#im dropping this and going to bed i think...

[dreamersparacosm]

Girl we need a smut blurb for them , im talking wild sex . I’ll take anything I know they’re both freaked out

well, well, well. you put two overachievers in a bed and what’s going to happen? magic, that’s what. or maybe he’ll just use your vibrator as part of your scheduled stress relief. whatever.

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 3!

prompt ; in which stress relief takes on a whole new definition.

warnings ; sex toy usage, fingering, jungkook cums in his pants

There are worse problems to have, you tell yourself.

Ever since you and Jungkook officially started dating, things have gotten a little… out of hand (and by “out of hand,” you mean fucking each other senseless across multiple continents.)

Obviously it started in New York and Seoul. Then it was Paris. You two dabbled in exhibitionism during a trip to Bali. Now it’s whatever remote, paparazzi-proof destinations your travel agent nervously books for you at 2 in the morning.

Hotels, apartments, rental cars, bathrooms you’re pretty sure were not designed to withstand the kind of behavior you’re inflicting on them. At this point, it’s becoming a global crisis. International security agencies may want to get involved.

It’s getting so frequent, so mind-numbingly good, that you’re starting to worry about yourself a little. Like, is it normal to see god every weekday?

Unclear.

But it is nice, really nice, to relieve that stress that weighs on you after a workday. (And god knows you have plenty of that to go around.)

Jungkook is, if nothing else, very committed to the cause. He takes care of you painfully well, as if it’s his full-time job and the only acceptable performance review is your legs shaking too hard to stand.

Case in point: you’re currently spread out across your bed in New York, lips swollen from a makeout, hair damp from the bath he ran for you, and he’s kneeling between your legs, big palms dragging slow strokes up and down your thighs.

It's a perfect Wednesday night, all safe and soft and steady until he drops his suggestion into the quiet.

“Let me use the vibrator on you, baby.”

Your brain, already half-melted from the hour-long slow burn he’s been subjecting you to, scrambles for purchase.

You are not equipped for this on a Wednesday night. Especially not after a 14 hour workday, 2 back-to-back global strategy calls, and a last minute crisis involving a Calvin Klein store opening in Shanghai.

You open your mouth to respond, yet nothing makes its way out.

Jungkook smiles at you with amusement and reaches over to the nightstand like it’s the most casual thing in the world. As if he didn’t casually drop a bomb into the atmosphere of your previously scheduled stress-relief session.

With bulging eyes, you observe as he pulls open the drawer, rummages around for a second, and then holds up your light purple vibrator in his hands.

The device is small and sleek, manages to look mockingly innocent resting in his palm.

You stare at it, then at him, mouth working like a fish suddenly introduced to the concept of air.

"I—" You stutter eloquently.

He responds with that signature grin, the one that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face and climb him like a tree. "Come on, baby," he coaxes, "You said you were stressed. Think of this as... advanced relaxation techniques."

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "This wasn't exactly what I meant by 'stress relief.'"

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asks innocently, setting the vibrator down beside you before leaning close to press a kiss against your inner knee. "You enjoy yourself too much?"

"The audacity," You roll your eyes, trying and failing to suppress the shiver his touch sends up your spine.

"It’s like.. a scientific experiment," he continues, trailing featherlight kisses up your thigh. "Testing the effects of a vibrator on stress."

"Did you just turn my vibrator into a science fair project?"

His laugh rumbles against your skin. "I'm innovative like that. Always thinking about my subject’s satisfaction."

"You’re not selling it," You sigh but there's no heat behind it.

"I'm persistent," he corrects, looking up at you with darkened eyes. "And also extremely dedicated to your wellbeing. Just say yes."

You can’t look at him. With his mess of black hair falling over his forehead, with his eyes displaying a glint of mischief and the stupid Calvin Klein white t-shirt that drives you crazy. He’s so fucking hot, and it brings you to the brink of temporary insanity. That’s how you got in this mess in the first place.

What you need to be doing is saying no. Set some kind of a boundary. Be a strong, independent woman who does not immediately fold at the suggestion of midweek sex toy experimentation.

You do none of those things. Rather, you sigh and flop back against the pillows, one arm flung dramatically over your eyes.

“Fine,” you mutter like he’s inconveniencing you. “Whatever. Just don’t break my toy.”

You hear him laugh, a rich velvety rumble that vibrates through you while the mattress dips beneath his weight as he repositions himself closer to your core.

Before you even take your next breath, he’s kissing up your thighs, hands stroking the backs of your knees, your calves, your hips.

The vibrator hums to life; it’s soft at first, a low sound and your stomach flips violently.

Curiosity compels you to emerge from behind your self-imposed blindfold just in time to witness his gaze fixed upon you. He is a hungry man, you’ll give him that much.

Which leads you to your next thought: you’re not even sure why you bothered putting on underwear after the bath. A small, defeated part of you wants to blame some lingering sense of dignity, some naive attempt at not being completely easy just because your boyfriend washed your hair like a Disney prince and kissed your shoulder after.

Whatever weak attempt at decency you made is long gone the second Jungkook hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts dragging them down. Thumbs brushing over the dip of your hips like he’s memorizing every line, every secret part of you he already owns.

The cotton peels away from your thighs, and the cool air hits your core, makes you shiver. He works them down over your knees, then your ankles, tossing them somewhere behind him without a second thought.

You’re already squirming a little, hips shifting against the mattress, thighs clenching reflexively, but he just chuckles under his breath before reaching for the hem of your oversized T-shirt. (Technically his T-shirt. Technically yours now. He stopped fighting that battle months ago.)

Slowly, he pushes it up, bunching it around your waist, exposing the soft skin of your belly, the slick glistening between your legs that you’re trying very hard not to feel embarrassed about.

A single finger gets dragged between your folds, dipping into the mess he’s barely even touched you to create, and you can’t help the broken little gasp that escapes your mouth. “Oh—“

Jungkook lifts his hand and holds it up between you. Your slick clings to his finger. Shining in the soft light your lamp provides.

The bastard. How dare he provide proof of your demise.

He raises a brow smugly. “Already this wet, baby?” He teases.

You glare at him, or at least try, but it’s hard to summon the proper outrage when your body is practically vibrating with need.

“Shut the fuck up,” You grumble.

He laughs and settles himself back between your thighs. The toy hums softly beside you, still on the lowest setting and when he picks it up again, your stomach nearly exits your body.

He strokes the inside of your thigh with his free hand, “Ready?” He asks. Jungkook’s always been sure to consent; you do know he’s genuinely asking for permission.

You nod, frantic, willing to sell your soul if he would just please, please touch you already.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

For the love of everything holy.

You jolt forward violently the second the vibrator touches your clit. Even on the lowest setting it’s too much, white-hot pleasure snapping up your spine and exploding behind your eyes.

“Fuck—” You gasp, whole body twitching, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

A string of curse words falls out of your mouth before you can stop them, completely and deliriously out of your control.

Jungkook smiles, presses his palm flat against your thigh to pin you down. “You’re so sensitive tonight,” He notes, somewhat amused.

You might cry. God damn him for being so perfect to you that he’s holding a vibrator to you and not making comments about how “he could do it better.”

You settle for grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets and moaning helplessly when he adjusts the angle slightly, nudging the vibrator a little higher until your hips are jerking against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing slow circles into your thigh. “Let me take care of you.”

Alright, you’re not afraid to admit — maybe you didn’t care much for his definition of stress relief before.

But now? Now you need it more than anything.

You’re a mess; panting, moaning, hips twitching up and it’s still on the lowest setting.

You risk a glance down your body, and the sight nearly undoes you. Jungkook is watching you intensely, brows drawn, lip ring caught between his teeth, arms flexing where he’s bracing you open.

The look on his face alone could make you finish.

“Please,” you gasp. “M-More.”

He nods once, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Yeah, baby?” he’s clearly out of breath, thumb brushing over your thigh in grounding circles. “I got you.”

Jungkook clicks the vibrator up to the medium setting, and the second the stronger vibration hits your clit, your back arches clean off the bed, a cry ripping from your throat. There’s a hum that comes from low in his throat while he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“You’re so good for me,” He says against your skin. “So desperate already. Bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Just from how good it feels?”

His tattooed fingers squeeze your flesh harder, holding you open, keeping you steady, and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to sob, truthfully.

Jungkook drags the vibrator in slow circles over your clit, keeping you teetering right on the edge before mercifully setting it down beside you. You barely have time to breathe before he’s spitting into his hand and sliding two fingers between your thighs.

The second he pushes them inside your entrance, you buck violently, a whine tearing out of your mouth. “F-fuck—”

You feel impossibly full already, walls clenching around the stretch, the slick sounds embarrassingly loud in the otherwise silent room.

Jungkook groans mostly to himself, head dropping forward to watch where he’s sinking into you.

“God, baby,” he exhales, curling his fingers in that way that makes your toes curl too. “You’re so fucking wet.“

You moan helplessly. Obviously, the man must be trying to kill you. A death wish of sorts. He works his fingers inside you, dragging them along that sweet spot that has you keening into the mattress before reaching over with his free hand to flick the vibratot back on.

He sets it to the highest setting — and holy mother — you nearly catapult off the bed. The intense, overwhelming buzz against your clit paired with the slow pump of his fingers inside you is absolutely lethal.

You choke on some form of a gasp, thighs jerking. All thoughts of work, stress, the world outside this room — gone. Obliterated.

Jungkook, flushed and sweaty, arm veins flexing with every stroke of his fingers, can’t take his eyes off the mess you’re making on your sheets beneath you.

Your thighs are trembling violently now, little spasms you can’t control. You try — god, you want it noted you do try — to keep your hips still, to hold off a little longer.

But the man is evidently on a mission. Fingers fucking into you deep and steady, the vibrator merciless against your clit, voice rougher than normal: “Cum for me, baby. I wanna see it. Wanna feel you cum all over my fingers. Please.”

You’re way past the point of rational thought. Spinning out. Every nerve ending burning hot under your skin.

“Fuck—” you sob. “Kook— I’m gonna— oh fuck, fuckfuck—”

Neither of you get to find out what you’re “gonna” before the orgasm tears through you viscerally, a full-body convulsion that has you crying out and grabbing onto his wrist.

Your toes curl involuntarily against the sheets while your thighs close around his head, stomach muscles clenching before your whole body lets itself fall into the pleasure.

For one disorienting moment, your vision actually blurs at the edges — a genuine blackout that some doctor could probably explain but you're certainly in no condition to contemplate — while somewhere in the distance you hear yourself gasping his name in a way that makes you grateful these walls are soundproof.

You’re panting when it finally ebbs, chest heaving, pussy clenching desperately around his fingers. Jungkook presses a kiss to your thigh again, slowly eases his fingers out and shuts off the vibrator that's become both your nemesis and savior in the span of minutes.

There’s a quiet that feels almost startling compared to your thundering heartbeat.

You’re floating somewhere, the bed seeming to perform a gentle carousel spin around you when he grabs your face gently with both hands and kisses you. You kiss him back automatically, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt.

Through the haze, you murmur against his mouth, “Take your sweatpants off. Wanna fuck you.”

He responds with a groan, pressing his forehead against yours. Insistently, you tug at the waistband, whining a little when he resists.

“Come on,” you mumble, still half-drunk off your orgasm. “I need you.”

He makes a choked sound and pulls back to look you in the eye. His body moves to lean against your headboard, and you scooch over to kiss down his neck while he tries to come up with whatever excuse he can.

And then comes the confession, tripping awkwardly from his lips. “I… uh…”

Your eyes narrow into spiteful little slits, pulling away from him.

He winces, a full-body cringe that would be adorable under other circumstances but currently only amplifies your confusion.

“I… I came already,” He confesses, so low you almost don’t catch it.

Jeon Jungkook? The Jeon Jungkook… came in his boxers like a teenage virgin.. from using your vibrator against you?

You blink repeatedly, brain attempting to process this unexpected plot twist.

“What?” You say dumbfounded.

