#MAYBE.... EVIL CAN WAIT..... FOR A LITTLE BIT.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyunsvngs · 5 months

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hyunsvngbinimas !

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

warnings: reader is a cat hybrid, perv!minho, heats, slick, kind of omegaverse but not, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, depictions of porn

Nothing is going right.

Minho’s apartment smells of those cliche candles that just reek of Christmas - spiced cinnamon apple strudel, or something like it. He’s burnt his cookies. His hair is covered in white sugary flakes that he’d tried to make snow for his gingerbread house with, and they’re currently melting into his hair from how stressed out he’s getting. Felix will be here any second. He’s freaking out. Felix always judges his baking.

He sighs, scraping the burnt remnants of his baking endeavours into the bin. Felix will have to be happy with just the gingerbread house. Anyway, Minho got him an amazing present for Christmas - a new headset for his gaming setup that had little holes for his white fluffy cat ears to peek through.

Being best friends with a hybrid wasn’t easy for Minho. Unfortunately, Minho had some weird affinity for cat girls and boys alike, and his computer was decked out with mountains of hybrid heat porn that would make even Felix’s weird friend Jisung stutter. Minho had gotten drunk one night and opened up to Felix about it, and had received an overly wet kiss on a cheek and a sweet chirp of “I’ll fuck you whenever, hyung”. Minho still blushes to the tips of his ears when he remembers it.

Felix’s hybrid status isn’t the only reason he’s reserved as Minho’s lifelong best friend. Felix is devious, weird, and a little bit evil just like Minho - he’s also always late, which really means a lot to Minho when he’s stressing out like this.

True to his nature, there’s a loud knock on the door approximately fifteen minutes after the meeting time after Minho had just put the baking tray of newer, more promising cookies into the oven. Minho throws his oven gloves to the side and then he’s charging over to the door to swing it open, ready to give Felix a fake lecture about being late to their designated day for exchanging presents.

Only, when the door opens, Felix isn’t alone. He’s standing on Minho’s doorstep with a wild smile on his face, a beanie pulled over his ears and his white tail swishing in excitement. Next to him is you.

And you’re, well, you. You’re a cat hybrid, too, sans-beanie and baring your orange ears for the world to see. You have a matching smile on your face, and Minho can’t help but fight his own smile back. It’s that contagious. Your fluffy winter dress is swaying around your mid-thigh, and when you turn to stop your suitcase from falling in the snow, your tail curls in annoyance.

Wait. You have a suitcase.

“Yongbok-ah,” Minho starts, his apron covered in flour. His apron is covered in flour. He’s a mess, and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep with a cute little dress on. He wonders if you’d let him flip it up and stretch your pussy open with his thick- no. He clears his throat, repeats Felix’s Korean name once again. “Yongbok-ah. What is this?”

“Your new roommate!” Felix beams, his smile stretching from ear-to-ear. Minho contemplates how he can kill him. “She was looking for somewhere to stay. Her landlord just kicked her out over Christmas, hyung, isn’t that so sad? Anyway, I remembered you saying you wouldn’t mind someone moving in to help with rent, so-”

“I work!” You blurt, cheeks sufficiently rosy pink and your bottom lip looking so biteable. Minho mentally chastises himself. He needs to behave. “I can pay rent, and Felix said you’d like me.”

Oh, he did, did he? Minho manages to drag his eyes away from you to stare menacingly at Felix, who only nods in agreement and smiles. Minho sighs, eyes flickering behind him. How quick can he do a deep clean of the house so that you think he’s perfect and amazing and maybe want to be with him? “I do have a spare bedroom.”

“Great!” Felix chirps. His eyes flicker between you and Minho. You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, tail swishing around your back excitedly. It’s orange with faint stripes in it, and Minho’s trying not to get hard in his pants over the way you’re grinning at him. Felix claps his hands together, gloved and muffled. “So, I’ve got to go now. Bye, hyung!”

“Y-Yongbok,” Minho blurts. Did he really just stutter? “What about your present?”

“Oh, give it to me another day,” Yongbok waves him off, already turning down the drive.

Minho scoffs. “What about my present, you little-”

Yongbok turns around. “She is your present, hyung. Silly.”

Minho reverts his eyes to you. He can feel how he’s widening them in shock, his bottom lip quivering. He wants to say something. He wants to talk to you, but how can he? You’re looking at him so expectantly and your dress has damn pom poms on it. He’s going to die. “Uh. D’ya wanna come in? I have cookies in the oven.”

“Great!” You say, and Minho’s convinced your voice is exactly how angels sound. You shimmy past him with your suitcase and leave it in the doorway, sashaying into the living room as if you’ve been there a million times. He watches you sprawl on the sofa in awe, stretching languidly. If he squints, he might be able to see the panties you’ve got on underneath your dress. “I love cookies.”

“Uh, yeah,” Minho says intelligently, kicking the door shut. He’s quick to follow you despite still being in his apron and having white specks in his dark hair. He tries to sit down casually on the sofa, and you gravitate towards his body heat, curling up beside him. “Have you had a roommate before?”

“A roommate?” You perk up, looking at him. Minho thinks he’s going to die. He’s definitely hard now, and he’s glad the apron is loose enough to cover it. You blink, and then you nod. “I guess so. In college, I stayed with a bunny girl. She was super sweet.”

A bunny girl? You two… lived together? Minho’s heart has stopped beating, officially. Maybe you’re still close friends. Maybe you can bring her over, when one or both of you are in your heats, and maybe you’ll let him watch if you-

Oh, Minho’s so fucked.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re so fucked.

When Felix said his friend Minho had mentioned wanting a roommate, you hadn’t expected him to be so sexy. Even standing on his doorstep with an apron covered in flour and a timid expression on his face, he was sexy. He’d shown you to the spare bedroom, nice as pie, and had waited while you got settled in to comfier clothes before getting on the couch with him. You couldn’t stop your tail from swishing when he fed you a cookie, warm from the oven, and you’d been looking at him with round, owlish eyes. He has to know. You’re wondering how much you can put down to kitty tendencies just to get closer to him.

“Can we cuddle?” You chirp, and Minho turns to you. He blinks, lips parted. His eyes are so dark, so round. “You know, kitty tendencies. I like the warmth. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay-”

“No,” He shakes his head, patting his lap. “C’mere, kitty- sorry, God, can I call you that? Is that okay?”

You giggle, curling up in his lap. Your tail curls around his arm comfortably, and Minho chokes back a noise. You wonder if he’s alright. “Kitty is fine. I like it.”

Minho lets out a stuttered breath. “O-Okay, so- how do you want to do this? I can cook for us, if you wanna clean?” He shakes his head. You feel his body tense up from beneath you. His thighs are so broad and muscled you can’t help but nuzzle your nose into one. You’re purring before you even realise you are. “Actually, no. Don’t clean.”

“I can clean!” You insist, but he’s already protesting again.

“No, kitty. Please don’t. Please don’t clean.”

Why not? You screw your face up in a pout, but you can’t help but feel the most comfortable you’d ever felt. It feels domestic, almost, the way you’re curled up on his lap and he’s just letting you. He’s warm. He’s warm and toned, and you flip over to look up at him. God, he’s pretty - sharp nose, pouty lips, the cutest bunny teeth that would have you swearing he had to be a hybrid too if you hadn’t seen his human ears. You want him.

Minho looks down at you then, a smile playing on his lips. “Why are you staring at me, kitty cat?”

You blush, shaking your head. “No reason. Hey, do you wanna watch a movie? I’m not moving though.”

“Of course,” Minho chuckles, his shoulders shaking. You watch as he reaches over you to grab the remote, flicking through channels until he finds a decent Christmas one. He looks at you, almost hesitant with his spare hand raised above your hair. “I- Felix likes when I scratch his ears. Do you- would you-”

“Yes, please,” You nod eagerly, and he snickers at your response. His hand threads into your hair, fingertips rubbing absentmindedly at the start of your orange ears, and you purr. It makes him tense up again.

