet.

For a moment, neither Alexia nor Mara started the engine again.

Then Mara reached across the console and threaded their fingers together, squeezing once. “Okay,” she said softly. “Show me.”

———

They drove out of the city with the windows down.

It’s the first truly warm afternoon of the season - the kind that smelled faintly of new leaves and pavement heating under sun. The breeze tangled Mara’s hair and pushed loose strands across her cheek. She laughed when Alexia reached over at a red light to tuck it back behind her ear.

“You’re staring,” Mara noted, amused.

“I know,” Alexia answerd easily.

The buildings thin out gradually, giving way to quieter streets and taller hedges, to long driveways and the suggestion of space. Mara leaned her head against the seat, watching the light shift across Alexia’s face as she drove - one hand on the wheel, the other still loosely holding hers whenever she could manage it.

“You’re really serious about this,” Mara said after a while.

Alexia nodded once. “Yeah.”

The house appeared at the end of a curved driveway bordered by thick greenery. It was set back just far enough from the road to feel intentional, protected without being hidden. The facade was warm stone and pale wood, modern but softened by climbing vines and mature trees.

Mara’s breath caught before she could stop it.

“Oh,” she gasped quietly.

Alexia pretended not to react to that.

Their realtor was already waiting near the front gate, tablet tucked under her arm. She was polished but not stiff, her smile brightened a fraction more than necessary when she recognized Mara.

“Ms. Putellas,” she said, shaking Alexia’s hand. Then she turned to Mara, clearly working to maintain composure. “It’s a pleasure.”

Mara shook her hand warmly. “Thank you for meeting us.”

There was a flicker of awe in the realtor’s expression, subtle but unmistakable, before professionalism smoothed it over. She walked them through the basic details again: square footage, recent renovations, security updates. Mentioned the upgraded gate system, the reinforced glass, the camera coverage.

Alexia listened carefully to that part.

When they reached the front door, the realtor stepped aside and handed over the key. “Take your time,” she said. “You can put it back in the lockbox when you’re done.”

The door opened.

Light flooded in.

The entryway led immediately into an open living space with wide-plank oak floors and enormous windows lining the back wall. The late afternoon sun poured through them in golden sheets, catching on the edges of everything.

Mara stepped inside slowly.

She didn’t speak at first. She just turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

The ceilings were high but not cavernous. The walls were warm white, the kind that reflect light instead of swallowing it. Outside, the garden stretched green and quiet, edged with tall trees that shielded the property from neighboring views.

Alexia didn’t move far from the doorway. She watches.

Mara drifted toward the windows, fingertips brushing lightly against the glass. “Oh my god,” she breathed. “The light.”

“I know,” Alexia said softly.

Mara moved into the kitchen next, drawn by the clean lines and warmth of it. The cabinets were a pale wood with subtle grain, the hardware brushed brass that gleamed in the sun. The island was wide and inviting, the countertops smooth and cool beneath her palms.

“These cabinets are beautiful,” she said immediately. “And the fixtures - Ale, look at the fixtures.”

Alexia was looking at her.

Mara opened a drawer, testing its weight. She walked to the sink and turned the faucet on just to hear the sound of it. Stepped back and tilted her head, imagining something invisible.

“You could cook here,” she said after a moment, half to herself. “Like actually cook, while I hover and pretend I’m helping.”

“You do help,” Alexia said mildly.

“I taste,” Mara corrected, smiling. “But thank you for acknowledging my very important role.”

She moved around the island, palms skimming the cool surface, already mapping movement and routine - cutting boards, herbs in little pots along the window, music playing low while the sky darkened outside. There was room here for lingering. For evenings that didn’t need to be rushed between schedules. For quiet, ordinary time that neither of them got enough of.

Alexia leaned against the counter and watched her build a life in it without saying the words.

They stepped out into the yard through the glass doors, the air warmer here, sun pooling low over the grass. The pool sat to one side, its surface shifting in gentle, reflected light. The waterfall feature murmured steadily, soft and constant.

Mara walked straight toward it. “Oh, this is amazing Ale.”

“I know,” Alexia said.

Mara laughed, crouching near the edge to trail her fingers through the water. “I’m going to spend hours in here. Like seriously, if anyone is ever looking for me, I’m probably in this water.”

Beyond the pool, tucked slightly back among greenery, sat the guest house. Smaller than the main structure but built in the same warm stone and wood, with wide glass doors and windows that looked out over the yard.