He covers his face with one large hand in the universal gesture of mortification, ears betraying him by flushing a deep crimson even in the room's low light.

“You— you… came? Just from—?”

Your boyfriend groans, clearly exploring the possibility of spontaneous human combustion as a merciful escape route.

“You looked so good,” he murmurs into his palm. “I couldn’t— fuck, I tried to hold it—”

You stare at him for another second. Then, completely against your will, you burst out laughing. It spills out in waves that are equal parts exhaustion, affection, and perhaps a whisper of mockery, but your attempts to suppress it prove to be futile.

Jungkook glares at you weakly through his fingers.

“You’re an idiot,” you giggle, “My idiot.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pulling you firmly against his chest, a transparent attempt to muffle your laughter and hide his reddening face but your giggles persist. At some point, you do take the opportunity he presents to nestle your face into the warm crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, a chuckle exiting once every few minutes.

All things considered?

Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday night. Not bad at all.

masterlist + ask

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 4: One night in Barcelona part 1 Other Parts

Word Count: 10K

This ran longer than I originally thought, so Y/N's Barcelona trip will be spilt into 2 parts

You get home and the flat feels too quiet.

Teddy flops on the couch like he’s mourning, and you stand there for a second, jacket half-off, keys still dangling from your fingers, just letting the silence settle.

You make coffee. Scroll half-heartedly through the news. Pretend you’re not checking your phone every three minutes.

She said she’d text.

You trust her.

Still, you check again.

You check your phone too soon. Too often.

Until finally as you park up at the training centre.

Alexia: Landed. Missing Teddy already. You only a little bit.

You laugh under your breath, sharp and surprised, leaning against the car.

You tap your thumb against the screen, smile tugging at your mouth.

You: Teddy’s devastated. Kept looking at the door all morning like you're about to walk back in.

You pause. Then add, softer,

You: I might of been doing the same.

The typing bubble pops up immediately.

Alexia: I've been thinking.

Your stomach flips. Another message follows, almost before you can blink,

Alexia: Come to Barcelona.

You stare at the words.

Simple. Sure. Not a question. An invitation.

You slowly pluck your bag from the boot, heartbeat thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to reach her before you can.

You type slowly, savouring it,

You: You serious?

Alexia: I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. Come see my world. Stay at my place.

You bite your lip, grinning now, stupid, full, real.

You: Say when.

Her reply comes seconds later:

Alexia: Whenever you’re free.

You glance at Georgia, strutting across the carpark to meet you at the exact spot at the exact time she always did. "Hey gorgeous" she grins

You smile. Then you pull up your calendar. Because it’s not just a maybe.

It’s Barcelona. It’s her. You were ignoring the nerves. You were going.

Georgia bumps your shoulder lightly with hers. “So,” she says, voice low enough that it gets lost under the general buzz around you as you walk in the facility. “How were your days off?”

You glance at her. Her expression is innocent. Too innocent.

You squint, breathing out a soft laugh through your nose. “They were good,” you say, keeping it vague, dropping your bag in your cubicle before spinning and heading right back out with her for breakfast.

Georgia hums. Nods. Like she’s accepting the answer. But you’re not an idiot. You know exactly what she’s really asking.

Not how was your rest? Not did you get your legs back under you? But how was it being with her?

You hold a mug toward her gently. She takes it without thinking. It was mindless routine with you both now.

Then she leans in just a little, eyebrow raised.

“Really good?” she murmurs, just for you. You smirk, looking away, pretending to focus on your cup of tea.

“Mind your business, Stanway.”

She chuckles, returning the ball with a light pass. “You’re smiling like a lunatic. Not very subtle.”

You shrug. Try to wipe the grin off your face. You fail. Miserably.

Georgia goes off to look what hot food was on offer, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

You watch her go, still smiling despite yourself, feet rooted in the soft spot, minds already miles away.

Back to rooftop nights and sleepy breakfasts. Back to Uno wars and stolen glances. Back to her.

⚽️

The planning starts that night after she lands back in Barcelona.

You’re lying in bed, Teddy snoring beside you, scrolling mindlessly when your phone buzzes.

Alexia When’s your next free weekend?

You sit up a little straighter immediately.

You: I'll check. Hang on. Trying to look important.

You flick through your calendar — training, matches, travel days. It’s tighter than you’d like. But there's a small window coming up.

You: Have two days off next month. Saturday to Sunday. Could maybe get the Friday night flight too if I’m sneaky and cancel something, but not promising that.

A pause.

Alexia: I have a home game that Saturday. Would you want to... come to the game?

You blink. Heart stuttering a little. She doesn’t say 'watch me play' or 'sit in the stands like a fan.'

She says come to the game. Come be there.

You type slower this time,

You: I’d love to.

Another pause.

Alexia: I’ll get you tickets. And after... we can actually see Barcelona properly on the Sunday when we have more time. Not just the stadium.

You grin.

You: Deal. Tourist Alexia can finally pay me back for Munich.

She sends back an eye-roll emoji.

Alexia: Only if you survive the Estadi.

You laugh, alone in your flat, staring at your screen like it's a map to something bigger than flights and fixtures.

You: I’ll book flights tomorrow.

A few minutes later,

Alexia: I’m excited.

You stare at that word. Read it again. Excited. You lie back against the pillows, heart hammering quietly. It’s happening. You’re going to her. You’re looking at your calendar and counting down the days.

Alexia: When are you coming? I'll put it on my calendar so I don't get booked for anything

The typing bubble appears immediately.

Alexia: Careful. I might not let you leave.

You bite your lip, feeling that same fizzy thrill in your chest you haven’t quite gotten used to — don’t really want to.

You: Dangerous game you're playing, Putellas.

Alexia: I like my chances.

You flip onto your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to fight the stupid grin taking over your face. You start mentally flipping through your calendar, through your training commitments, through flights that might work for that weekend to maximise your hours.

You smile, already typing back the dates you were free

Alexia: One night? That’s it?

You laugh softly into the dark.

You: I have a job, you know.

Alexia: Unacceptable.

You roll your eyes fondly, typing,

You: Tell you what. If you win the match, I’ll stay longer next time.

Her reply comes fast:

Alexia: I better win, then.

You tuck the phone against your chest for a second, feeling everything buzz under your skin, excitement, nerves, all tangled together. You’ve traveled for football your whole life.

But this feels different. Personal. Heavy in the best way.

Your phone buzzes again.

Alexia: Also... bring some Uno cards.

You frown, confused, texting back:

You: Really?? You want to play again?

Alexia: Maybe.

You laugh out loud this time, scaring Teddy half awake.

You: Big words for someone who almost cried over a +4.

You can practically feel her scowl through the screen.

Alexia: Shut up and book your ticket.

You type,

You: On it.

You pause. Then, without thinking too hard, you add,

You: Can’t wait to see you.

No emoji. No joke. Just real. Her reply doesn’t come immediately this time. You wait — heart thudding.

Then:

Alexia: Me neither.

Short. Simple. You turn the screen off, smiling in the dark, already dreaming of Barcelona.

⚽️

You barely remember how to pack when it wasn't to go play football.

Teddy curls up beside you, a warm, comforting weight, but your mind spins — running through every second of the past few days, every laugh, every soft look across Uno cards, every 'can't wait' tucked into your chest like a secret.

Your flight’s early. You don’t mind.

You breeze through security, headphones on, hoodie up, trying to stay calm. But inside, you’re buzzing.

Barcelona.

Her.

You board the plane, squeeze into your seat, and pull your cap low. Pretend to read. Pretend not to check your phone even after you’ve put it on airplane mode.

The whole flight feels longer than it should, even though it's barely two hours.

You stare out the window as the coast of Spain comes into view — glittering like a dream.

Your fingers tap against your thigh the whole descent.

When you finally step off the plane and into the terminal, it's like your lungs remember how to breathe differently — faster. Sharper.

You follow the crowd through the long hallways, baggage signs flashing above your head, the bright hum of early morning travelers all around you.

Your bag’s slung over your shoulder when you turn the last corner toward Arrivals.

And you see her. Alexia.

Leaning casually against a pillar, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, hoodie sleeves shoved up over her forearms. Backpack slung over one shoulder like she’s just another student waiting for a friend.

Her eyes are locked on you. Like she didn’t even bother pretending to be casual. Like she’s been standing there, waiting, watching the whole time.

Your stomach flips. You slow your steps without meaning to.

Alexia pushes off the pillar, straightening, a half-smile pulling at her mouth, small, real, slightly smug.

Like she knew this moment would feel like this. You cross the space between you faster than you mean to. And when you reach her, close enough to see the way her lashes catch the light, she grins properly.

“You made it,” she says, voice soft.

You roll your eyes, breathless. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m impressed,” she says, stepping forward just a little closer. “You didn’t get lost.”

“Yet,” you tease, voice cracking slightly under the weight of it all.

She smiles wider. And then, casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, she reaches out and plucks at the hem of your hoodie.

Tugging you one step closer. You bump her shoulder with yours, just lightly. And she laughs.

Low. Warm. Full-body. You breathe it in like sunlight.

“Come on,” she says, brushing her fingers lightly over your wrist a fleeting, grounding touch. “Let’s get out of here.”

And you do. Because Barcelona is waiting.

The air outside the terminal is warm already, not heavy, but alive, that salt-crisped breeze that says you’re close to the sea, close to something good.

Alexia leads you to her car, tossing your bag casually into the boot like it’s nothing, like this, you and her is normal now. You slide into the passenger seat.

She slides behind the wheel, shoving her sunglasses back down over her eyes, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other tapping the roof once as she starts the engine.

The city opens around you as she pulls away from the airport highways slipping into narrower streets, buildings pressing in with bright shutters and sun-bleached balconies.

You crack the window. The breeze rushes in carrying roasted coffee and blooming citrus and the deep, endless salt of the Mediterranean.

Alexia glances at you sideways. “You good?” she asks, casual, but her voice tilts at the end a little tentative, a little careful.

You smile. “Better than good.”

That earns you the soft curve of her mouth — the one you’ve already decided is your favourite. She doesn’t rush the drive. Doesn’t throw you into the tourist chaos.

Instead, she peels off onto quieter streets past open squares where kids kick footballs barefoot, past cafés spilling sleepy locals onto sidewalks, past corners where the real Barcelona hums, slower and deeper than any guidebook can touch.

You watch it all, drinking it in, feeling something settle under your ribs.

And you watch her. The way she belongs to this place, not loudly. Not like someone claiming it. Just woven into it. She points casually out the window at one point, a tiny café with peeling turquoise paint and a crooked sign.

“That’s where we’re going,” she says. “Best coffee. No tourists.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How very authentic of you.”

She smirks, taking a turn too fast just to make you grab the door handle. “Hold on, turista.”

You laugh — full and easy — and she laughs too, a little softer, a little closer to the surface now.

When she pulls up outside the café, it’s quiet tucked between two apartment buildings, a few chairs scattered under an awning, a dog sleeping under one of the tables.

Alexia tosses her keys into her pocket and slides her sunglasses up into her hair.

“Come on,” she says, bumping your shoulder lightly with hers as you get out.

Inside, it smells like heaven — bitter espresso, warm bread, oranges.

The woman behind the counter greets Alexia like an old friend. There’s no fanfare. No photos. Just two women smiling, exchanging a few quick words in rapid Catalan you don’t understand.

Alexia orders for you without asking, confident, easy, and you don’t even mind. You sit by the window. The coffee comes. Rich. Dark. Perfect.

You sip. It’s stupidly good. You look at her, eyes wide. She just leans back, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching you. “Told you.”

You smile at her over the rim of your cup.

You finish your coffees slowly, tucked into that quiet café like it’s your own secret corner of the world.

Alexia props her chin on her hand, watching the street outside more than anything else, but every few minutes her eyes flicker back to you, small glances, as if she’s checking to make sure you’re still there.

You finish your drink, wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and nod toward the door.

“Show me the rest,” you say.