When you finally turn over to pay attention to the movie, it’s some stupid film about two people finding love at Christmas. You can’t help but hope you have a similar experience, and you definitely wouldn’t be disappointed if it happened with the man who’s currently stroking over your ears and humming a soft tune. It feels too easy with him, too natural, but you’re not one to complain.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re panicking. You’ve been living with Minho for a week now, and between him doing absolutely everything around the house and refusing to let you pay rent - for what reason you’re unsure - you’re determined to get him a good gift for Christmas. Christmas is only in a few days, and you just can’t find anything perfect scrolling through your laptop. You have goosebumps on your arms from how cold you are, but you’re so focused you can’t put an extra layer on.

You’re convinced you’re hallucinating when the screen freezes, turns blue, and crashes. What? You bang on the keyboard with clenched fists, ears flattening in annoyance. What’s going on? Has it… broken? No way. No way would this happen to you, not during the most important time of your life. You had to get Minho a good gift.

He’s sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone when you perk your head around the doorway - or perk your tail around, since that’s the first thing Minho sees. He grins, turning to you. God, his grin makes your stomach flutter.

“What’s up, kitty cat?” He muses, and you grimace.

“I- I was doing… something on my laptop, and I think it’s broken,” You say, voice quiet. Despite getting so close to Minho in the week you’ve been there, including even taking naps together on the sofa, you still can’t push past your silly little crush on him. Especially not when he scratches under your chin and feeds you cookies. “Nothing weird. I just- could I use yours? Just for an hour or two, and then you can have it back, and-”

“Of course you can,” Minho cuts you off. You try not to stare at his biceps as he leans over to grab his laptop, white t-shirt clenching tight around his muscles. You suppress a whimper as he hands it to you, and then you’re scurrying back to your room with a delighted squeal.

The sheets are soft on your legs as you make yourself comfortable again, and then you open the laptop. It has no password, which is just so Minho, and is covered in cat stickers. He must really like cats. The thought makes your tail curl in delight, and you try to calm your excitement as the laptop boots up.

Immediately, you take notice of the fact that his laptop is definitely a newer, more expensive model than yours. It makes you shy, embarrassed that you’re not paying rent to live in his house and still can’t even get a good laptop, but then you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He has around ten files, labelled nothing other than numbers 1-10, and they’re neatly organised in a row across the screen.

Before you can even process what you’re doing, you’re clicking on the first one. You gasp, hand covering your mouth. You’re snooping. Maybe… maybe the files will help you learn what stuff he’s into, what kind of things he’d love for Christmas? Yeah. That’s why you’re looking. Definitely no other reason.

The first file has ten files inside it, all video files that are just begging for you to double click on. Could you watch them? Could you be nosy like this? Does that make you an awful person? You realise that yeah, you must be an awful person because you’re going to watch them. You’re going to watch every single one just to find out what they could be.

You don’t expect to be met with a cat hybrid being bent over a desk. She’s a girl, noted from the way the man’s speaking to her, and her slick is gushing around his cock. Your eyes widen, comically round, yet you can’t tear them away. Her tail curls around his waist, keeping him close, and her eyes roll back into her head. The camera is positioned to the side but it captures every single expression she’s making.

Is this what Minho’s into? Is he… into you? Would he fuck you like this, would he talk to you like this?

You’re clicking on the second video before you can even think of it. This one is recorded by the male, camera positioned to capture the cat girl’s tits as they sway and bounce enticingly. You want Minho to record you while you ride him like this. You wipe sweat off of your brow. She’s pretty, with blushing cheeks and ears flattened to her head as she moans in ecstasy. His pubic hair is drenched with her slick. You whimper. You want it. You want it with Minho.

He must jerk off to these, you decide, clicking on the third video. This one’s a little different - the girl is on her knees, slobbering and spitting all over a rather large cock. Is Minho that big? It’d be perfect to breed you, he could hit your cervix like that. You wipe drool off of your bottom lip. It’s suddenly very, very warm, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Imagining Minho’s cock is sending your senses into haywire, your whole body feeling like it’s been ignited with fire and electricity and-

“Kitty,” A voice from your door. You perk up. You’d left it open, just slightly ajar, and Minho is standing there with wide doe eyes. “Oh, no. You’ve seen them. I’m so sorry, if you want to move out I understand and I- kitty?”

You’re panting. Your eyes are glassy, covered in unshed tears, and your t-shirt suddenly feels like it’s stuck to you. Weren’t you just cold? You can’t remember. Your senses are full of Minho, Minho, Minho, and you want him to fuck you under the Christmas tree or bend you over the sofa or his desk or just take you on the floor, you aren’t picky.

“Minho,” You finally speak, chest heaving. “Minho, Minho, you- you- you like these? You- Minho, please, do you like these videos?”

He’s slow walking over to your bed, almost anxious to approach you. He sighs when he reaches the foot of the mattress, climbing onto it to sit cross-legged. He twiddles his thumbs. “Yeah. It turns me on. Yongbok- Felix said I have a kink for it. I’m sorry.”

“S-Sorry?” It’s so warm. It’s so warm. “Minho, Minho, I- I’m really warm. Are you warm? It’s really warm in my room, isn’t it?”

Minho’s eyebrows furrow. He reaches over, placing the back of his hand to your forehead, and you whine. Loudly. Just him touching your forehead with the back of his hand is enough to make your pussy drool slick into your sleep shorts, and you can’t even begin to question why you’re suddenly so wet, until Minho speaks. “Oh, kitty,” He coos, his hand moving up to scratch your ear. You hum, leaning into the touch. Your vision is blurry, but you can see him perfectly. “Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry. I think you’re going into heat, kitty. I’ll call Yongbok, and-”

“No,” You wail, surging forward. The laptop slides off the side of the bed with a loud clatter, and Minho doesn’t even blink, staring owlishly at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. You’re in heat. You can tell when his body hits yours, your pussy gushing and making even more of a mess just from his body, despite being clothed. “No. God, please, Minho, don’t leave. It’s you, I want you, I was thinking about you and me, and the videos, and-”

“You want me?” Minho’s voice is soft, and he swipes a thumb over your cheekbone. Your head is positioned on his chest, and you can smell him, earthy and woodsy and manly. He sighs, and then he’s speaking again. “I want you.”

“Please. Please, please, please, please, I need you, I need to see it, I need to feel you,” You’re babbling, sweat dripping down your temple, and Minho lets out an amused puff of air. “I- Minho, is- do you want to? Please.”

“You need to see it?” He chuckles, shoulders shaking. His eyes form crescent moons and you can’t even admire how cute he is through your haze of lust. “What’s it, kitty cat? My dick?” You nod eagerly, and Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “I want to kiss you first. Let me do it right, yeah? Let me do it how I want to. I need to treat you right.”

You’re still shocked when his lips press into yours, pouty and plush. He licks into your mouth and you have to avoid nipping at his bottom lip, until he does it to you and you deem it fair game. You’re devouring him then, nibbling on his lip and sucking on his tongue and encompassing your arms around his neck. He lets you push him into the mattress, lets you run your hands through his hair and pull away to nip at his neck teasingly.

“Kitty likes to bite, huh?” He huffs, and you nod, nipping him again for his cheek. Your tail swishes behind you, excited and playful, and you can feel how hard he is against your leg. “Better not bite like that when you suck my cock.”

You pull away from his neck in alarm, the milky skin littered in teeth marks and red bruises. “I can suck it? You’ll let me? Oh, please-”

His hand envelops in your hair, wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging hard. “Maybe later. I can feel how that pussy is drooling on me. You need it badly, huh? Need me badly.”