Mara straightened slowly.

“Can we-?”

Alexia was already reaching for the handle. “Yes.”

Inside, the space opened into a single bright room with high ceilings and natural light pouring in from two sides. The floors were pale wood, the walls clean and unmarked. It was quiet in a different way than the main house - removed just enough to feel separate, intentional.

Mara stepped in and stopped.

She turned once, slowly, the way she had in the kitchen. The light hit her from behind, outlining her shoulders, her hair, the thoughtful stillness settling over her face.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Alexia leaned against the doorframe and didn’t interrupt.

Mara walked to the center of the room, looking toward the windows, then back to the wall opposite, then down at the floor, measuring space instinctively. “This would be perfect,” she murmured. “A piano here. Desk along that wall. Vocal mic in the corner… and it’s separate enough that I wouldn’t feel like I was taking over your house.”

Alexia pushed off the frame and stepped closer. “You wouldn’t be.”

Mara glanced at her, something tender flickering across her expression. “I know,” she said. “But it still feels… respectful. Like we’d both have space.”

She turned again, slower this time, as if committing it to memory. Then she looked back at Alexia, eyes bright.

“I love this,” she said simply.

They went back inside after that, the house warmer now as the afternoon deepened toward evening. Upstairs, they moved through the bedrooms more slowly, opening doors, pausing in thresholds. One room caught soft west light; another looked out over trees. Alexia explained layouts in brief, practical sentences - closet space, orientation, structural changes the previous owner had made - but she kept watching Mara as she did.

In the primary bedroom, Mara wandered toward the window, fingertips brushing the frame. She looked out at the garden, at the line of trees, at the hint of water beyond.

It was quiet for a long moment.

Then she turned back.

“I can see it,” she said.

Alexia’s chest tightened slightly. “See what?”

“A life,” Mara said, voice soft but steady. “Here with you.”

The words landed gently, but they didn’t feel hypothetical.

Alexia crossed the room, hands settling at Mara’s waist. “Yeah?” she asked quietly.

Mara nodded once. “Yeah.”

Alexia leaned in and kissed her.

She could feel Mara smile against her mouth before the kiss deepened, relief and certainty and want braided together. Mara’s hands slid up into her hair; Alexia’s fingers tightened slightly at her back, drawing her closer.

They broke apart eventually but kept their foreheads resting together.

“Any future I picture,” Alexia said, voice low, “always includes you.”

Mara’s eyes closed briefly at that, something full and warm settling through her chest.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because you are my future.”

Alexia smiled and kissed her again, the late afternoon light spilling around them, the empty house holding the shape of something already beginning.

------

Alexia sat at the end of her couch with her phone to her ear, posture composed, the coffee table in front of her still scattered with documents from earlier: floor plans, inspection notes, a neatly folded disclosure sheet marked in her careful handwriting.

She was speaking with her realtor and her lawyer, moving through the final details with the same steady precision she brought to everything that mattered. The offer structure, the timeline, the contingencies. And, threaded through all of it, the quiet but immovable insistence on privacy - no public listing changes, no loose communication, no disclosure beyond the essential parties until closing.

Beside her, Mara had curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, scrolling idly through her phone. Every so often she glanced up - smiling when Alexia pressed for something firmly but politely, squeezing her knee when she advocated for herself, her expression soft with approval and pride.

Eventually the call ended.

Alexia lowered the phone slowly, looking at the blank screen for a second like the reality needed time to land.

Mara was watching her with anxious anticipation. “Well?” she whispered.

Alexia’s mouth curved, small and disbelieving all at once. “I made the offer.”

Mara’s reaction was immediate and explosive.

She squealed - actually squealed - launching off the couch and into Alexia with both arms, grabbing her shoulders and bouncing on her toes. “Ale!”

Alexia burst into laughter, as Mara’s excitement dragged her upright. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around Mara’s waist and lifted her clean off the floor, spinning half a step as Mara clung to her, laughing breathlessly.

“You did it!” Mara cried, feet kicking once in midair.

Alexia laughed harder, hugging her tight and bouncing once, twice with her in a loose, giddy jump. “Careful,” she managed, breathless.

“No!” Mara insisted, face glowing. “This is huge!”

Alexia set her down but didn’t let go. Mara immediately caught her face in both hands and kissed her - deep and warm and thrilled, all her pride and joy pouring straight through the contact.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead briefly against Alexia’s. “I’m just so proud of you,” she said softly.