She smiles. Stands. Leaves a few coins on the table like she’s done it a hundred times before. Probably has.

Outside, the city has stretched into full daylight the buildings throwing long, soft shadows, the streets buzzing without rushing.

You fall into step beside her easily. She doesn’t give you a grand tour. She doesn’t point at landmarks or monuments.

Instead, she shows you her Barcelona. The tiny bookstore with more stray cats than people. The cracked football pitch where she played as a kid. The alley where the graffiti changes every month, thick and layered like a living canvas.

You buy fresh fruit from a street stall, two peaches she insists are the best, and she peels hers without breaking the skin once, flicking it into a trash can with the smoothest little motion you’ve ever seen.

You, less gracefully, get juice on your wrist. She laughs. Low. Warm. Private.

You both sit on a low wall by a park, knees brushing sometimes, peeling bites off the peaches and wiping sticky fingers on napkins she dug out of her bag.

There’s no rush. No schedule. At one point, she asks about you — not the headlines, not the football stuff.

Just you. Your favourite meal. Your worst habit. The first song you ever learned the words to.

She listens, really listens, smiling at some answers, laughing at others, tossing the last bite of her peach to a hopeful pigeon that’s been hovering under the bench.

When you get up again, she nudges you lightly with her shoulder. "You walk slow," she teases.

You bump her back, grinning. "Maybe you walk too fast."

She raises a brow, smug. "Or maybe I’m just better at moving forward." you picked up her not so subtle football dig there with her comment.

You roll your eyes but you're laughing, real, unguarded, helpless.

You wander past shuttered bakeries and tiny ceramic shops, past clotheslines stretched across alleys, past motorbikes parked two to a sidewalk.

You stop at a corner to let a delivery truck pass, and when Alexia steps back, her hand brushes yours. Neither of you move it. Not a big thing. Not fingers lacing. Just touch.

You glance over once. She’s already looking at you. Not intense. Not daring. Just there. Fully. Quietly.

You’re sitting together on a low wall just outside another tiny square, the sun pressing down soft and warm, when Alexia glances at her watch and winces slightly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Time to go captain some people?”

She smiles, sheepish. “In a few hours. But...” She hesitates, for half a second, something flickering across her face. Not doubt. Just care “I was thinking…” she says slowly, slipping off the wall and brushing her palms against her jeans. You blink. She shifts her weight, glancing down the street. “I’ll have to leave soon for the game. But I want to show you my place. Get you settled in. Before.”

She shrugs, trying to sound casual. You can hear the not casual tucked underneath it. You stand, brushing the seat of your jeans, smiling. “Lead the way.”

The drive out of the city is short. The streets stretch wider, the buildings breathe out. The hills roll up around you, green and sun-shot and lazy.

When Alexia pulls into a long, private drive, your mouth actually falls open. You can’t help it.

Because her house It’s beautiful.

Sprawling but not obnoxious, modern without feeling cold pale stone and wide windows and the flash of a pool catching the sun in the backyard. Olive trees line one side of the garden, low and heavy with thick leaves.

Alexia cuts the engine, tosses her keys into the console, and glances over at you, grinning when she catches your face. “Bit different to you imagined, huh?”

You scoff. “Bit different to reality, more like.”

She laughs, light and proud.

You follow her up the steps, Teddy would lose his mind here you think, and she pushes open the door with a casual nudge of her shoulder.

Inside, it’s light and clean and lived-in. Photos tucked into shelves. Boots left near the back door. A jacket, Barcelona’s, slung over the kitchen chair.

She shows you around quickly, sweeping hand gestures, half-apologetic about the laundry basket sitting half-full near the stairs.

Kitchen first — huge, bright, glass doors leading out onto a sun-bleached patio where you can see the pool glinting like a promise.

Living room next — low couches, big TV, one of those weird modern fireplaces set into the wall.

Home gym tucked around the back — more trophies and shirts than you can count framed along the hallway toward it.

And upstairs — a guest room that’s bigger than your whole flat, sun pouring across the duvet like an invitation.

She stops outside her own bedroom, hand on the door but not opening it.

“You can um bring your bag up and unpack whenever you want,” she says, thumb tapping the doorframe lightly.

You nod, shouldering your bag tighter, trying to hide the way your heart’s thudding a little harder again. “Thank you” you say, meaning way more than just the tour.

Alexia shrugs, looking at you from under her lashes. “No problem.”

Simple. True. Before either of you can say anything else, her phone buzzes. You see it, the team group chat lighting up the screen.

She grimaces. “Duty calls.”

You grin. “Go.”

She points at you as she backs toward the stairs. “And don’t get lost in my house.”

“No promises,” you call after her, and she laughs, real and full, before disappearing to grab her kit.

You’re left standing there in the middle of her home — her life — the windows open, the pool sparkling, the space around you full of something you hadn’t even let yourself hope for yet.

You’re standing by the front door, bag dropped by your feet, sneakers on, heart thudding lightly against your ribs, not heavy, not anxious.

Just... full.

Alexia’s in her matchday tracksuit now club crest pressed proud over her chest, sleeves tugged down to her knuckles. Hair tied back, boots dangling from one hand.

She’s fidgeting slightly not nervous about the game, you realize. Nervous about leaving you.

You lean against the doorframe, arms folded, smiling at her softly.

“I’ll be fine, you know,” you say, voice low.

She huffs a little, a self-conscious shake of her head. “I know. I just—” She glances out at the driveway where her car is waiting. “I asked Alba to pick you up. My sister.”

You blink, surprised, not at the offer, but at the thought.

“She knows the way into the estadi,” Alexia continues, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Better than most security, honestly.”

You laugh under your breath, warmed by how carefully she’s thought about this.

“She’ll be here soon,” Alexia adds. “I didn’t want you being alone. Didn’t want you... feeling out of place.”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t.”

She steps closer anyway, like she can’t help it.

And suddenly you’re standing right there. Only inches apart. The soft weight of the moment tugging at both of you.

Her hand brushes your elbow lightly as she grabs the keys she almost forgot.

“Thanks for not making me feel like a tourist,” you say, teasing.

She smiles too, eyes crinkling, and for a second you think she might say something more, something bigger.

But instead, she steps back. Slow. Regretful. You catch the way her fingers brush her thigh once, like she’s resisting the urge to stay, to reach for you again.

“Enjoy the match,” she says, voice a little rough around the edges now.

You nod. “Go win it.”

She smiles once more, soft, sure, and then she’s gone, door swinging gently shut behind her.

You stay there for a second. Just breathing.

⚽️

You’re upstairs when you hear the sound, tyres crunching the driveway gravel, a soft, two-toned beep of a car horn.

You freeze for a second, holding a folded shirt halfway into the guest room dresser.

Alba.

You glance at the clock. Plenty of time still Alexia was never going to leave you rushed.

You drop the rest of your things onto the bed, brushing invisible wrinkles from your jeans, checking yourself once quickly in the mirror without meaning to. Not nervous.

Okay, maybe a little.

You jog lightly down the wide staircase, the open living room yawning out around you. Teddy would love it here, you think again absently. And then the front door swings open.

Alba steps inside like she’s been doing it her whole life, which, you guess, she has, car keys jingling in one hand, sunglasses pushed into the messy bun on her head.

She spots you immediately. And smiles. Big. Not polite. Not stiff. Warm.

“Hey!” she says brightly, tossing the keys into the little bowl by the door. “You must be the famous one.”

You blink, a little stunned. “I—uh—hi,” you manage, stepping forward awkwardly, hand half-extended before you realise you don’t know if she’s a handshake or a hug person.

She decides for you. She tugs you into a quick, friendly hug, no pressure, no hesitation. “I'm Alba," she says as she pulls back, grin wide. "Alexia’s sister. Obviously."

You laugh a little, already relaxing. “Yeah, I figured.”

Alba steps back, scanning you with an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. "You look normal," she teases. "I was expecting someone taller. Intimidating. Maybe with secret agent vibes."

You snort. "Sorry to disappoint."

She waves it off. "Nah. She likes you. That means we like you."

Your cheeks flush hotter than you can control, but Alba barrels on before you can crumble under it.

"We’ve got loads of time before we need to go," she says, glancing at her watch. "She probably just panicked and rushed out without feeding or watering you, didn’t she?"

You laugh, nodding. "Something like that."

Alba grins. "Knew it. She’s useless under pressure when it’s not on a pitch.” She heads toward the kitchen with a flick of her hand, calling over her shoulder, "Come on. Let’s get you a drink."

You follow, heart lighter than it’s been all morning.

Inside the kitchen, Alba pulls two glasses from a cabinet without asking if you want one, just knowing, and pours something cool and golden, sliding one across the counter to you.

"Relax," she says, lifting her glass in a half-toast. "You’re in the circle now."

You clink glasses with her, grinning despite yourself. The circle. Her circle.

And maybe it’s the easy air of Alba, the way you didn't have to think what to say because you couldn't get a word in anyways or the warmth of the house still clinging to your skin, or the fact that Alexia wanted this. But for the first time since you landed, you don’t feel completely overcome with nerves.

⚽️

The car ride is easy.

Alba drives with ease one hand on the wheel, window half-down, sunglasses perched lazily on her head again. Music hums low through the speakers something local, something with a heavy beat that thrums through the seat beneath you.

You sit back, drink in hand, feeling yourself settle into it.

She chats nothing heavy, nothing pointed.

Asks about your German club, your impression of the city so far, whether you’re a coffee person or a tea person. Tells you a ridiculous story about Alexia getting lost on the metro once as a teenager and swearing it was because 'the map lied.'

You laugh real, surprised and Alba smiles like that was exactly the point.

Just treating you like someone welcome. Like a new friend. You’re grateful for it more than you can say. By the time you pull up near the stadium massive, bright, pulsing with early matchday energy, you feel almost ready.

Almost.

Alba flicks the ignition off and slings her bag over her shoulder in one smooth move. “Come on, England,” she says, bumping her hand lightly into your shoulder as you both climb out. “You’re about to see real football.”

You roll your eyes. "Is that what you call it?"

"In Spain, we call it winning." She grins, slinging an arm around your shoulder for half a second before steering you toward the stadium entrance. "Something you don't know here" You couldn't help the laugh and playfully shoved her away from you.

In the stadium. It’s chaos, but controlled chaos.

Fans already filling the stands, scarves flashing in team colours, the buzz of anticipation climbing higher with every step closer to the pitch.

Alba moves through it like a pro nodding at stewards, flashing a lanyard at security, weaving you through the crush of bodies without hesitation.

You barely have time to take it all in before you’re ushered through a side entrance and up a short flight of stairs into a section marked FAMILIA tucked just above pitch level, the view perfect.

Alba leans against the railing, arms folded, surveying the field like she owns it.

You slide into a seat beside her, nerves bubbling lightly in your stomach now..

You glance at your phone once no new messages then tuck it away, just as the first players begin to stream onto the pitch for warm-ups.

Your heart kicks harder. And then. There she is. Alexia. Jogging lightly across the grass, warm-up jacket open, hair bouncing with every step. Focused. Sharp. Beautiful.

You watch her, frozen. You wonder if she’ll see you. If she’ll be too locked in, too professional.

But mid-stretch, mid-conversation with a teammate she glances up toward the stands. Scans. Finds you. Locks eyes.

And even from here you can see the change. The way her shoulders ease. The way her mouth twitches, just barely, into something small and secret and meant only for you.

Your breath catches. She gives you the smallest nod, sharp, barely-there, but it says everything.

I see you. I'm glad you're here.

Alba nudges you with her elbow, smirking slightly. “Good seats, huh?”

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual. “The best.”

She just grins wider and turns back to the pitch pretending she hasn’t noticed a thing.

You sit back. Heart racing. Eyes on her.

The game starts quick, faster than you expected, the kind of breakneck pace that makes even the home fans tighten in their seats.

You’re sitting forward almost immediately, elbows on your knees, chin resting in your palms, eyes glued to the pitch.

You spot her instantly. Calm. Sharp. Moving like she’s reading a book no one else has even opened yet.