“Yes! Yes, yeah, since I saw you, I- I wanted you to fuck me through my heat so bad, pin me to the bed and just make me take it, and when I saw the videos I- Minho, I thought I was gonna die, and-”

Minho flips you over onto the mattress, your front planted against the bed. You let out a satisfied purr when he strokes your tail with one hand, and then he’s hooking his thumbs into your sleep shorts and yanking them down your legs. You feel the cold air hit your pussy and you moan, loud and high pitched, spreading your thighs to arch your back and present your pussy to him.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Minho coos, his thumb swiping over your hole. Your hole clenches with the lack of fullness, oozing more slick over his digit, and he groans. “Messy little pussy. God, do you want me inside you that bad? Little minx.”

“Please, please. Minho, Minho, will you fuck me? Look’it,” You whine, spreading your legs further. “Look at how wet I am. I need you, need you. M-master, please.”

Minho hisses through his teeth, and then his cockhead is pressing between your folds. When did he get naked? “You dirty little thing,” He whispers, his voice low. “Take master’s cock, then. You wanted to see it, how’s about feeling it?”

He sinks into you, all of his shaft in one go. It doesn’t hurt, only stretches you beyond pleasure, and your fingernails rip into the sheets with one loud moan. It feels insane, raw and veiny and pressing against your walls as if he was made for you. You let him grip your hips and arch you further, your tail wrapping around his waist to keep him close to you. It’s like the first video you saw, and the realisation has you whimpering into the sheets.

“God, you don’t know how long I thought about you like this,” Minho grunts, and then he’s thrusting. His pace is punishing immediately, your slick gushing and squelching around his cock messily and you can only hope his pubes are drenched in it. You want him to cum inside you, breed you, fill you up with kittens and mark you as his so that everyone knows. “Pliant, wet and so desperate for me.”

“Love it,” You slur, eyes rolling back into your head. You don’t realise you’re bouncing back on his thrusts, ass hitting the bottom of his tummy with every movement. He’s bent fully over your body, chest against your back and his lips whispering filth into your ear. “Love your cock, master, ‘s so big, I feel so full, I- hnnfg, master, master, will you breed me? Will you cum inside me?”

“Oh, kitty cat,” He moans, passionate, and when you try to look at him his eyes are rolling back into his head. His bunny teeth bite his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. His cockhead fucks against your cervix with every thrust, primal and intense. He wraps his arms around your front, hands clutching onto your shoulders to pull you back into him. “I’ll breed you, jagi. I’ll fuck you full until it has to take, yeah?”

You can’t think straight. Your pussy clenches around Minho’s cock almost painfully and it only makes him feel bigger, pulsing and throbbing inside of you. You need his cum. You need to cum - your clit throbs painfully with it. “Oh, oh, I need’a- master, master, I need to cum, I need to cum, please, hurts,” You huff, squirming beneath him. He reaches from your shoulder to pin your hips down into the bed, ensuring that you can’t thrash or wriggle anymore and he has full leverage to fuck you the way you need it. “It hurts! Ah, it hurts, I can’t, I can’t, I need to cum, I need to-”

“What’s stopping you?” He questions, hips starting to fuck you in a sinuous grind instead. The change in pace has your toes curling, hands scrabbling to find a better grip on the sheets as he lets you feel every inch and every vein of his length. “C’mon. Cum around my cock, and I’ll give you my cum, breed you full of kittens. Give it to me, jagi, c’mon, let me feel it.”

With a wail and a sharp inhale of breath, you’re cumming quicker than you ever have with any partner or even your own hand. Your pussy pulsates and gushes around him, and he grunts through your orgasm, trying with all of his might to fuck you through it. You try to thrash, to grind back on him through it, but he has you pinned down with a vice grip that only proves to make you cum even harder.

Minho’s hips press tightly against yours, and with a deep sigh, you feel his cum flood inside of you. You’re purring with the sensation of it, warm and thick and reaching your cervix with every messy pulsation of his load. You hope it takes, deep down inside you - you hope you’re swollen with it, that everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his.

With the knowledge that you’re full of cum, your heat is slightly sated, and you blink through the fog while Minho sidles up next to you. When did he pull out? You huff and cuddle into his chest, and he reaches up instinctively to scratch over your ears.

“Good?” He questions, voice timid. You blink owlishly.

“Good?!” You shriek, lifting your head up to stare at him. “I’m enlisting you for the rest of my heat, and then every day after that. You’re mine now.”

Minho chuckles. “I think that’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever been given.”

“Well, I was actually looking for something to get you when my laptop broke,” You say shyly, and Minho turns to look at you with a wide smile on his face. “It’s embarrassing! Just have me instead.”

“I think I’m okay with that,” He yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “Nap. You’re gonna need to be fucked again soon.”

You wondered how he knew, then you remembered the videos on his computer. “That’s true. Merry early Christmas, Minho.”

“Merry early Christmas, kitty cat.”

#hyunsvngbinimas!#juno's fics ♡#lee minho smut #lee know smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #lee minho x reader #lee minho fanfiction

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bigfatbimbo · 3 months

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I have but a simple idea:

Lucifer or Vox (i love them both so it’s your choice <3)

Vibrator. First time. Overstim.

Need I say more 😏

Been toying with the idea of one of those two wearing a vibrator to a meeting and you turning it on while they’re there. So why not both?

Vox would hold it together for literally as long as possible. He’d be okay at first. Keeping up with the conversation just fine, desperately trying to ignore the aching in his dick. Now, at a certain point maybe you’d turn the vibrator up a little bit. That’s when he would start to unravel. His claws would dig into the table, he’d start squirming in his seat, his words would start buffering and glitching out. He would struggle so much trying to keep any noises in, but the fear of keeping his image would definitely keep him in line. At a certain point I think he would excuse himself by saying he feels ‘under the weather’ and then beg you to go home so you can take care of him the right way. If you’re feeling particularly evil and you tell him he has to be patient and wait until the meeting is over, he’d whine pathetically before obliging and going back into the room. By the time the meeting was over, he’d have already came in his pants.

Lucifer would be a lot less put together. The second he’d feel the vibrator switch on he’d probably accidentally moan, before playing in off as a cough. He’d try to hold himself together but he wouldn’t be able to stop tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He’d be mortified if someone pointed it out. Maybe he’d say he ‘stubbed his toe’ or something as if that was convincing at all. It wouldn’t take long before he would start subtly falling apart. Well, the word subtle is used lightly. He’d get sweatier and redder the more the torment goes on, maybe even stopping paying attention to the meeting all together. The only thing that would be on his mind was how you were going to touch him when he got home. Now that’s when he would really freak out, when he started daydreaming about all the things you were going to do to him. His wings would literally pop out and he wouldn’t even have an excuse as to why. He’d just brush it off like ‘I feel sick. Oh, guess we have to postpone the rest of this meeting until next week. Let’s all go home now.’ But by that time he would have already creamed his pants just like Vox. In fact, fairly early too.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x you #dom reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel vox

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harryslittlefreakk · 2 months

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obsessed

summary: harry is your roommate, best friend … and crush 💃 he’s finally broken up with his girlfriend and you’re struggling to hide how you feel about him. loosely based on the song!!

warnings: none! fluffy fluff, teeny tiny bit of angst, mentions nudity

wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: i am a loud & proud olivia rodrigo stan sooo naturally i had to write something. it’s silly and cheesy and short! but i hope you enjoy!!

you can find my masterlist here and join my taglist here!! happy reading my loves 💖

“Guess who I saw today?”

“Who?” You didn’t even need to look up from your book to know Harry was about to throw himself down on the end of your bed, his coat and shoes still on. Every time you got home before him he’d bound into your room like a little labrador, too excited to see you to even drop his stuff down first.

“No, you have to guess.”

“Could’ve been anyone, H,” you told him, feigning reluctance as you closed your book and looked up at him. The second you heard his key rattling in the door you’d wait for the sound of your door bursting open, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life. But you’d never let him know that, so every day you’d pretend it was an annoyance to have him perched at your feet.

“Think of someone you really don’t like,” he persisted, a toothy grin nestled between his dimpled cheeks.