Alexia’s chest tightened at that.

Then Mara froze.

Her eyes widened. “Wait.”

She stepped back abruptly. “Wait right here. I’ll be right back.”

Before Alexia could ask anything, Mara was already darting out into the hall, feet quick and light. Alexia heard the muffled exchange outside, Mara’s bright, grateful thank-you and Dan’s amused reply. She reappeared seconds later, triumphant. A chilled champagne bottle clutched in both hands.

“I asked Dan to grab it earlier,” she announced, almost vibrating with excitement as she held it up. “I had a feeling.”

Alexia stared at her, warmth flooding her face. “You planned champagne.”

“I believed in you,” Mara corrected, grinning.

The cork popped sharp and celebratory, echoing lightly through the apartment. Mara laughed as foam surged up the neck of the bottle, catching it against her palm before tipping it toward Alexia.

“No glasses,” she declared. “This is a straight from the bottle moment.”

Alexia took it, laughing, and drank - bubbles rushing bright and cold over her tongue. Mara snatched it back immediately for her own turn, then again for Alexia, the two of them passing it between them like teenagers sneaking celebration.

Some of the champagne spilled, fizz trailing over Alexia’s lip and down along the line of her throat.

She watched as Mara’s eyes became unfocused, following the trail down under the collar of her shirt. She smirked, “Can I help you?”

Mara didn’t answer right away.

Her gaze was still fixed on Alexia’s throat, on the faint glisten where the champagne had slipped beneath her collar. Something in her expression had gone soft and heavy - delight tipping into want so quickly it almost felt like a physical shift in the room.

She stepped closer.

Her fingers came up first, brushing lightly along Alexia’s neck, following the same path the champagne had taken. Alexia’s breath caught from the deliberate slowness of it.

Mara’s thumb paused at the hollow of her throat, then swept once along the damp line. She watched Alexia the entire time, eyes darkening, before bringing her hand back toward herself and pressing her mouth briefly to the finger.

Alexia’s smirk faded into something sharper.

“Oh,” she murmured.

Mara closed the distance the rest of the way and kissed her, heat replacing the earlier laughter in a rush. The champagne bottle tipped forgotten against Alexia’s hip as her hands slid to Mara’s waist, pulling her flush against her.

Mara made a soft, breathless sound against her mouth, one hand sliding up into Alexia’s hair while the other fisted in the fabric at her side. The kiss lingered, unhurried but hungry, tasting faintly of bubbles and sweetness.

She tightened her grip at Mara’s waist and began guiding them backward, step by slow step, lips never leaving hers. Mara followed instinctively, feet moving without looking, her fingers threading deeper into Alexia’s hair as if anchoring herself there. The apartment blurred around them - couch edge, wall, the coffee table - none of it mattered, not when the only fixed point was the mouth against hers.

They reached the hallway.

Mara’s back met the wall first, breath breaking in a small gasp against Alexia’s lips. Alexia pressed closer automatically, one hand sliding up her shirt along Mara’s spine, the other braced at her hip. When their mouths parted just enough for air, Mara shifted, turning her head and dragging her lips down the line of Alexia’s jaw.

The contact was slow, deliberate, leaving a trail of open mouth kisses down the curve of her neck.

Alexia’s breath hitched, her eyes closing and her head tipping back as Mara found the same path the champagne had traced earlier. Her mouth lingered there, tracing lazy patterns with her tongue, and Alexia’s fingers flexed hard at her waist.

“Ale-” it came out rough and desperate.

That did it.

Something in Alexia snapped from restraint into want. Her hands slid down and then under, gripping Mara’s upper thighs with firm certainty. In one smooth motion she lifted her - Mara’s gasp dissolving into surprised giggles as her legs came up around Alexia’s waist automatically, arms locking around her shoulders.

Alexia kissed her again immediately, deeper now as her mouth opened slightly, moving them down the hallway with steady, purposeful steps. Mara clung to her, fingers wrapped tightly around her neck tugging at the roots of her hair, mouth meeting hers in heated, half-laughing urgency.

They reached the bedroom.

Alexia turned and set her down gently on the edge of the bed, but didn’t break the kiss, following her down as Mara’s hands slid from her neck to her face, drawing her closer. The mattress dipped beneath them, the room dimmer than the hall, air warmer, quieter.