But even she can’t control everything.

The first twenty minutes are rough passes just a little off, the other team pressing high, forcing mistakes you rarely ever see from this squad. The atmosphere shifts. Not angry. Just… tight.

You don’t even realise you’re gripping the edge of your seat until Alba nudges your arm lightly.

“Relax,” she says, voice low. “It’s early.”

You nod. You try. But your knee’s bouncing before you even know it.

Every time Alexia gets the ball, your heart jumps willing something clean, something brilliant. Sometimes it comes. Sometimes it doesn’t.

The crowd murmurs grow louder as the half wears on frustration crackling in the warm air like static.

And then out of nowhere a turnover. A fast break the other way. And before you can even sit up properly- Goal.

For them. You swear under your breath, heart sinking as the away fans explode somewhere to your right.

Alexia turns immediately, rallying, clapping, calling out instructions, but you see it. The flicker of frustration. The tightness in her jaw.

Halftime whistle blows not long after. You sink back in your seat, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand through your hair.

Alba hands you a bottle of water without looking, casual as anything. “You’re more stressed than she is,” she teases, grinning.

You shake your head, half-laugh, half-miserable. “She’s out there,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear yourself. "I don't do well just watching"

Alba’s smile softens a little. “She’s fine," she says. "Worried about you more than herself, probably.”

You don’t know if she means to say it. If it slips out. But you don’t question it.

You just sit there watching Alexia disappear into the tunnel with her team feeling the beat of your heart pounding against your ribs.

The stands buzz during the break the low rumble of conversation, of half-hearted chants, of fans refuelling hope with overpriced snacks and superstition.

You sit back in your seat, arms folded tight, heart still racing, eyes flickering anxiously down to the tunnel.

Alba stands, stretching lazily. “Beer?” she offers, grinning like she’s not at all concerned.

You blink. Smile, small. Nod. "Yeah. Please. Why not?”

She disappears into the throng of fans, moving with the easy grace of someone who’s navigated this stadium a hundred times.

You lean back, exhale slowly, hands scrubbing over your face.

A few minutes later, she’s back two plastic cups in hand, foamy and golden. She hands you one with a mock salute.

“To surviving first halves,” she jokes.

You clink cups, laughing softly. You both sip, the taste crisp and slightly bitter. After a moment, Alba nudges you again gentle this time.

“So,” she says, settling back into her seat. “Tell me about Teddy. The legend himself.”

You grin, almost immediately pulling out your phone. You swipe to your gallery you definitely have an entire album labeled TEDDY 🐾.

Alba leans in, resting her chin lightly on your shoulder to get a better look.

First up — Teddy in his raincoat. She snorts immediately.

“Diva.”

Swipe.

Teddy covered head-to-paw in mud after a particularly reckless park run. “Rebel,” Alba comments, approvingly.

Swipe.

Teddy asleep under a pile of your hoodies. "Smart," she says. "Knows the value of good real estate."

And then — You both pause on that photo.

You, sprawled across your sofa in grey joggers sporty & rich emblazoned on them and a Calvin Klein sports bra. Teddy is draped directly across your lap, snoring like his life depends on it.

But what really stands out even through the sleepy chaos is you. The toned, defined abs cutting clean down your stomach.

Effortless. Unintentional. Stupidly unfair. You laugh softly, ducking your head, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. "Ignore that," you mutter, reaching to swipe past it.

But Alba leans away, raising an eyebrow dramatically. "You're joking, right?" she teases. Grabbing your phone for apparently a better look, "You’re body's banging"

You freeze for a split second caught off-guard.

Alba catches it, but doesn't push. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t say more. She just grins and tosses the phone lightly back into your lap. "Good abs. Great dog. Terrible self-awareness," she says breezily.

You laugh, genuine and a little helpless, heart thudding unevenly.

Before you can come up with a smart reply, the stadium announcer cuts through the noise. Second half about to start.

The players stream back onto the pitch.

And there, right in the middle of it all, standing tall and steady and looking right toward your section. Game face on. Ready. You tighten your grip on the beer cup. Settle in.

Alba nudges your arm again, voice low. "Relax," she says. "This is where it gets good." You don’t look at her. You don’t need to. Your eyes are locked on her. And you believe it.

The second half kicks off hard.

Barcelona come out different, sharp, coiled, teeth bared like they remembered who they are during that halftime talk.

You’re on the edge of your seat within minutes. The ball zips through midfield faster, the press higher, the tackles sharper. Alexia moves like a storm orchestrating everything, pulling invisible strings with every look, every shout, every touch of the ball.

Five minutes in — Equaliser.

The stadium explodes.

You’re half-standing, one hand fisted in the hem of your hoodie, heart hammering. Alba slaps your back, whooping.

Another ten minutes. Barcelona take the lead.

A sharp finish, clean through the keeper. You shout without thinking, the noise ripping from your throat, swallowed up immediately by the tidal wave of cheers around you. You catch a glimpse of Alexia, fist pumping once, jaw tight, eyes burning.

But it doesn’t stop. Goal after goal. Four, five, six.

You lose track somewhere in the middle the pure chaos of it overwhelming but Alexia is at the heart of all of it, running the game like it’s a private performance just for you.

You swear — swear — she glances up toward the family section after every major play. Not searching for approval. Just checking you're still watching.

And you are. You couldn’t look away if you tried. By the time the seventh goal hits the back of the net, you’re hoarse from shouting, grinning like an idiot, beer long forgotten under your seat.

Alba’s laughing beside you, half-hugging random people in your row, yelling over the din, "We don't do boring games here!"

You laugh too, breathless, exhilarated, feeling like your whole body might lift right off the ground with it.

And finally. In stoppage time. Goal eight.

It’s Alexia who starts it winning a scrappy ball in midfield, slipping it out wide, following the play like she knows exactly where it’s going.

When it curls into the box, she’s there ghosting past defenders, rising up at exactly the right second to bury it in the back of the net with a perfect header.

The stadium detonates. You’re screaming without even realising it, hands in your hair, lungs burning, heart stretched so full it almost hurts.

She lands, stumbling forward, arms wide team piling onto her in celebration. But even then. Even as her teammates swarm her. Alexia looks up.

Straight to your section. Straight to you. You don’t know if she can see you clearly if the distance and the lights blur it all. But you’re standing now, clapping, smiling so hard your face aches, nodding like an idiot.

I see you. I’m here. I’m proud.

The final whistle blows barely a minute later.

The roar of it vibrates through your ribs, through your spine, through your very bones. Barcelona. From 0-1 to 8-1

A massacre. A masterpiece.

You turn to Alba, laughing breathlessly and high fiveing.

⚽️

You and Alba are perched on the low concrete barrier just outside the secured gate, plastic cups of leftover water cradled in your hands, your legs swinging lightly.

The players are slowly filtering out still in their matchday tracksuits, hair damp from showers, energy buzzing higher than the stars overhead.

You spot her immediately. Walking out with a couple of teammates Patri and Mapi both laughing about something you can't hear yet, boots slung over their shoulders, kit bags knocking against their hips.

Your heart lurches. You sit up straighter without meaning to. Alba notices. Smirks to herself. Says nothing.

Alexia spots you, of course she does, and her whole face softens, just for a second. A flicker. A breath.

Then she's steering toward you, casual, playing it cool. Too cool. Patri spots Alba first and waves wildly, jogging the last few steps to pull her into a quick, noisy hug.

"¡Alba!" Patri laughs. "You're always here!"

"Someone's gotta keep you humble," Alba teases back.

Mapi grins at you, sharp and curious, tipping her chin up in hello.

You smile quick, polite feeling about three seconds from vibrating out of your skin.

Alexia stops in front of you just enough distance to be proper, not enough to stop feeling like the whole world narrowed to this moment.

"Hey," she says, low and a little rough from shouting through ninety minutes.

"Hey," you echo, equally useless.

There's a beat just a second where you both hover there, not quite knowing if you should hug or not, not quite knowing where you were with each other just yet.

Then Patri and Mapi sweep the tension aside without even trying.

"So," Patri says, sliding her arm around Alexia’s shoulders easily, "Your the friend she has staying with her, we’ve heard about?"

You blink.

Alexia flushes actually flushes and ducks her head, laughing under her breath.

You open your mouth not even sure what you’re about to say but Mapi cuts in with a wide, playful grin:

"We were worried she made it up."

You laugh properly nerves bursting like soap bubbles in your chest. "Happy to confirm I'm here," you manage, sticking your hand out awkwardly for a shake.

Patri slaps it away and pulls you into a quick, casual hug instead all warmth and no hesitation. "You staying long?" she asks, releasing you.

"Just tonight," you say, glancing at Alexia before you can stop yourself. "Got a game Tuesday"

Alexia catches it. Smiles. Soft, shy. Patri and Mapi share a quick look you’re definitely not meant to catch.

But they don't say anything else just toss a few more jokes Alba’s way, ribbing each other like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You stand there, sipping water, feeling the sticky hum of the stadium still clinging to your skin, Alexia just close enough that you can feel the heat of her. Not touching. Not rushing. Just there.

Exactly where you want to be.

The conversation hums around you for a few more minutes easy laughter, Alba teasing Mapi, Patri swinging her bag around dangerously close to Alexia’s legs until she finally side-steps and gives her a look that could wither a tree.

You stand there, half in the circle, half outside it. Still not totally sure where you fit.

But Alexia stays close.

Close enough that your arms almost brush when she shifts her bag. Close enough that you can feel her thumb tracing idle little circles against the strap of it, like she’s working up to something.

Finally, when Mapi and Patri start peeling away toward their own cars waving, shouting goodbyes over their shoulders. Alexia turns toward you.

Just you. Tugs lightly on the hem of your sleeve with two fingers.

A soft, almost shy little pull. You look up. Meet her eyes. She clears her throat once, quiet. “You wanna ride with me?” she asks, voice low so it doesn’t carry.

Her sunglasses are tucked into the neckline of her tracksuit now. Her hair’s still a little damp at the temples from the match. She looks exhausted and beautiful and like she’s hoping really hoping you’ll say yes.

You smile small, easy. “Yeah,” you say, letting the word land in the space between you. “I’d like that.”

The look she gives you, brief, brilliant, almost boyish in its relief. Hits you low in the chest.

Alba grins as she catches on. “Guess I’ll take my own car then,” she says, exaggeratedly put-out, tossing her keys up and catching them with a smirk.

You flash her a grateful smile. She just winks at you, no real pressure in it, no teasing just welcome to the family.

Alexia leads the way toward her car low, sleek, black against the white glare of the stadium lights.

You fall into step beside her, bag slung over your shoulder, matching her pace without thinking.

Neither of you talks much as you walk. You don’t need to. There’s something thick in the air not tension exactly. Just awareness.

When she unlocks the car with a soft beep, she opens the passenger door first a tiny, stupidly old-fashioned gesture that makes your heart squeeze unexpectedly tight then tosses her own bag into the backseat.

You climb in. Buckle up. She gets in too, pulling the door closed with a soft click that seals the two of you into this small, private world.

The engine purrs to life. She glances over once, quick, like she still can’t quite believe you’re here.

Then she smiles small and secret and pulls away from the stadium, the road unfurling into the quiet Barcelona night ahead of you.

No fanfare. No big words.

Just her hand resting casually on the gearshift, her body loose with tiredness, her energy still somehow drawn toward you like a tide.

The city flickers past in soft blurs streetlights washing gold across the windshield, neon signs blinking sleepy messages you’re too relaxed to translate.

The windows are down. The air is warm. A little salty still from the sea. A little electric from everything that’s still buzzing in your chest.

Alexia drives one-handed, easy and loose, elbow propped casually on the door. The other hand hovers near the gearshift relaxed, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against the leather.

You sit quietly beside her, turned slightly toward the window, letting the night wrap around you both. Somewhere along the way, she flips the radio on low volume, something mellow and scratchy and Spanish, the beat soft and old and safe.