“Literally could be anyone.”

“Come on! Blonde hair, tall, pretty…”

Of fucking course. His stupid, evil, awful ex girlfriend. And naturally, the only way you could react to hearing about her was to reach over and shove him before crossing your arms over your chest. “Ow! What was that for?” Harry laughed, rubbing at his upper arm.

“I was having such a nice day. And then you have to come in and mention that.” It was massively childish, but you couldn’t help but feel violent every time you heard about her. She was fine for the most part, maybe a little too conceited for your taste, but she’d made Harry happy. But you’d watched from the outside as Harry went through relationships, and he always morphed into whatever version of himself he thought the girl would prefer. He stopped being your Harry, and your friendship would suffer for it. But you couldn’t say anything, could never treat his girlfriends with anything but a polite smile and quick conversation, unless you wanted to out yourself as a jealous little girl. And you definitely didn’t want to do that.

This time, however, the ability to hate her had been handed to you on a silver platter when she decided to go home with one of Harry’s friends on a night out. You were his shoulder to cry on, the one to make him smile again after days of moping around. So you had full permission to hate her, and you were relishing in it - as much as you could while still tiptoeing around Harry’s aching heart.

“She wants to meet for a coffee this week,” he told you, scrunching his eyes tight as he waited for another shove. When nothing came, he squinted over to see you rubbing at your temples. “Are you gonna?” you asked, brows furrowed as you imagined the two of them back together.

“Am I allowed?” Harry teased, turning round to lay on top of you, his face only inches from yours. “You’re a grown man, H. Couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to,” you told him, your voice void of any emotion.

“Dunno if it’s a good idea. She might find me too irresistible and then I’ll have to deal with that,” he grinned, not noticing the change in your face. You looked down as you felt your lip start to quiver, too proud to show how your heart sank. “I need to shower, H. Dinner after?” you asked, slipping out from under him and dragging your heavy limbs towards the door. He looked over at you with round, questioning eyes, only to be met by silence and a weak smile as you headed for the bathroom.

You barely got the door shut behind you before the tears came, hot and heavy drops rolling down your cheeks. You knew you couldn’t have Harry, but every minute spent with him had your heart breaking over and over again. Every little cuddle, every touch, lit you up with a fire that burned to the bones. But then you’d see the way he acts with a girlfriend, the way he loved someone, and all those moments you shared seemed silly and infantile. He was your best friend, nothing more and nothing less.

You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as the sobs wracked your body. You’d tried so hard to push away the feelings, to convince yourself that you were just confused and overwhelmed. He’s a friend, he’s a friend, he’s a friend, echoing around your mind. But deep down, you knew that no one could ever compare to Harry. He was yours, the only one to ever steal a piece of your heart.

“Y/n? M’coming in.” You froze as Harry’s voice came from the other side of the door, clamping a hand over your mouth to hold the sobs in. “I’m naked,” you called out, scrambling to your feet and wiping away your tears with your sleeve. But he opened the door anyway, stopping in the doorway when he saw your tear-stained face. “Didn’t even turn the shower on yet,” he muttered, glancing over at it.

“Why’re you crying?”

“M’not,” you whispered, choking out a giant sob as you turned your face away from Harry, sinking down onto the edge of the bath.

“Quite clearly are. Move,” he ordered, swatting you away before reaching to turn on the taps.

“What are you-”

“If you’re sad, I’m sad. And I like having a bath when I’m sad,” Harry shrugged, turning around to grab one of your bath bombs.

“I was gonna shower, you can’t-”, between the sobs, your confusion and the need for Harry not to know why you were crying, you could barely string a sentence together.

And when Harry pulled off his t-shirt, you were even more lost for words, left with your mouth gaping and only air coming out. “Joining me?” he asked, tipping too much bubble bath into the steamy water - something you’d have to scold him for later.

“I’m not getting in with you,” you told him, once you’d finally got a grip on your brain.

“Just get under the bubbles. And you can close your eyes when I get in.”

“No way.” You hugged your arms over your chest, drawing your swollen bottom lip into your mouth as you watched a shirtless Harry mix the bubble bath into the water. The way his muscles flexed, the tattoos littered across his tanned, slender frame. His skin always looked perfect, not Barbie doll smooth but irresistibly soft. Your fingers took on a mind of their own, slowly reaching out to touch him before he turned around with a smug grin. “Fine, go away then while I have my nice relaxing bath.”

“I want a bath,” you whispered, barely audible over the running water splashing into the tub. “What was that, angel?” Harry grinned, moving his towel onto the toilet seat. “I want a bath,” you told him, louder now, a tiny smile dancing on your lips.

Harry grabbed a hold of one of your hands, tugging you closer to the bathtub. He turned you around before pulling your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in just your little pyjama shorts. Just the brush of his fingertips against your bare torso sent chills down your spine. “M’not looking. Tell me when you’re in,” Harry told you, dropping your t-shirt to his feet.

You pushed your pyjama shorts and panties down your legs, checking behind you to see if Harry really wasn’t watching. True to his word, he had his eyes scrunched tight and his hand clenched over them. You’d seen each other in bathing suits and underwear so many times before, but being naked in the same room as Harry felt beyond weird. You’d never been overly shy about your body, especially with someone who made you feel as pretty and as comfortable as Harry did, but this would add a whole new layer to your friendship - and you didn’t know if you’d survive it. Still, you sunk into the bathtub and pulled the mass of bubbles to your end, trying to keep your breasts under the water before you told Harry he can look. “It’s really hard to make bubbles stay put, H,” you told him, screwing up your face as you tried to hold them steady.

He was laughing as he pulled his trousers and socks off, great big guffaws tumbling out every time the bubbles tried to escape your grip. “Want me to turn the lights down a bit? Then it’s harder to see,” he shrugged, nodding towards the light switch. You nodded, grateful that he cared enough to make sure you were 100% comfortable. It was one of the things that first drew you to Harry, and definitely what you valued most about him. He was always so kind, always caring, so willing to put anyone’s needs above his own - and that’s why relationships always changed him.

“Close your eyes then,” he said, mockingly holding two hands in front of his bulge. You rolled your eyes, finally starting to lighten up as the hot water washed over you. When Harry reached out to swat at your nose, you closed your eyes tight. You felt him stepping into the bathtub after a minute, his long legs slotting down your left-hand side.

“Hi,” he smiled when you opened your eyes. “Gonna tell me what upset you now?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” you told him, your voice small.

“It is if it made you that upset,” Harry countered, placing a gentle hand on your calf, his thumb rubbing against the soft skin.

You paused for a moment, trying to think of what you wanted to say and how to say it. “It just- she doesn’t deserve you, H. Anyone who hurts you like that doesn’t deserve any of your time and respect.” Your eyes dropped to the water as you spoke, your body frozen. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but as soon as he did, you needed to say more. “You were really sad, Harry. It sucked for you and it sucked for me too because I don’t like seeing you like that. I’ll always be there for you, you know that, but I can’t just sit and wait for her to hurt you like that again. Not when you know she’s capable of it.”

You watched the smaller bubbles popping one by one by one, suddenly anxious in the silence that followed your speech. You hated going against Harry, putting your two cents into something that really didn’t concern you, but sometimes he needed to hear it.

“I know,” he replied finally. “But do you think that because you don’t like her?”

“Harry, no! I don’t like her because she did that to you.”

“You were never her biggest fan,” he shrugged, his brows knitted when you finally pulled your eyes up to meet his.

“She changed you, H. You were different with her, less you. Everything is so surface level with her, it’s looks and Instagram likes and who’s got trouble with who. There’s no substance, nothing deeper.”

Harry’s thumb halted as he shook his head, his jaw clenching slightly. “It doesn’t always have to be deeper,” he sighed, rubbing at his chin with his free hand.

“I know it’s not my place but you need someone who brings out the best in you, you need-”

A bitter laugh from Harry stopped you in your tracks, your mouth snapping closed as a chuckle slipped out of his. He met your questioning gaze with a tiny smirk. “She always used to say you were jealous of her.”