Mara tilted her head, changing the angle, her mouth opening under Alexia’s in a slow, searching glide that pulled a low sound from Alexia’s chest. Alexia’s hands moved instinctively, one bracing beside Mara’s hip on the mattress, the other sliding along her side, mapping the familiar curve of her waist beneath soft fabric.

The world had narrowed to breath and touch.

Mara’s fingers slipped back into Alexia’s hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head, to give herself better access. She kissed her again, slower now but heavier. Alexia answered immediately, pressing closer, the line of her body fitting along Mara’s with practiced ease.

Their foreheads brushed - shared air, shared heat - before Mara’s hands moved between them.

Her fingers wrapped around Alexia’s shirt, pulling upward.

Alexia broke the kiss just long enough to let the fabric lift over her shoulders and off, Mara’s hands already returning to her skin the instant it cleared. She ran her nails along the newly exposed ridges of her stomach, pulling a desperate whine from Alexia’s lips. The sounds caused a knowing smirk to spread across Mara’s face before she leaned back in, reclaiming her mouth. Alexia arched into her instinctively. 

Their bodies shifted, the edge of the bed creaking softly beneath the movement as Alexia’s hands found the hem of Mara’s top and tugged in silent question.

Mara’s answer was immediate - arms lifting, breaking the kiss only long enough for the fabric to go. It fell somewhere beside them, forgotten.

Skin met skin.

The heat between them jumped instantly, breath catching in tandem. Alexia’s mouth drifted from the warm curve of Mara’s throat down to her chest. She rested her chin lightly against Mara’s ribs and watched as her eyes rolled back at the feeling of Alexia’s tongue around her nipple. 

“Mara,” she murmured against her skin, reverent and rough all at once. “Por favor.” 

Mara’s fingers tightened in her hair in answer, drawing her back up, guiding without words. Their lips met again, the heat between them was reaching its boiling point. 

“Baby, I need your mouth.” Mara’s words were mumbled against Alexia’s lips.  

The plea landed like a spark in gasoline.

Alexia exhaled a broken sound before she let herself be guided - hands sliding over Mara’s hips to steady her as she pushed down the last remaining layers of clothing. 

Mara’s body moved with instinctive certainty, heat and want radiating from her skin as she shifted them around, laying Alexia back against the pillow. Alexia watched as she pulled herself up by the head board and positioned her thighs around Alexia’s head.

Mara lowered herself gently onto Alexia’s waiting tongue. She controlled the tempo, not allowing the sensation to become overwhelming. She moved slowly at first, watching Alexia worship her from below - licking and sucking and pouting when Mara pulled back slightly to savor the feeling.

Eventually Alexia found a rhythm and began repeating the same pattern across Mara’s clit. Mara’s head tipped back on a soft, helpless sound as sensation overtook thought, her fingers tangling tighter in Alexia’s hair, holding her close, needing her there.

Alexia’s hands anchored her there, thumbs tracing slow, grounding paths along her thighs, her waist, her back - mapping every trembling response. 

“Yeah,” Mara breathed, voice shaking. “Just like that-”

Her hand pressed more firmly at the back of Alexia’s head, growing more desperate - a wordless don’t stop. Alexia answered immediately, tighter, steadier, drawing another fractured cry from her.

Mara’s control unraveled quickly after that.

Her head fell back, throat exposed, chest rising sharply as sensation crested higher and higher. Every movement of her hips became less controlled, her body chasing what Alexia was giving her.

“Alexia-” it broke out of her, half plea, half warning.

Alexia didn’t stop.

Her hands tightened at Mara’s hips, allowing them to buck wildly against her mouth, holding her steady through the rising tremor overtaking her. The rhythm turned relentless, perfectly attuned, drawing Mara right to the edge where control dissolved entirely.

Mara shattered there.

Her whole body tensed, then shook - breath breaking into a sharp, gasping cry as she clutched at Alexia and the head board, thighs tightening, head falling forward with the force of it. Alexia stayed with her through every tremor, every aftershock, watching her face contort and eyes closed as she chased the sensation. 

When Mara finally collapsed forward, boneless, Alexia eased her down with her, arms wrapping her close against her chest.

Alexia wiped her mouth casually, bringing the residue to her lips to suck clean, eyes locked on Mara's flushed face. "I love the way you taste," she murmured, then kissed her deeply, sharing the flavor on her tongue.

Mara moaned into it, her whole body still trembling, still open, still wanting. Alexia felt the aftershocks rolling through her.