You tap your fingers lightly against your thigh, matching the tempo without realising. Alexia notices.

You catch her glancing at you once, just once, a tiny smile ghosting over her lips before she looks back at the road.

Neither of you talks at first.

Not because there’s nothing to say. Because there’s so much to say, and none of it needs to be rushed.

Finally, a few minutes in, Alexia breaks the silence voice rough from the game, softer now. "You really stress-watched the first half, huh?"

You snort under your breath, turning your head to look at her. "You saw that?"

She grins quick and sharp. "Alba sent me a picture."

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. "Traitor."

Alexia laughs low and warm and you swear it vibrates right through your chest. "It was cute," she says after a beat, a little more serious, a little more honest.

You lower your hand, glance at her just in time to catch the way she’s looking at you.

Not teasing. Not playful. Just looking. The kind of look that feels like standing barefoot on the edge of something huge and good and a little terrifying.

You hold it for a second longer than you mean to. Then you clear your throat lightly, breaking the spell before you drown in it. "You didn’t seem stressed," you say, fiddling with the hem of your hoodie. "Out there."

She shrugs, the smallest roll of her shoulders. "I was."

You blink. "Really?"

She nods once, slow. "First half was..." She trails off, searching for the right word. "Messy." She taps the steering wheel lightly with her thumb. "I kept thinking..." she says, quieter now, "what if you flew all this way and I gave you a terrible game?"

Your heart flips over so fast it almost hurts. You stare at her, at the way she’s half-smiling, half-hiding behind the motion of driving.

You reach for words. Find only the truth. "You could’ve lost eight-nil," you say, voice steady. "I still would've been proud."

She glances at you, fast, sharp. Then she looks away, but not before you see it.

The way her mouth curves. The way her fingers tighten slightly around the wheel. The way she breathes out like she’s been holding it in for longer than just tonight.

You let the silence settle again after that. Soft. Easy. Like a promise tucked into the dark. You’re almost back at her place now the city giving way to low walls and olive trees and the wide stretch of private drive.

The tires crunch over the gravel of her driveway, the headlights sweeping across the stone and low olive trees.

She parks with a casual ease, switches the engine off, and the world outside the car drops into a warm hush.

No street noise. No stadium roars.

Just the cicadas buzzing softly in the distance and the thick, heavy stillness of the late Barcelona night. Neither of you moves right away.

You sit there, the car cooling around you, the faint hum of the radio fading into silence.

Alexia finally glances over at you a small, hesitant smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “Come on,” she says, voice low, almost a whisper.

You follow her out of the car, bags forgotten for now, the air soft against your skin as you walk side by side up the path. She unlocks the door, swings it open. But she doesn’t head straight inside.

Instead, she jerks her chin toward the side gate, the path that loops around the house toward the garden and the pool beyond.

You hesitate only a second. Then follow.

The patio stones are cool under your sneakers, the pool ahead gleaming softly under the light of the moon. Water still. Perfect.

Alexia drops her keys onto a table, kicks off her shoes without a word, and pads barefoot toward the low wall by the pool.

You slip off yours too, matching her without thinking. She sits, legs swinging slightly, toes brushing the surface of the water.

You sit beside her, a safe inch of space between you. For now.

For a while, you just sit there the house at your back, the whole wide, soft night stretching out in front of you.

Alexia leans back on her hands, head tilted up toward the stars “You’re quiet,” she says after a moment not accusing. Just noticing.

You glance over, smiling faintly. “So are you.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Feels like a quiet kind of night.”

You hum in agreement, letting your own hands fall back onto the stone, palms flat against the cool surface.

You’re close enough now that your arms brush when you breathe in deep enough. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of her, even under the open air.

She tips her head sideways, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. "You want a glass of wine?"

You grin, lazy now. "Always."

She smiles back slow and real and pushes herself up with an easy roll of her shoulders. You follow her inside, barefoot and buzzing.

In the kitchen, she moves easily grabbing a bottle of red from a low shelf, pulling two mismatched glasses from a cupboard. No pretence. No performance. Just home. She pours. Hands you a glass.

You clink them together softly, no words, just the clink and the shared little smile between you.

And then without discussing it you drift back outside, glasses in hand, settling into the deep lounge chairs by the pool.

The stars scatter across the sky like someone spilled silver paint. The air smells like salt and olives and warm stone. You sip your wine.

She leans her head back and sighs long and low and content. You don’t need to talk. Everything important is already humming between you. The kind of night that doesn't ask for anything.

You glance sideways at her once catch the way the light catches her profile, softens her edges, makes her look a little like a dream.

She catches you looking. Raises an eyebrow, amused. "What?" she says, playful.

You just shake your head, smiling into your glass. "Nothing," you say, voice low and warm.

The wine is halfway gone.

The stars hang heavy and low, like they’re closer here, closer because you’re sitting with her, side by side, letting the world fall away.

Alexia leans back in her chair, glass balanced loosely in one hand, head tipped toward the sky.

You mirror her without thinking, lazy, loose, comfortable in a way that sneaks up on you. It’s quiet for a long moment. Then out of nowhere, soft and real. Alexia says. “My dad would’ve liked you.”

You turn your head, startled by the quiet honesty of it. She’s not looking at you eyes still on the stars but you can hear the weight tucked into the words.

“He was the... welcoming type," she says, lips quirking slightly. "Always wanted the house full. People everywhere. Laughter. Even when it was chaos. He would of enjoyed the way you play football”

You smile, picturing it. Her, growing up in a house like that. “He sounds brilliant,” you say, meaning it.

Alexia hums, low in her throat. “He was,” she says simply. Then she’s quiet a second longer, swirling the wine in her glass. “Sometimes I think he’s still here. Just... quieter now.”

You sit with that. The beautiful, impossible hope of it. And you don't rush to fill the silence. You let her have it.

Alexia shifts a little, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “My mami's the boss, though,” she says with a small, teasing smile “Doesn’t matter how old we get. She'll still text me after every match to tell me if I look tired, or if my socks were too low.”

You laugh soft, genuine. “She sounds terrifying."

“She is,” Alexia says, grinning. “In the best way. She's a softy really”

You tuck your feet up onto the chair, glass resting against your knee. “She must be proud of you," you say.

Alexia shrugs, but it’s not dismissive it’s shy. “I think so. She won’t say it much. She’ll just... pack too much food in a bag when I go visit.”

You laugh again, picturing it Alexia, superstar, carrying away plastic containers like a teenager heading to university.

Alexia watches you laugh, her face softening, her eyes catching the moonlight. “What about yours?” she asks.

You shift a little in your seat, glass resting on your knee.

And for a moment, you wonder if you should just tell her the easy version.

But something about the way she’s looking at you — open, steady — makes you want to say the real thing instead.

You swallow lightly.

“It’s... complicated,” you say first, voice quieter.

Alexia tilts her head, waiting. You take a breath.

“My mum and dad had me,” you start, words slow and careful. You pause, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “Then my mum had an affair. That’s... how my little sister came along.”

Alexia’s gaze sharpens slightly, not judgmental. Just seeing you. Really seeing.

“They split up after that,” you continue, a half-shrug working up your shoulders. “It wasn’t dramatic no screaming matches, no throwing things. Just... this weird silence. This broken... thing.”

You pick at the hem of your shorts.

You laugh under your breath not bitter, just tired.

“My dad remarried. Had two boys. Something he always wanted”

You set your glass down carefully on the stone, tracing the rim with your finger.

“So now it’s like... I’m caught in the middle. Not fully part of either side. Not really sure where I fit.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, the honesty of it tasting a little raw now that it’s out.

“Sometimes I feel like a guest in both homes," you admit. "Loved, sure. But... still kind of the wrong piece of a jigsaw trying to fit in. Christmases are awkward. Birthdays are even worse, I never celebrate my birthday, can't upset anyone then when I chose the wrong person to spend it with.”

You huff a laugh dry, not bitter.

“I love them,” you say. “All of them. Even when it’s messy. Even when I don’t always know where I... fit.”

You expect it to hang heavy between you that confession. But it doesn’t. It just settles. Softly.

You risk a glance at her, at Alexia, who’s sitting there, still and steady in the warm dark. She doesn’t look uncomfortable. She doesn’t look sorry for you. She just looks... present. Solid.

When you stop talking, when you let the silence fill in the cracks, she doesn’t rush to fix it.

Alexia doesn’t say I’m sorry — thank God — or offer some neat little fix.

She just leans back against the lounge chair, looking up at the stars, she shifts a little closer. Lets her knee bump lightly against yours “Sometimes it’s the messy ones who fight the hardest to love you.”

You blink. Look at her. And feel something pull deep in your chest. You tilt your head, studying her in the moonlight.

“Is that so?” you ask, quieter than you mean to.

She smiles a tiny, soft thing. “So I'm told,” she says.

You both fall silent again. Not uncomfortable. Not unsure. Just... there.

You take a sip of your wine, letting the warmth bloom in your chest, and when you set the glass back down, your hand brushes hers again — this time more deliberate.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice rougher than you mean it to be.

Alexia just smiles small, real, enough. “You’d get along with my Mami, too,” she adds after a beat, a little lighter, nudging your leg with hers. “She’d adopt you instantly. Especially if you bring wine.”

You laugh the sound bubbling up, easing the tightness in your throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You sit there a little longer shoulders brushing, glasses forgotten, the stars turning slowly overhead.

Two kids from broken families for very different reasons, finding something simple in the middle of it all: Each other.

She glances sideways at you, not startled, not nervous, just there.

Present. You breathe out a soft laugh, barely more than a sigh, and tilt your head back, looking up.

The stars are stupidly bright tonight. Like a show meant just for you two.

“I missed this,” Alexia says, voice barely a thread of sound.

You turn your head, curious. “This?”

She nods, eyes still upward. “Quiet. Someone who doesn’t need me to talk all the time. Someone who...” She trails off, searching. “...who just sits.”

You smile, small, knowing. “I can sit,” you say lightly.

Her lips curve. That small, soft grin that always threatens to undo you. “I noticed.”

For a little while, you both just stay like that not speaking, not moving listening to the faint splash of the pool, the occasional flick of a night bird overhead, the rhythm of your own breathing matching hers without even trying.

And then without warning Alexia shifts. Not big. Not dramatic. Just leans ever so slightly sideways her shoulder brushing yours.

Barely there. Barely anything. But it feels like everything. You don’t look at her. You don’t have to. You just sit there side by side, skin to skin, letting the night wrap itself around you like a blanket you both chose to share.

No words. No need. Just the slow, steady thrum of something building, something growing, something that feels inevitable now.

You let your hand slide down the armrest between you not grabbing, not reaching just resting your fingers lightly against the edge, where her hand already lies.

Your pinky brushes hers. Once. Twice. You don’t push it. Neither does she. But you feel the shift.

“Ever feel like you don’t get to just... exist anymore?”

You turn your head, surprised by the sudden vulnerability but you catch the way she’s not really looking for an answer. Not yet.

You let the quiet settle first. Then you nod. “Yeah," you say simply. “All the time.”

Alexia’s breath hitches just a tiny thing like she’s grateful you didn’t make her explain it. She leans her head back again, staring up. “It’s like…” She frowns, searching for the words. “Everywhere you go. Every time you put the kit on. Every post, every match, every minute someone’s filming, or watching, or pulling. Or wanting to question you”

Her voice drops even softer.

“They don’t see you anymore. They just see what they want from you.”

You shift slightly closer, almost without meaning to your knee brushing hers now. You know exactly what she means. Exactly.

You let out a long, slow breath. "Sometimes I feel like I’m made of... tiny pieces," you whisper. "Handed out one by one. For the press. For the fans. For the club. For the national team." You glance at her. "And there’s never enough left over for me. To. Just be me."

Alexia tilts her head, eyes catching yours across the space and it’s not a heavy look. It’s a knowing one. Soft. Shared. "You get it," she says simply.

You nod. "I get it."