You could feel the tears collect on your bottom eyelashes again as he said it, the words stinging like barbed wire sinking into your skin. How could you even respond? “Harry-” was all you could manage before your mouth ran dry.

“I don’t wanna fight with you, y/n,” he told you, his voice soft as he reached out for your hand. “Come here,” he whispered, tugging at your fingertips. “I’m- we-” you started, gesturing between your bare bodies with your free hand, eyes practically bulging out of your head. “Doesn’t matter,” Harry said, motioning for you to turn around.

Somewhat reluctantly, you did, leaning back into his body until your back hit your chest. You were exposed in every sense, your chest sitting just above the waterline and your heart on your sleeve. Harry wrapped an arm around your torso, his delicate touch careful not to go anywhere it shouldn’t.

“Truth is I probably need someone like you. Only one to make me happy on a shitty day, only one who gives me any effort,” he murmured, his voice so low that if he wasn’t speaking directly into your ear, you wouldn’t have heard him. Your heart quickened as he spoke, your pulse pounding against your inner wrists. “I’m not- I don’t have anything that she-” you choked out.

“S’a good thing, no?” Harry asked, turning his head just slightly until his lips brushed tentatively against your earlobe. “No, Harry. You need more, you need-”

“You,” he finished for you. “Just say the word and I’m yours, angel.”

It was like someone had handed you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter, all you had to do was reach out and take it. But it wasn’t that easy. If anything went south, you risked losing Harry forever. You shuffled back out of his grip, turning to sit in front of him, perched on your knees. You couldn’t even bring yourself to care about him seeing your body, your words willing themselves from your lips. “If anything went wrong Harry, I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, blinking to keep the tears at bay.

“What would go wrong? We know we get along, we have the same traits and the same values. We’re already doing life together,” he reached out a hand to cup your cheek as he spoke, his eyes laced with nothing but earnestness.

“I don’t want to be your consolation prize.”

“Never. Never ever, I swear. I thought about it for a while but it never really clicked until now.”

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as Harry spoke, desperately needing to figure out if it was all a dream. The sensation of his touch, the sound of his voice, the gentle heat of the water – it all felt too real to be a dream. But a part of you couldn't shake the feeling that this moment was too perfect, too surreal to be true. You hesitated, unsure if you should dare to believe in the fairytale unfolding between the two of you.

As if he could see the cogs turning in your head, Harry dropped his hand from your cheek, entwining your fingers in yours instead. He squeezed lightly, the corners of his lips turning up into a little smile. "I'm here, y/n," he whispered. "This is real, promise." His words were a lifeline in the sea of doubt that threatened to consume you. Even if it was a dream, it was a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

“It’s all I ever wanted,” you confessed, allowing yourself to give into the fantasy for at least a little while. You fought the urge to search for the hidden cameras, check the date to make sure it wasn’t an April Fools prank. Harry was a goof, but you were a thousand percent sure he wouldn’t play with your feelings like that.

“Just say the word,” he repeated, his husky voice laced with sincerity and longing.

“I want this,” you whispered, clutching onto Harry’s hand as if you could fall off the Earth at any minute. His face erupted into a grin so cheesy that you couldn’t help but mirror it, eyes locked onto his as he closed the distance between the two of you.

Harry’s lips met yours softly, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you melted into him, the air nearly knocked out of your lungs by the urgency and desire behind his soft movements. He pulled away after a minute, his forehead pressed to yours as he searched your eyes for any sign that you wanted to stop. Although all Harry was met with was a sparkle in your gaze, and a further few pecks landing on his lips. “Should’ve done this a long time ago,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands splaying across your back. “Should’ve done it before you got me naked,” you teased, succumbing once again to his kiss.

rrrr i really don’t know how i feel about this but i wanted to get something out

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles masterlist #harryslittlefreakk

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jarofstyles · 3 months

Note

Pleaaaaase do a little size kink blurb where he teases her about not being able to take it all miss jars

Ok because you asked so nicely 😚

Warnings- size kink, slight degrading, soft dom h, pet names, teasing etch

Patreon

——

“I dunno, pet.” His hand stroked over her side as she laid spread out for him, resting his cock over her tummy. “It’s a bit too big for you, don’t you think?” Rocking against her, she whimpered as her eyes went down to see the ruddy head of his cock leaking slightly over her skin, hard and obviously aching.

“I can take it- I can do it, I promise.” Her pleads were slightly pathetic but he knew what he was doing. Harry knew what it did to her when he spoke to her like this.

Harry was big, one of the biggest and thickest she had ever taken. It did take her a bit to adjust but she could do it. He caught on relatively quickly though, just how much she loved it when he teased her about it. Taunted her, made her squirm. He was so sweet in his words but the sparkle of slight evil behind his eyes let on that he enjoyed making her whine and whimper for it, wanting to make her beg.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to hurt you.” He clicked his tongue, fisting his cock as he dragged it back down and tapped the tip against her clit. Hips jolted as she let out a keen, hands fisting the sheets as she watched his intent eyes look at their joining. She was drippy and wet, embarrassingly so as she felt it down to her ass, but Harry had been teasing her for a while now. “Such a tiny cunt. As much as I’d love t’stretch your holes out, I love you a bit too much… I don’t want my girl hurting.”

“It hurts now, I’m empty!” Stomping her foot on the mattress, the needy girl felt herself huff, eyes tearing up as she felt frustration boil over. “I need it, I need it inside of me now. Please don’t make me wait. I don’t care if it hurts, it’ll feel good.”

He cooed, bless him, smearing his cock through her folds as she threw her little tantrum. Getting her to this point was always fun in his eyes. “Y’need it that bad, sweet thing? Poor little angel baby is crying for cock.” His lips pursed in a pout, his free hand wiping away a tear. “Proper tantrum because your cock hungry little hole feels empty. Should’ve known, though. You like it when it hurts.”

“I do, I just need it. Please, give me it. I’ve been good, haven’t it? I’ve been so good and you’re being so mean.” Her babbled cries made him grin, letting her buck her hips up and rub herself against him, smearing her arousal all over his cock. Getting her brainless like this was his favorite thing to do.

“Okay, darling. Okay. I know you’re greedy. Cunt’s gone all sloppy and wet. Nasty little thing y’are.” He crooned, notching the tip over her entrance. “Let’s try just the tip first. I’ll give you a taste, and if you’re good and your hole can take it, maybe I’ll give you a few inches.” His hips slowly pressed in, letting the bulbous tip breach her. Popping in and making her breathing quicken, more tears falling down her cheeks. Sure, it hurt a little. It usually would with him- but it was what she needed.

“Thank you, thank you, I need it.” She rambled, hand lifting to his arm and nails digging into the skin as her stomach jumped with each breath.

“I know you do. My sweet little angel of a girl, I always forget how greedy you are for my prick until it’s in you.” Soothing strokes were given to her cheeks, the guise that he didn’t love making her a wreck playing well on his face. “Let it stretch you for a little bit, pet. Sit pretty and let yourself drip all over it before I ruin you even more.”