Alexia’s fingers slipped from her lips, still glistening, and the look she gave Mara was molten - hungry, possessive, delighted by the trembling she’d created.

“Sit up,” she murmured. The command warm and low, a voice she used for Mara alone.

Mara obeyed before she even realized she had, breath shaky as she pushed herself upright in Alexia’s lap.

Alexia’s hands, firm and certain, slid up her thighs, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate lines that made Mara shiver all over again.

“Look at you,” Alexia whispered, voice thick with want. “Still shaking for me.” 

Mara’s breath hitched, a soft, helpless sound escaping her as her fingers curled into Alexia’s shoulders.

Alexia leaned in, lips brushing her jaw. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?” Her hand came up, guiding Mara’s chin so their eyes met, so Mara could see the heat in them.

“Mine,” Alexia murmured. “Forever mine”

She kissed her - deep, claiming, the kind of kiss that pulled Mara straight back into the spiral of wanting. When Mara gasped, Alexia swallowed the sound with a satisfied hum.

Her hands moved with intent now: one gripping Mara’s waist, the other sliding up her spine, holding her close, controlling the pace of every kiss, every breath, every trembling shift of her hips.

Mara felt undone, beautifully undone, and Alexia felt it too. She smiled against Mara’s mouth, wicked and adoring all at once.

“Lie back,” Alexia murmured.

Mara did, sinking into the mattress beneath her, eyes dark and blown wide.

Alexia followed her down, bracing a hand beside her head, her body hovering just above Mara’s.

“So good.” The whisper barely existed, but Mara arched like she’d been touched.

Heat shot through her; her back flexed instinctively, chest pressing up, chasing Alexia without even realizing she was doing it.

Alexia’s  mouth curved with something hungry before she kissed Mara again. Slow at first, savoring her, then deeper, fuller, a kiss with weight behind it. A kiss that said: I know exactly what I’m doing to you.

Every stroke of her mouth, every shift of her body, seemed designed to unravel her. Mara’s breaths came uneven now, catching when Alexia’s thigh slid deliberately between her legs, pressing just enough to make Mara’s breath break into a gasp.

Mara’s nails dug into her shoulder. “Ale…”

Alexia’s smile sharpened into something sinful. “I know, baby.” Her voice dipped lower, warm and certain against Mara’s skin.

Her lips brushed the edge of Mara’s ear, her breath a hot shiver down her spine. “Let me have you again.”

Mara’s whole body trembled as she nodded desperately.

Alexia didn’t rush, she just held her there, suspended in the moment, her thigh steady, her hand sliding down Mara’s waist with slow, claiming pressure. She kissed her jaw, her pulse, the soft spot below her ear - each one deliberate, building heat instead of chasing it.

“You’re so responsive,” she murmured, her nose brushing Mara’s cheek. “I barely touch you and you melt.”

Mara didn’t even try to deny it, she couldn’t. Not when Alexia was looking at her like that. Not when her body was already moving against her, her thighs shaking with every subtle shift of pressure.

Alexia kissed her again, deeper this time, lips parting Mara’s with practiced confidence. Her hand slid up to cradle Mara’s jaw, holding her exactly where she wanted her.

“Let go for me,” she whispered against Mara’s mouth. “Otra vez… just for me.”

Her hand slid from Mara’s cheek down the line of her throat, slow and claiming, her thumb brushing the quick pulse there. Then she guided Mara up, just enough for their foreheads to touch, her thigh shifting with quiet, devastating precision.

Mara’s gasp was immediate.

Alexia’s smile was pure sin.

“That’s it,” she murmured, voice velvet-dark. “Move for me, beautiful.”

She brought her fingers down and traced lazy patterns against her folds, coaxing every shiver, every tremor she wanted and Mara gave her all of it. Her breaths came faster, her hips kept moving without thought, chasing the exact pressure Alexia offered and withheld in perfect rhythm.

“You’re so close already,” Alexia breathed against her jaw, her lips brushing there, then lower. She shifted her fingers from her clit back inside her. Her wetness coaxing Alexia even deeper.

“God, Mara… you’re unreal.”

Mara clung to her, forehead falling to Alexia’s shoulder as a loud moan escaped her, desperate, unable to be swallowed down. Alexia pumped in and out, slow and deep, guiding her, pushing her exactly where she needed to go.