She smiles, a small, tired thing, but real. Real in a way you know she doesn’t let many people see. She nudges your pinky with hers just the lightest brush, a tiny anchoring touch. And then she murmurs "Feels different with you, though."

You swallow against the tightness rising in your chest. "Yeah?"

She nods once, sure. “With you, it feels like... I’m still just Alexia.”

She pushes herself up, stretching slowly, arms overhead, her hoodie riding up just slightly over the waistband of her shorts. You catch the glimpse of skin before you can look away.

She smiles down at you slow, sleepy and jerks her head toward the house. “Come on," she says, voice low, a little rough with tiredness. "Before we both fall asleep out here."

You grin and force yourself to your feet, your body feeling heavier, but your heart somehow lighter. You follow her across the patio barefoot, silent the doors left open to let the cool night air slip inside.

The kitchen is dim, the living room bathed in a low, soft glow from a lamp someone forgot to turn off. You both move instinctively now, without talking leaving your empty glasses on the counter, flicking off a few lights as you go.

You reach the hallway together that soft, quiet space that splits toward her room, your guest room, the rest of the house.

You both slow there. Stop.

The hallway light spills between you pale, warm, catching on her hair, the soft edge of her smile.

Alexia leans a shoulder into the wall, hands slipping into the front pocket of her hoodie.

She looks at you. Really looks at you. In a way that makes your stomach flip, slow and certain.

She exhales a little laugh under her breath, shaking her head.

“What?” you whisper, smiling without meaning to.

She shrugs, shy for the first time all night. “Nothing. Just... glad you're here.”

Your chest tightens warm and aching and real. You step a little closer not touching, but close enough to feel it hum between you.

She tilts her head slightly, studying you like she wants to memorise this second. Then she says soft, playful "Sleep well. I’ve got a busy day planned for us tomorrow."

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. "Oh yeah? Am I gonna survive it?"

She grins that beautiful, tired, wicked little grin. "Maybe."

You both stand there for another heartbeat neither of you quite moving yet, neither quite ready to end it.

Her hand brushes yours just barely as she pushes off the wall and steps backward toward her room. "Buenas noches," she says, almost a whisper.

"Goodnight," you whisper back.

And as she disappears down the hallway hoodie sleeves dragging lightly along the wall you’re left standing there, heart thudding, skin buzzing, smile tugging stubbornly at your mouth.

You head into your room, still feeling her everywhere.

[fuddsgf]

victim to her busy schedule- paige bueckers

summary𞠬: long distance relationships are always hard especially when paige and autumn have extremely busy schedules.

warnings:slight cursing, feeling ignored, breakups.

pairing: x oc

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse

“you’re on in five” said justin, autumns manger, “okay” she sighs looking at her phone the imessage app opened on her and paige’s messages constantly refreshing, it’s been 5 hours since she last sent paige a message, being left on seen sent a pang through her. she shut her phone and made her way through the hallway onto the stairs that lead to the stage, she put a smile on her face as she heard her name be called. she started waving at everyone as she made her way to her seat greeting the host.

“so autum, we’ve heard you’re releasing an album and doing a tour soon care to fill us in on what’s going through that head of yours?” asked the host as she leaned closer to get all the details.

“well yes, my album comes out next month it’s called ‘vintage’ can’t say much but it’s certainly one of my favorite albums so far and as for the tour i don’t have dates but im definitely working with my team to figure things out” autumn said with a smile as she looked at the host, as the interview went on the blonde slipped away from her head.

in storrs

“two more laps” coach auriemma yelled at his players before he looked down at his board with his plays.

“have you replied to her yet?” asked azzi as she appeared next to paige, “no, i haven’t had time especially with all these practices coach has been making us do, plus i know she has a bunch of interviews lately” she said, its not that the blonde didn’t want to talk to her girlfriend but both having extremely hectic schedules was definitely becoming an issue. “that doesn’t matter paige, if you think about it she always makes time for you, she would drop everything if you asked her to, when do you do that for her?” said azzi as she took a drink of water, the blonde sighed knowing her friend was right.

this love was taking a toll on her, mentally, physically and emotionally. she knew what she had to do, what she had to say but she couldn’t bring herself to it.

back in vegas

autumn was in her hotel room sitting on her bed staring at the ceiling. she wanted to text paige but she felt like she was a bother, always texting or calling. autumn felt like she was always reaching out, trying to grasp the little bit of hope she had of this relationship working out.

“fuck it” she whispered to herself as she grabbed her phone and quickly sent a text message.

-

paige’s breath hitched as she saw the message, ‘we need to talk.’ those four words were enough to make her smile fade and her pulse quicken, without hesitating she clicked the call button.

paige’s heart pounded as each ring was louder than the last. she braced herself for whatever autumn had to say, the tension in her chest growing with every passing second.

finally, the phone clicked, and autumn’s familiar voice came through, but it was distant, more strained than usual.

“paige,” autumn said softly, her tone laced with something that made paige’s stomach churn. “it’s time we finally talk about it.”

paige felt the knot in her throat tighten, the words almost feeling too heavy to breathe out. “i know. it’s been tough lately, but we can figure it out. i mean we always do.”

a heavy silence filled the space between them, and paige could almost hear autumn take a deep breath. "i’m not sure anymore, paige. the distance, the schedule… everything is just pulling us further apart. i don’t feel like your prioritize this relationship anymore.”

paige’s chest tightened, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. “autumn, i swear, it’s not that. you mean everything to me, but i’ve been so busy with practice, school—”

“i understand that,” autumn interrupted, her voice shaking slightly. “but i need to feel like i matter to you too. i can’t keep doing this. i can't keep being the last thing on your mind, the one who’s always waiting for your call while you’re out there living your life. i can’t always be the first one to reach out when we’ve gone days without contact.”

paige felt the sting of guilt wash over her. it wasn’t that she didn’t care—it was that the demands of her own life had made her neglect the one person who had always been there for her. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you feel like that. i swear, i’ll do better. i’ll try make more time. i—”

“it’s not just about time, paige,” autumn cut in again, this time her voice more frustrated. “it’s about effort. i can’t be the only one trying. i can’t keep asking for your attention just to be ignored. i need someone who’s all in, not someone who only shows up when it’s convenient for them.”

paige felt her throat tighten, the words she wanted to say stuck inside her. the idea of losing autumn was unbearable, but the last thing she wanted was for their relationship to feel forced, to become something neither of them truly wanted anymore.

“are you breaking up with me?” paige’s voice cracked as the reality of it all sank in.

there was a long pause before autumn finally answered, and when she did, her words were soft but final. “i think we need a break. i don’t know if this is working anymore.”

the conversation ended with an aching silence, leaving paige staring at her phone screen, heart racing and mind overwhelmed by the weight of what was said. she wanted to call back, to fix it, but a part of her knew the damage had already been done.

[paxaz535]

Brothers Best Friend

♡pairing ♡

paige bueckers x black!oc

___

note: yea im gonna move this to wattpad

___

It had been exactly seven months since Paige left for UConn. Seven months of late-night calls, text messages, and the occasional visits. Now, with Daveli’s senior year coming to an end, everything felt like it was speeding toward a new beginning.

She thought back to what Azzi once told her, almost teasing:

“What if you got into UConn too?”

At the time, it felt like a far-off dream. But now — it was real.

Daveli stared at the email on her phone, rereading it at least five times. UConn had offered her a spot — for volleyball, no less. She couldn’t stop smiling. The happiness bubbled out of her as she jumped up and down, her heart pounding with excitement.

The first people she told were her mom and David. They were thrilled, their voices full of pride and joy as they hugged her tight. For once, Daveli let herself believe it: maybe everything really was falling into place. She wanted it to be a surprise for Azzi and Carol, meaning that she’d have to tell Paige soon.

-

Later that night, when the excitement had finally calmed into a warm, buzzing feeling in her chest, Daveli found herself lying in bed, phone in hand, staring at her messages with Paige.

She hadn’t told her yet. She wanted to do it right — maybe call her, maybe even see her in person if she could.

Daveli smiled to herself, imagining the way Paige’s face would light up when she heard the news. Maybe she’d scream. Maybe she’d cry. Or maybe, in that quiet way Paige sometimes had, she’d just pull her into a hug so tight it said everything words couldn’t.

The thought made Daveli’s heart ache — in the best way.

All this time, she had missed Paige so much it almost hurt.

Now, maybe soon, they wouldn’t have to miss each other anymore.

They could finally be there — together.

And being a Husky didn’t sound too bad, either.

She thought for a moment, then smiled to herself. She knew exactly how she wanted to tell Paige.

Opening their chat, she started typing:

eli <3

hey p

when do you think you’ll be back home again?

It didn’t take long for Paige to answer.

paigey >_<

uhh.. i think i can come this weekend

why? did something happen?

Daveli bit her lip, holding back a laugh. She loved making Paige curious.

eli <3

you can say that.. yea

There was a pause.

Then another text popped up — Paige was getting worried.

paigey >_<

did something… bad happen?

Daveli giggled, imagining the look of concern on Paige’s face. She quickly replied:

eli <3

no silly

you’ll find out when you get here

She tucked her phone away, heart pounding with excitement.

She could hardly wait to see Paige’s reaction in person.

⸻

Saturday

Daveli finally pulled away, but not too far — just enough to see Paige’s face. She was grinning, cheeks a little pink from the cold.

“I missed you, dork,” Paige said, nudging her playfully.

Daveli laughed. “I missed you too. But listen,” she said, bouncing a little on her feet, “we’re gonna go out to eat. My treat.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Oh? Is that what all the mystery is about?”

Daveli just shrugged, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Maybe.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, but she was already smiling. “You’re being so weird right now.”

“You’ll find out soon,” Daveli said, grabbing Paige’s hand and tugging her inside so she could drop off her things.

Her heart was pounding the whole time.

She could barely keep the secret for another hour — but she wanted it to be special.

“Okay, let me go say hi to Angelica and David first,” Paige said, dropping her bag onto the floor of Daveli’s room.

Daveli playfully groaned. “Ugh, fiiine,” she teased, but she nodded, grinning.

Paige made her way down the hall and knocked lightly on David’s door. She could hear movement inside before it finally swung open.

David looked up — and immediately lit up.

“P!” he shouted.

Paige laughed as he pulled her into a hug, practically lifting her off the ground. “Hi, Dave,” she said, her voice warm.

David pulled back, his grin wide. “How long you staying?”

“Just until tomorrow afternoon,” Paige said, watching as he took in her presence like he hadn’t seen her in years. They caught up quickly, sharing a few jokes and updates, the easy friendship between them picking up like no time had passed.

After a few minutes, Paige headed to Angelica’s room.

She knocked once before calling out, “Ma!”

Angelica’s voice came through the door instantly. “Paige?!”

She hurried to open it, eyes lighting up when she saw the blonde standing there with a nervous smile.

“Oh, you’re getting so tall!” Angelica said, pulling her into a tight hug.

Paige laughed. “Maybe you’re just shrinking,” she teased.

They chatted for a bit, catching up on everything they’d missed, the room buzzing with warmth and familiarity.

Finally, it was time.

“Ready?” Daveli called from the front door, keys jingling in her hand.

Paige said quick goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. She slipped on her shoes and hurried to catch up with Daveli, who was practically bouncing with excitement.

The sky was starting to turn golden, the air buzzing with that soft kind of excitement that only came when something good was about to happen.

Daveli squeezed Paige’s hand as they walked toward her car.

She smiled to herself.

Soon, she thought. She’s gonna know. And everything’s going to change — in the best way.

As soon as they got into the car, Paige wasted no time. She immediately plugged in her phone to the aux, making Daveli furrow her eyebrows in suspicion.

“Oh? Who are you feeling like?” Daveli teased, shooting her a quick glance.

Paige just smirked, not saying a word as she scrolled through her playlist. She already knew exactly what she was looking for — their song.

When the opening notes started to play, Daveli recognized it immediately. Her smile broke out without even thinking, and she looked over at Paige, heart swelling, before turning her eyes back to the road.