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twiixr4kidz · 10 months

Note

Hii can you do like reader sleeping on seven evil exes lap hehe I Also love ur writing!!♡

tysm!!! also apologies for how late this is i was on a hiatus ;^;

sleeping on the evil exes!!

matthew patel

he tears up a little bit

one second, you're awake and talking to him and the next, you're knocked out and drooling on his leg

he thinks you look adorable (he didn't take a picture of you what are you talking about)

he's also like, uncontrollably giggling and smiling over the fact that YOU!! FELL ASLEEP!! ON HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!

lucas lee

on the outside, he's like "hell yeah this is awesome" but you know DAMNNNN well he's screaming internally

lucas has this habit of acting like a badass on the outside but any time you do something, he's filled with an overwhelming amount of joy

he sits there with you sleeping on him for as long as he can

eventually his legs start falling asleep, so he sneakily moves your head off of his lap and onto a pillow

he also covers you up with a blanket or his jacket or whatever is around just so you don't get cold

todd ingram

treats you like a sleeping kitten

if only you were awake to see the smile on his face when he realize you were asleep, you probably would've melted

he'll run his fingers through your hair as he mumbles something under his breath about how he wishes this moment could last forever

eventually, he falls asleep sitting up

bro is hella dedicated to keep you nice and comfortable!!!

roxie richter

she honestly doesn't notice at first

she's just talking to you, telling you about her day or something that happened in this show that she's been watching, and you're not responding

at first she's like "what the heck, y/n?" and then when she realizes you're asleep, she's like "OHHHHHH" and then she's like "OH?? OH MY GOD???"

note, she's whisper-screaming to herself because she doesn't wanna wake you up

she's the kind of girl who can fall asleep anywhere, so she gets comfy next to you and crashes too

kyle katayanagi

very similarly to roxie, he's probably telling one of his crazy party stories when he realizes you're asleep

instead of stopping, he lowers his voice and keeps talking

he'll just keep telling stories until he falls asleep or until you wake up

his hand is resting on your arms as he draws circles with his thumb on it

he's really enjoying the fact that you trust him enough to just pass out on his lap like that

and you're definitely gonna get an earful of it when you wake up, because who is kyle if NOT a tease??

ken katayanagi

he's usually reading, so it takes him a moment to realize you're out

he smiles to himself, softly saying how you should've gone to bed when he said, but he still thinks it's cute

ken'll start reading to you too

he isn't sure why he does it

maybe it's something about the soothing, intimate nature of reading a book to somebody, or maybe it's just because he's ken and that's what he does

he'll bring you to bed when he's done with the chapter

he wants you to sleep well and NOT have a sore neck when you wake up, how sweet :))

gideon graves

he's a very busy guy, so this isn't new

actually it happens quite a lot

he'll get home late and you'll be falling asleep on the couch waiting for him

he greets you sweetly, sitting down next to you and putting on your favorite show to watch together

he knows that when you rest your head on his lap, you're going to fall asleep and he's more than okay with it

as much as he does love it, he tries not to get home so late that it happens in the first place

#scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim vs the world #spvtw #matthew patel #matthew patel x reader #lucas lee #lucas lee x reader #todd ingram #todd ingram x reader #roxie richter #roxie richter x reader #kyle katayanagi #kyle katayanagi x reader #ken katayanagi #ken katayanagi x reader #gideon graves #gideon graves x reader

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anonymous-dentist · 3 months

Text

Despite what Apa Roier says, Pepito knows a great many things about the world.

Like:

The Ocean is big. It's where Pepito and Apa Roier and all the other Pepitos live, but there's still room for SO MANY other Pepitos!!

Pepito's gills don't work right all the time, so Apa Roier and Pepito's other dads all have to swim slowly so they don't lose him. This is called "asthma", and Pepito is probably gonna grow out of it soon!

Water Pepitos live in The Ocean. Sky Pepitos live outside of The Ocean. Pepito hasn't ever seen a Sky Pepito before, but Apa Roier has, and he says that Sky Pepitos are all ugly and they smell bad.

Apa Roier will return Pepito to the bottom of the ocean and get a new Pepito if Pepito isn't a good Pepito.

Pepito knows that last thing very well. He pretends that he doesn't because it makes Apa Roier said every time Pepito mentions being traded in for a new Pepito, but it's true. It has to be! Apa Roier and Apa Mariana both say it, and they're never wrong!

So, when Pepito does the Very Bad Thing, he doesn't wait for Apa Roier to find out. He swims himself to the bottom of the sea, and he curls into a ball, and he pulls his glasses off so he can cry without getting them all gross, and then he cries.

There's blood under Pepito's claws; he can't get it out no matter how hard he scrubs at them with the sand, it won't come out and that just shows how evil Pepito is, because Pepito is a bad Pepito and now Pepito may as well just die. Apa Roier will get a new Pepito, and they'll be much happier together because that Pepito won't be a monster like Pepito is.

The bottom of the ocean is silent, because the only people who live there are lost little mermaids (like how Pepito and Sunny and Empi all used to be) and bad people. Bad Pepitos, just like Pepito is now.

The worst of the bunch is the Sea Witch, known for his eight long scary tentacles and his glowing white eyes and his evil magic. Apa Roier says that the Sea Witch eats lost little Pepitos, and Pepito believes him, because Apa Roier is always right.

Pepito sniffles and rolls onto his back, staring blindly up at the sun rippling above. It's blurry, and its light barely reaches the bottom of the ocean, but it's pretty. It looks... warm. And Pepito is very, very cold.

Normally when the water is a bit too cold, one of Pepito's dads or Ama Rivers will take Pepito into their arms and hold him real tight until he's warmed up. He always treats it like a hug even if Apa Roier doesn't usually hug back, but that's fine because all the others hug back.

("He's a good boy," Apa Roier says. He glares over Pepito's shoulder at Luzu. "Not a killer. Can you get that through your skull, hmm?")

Pepito's lip wobbles and he covers his eyes with his hands before he gets any bright ideas. He doesn't deserve bright ideas, he's a villain. He doesn't deserve the sun, he doesn't deserve to be a son. He's no better than a... than a... than a pirate!!

Pirates are evil, Apa Roier says so. He met a pirate once when he visited the Sky, and he says that he never wants to see a pirate again. They stink and their teeth are rotten and their nails are blunt and they don't even have tails. All they do is kill and steal and fight and they're horrible- villains!

Maybe that's where Pepito belongs, with the pirates, not in The Ocean. He deserves to have stinky breath and bad teeth and whatever the heck "legs" are (Pepito doesn't know, but Apa Quackity always starts laughing when he describes them, so they have to be stupid.)

The Ocean is where all the Good Pepitos live. Pepito isn't a Good Pepito anymore, so he needs to leave.

There's only one person who can make Pepito into a Sky Pepito, and he lives at the bottom of the ocean.

Pepito whimpers at the thought, but he quickly wipes his eyes and sets his jaw into a firm, determined expression. He slips his glasses back on, and he pushes off of the ocean floor and goes in search of the Sea Witch.

It's what he deserves.

The Sea Witch isn't too happy to see Pepito, but he lets Pepito into his house and sits Pepito down with a plate of fish on his couch, and he listens.

With a frown on his scary face, the Sea Witch asks, "Okay, but what did you actually do?"

Pepito's eyes start watering at the thought, but he answers anyway, because he has to if he wants the Sea Witch to help him.

"I... I did a Very Bad Thing," he whispers, curling in on himself. He wipes at his eyes and looks away to the side. "If I don't become a pirate, then I'll have to go to jail down here, and I don't wanna go to jail, Mister The Sea Witch. Pepitos aren't meant for jail."

"Pepitos aren't meant to be pirates, either. You're a good kid! What happened?"

Pepito just shakes his head in response. He's crying again, but that's fine. Apa Roier always cries, and nobody ever notices, so the Sea Witch probably hasn't noticed Pepito's tears. Maybe he's blind? He doesn't have any eye holes in his eyes (what are they called, pupils?)

There's quiet, but eventually the Sea Witch lets out a long sigh and nods.

"Fine," he says. "But-" (He cuts Pepito off as Pepito snaps his head up and starts thanking him.) "-I get to pick the pirate crew you go with. I know a bunch of pirates, I'll find a super evil one for you to go with."

That sounds... scary. But Pepito has to be a Brave Pepito. If he says no, then the Sea Witch might eat him, and Pepito doesn't wanna die. Pepito just wants to live in misery agonizing over his mistake for the rest of his unholy, evil life. That's all.

So Pepito nods and reaches out to hug the Sea Witch (it's how Pepito thanks his parents at home, and they like it well enough.)