“That’s it, baby,” Alexia whispered, lips at her ear now. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And Mara did - the world narrowing, dissolving, burning quietly behind her ribs as she came with a loud cry against Alexia’s throat. Alexia held her through it, whispering praise against her hair, grounding her with every slow stroke of her hands.

She didn’t rush her. Didn’t loosen her hold. She just kept murmuring soft praise against her skin, every word a gentle unraveling.

“Muy bien, amor…”

“Breathe with me…”

“I’ve got you…”

Mara melted into her, boneless, cheek pressed to Alexia’s collarbone as her breath trembled against warm skin. Alexia wrapped her fully in her arms, one hand stroking slow circles into her spine, the other cradling the back of her head.

When Mara finally managed a steady inhale, Alexia kissed her temple gently. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “Estoy aquí.”

Mara nodded, still dazed but the small smile forming against Alexia’s skin made something inside Alexia sway.

“Hey,” Mara murmured eventually, voice soft and wrecked in the sweetest way. “I’ve been thinking.”

Alexia angled her head, brushing her nose along Mara’s cheek. “Mm?”

Mara’s fingers slid up to rest lightly on Alexia’s jaw, thumb tracing a path that felt both tender and claiming. Her voice dropped, warm and intimate, “When we live together…” A breath, “... I’ll get to do this as much as I want, right?”

Alexia’s exhale broke completely - half laugh, half disbelief, full desire.

Mara nuzzled closer, her smile brushing Alexia’s chin. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, “the house is beautiful and I can’t wait for it to be ours someday soon.”

Alexia’s hand tightened on her waist, a shaky, reverent sound leaving her chest. “Mara…”

Mara lifted her head then, kissing Alexia’s jaw, eyes warm and sparkling with mischief and affection. “I hope you know though, I’m going to have to fuck you in every room of that house. Just to, you know… test the acoustics.”

Alexia could only nod, breath catching. “Si.”

They stayed like that - Mara tracing soothing lines over Alexia’s ribs while Alexia held her close, grounding her, worshipping her with quiet touches - until Mara’s breaths steadied completely.

Only then did the spark return to her gaze.

Mara’s hand slid down Alexia’s stomach, slow and deliberate. “Okay,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss her, soft but sure. “Your turn.”

Alexia’s inhale stuttered.

The sound alone made Mara’s pulse jump, made warmth pool low and insistent in her belly. Alexia’s fingers flexed lightly on her hips, as if caught between restraint and instinct.

“Mara…” she breathed, voice already deepening, a warning and a want all at once.

But Mara only smiled - a slow, coaxing curve of her mouth - and brushed another kiss over Alexia’s lips, lingering this time, letting her thumb sweep beneath her jaw.

“I want you,” Mara murmured, the words a warm exhale against her skin. “Come here.”

Whatever thin thread of composure Alexia had left unraveled.

She leaned in, claiming Mara’s mouth with a slow, consuming kiss. Mara’s back met the mattress again, Alexia hovering above her, their legs tangling, their breaths catching in perfect unison.

Hands explored familiar lines, slow strokes over warm skin, soft grazes that built pressure with purpose. Mara’s fingers slipped along her lower belly, feeling the twitch of muscle, the way Alexia’s breath hitched and stuttered as she guided Mara’s hand lower.

“Touch me,” Alexia pleaded, barely sound, barely breath, but enough to spark heat all over again.

Mara did.

And Alexia responded like she always did - with a quiet gasp, a tremor that traveled through her whole body, and that soft, reverent way she said Mara’s name when she stopped pretending she wasn’t desperate for her.

They moved together until the world narrowed to warmth and breath and the soft, broken sounds they only ever let each other hear. Until Alexia shuddered against her, whispering something that made Mara’s stomach clench and her heart lurch. Until Mara followed her there, gripping Alexia’s shoulders, burying her face in her neck as she came undone all over again.

For a long moment afterward, neither spoke.

Alexia lay half draped over her, breath still uneven, her lips pressed to Mara’s shoulder in soft, absent kisses. Mara stroked her back in slow, lazy lines, grounding them both, feeling the rise and fall of Alexia’s chest settle into something steady and warm.

When Alexia finally lifted her head, her hair a soft mess around her flushed face, she kissed Mara once - gentle, almost shy in contrast to everything that came before.

“You are my forever,” she murmured, voice sleep-warm and ruined.

Mara smiled up at her, thumb brushing Alexia’s cheek.

“I will always be yours,” she whispered back.