The lyrics filled the car, soft and familiar:

“Shooting stars never fly for me…”

“My heart’s on Mars, kinda hard to see…”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

It was just the music, the soft hum of the car, and the quiet, heavy feeling that everything — everything — was about to change for the better.

They let the song play all the way through, neither one daring to interrupt it.

By the time they pulled up to the diner, the sky had shifted into deep golds and purples, the sun dipping low on the horizon.

Paige hopped out of the car, stretching her arms overhead with a dramatic yawn. “Man, I forgot how good it feels to be home,” she said, flashing Daveli a lazy smile.

Daveli laughed nervously, twirling the car keys around her finger. “Yeah, home’s been… waiting for you,” she said, her voice a little shaky from excitement.

They walked into the diner, the little bell above the door chiming as they stepped inside. It was quiet, cozy — the same red vinyl booths and chalkboard menus they remembered.

They slid into their usual booth by the window, and Paige grabbed a menu, even though she already knew what she was going to order.

Daveli, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still. She kept bouncing her knee under the table, tapping her fingers against the edge, looking at anything but Paige.

Paige noticed immediately. She leaned her elbows on the table, raising an eyebrow. “Okay. Spill it,” she said, smirking. “You’ve been acting like you’re gonna explode this whole ride.”

Daveli froze, caught. She bit her lip, trying to hold it in just a little longer, but it was no use. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure Paige could hear it.

“Okay, okay,” she said, throwing her hands up in surrender.

“So… I finally got that offer,” Daveli said, her voice light but shaky with excitement.

Paige’s eyes shot up from the menu, suspicion flashing across her face.

“Yeah?” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes.

“Mhm,” Daveli hummed, trying to play it cool.

Paige placed the menu down carefully and leaned in, studying her like she was trying to read her mind.

“What school?” she asked.

Daveli gave her a look — that knowing look.

The one Paige knew all too well.

Paige froze.

Her mouth dropped open just slightly as realization hit.

“No,” she whispered.

Daveli couldn’t hold it in anymore — she giggled, her heart bursting with happiness. She reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope she had printed, sliding it across the table.

Paige stared at it like it was something sacred, hands trembling slightly as she reached out.

The bold UConn logo was impossible to miss.

Her eyes filled with tears almost instantly.

“You’re kidding me,” she said, her voice breaking.

“You’re really coming to UConn?”

Daveli nodded, her smile so wide it almost hurt. “They want me for volleyball.”

Before she could say anything else, Paige was out of her seat, running around the table and pulling Daveli into the tightest hug she’d ever given.

“I’m so proud of you,” Paige whispered, squeezing her like she never wanted to let go.

“I missed you so much… and now you’re coming.”

Daveli hugged her back just as tightly, feeling herself tear up too.

“I missed you too, P,” she whispered. “I couldn’t imagine doing this without you.”

And in that moment, in that tiny diner with the sun setting outside the window, it felt like the whole world had fallen perfectly into place.

After a few minutes of hugging and wiping at teary eyes, they finally sat back down, still smiling so wide it almost hurt.

The waitress came by, and they hastily ordered their usual — two burgers, fries to split, and milkshakes — barely able to focus on the menu with all the excitement buzzing between them.

As soon as the waitress left, Paige leaned across the table, practically vibrating with energy.

“This is gonna be insane, Eli,” she said, “We’re gonna be living in the same place again. Every day.”

Daveli laughed, picking up her water to sip, mostly just to keep herself from bursting into another fit of giggles.

“I know! I still can’t believe it,” she said. “It’s like… it finally feels real, you know?”

Paige nodded eagerly. “We’re gonna take over that campus,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Like, I’m serious. Volleyball games? I’m gonna be in the front row, screaming my head off.”

Daveli chuckled. “You better,” she teased. “If you’re not the loudest one there, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Paige grinned. “Oh, you know I’ll embarrass you. Full-on face paint. Posters. The works.”

Their food arrived not long after, and they dug in, still talking between bites.

They imagined late-night study sessions, weekend road trips, movie marathons in their dorms.

They talked about the best coffee shops near campus, the cute spots Paige had already scoped out, and how they’d spend hours just wandering around like they used to — only now, it would be their campus.

“I know that Azzi and Carol are going,” Daveli said between bites, “but I want it to be a surprise.”

Paige immediately perked up, nodding eagerly. She loved the idea — the thought of seeing their friends’ reactions made her grin even wider.

“Okay,” Paige said, wiping her hands on a napkin. “We’ll surprise them. I’m so down for that.”

Daveli giggled, imagining the scene already. “I can’t wait to see Azzi’s face. She’s gonna lose it.”

“And Carol’s probably gonna scream,” Paige added with a laugh, shaking her head. “We’ll have to catch it on video or something. For proof.”

They both laughed, the idea of it making everything feel even more real — and even more exciting.

Paige leaned back in the booth, a dreamy look crossing her face. “This year’s gonna be different,” she said. “But it’s gonna be so good.”

Daveli smiled, picking at her fries. “The best,” she agreed softly.

They didn’t need to say it out loud, but both of them knew:

UConn wasn’t just a new chapter — it was their chapter.

And it was only just beginning.

-

Daveli had a huge championship game coming up for her high school volleyball team — and to say she was nervous would’ve been an understatement.

She was oh-my-god-I’m-gonna-shit-my-pants nervous.

Everything she had worked for all season came down to this one game.

One night.

One shot.

She tried to play it cool around everyone — laughing, making jokes, pretending she wasn’t internally losing her mind — but the second she was alone, the panic would creep back in.

What if she messed up?

What if she let her team down?

What if she totally choked in front of a packed gym?

The pressure felt like a boulder sitting on her chest.

And worst of all? She knew Paige was coming to watch.

No pressure, right?

The night before the game, Daveli sat on her bed, tossing a volleyball up and down absentmindedly, her leg bouncing like crazy.

She couldn’t sit still — her mind just kept replaying worst-case scenarios over and over again.

A soft knock came at her door.

Before she could answer, Paige peeked her head in.

“Hey, champ,” she said with a soft smile.

Daveli groaned dramatically and flopped back onto her pillows. “Don’t call me that. Not yet. I still have to, you know, not die tomorrow.”

Paige laughed and walked in, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She gently took the volleyball from Daveli’s hands and set it aside.

Then she grabbed both of Daveli’s hands in hers, squeezing them tightly.

“Listen to me,” Paige said, her voice firm but gentle. “You are one of the best players I’ve ever seen. You’ve worked so hard for this. You’re strong, you’re smart, and you love this game. You deserve to be out there.”

Daveli stared at her, swallowing hard.

“But what if I mess up?” she whispered.

“What if I let everyone down?”

Paige squeezed her hands even tighter.

“Then you mess up,” she said simply. “And you get back up. Like you always do.”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“You’re not out there because you’re perfect. You’re out there because you’re you. And that’s already enough.”

Daveli felt something break loose in her chest — a flood of emotions she had been trying so hard to bottle up.

She blinked quickly, trying not to cry, but a few tears slipped out anyway.

Paige just smiled and reached up, wiping them away with her thumb.

“You’ve got this, Eli,” she said softly. “And no matter what happens… I’m so damn proud of you.”

Daveli let out a watery laugh. “You’re like… a cheesy motivational speaker.”

Paige grinned. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Daveli rolled her eyes playfully, but she couldn’t help the warmth spreading through her chest.

She felt lighter.

She felt ready.

All because Paige believed in her — even when she wasn’t sure she believed in herself.

-

The gym was packed.

The buzz of excited chatter filled the air, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as people shuffled to find seats.

Banners hung from the rafters, the school colors flying proud.

The championship trophy sat gleaming on a table at the edge of the court, waiting — taunting.

And up in the stands?

A whole section was basically taken over by Daveli’s people.

Paige, Azzi, Coral, David, Angelica, Makayla, Emma, Derek, Nai, Mia — everyone. (Crazy to even see Mia and Nai, considering what happened at the hotel but she wasn’t complaining, she knew the two really loved her fr)

All of them wearing school colors, some even holding handmade signs with Daveli’s name scribbled across them in glitter and marker.

Paige was practically bouncing out of her seat, too excited to sit still.

She clutched a sign that read “LET’S GO ELI!” and had a little volleyball doodled next to it.

Azzi kept slapping the bleachers, chanting her name every few minutes just to hype everyone up.

Even Angelica — who normally hated loud crowds — was grinning and clapping along.

When Daveli jogged onto the court with her team, the whole section erupted into wild cheers.

Paige cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed,

“GO ELI! YOU GOT THIS!”

Daveli spotted them immediately.

She laughed under her breath, her nerves easing just a little when she saw all the familiar, crazy faces yelling for her like she was already a champion.

The whistle blew, and the game began.

The first set was brutal.

The other team was good — really good.

Every point was a battle.

Daveli dove for balls, set up plays, called out instructions to her teammates with a steady voice even when her heart hammered inside her chest.

And every time she glanced up into the stands?

There they were — standing, clapping, shouting her name like she was the only one on the court.

Paige especially.

Every time Daveli landed a point, Paige would jump to her feet, fist-pumping and yelling loud enough for the whole gym to hear.

By the third set, it was tied 1–1.

Everything came down to this.

The gym was electric, the tension so thick you could feel it in your bones.

Match point.

Daveli stood at the back line, ball in hand, ready to serve.

She closed her eyes for just a second.

You’ve got this. You’re you. And that’s enough.

She opened her eyes, breathed deep, and launched the serve.

The ball sailed over the net — perfect.

The other team scrambled, setting up a weak return.

Daveli’s teammate passed it to her — and Daveli, without hesitation, spiked it straight down the middle.

The ball hit the floor.

The whistle blew.

Game over.

For a second, there was just stunned silence.

And then — the gym exploded.

Her teammates tackled her in a massive hug, screaming and jumping up and down.

And in the stands?

Her whole section was going absolutely feral.

Paige was yelling at the top of her lungs, tears in her eyes.

Azzi was waving her sign like a maniac.

Angelica was crying into David’s shoulder.

Makayla and Emma were hugging each other and jumping up and down.

Nai and Mia weren’t full on celebrating like everyone else but they were clapping.

It was chaos.

Beautiful, perfect chaos.

And when Daveli finally broke free from her teammates and looked up?

All she saw was her people — her family — standing, clapping, loving her louder than anyone else in that whole damn building.

As the final whistle still echoed in the gym, the bleachers practically shook.

Before Daveli could even process what just happened, she heard someone yell:

“LET’S GO!”

She looked up just in time to see Paige sprinting down the bleachers, followed by Azzi, Coral, David, Angelica, Makayla, Emma, Derek, Nai, Mia — everyone.

Security didn’t even try to stop them; it was like the whole world just said, Screw it. Let them celebrate.

Paige was the first to reach her.

She didn’t slow down — she crashed into Daveli, arms thrown around her, almost knocking her clean off her feet.

“You did it!” Paige shouted into her ear, squeezing her so tight it hurt. “I’m so proud of you, Eli! You did it!”

Daveli laughed, breathless, clutching onto her as her heart raced in her chest — not from nerves this time, but pure joy.

Before she could even say anything back, the rest of the crew piled in, forming a giant, messy, shouting hug.

David ruffled her hair.

Azzi was practically jumping up and down while hugging her.

Angelica was wiping tears but smiling bigger than Daveli had ever seen.

Makayla and Emma were screaming about how they “knew she was gonna crush it.”

Derek was waving his phone around, recording every second.

Nai and Mia weren’t as close but stood off to the side, thin lipped smiles on their faces.

“Should we just go?” Mia asked Nai as she noticed everyone smiling big. Nai thought about it, “Yeah, come on.” She told Derek that they were leaving and they’d talk later.

It was chaos again — but the best kind.

The kind that felt warm and overwhelming and perfect.

Daveli blinked back tears as she laughed and hugged everyone back.

She couldn’t even find words — didn’t even need to.

They all knew.

They were proud.

They were there.

And so was she.

Right where she was meant to be.