The Sea Witch hums and hugs Pepito back. "There, there. It'll all be fine, Pepito. This big, scary pirate is going to take good care of you, I promise."

And that sounds scary, but it's fine! Pepito is brave!!

A moment passes, and then the Sea Witch pulls out of the hug and leaves to go get his spell ingredients.

Pepito sits on the couch, and he closes his eyes, and he imagines feeling the sun for the first time in his life, and he pretends that he doesn't already have a big hole in his heart from leaving his parents.

(But, really, they were going to leave him if he didn't leave them. So it's fine.)

(Meanwhile, Roier gets home from visiting Bobby's grave to find an empty house. He, of course, panics. Mariana and Quackity are both on vacation, and Rivers is across the reef sparring with Fit, and gods only know where Carre is, and Pepito literally doesn't go anywhere without one of his parents so. So.

Roier's halfway through searching the house when the entire reef shakes. He dashes to a window and looks out just in time to watch a huge column of light erupt from the drop-off point to the bottom of the sea.

He swears and grabs his bag and rushes out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

Fucking BadBoy...!)

The sun is warm. Pepito thinks he loves it, and he thinks it loves him back with how much sunlight is on him as he and the Sea Witch walk through the Sky Pepito town.

It's a shame he can't say as much. His throat hurts, but it isn't from asthma this time. It's from magic.

"Remember, Pepito, you can't talk when you're on land," the Sea Witch reminds him. "I got you legs and lungs, but you had to give me something in return."

A pause.

"If your dad asks, it was your idea. Not mine. I had nothing to do with this."

Pepito nods, duh.

The Sky Pepito Town is huge, though! So many Pepitos, all wearing different outfits and with legs.

Pepito looks down at his own legs thoughtfully. He doesn't know what to think of them quite yet. They look goofy, but he almost likes them better than he likes his tail.

...Liked his tail. Because he can never go in The Ocean again. If he does, then the magic will run out, and he'll have to go home and watch his parents all interact with the new Pepito they'll have gotten while he was away.

But the buildings in the Sky are so tall! They're taller than even Apa Mariana, and he's HUGE!! And all the Sky Pepitos are tall, too! Taller than Pepito, anyway...

Maybe Pepito would be taller if he got shoes. The Sea Witch had managed to magic up some clothes for him before they got into town, but apparently shoes are hard.

Pepito wiggles his toes as he walks. He smiles. Now these? Really silly.

Pepito walks obediently beside the Sea Witch as the Sea Witch leads him through the town's winding streets towards the docks, which is where the pirates live. Supposedly.

"Now, remember, this guy is super evil," the Sea Witch warns him. "So you need to watch out."

Pepito nods, though he only halfway listens as the Sea Witch continues talking about this super scary pirate captain they're going to. Because, really, how much worse can the pirate captain be than Pepito? It's not like he did the Very Bad Thing.

Pepito isn't paying attention, so he doesn't notice the enormous ship in front of him until he's being led up to a bridge leading up to its... roof?

(What are the parts of a boat, again?)

"Cellbit!" the Sea Witch calls, one hand cupped around his mouth. "I have a present for you!"

Pepito winces at the volume, but he doesn't cover his ears. That would be rude, and he needs to make a good first impression if he wants to show how evil he is to the captain.

Pepito watches the ship's roof until he sees a sign of movement. And then... there he is. The pirate captain, the evil one. Captain Celbi.

According to the Sea Witch, Captain Celbi is the most wanted pirate on the seven seas. The Sea Witch says that Captain Celbi eats people, but he didn't say that Captain Celbi murders them, so maybe he isn't that evil after all. Pepito's probably worse than he is.

Captain Celbi looks small when he's on the roof, but he gets bigger and bigger as he walks down the bridge, and then he's huge when he's standing in front of Pepito with his hands on his hips.

He has a sword, is the first thing that Pepito notices. Second is the scar stretching across his face from his left eyebrow down to the right side of his chin. His hair is long, tied back and hidden under a bit, three-pointed hat; but where are his ears? His eyes are so blue that they remind Pepito of The Ocean.

He looks down at Pepito with his mouth twisted into a worried line.

Pepito tries to look intimidating. He puffs his chest out and stands up tall and furrows his eyebrows the way Ama Rivers does before one of her fights.

Captain Celbi looks to the Sea Witch with a couple of rapid, confused blinks.

"Bad," he says, "what the fudge is this?"

Pepito can't introduce himself, so he just waves. Evilly.

The Sea Witch answers for him, how nice!

"This is Pepito," he says, putting a hand on the top of Pepito's head. "He said that he wants to become a pirate."

Pepito nods.

Captain Celbi blinks again before looking back down at Pepito.

Slowly, the captain crouches in front of him, hands on his knees to brace himself.

"You really want to be a pirate?" he asks.

Pepito nods again, firmly. Evilly. He's evil, just like Captain Celbi is.

"It's very dangerous," the captain continues. "Can you handle that?"

Pepito nods a third time. He squeezes his mouth into a determined line. He's got this.

The captain stares at him, and then he stands and grabs the Sea Witch by the arm and says, "Bad, can we talk?"

The Sea Witch doesn't get a chance to argue before getting dragged away and into the crowd.

Pepito watches them go. There's... a lot of people.

A lot of people.

Who knew there were so many Sky Pepitos!?

Pepito steps backwards until his back is against a tall barrel. He looks down at his hands and immediately tears his eyes away from them because there's still blood under his nails even now that his claws have been dulled into weird beige flat things.

Suddenly, and for whatever reason, Pepito misses Apa Roier. He's good with people. He'd be friends with the entire town by now, because he's a good person. Pepito isn't, though. His only friends are going to be the pirates on Captain Celbit's boat.

Yay.

Eventually, Captain Celbi and the Sea Witch come back.

Captain Celbi looks... less confused, but he still looks a little puzzled. He looks at Pepito like he's the puzzle, which is silly. Pepito's Pepito! Nothing crazy about him.

The Sea Witch, though, looks pleased. He bends down and ruffles Pepito's hair briefly before standing and cracking his back with a wince.

"Welp, I'll be on my way. Pepito," he says, looking Pepito in the eye, "take care of Cellbit for me. He might be a super evil pirate, but he can be a bit silly sometimes."

"Hey!" Captain Celbi protests, lightly smacking the Sea Witch's arm. "Fuck you, man!"

"Language!" the Sea Witch snaps.

Pepito giggles, surprising both himself and the Sea Witch. Huh, guess the magic only took away his voice, not his noise.

Captain Celbi's mouth twitches. He blinks slowly, crouching again and extending a hand.

"Pepito, right?" he softly asks.

At Pepito's nod, Captain Celbi continues, louder, "After you shake my hand, you'll officially be part of my crew. There's no going back, okay?"

Briefly, Pepito considers going back home. He never said goodbye; his parents would've said goodbye before abandoning him for a new Pepito, at least.

But he bites his tongue and takes Captain Celbi's hand, anyway. His hand only manages to hold four of Captain Celbi's fingers, but that's fine. Pepito will be a big Pepito soon.

Captain Celbi nods, and he stands.

He looks at the Sea Witch and says, "Tell Foolish I say hi, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." The Sea Witch nods. He glances down at Pepito. "Be careful, okay?"

"Please," Captain Celbi scoffs. "I'm always careful."

The Sea Witch rolls his eyes, and then Pepito blinks his eyes, and then the Sea Witch is gone.

"What a creepy guy," Captain Celbi comments.

He looks down at Pepito and smiles- he has fangs, what!? So cool...

"Come on, Pepito, we should get on board before my crew leaves us behind."

Pepito's eyes widen in panic, and he runs off for the bridge up to the ship's roof, accidentally pulling Captain Celbi behind him because maybe Pepito forgot to let go of his hand. Maybe.

But Captain Celbi doesn't say a thing. He doesn't pull his hand away, either. (He has to be soooo scared of Pepito!)