-

After all the photos, the hugs, the medals, and the screaming, Daveli and the whole crew piled into cars and headed to their favorite late-night diner — the same one she and Paige had gone to just a few days ago.

The place was practically empty when they stumbled in, loud and buzzing with excitement.

They crammed into two booths, dragging tables together just to fit everyone.

Menus were tossed aside almost immediately.

Everyone already knew what they wanted — burgers, fries, milkshakes, and everything in between.

Tonight wasn’t about food, anyway. It was about celebrating. About being there.

Paige sat next to Daveli, still grinning from ear to ear, her arm casually thrown around the back of Daveli’s seat like she just couldn’t stop touching her — like she was making sure she was really there.

“You were unreal out there, Eli,” Azzi said through a mouthful of fries. “Like, seriously. I almost cried.”

“You did cry,” Coral teased, throwing a fry at her.

Azzi just shrugged proudly. “Yeah. ‘Cause I’m a supportive friend!”

Everyone laughed.

David made a whole speech — half serious, half full of dumb jokes — about how proud he was and how he technically taught Daveli everything she knew (which made Daveli roll her eyes so hard she almost hurt herself).

Angelica kept reaching across the table to squeeze Daveli’s hand every few minutes, her smile never fading.

Makayla and Emma were already posting a dozen pictures and videos on Instagram, tagging her in every single one.

Derek ordered two milkshakes because, as he put it, “Tonight deserves double dessert.”

The food came, and somehow, the energy only got louder.

Everyone talking over each other, laughing so hard they almost choked, stealing each other’s fries, clinking milkshake glasses together in messy, chaotic toasts.

At one point, Paige leaned in closer to Daveli, her voice quieter against all the noise.

“You know,” she said, smiling that soft, proud smile that made Daveli’s heart flip,

“This is just the beginning. UConn’s next.”

Daveli smiled back, feeling her whole chest swell with happiness.

“I know,” she said. “And I’m ready.”

And for the first time in a long time — she truly, truly was.

tag list @melpthatsme @prettygirl-gabi @rebecca-woso @starfulani @avvwritesstufff @evry1luvzzae @iluvazzi

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 4/29/2025

made one of the best thrift store purchases of my life this week

listening

mental health watch: new mother mother single out and i have had that shit on loop basically all week. i would describe their (alt rock for chronically depressed girls resistant to most treatments) overall sound as “slippery”, but this song is slippery in the way the seaweed in miso soup is slippery. hope that makes sense. i heard the lyric “head shaker” as “exchequer” and this exact wording was stuck in my head for basically an entire shift at work.

-

reading

still having a tremendous amount of fun with Charlaine Harris’ Gunnie Rose series. just finished the third one, i think whenever you can get away with a character that you can genuinely and seriously call “the tsarina of all the californias” you should push that as far as it can possibly go and she does!!! it is so refreshing to read a book by an author who knows what they’re doing. who knows how to write and pace a longer series and who knows how to effectively play with dramatic tension. the bar is So low but i have been wrestling through these horrible lesbian novels and (new for me) trying to take three or four of the little scifi paperbacks ive been hoarding to work every week to stash in my desk to read when it’s slow. all of them have been bad so far. like gang rape page two bad :/ love scifi the best and worst genre

yet another frustrating week in the lesbian mines. finally finished Flight Risk by Kim Baldwin and i do not think i can fairly review it, bc i tried to read it at work in tiny tiny chunks over too long a period of time (two weeks) and got really frustrated with it bc i forgot something that happened in the first chapter. im sure its a perfectly fine book if u read it in fewer sittings but now it is like. contaminated by several unpleasant work shifts and i simply don’t want to look at it any more. also they fucked in the literal last five pages which i find tremendously annoying.

Second You Sin by Scott Sherman (also mid-aughts) is about a nyc callboy (gay) who keeps accidentally stumbling into murder mysteries. i could easily image every line of dialogue by every gay character delivered by ru paul so it was not a book for me.

and then by far the most annoying book, Change of Heart by Linda Hill (1999 published by my worstie Naiad) bc it does not read like the author has ever been in any sort of relationship. even though she is married. to another woman. it’s hard for me to review this one fairly too due to my own massachusetts experiences.

At the age of 38, British supermodel Julia Westgate watches in panic as her career begins to decline -- and she realizes she is truly alone in the world. Deeply closeted, Julia has always limited her encounters with women to secret trysts and one or two night stands. While on a shoot in Boston, Julia carefully disguises herself so she won't be recognized, then sneaks out to a secluded lesbian bar. There she meets local journalist Cory Hayes, who is celebrating the publication of a hard won story. After spending a passionate weekend with Julia, Cory is devastated when she wakes up to an empty bed.

(ed note: they do nothing more than kiss in the entire book. it’s truly debatable if there was even tongue or not)

Weeks later in a supermarket check-out line, Cory's jaw drops when she sees an exquisite face on the cover of a fashion magazine -- a face that looks more than vaguely familiar. Thus begins an all-consuming game of hide-and-seek, with Julia trying to run from herself and her uncertain future -- and Cory willing to risk everything to find her.

(ed note: cory does some light snooping to discover her last name, makes some phone calls for a single afternoon, and then comes across her completely by accident almost a year later).

this book takes uhauling to new heights bc they adopt a special needs puppy the first and only weekend they spend together, wherein they don’t even fuck and Julia flees into the early morning without saying goodbye, leaving a note, and leaving most of her stuff behind. i know why Cory cant stop thinking about Jules nearly a year on (leaving without goodbye in the middle of the night and leaving almost all your stuff behind is objectively bonkers) but i have no idea why Jules is so into Cory. or what either of them see in each other. or really why they’re into each other at all. bc again. they do not do more than kiss the entire book and most of the book is them feeling kind of weird about this singular weekend. NOT that you have to fuck someone to know how to feel about them but my goodness! sometimes it certainly helps!

it is perfectly tailored to piss me all the way off bc Cory asks for a raise bc she impulsively adopted a puppy, and her boss not only gives her a raise and a promotion but also heavily subsidizes her new house she rents. which he owns. which was so far from MY massachusetts job/housing experience we might as well have lived on different planets. however this book really does nicely capture the complete unwillingness of the massachusetts wlw scene to like. do anything more than talk shit about a kind of weird date you were on once.

would have loved to read more of a May/December romance about an aging supermodel and would have loved to read more about the worries and fears of someone aging who hasn’t really put down roots or formed many friendships at all in her life or really interacted much with the queer community at large, but the age gap in actuality is quite small and Jules is mostly exotically British and worried about facial wrinkles.

deeply annoying experience that could not be written today in a post-MTV’s Catfish world

-

watching

fallow week

-

playing

woe woe unending woe in genshin. genuinely really annoyed that i pulled for Varesa (girl who is a cow) in bc guess who’s coming back in about a month? that’s right, yae miko. the only other character i desperately want. and she’s going to be on a specific banner that does not build pity for any other banner. and i don’t even have quite enough pulls for halfway to guaranteeing her. however. buying enough in-game currency to guarantee her would be about $120. which is simply goofy. she will come back around eventually, probably in a year and a half, and i will survive. i don’t even want her for team building or combat purposes. i just think she’s got a cool design and i want a matched set of her (pink) and her wife, the shogun (purple).

-

making

one million small mending projects, including reinforcing the spine of some dorling kindersley BIG BOOK OF TRUCKS and BIG BOOK OF PLANES books for my bestie’s son’s birthday. no pics bc they were wrapped POSTHASTE!!!

also varied and assorted mending of clothes. managed to rip the casing for some pajama pants through brute strength and getting snagged on a kitchen cabinet knob, kind of half assed a ladder stitch, thought “that’s not going to hold” and then did a less half assed heavily overlapping cross stitch to reinforce (esp around the buttonhole opening for the drawstring) and then slathered it in fraychek.

likewise, my favorite obnoxious shirt had a rip up the side seam. carefully stitched it back up, blanket stitched the raw edge for a little more reinforcement without too much bulk, and slathered it in fraychek. u can see a much older repair there when it ripped horizontally from getting stuck in a filing cabinet drawer at umass lol.

and finally, some horrible shorts that were not adequate enough for my thighs, so i took the discreet one inch side vent and really opened that up to the bottom of the pocket seam. very annoying and fussy to match the topstitching and do two bar tacks by hand. the fit on the shorts is still not quite where i want them to be but they are at least wearable outside now. no fraychek here they’re nylon and got melted with a lighter as god intended.

[mellohiizz]

idk if you still do art reqs but can i have the uu mcs cuddling? /p

we finally got content of them together and im so happy over it guys... after war nap ^_^

[dykesevika]

some of my arcane oc stuff !! :3

[book-lover85]

Stay at home dad and artist on commission Keefe

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Hang on I have another dpxdc take

Justice League want Phantom to join but he refuses. Till someone tells him he gets to go to the watchtower. He doesn’t care. Then they say it’s in space. Ok yea hes going.

[pcktknife]

yall...we are officially post-timeskip

[eternalgirlscout]

i think this amv is going to be really good when it's done kicking my ass. however, in the meantime,

[uldahstreetrat]

3 for the kiss prompt 👀

The pad of their thumb tracing your lower lip, dragging downwards a little; the hitch in your breath when their eyes flicker from your lips to meeting your eyes (also requested by @bnuuywol)

"Thank you again for inviting me to dinner." Anais said, gently stacking plates and cups from the table. "It's always nice to see the girls. Especially under circumstances that aren't so dire for once."

"It was their idea, actually." Gaius replied.

"You mean it was Allie's idea," She smiled sadly, "I'm sure Mitnu still doesn't care much to have me around."

He took the stack of dishes from in front of her and carried it to the sink. "She only pretends like she doesn't. It was her idea, Allie just planned it." He was sure they had both planned it, well before they ever brought it up in front of him. His daughters were all too quick to excuse themselves for the evening after dinner as well, leaving him and Anais alone. He could only imagine why.

He knew why.

Gaius looked over to her where she had sat back down at the table, nervously rubbing each finger on her hand in turn. Things between them had been awkward for a while now. He only had himself to blame. He looked instead to where his coat hung by the door, the masks of the ascians he had slain still hanging from its belt. Anais wasn't like them. He still regretted the things he had said to her before that was clear to him. "I-"

"Am I trying too hard to be a mother to them?"

He looked back to her in surprise, eyebrows raised. She wore a look of deeply embarrassed concern, rubbing her hands across each other in an even more anxious manner than she had already been. Gaius couldn't help but laugh, a deeply unnatural sound coming from him.

"Don't laugh at me!" She sighed in distress and got up from her seat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't- I don't mean to-" He shook his head and composed himself, looking down at her. Anais stood in front of him now, arms crossed and frowning. "They love having you around. Both of them. I can promise you that much."

She took a deep breath in and sighed. "I worry overmuch. I know." She smiled up at him softly before tilting her head at him quizzically, "Oh, hold still, you have something on your face."

The moment her hand met his face, Gaius froze. He couldn't think as her thumb traced the bottom corner of his lip. It felt like time slowed down at her touch, gently caressing his face.

"Hm... I guess it must have just been the light," Anais looked up from his lips and met his eyes. She, too, froze in place. For an eternity they stood there, transfixed on one another's gaze, before finally she pulled her hand away. "I'm so sorry! I don't know why I-"

Gaius grabbed her wrist in one hand and her waist in the other and kissed her. To his surprise, she kissed him back. Wholeheartedly. She placed her hand once again against his face, keeping it there even after they pulled away. Her face was flushed and those eyes that already shone like stars sparkled even more.

"Well, I, um-" Anais stumbled over her words, her lips moving but unable to form something to say.

"Stay the night with me."

She smiled. "I'd love to."

[em-b-sides]

I think about that tiktok trend where you like paint your partners eye color on your nails or make a bracelet or something with the color a lot actually

[mooncalf87]

to my moots: I have never talked to nearly any of you but seeing you guys in my post notifs RIGHT AWAY when I post it. Moot magic <3<3 love yall