Pepito gets to the ship's roof and gasps, eyes flicking from the ship's big stick to the big wheel to the group of people watching Pepito and Captain Celbi back to the big stick.

There's another kid in the group of people, Pepito notices. He's glaring, arms crossed.

Pepito shrinks back and steps behind Captain Celbi; he may be evil, but this other kid seems scary. Cool, but scary.

"Everyone, meet Pepito," the captain announces. He's still holding Pepito's hand despite the stares, wow, he's tough! "Bad brought him up from underwater so he can learn how to be a pirate."

A woman in the group raises a hand. "Are we pirates now?"

Captain Celbi shrugs. "I guess. Can't be that hard, can it?"

What?

Pepito snaps his head up to stare at the captain in shock. What?

But...

Oh! They're lying. Just like Apa Roier said pirates do, they're all scumbags and liars!

That makes much more sense.

Pepito pokes his head out from behind Captain Celbi and offers the most evil smile he can muster. He even waves, evilly; to his confusion, most of the other pirates smile back. Except the kid, who huffs and looks away moodily.

(Captain Celbi is the captain, but this kid must be the boss. Hmm...)

"Baghera, can you help Pepito find a bunk downstairs?" Captain Celbi orders. "I need to finish taking inventory with Pac before we can get going."

The woman who had spoken up earlier grins and salutes, stepping forward and taking Pepito by the hand.

"Come on, Pepito," she says. "You can sleep near me. Unlike some people, I don't snore."

The captain starts shouting in protest, but Baghera just giggles and skips away with Pepito by her side.

As they head down into the bowels of the ship, Pepito takes one last look up at the sun. He waves goodbye to it.

(He just wishes that he got to say goodbye to Apa Roier...)

(Meanwhile, Bad hums as he tends to his plants in his garden. He's just returned from dropping Pepito off with Cellbit, and he's exhausted.

He doesn't look up as a shadow falls over him.

"What the fudge did you do to my Pepito?" Roier demands.

He levels his sword at Bad's Adam's apple; its point digs in slightly, drawing sickly green blood.

Bad calmly pulls his neck backwards.

"Look up," is all Bad says in response.

And that's when the shadow of Cellbit's ship passes over them. They'll have been sailing for, what, an hour now? Just long enough for Pepito to have gotten settled in. (Hopefully, Richarlyson hasn't gotten jealous yet...)

"Fuck," Roier swears. He drops his sword into the sand and runs his fingers through his hair, pacing through the water in frustration.

In a flash, he turns back to Bad and demands, "Me, too. Take me up, too."

Bad hums. "I don't know, you'll have to give something up."

"Yes, yes, I know, just- take this."

Roier points to his bottom-most pair of eyes. (Honestly, Bad hasn't figured out what the heck kind of fish he is.) Without those, he'll be down to two eyes, and he'll basically be blind.

Eh, it'll work.

"Oh, fine," Bad sighs. He gives Roier a look. "But we'll have to wait until they make port again. I can't just stick you up there like this, it'll scare him."

Roier frowns. "What?"

That settles Bad's suspicions, then. Roier really doesn't know what Pepito did, huh.

Well. He's going to find out.

Bad just hopes Roier doesn't scare the poor kid when he gets to the surface and realizes that Pepito's new best friend is Cellbit of all people. All those feelings, ew.)

-_-_-_-

A/N:

Hey guys!! PLEASE reblog this! And leave an ask or a comment or a tag or a whatever telling me your thoughts and questions! Let me know if you want more, because there is more!

#merpepito au #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#this was Long whoops #but be sure to reblog and stuff! i want people to read this cause i put a Lot of effort into it!!

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t0rturedangel · 4 months

Text

╭ . . . 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 ੭

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ; ♰ ৎ﹕𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴

Okay, before I start- i know that hazbin hotel has a lot of good ass songs, and I want to make own little custom songs but I cant write songs for shit however I can write poetry (not well but I'm trying) so instead of writing songs for you, I'll write shitty poetry that does not rhyme. Also sorry if my depictions of love aren't good- i have literally never been in love before, and if the ending is rushed, I'm not used to writing so much in one setting

➷ ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳＳＣＥＮＥ | ＮＥＸＴＳＣＥＮＥ

There once was an Cherubim angel,

so gentle and kind,

perched upon a cloud

You sat on a cloud, smiling to yourself as you watched over all the different angels talk to each other about their duties- heaven was perfect, no- no not just perfect, heaven was a utopia. No angel can do any wrong, it is only virtue that existed upon these clouds and you were among these creatures of purity, you were one of god's creations just as all the other's were.

The clouds around you were soft, almost as if they were made of the soft silk your robes were made of, they were formed to bring comfort to any angel that came in contact with them and while all angels were already joyful, the clouds merely helped them stary from sinful thoughts.

She waited for another angel,

a Seraphim named Lucifer,

a friend, so close to her

You wondered though, were was lucifer? He was always about yet you didn't have any idea on where or how to find him. In all honesty, you found Lucifer to be amazing- his ideas, imagination, creativity bought stars to your eyes (figuratively, you had no iris or pupil- your eyes, more specifically your sclera, were a soft yellow colour with white swirls decorating them), to you his words were so brilliant, other angels couldn't even begin to speak or think the way he does.

He always came up with new ideas, new creations him, you and the other angels can create- can look after and love. You couldn't help but indulge in his chats with you- adding onto his ideas in anyway you can and while you personally thought your ideas weren't as amazing as his, to Lucifer your ideas were flawless- he always said that.

Lucifer was brilliant, he truly was- you could never understand why the other angels despised his thoughts so much.

Perhaps, the cherubim was in love,

perhaps she enjoyed Lucifer's company

much more beyond just meer friendship.

Okay, you needed to slow down- you were always thinking how great he was, maybe you didn't just like him as a friend... just maybe you liked him a bit more. Though, that way of thinking should stop soon- after all you have angelic duties to do! there is no way you can just abandon them just because you adored Lucifer....'s ideas.

You took a breath and got on your feet, spreading your wings (you had four wings, two on each side) so you could take off and start your work, however when you were jus about to begin to fly a figure rushed to you- wrapping their arms around your torso.

The seraphim appeared,

all smiles and glee

he held his friend closely

with tender, with care

Lucifer came out of no where, though his presence was welcomed warmly by you : who held him back just as tight. " Luci! " you grinned letting go of him, he had gotten there just in time- it was almost like he knew you were about to fly off, " [name]! Ha ha! how are you? " he asked holding both of your hands- a dorky smile engraved onto his face " Where have you been? I was worried " that was half-true, there was no evil (what even was evil? you didn't know, it doesn't exist not yet ) but there was a high chance that Sera was telling him off again.

" How sweet, but don't worry I'm alright cherub " he brought your hands closer to him- something that grin he held could only grow as the seconds passed by, seeming like he wanted to say something " Luci- I know that look in your eye, you've being creating again! Tell me everything ", your own smile began to grow as you squeezed his hand.

" You know me too well! Okay, so i was thinking of trying to make [ creature ], sounds cool right? well guess what else! " and with that he began to ramble about his ideas once more, with you chirping in some of your own ideas which made Lucifer sound even happier.

The two angels were at peace,

within the company of each other-

did they love each other?

would they dare say it?

You flew around with Lucifer, laughing together while yelling out some nonsense that seemed to only make sense to you and him- just you and him. Though your fun was quick to end when the two of you reached the tallest cloud in all of heaven and the two of you- both out of breath- fell onto it. " That was fun! " you chuckled, still trying to catch your breath " yeah! I loved that " was the reply, then silence fell upon the two of you. Though it wasnt awkward silence, it never was when it came to [name] and Lucifer- it was comforting and peaceful.

Though this silence was broken quickly by you. Over the last few weeks, months you were coming to understand your feelings towards the seraphim, and while you could easily deny them- to avoid them and focus of everything but that but you just couldn't, you sucked with feelings especially hiding them! and plus, how could you live if you didn't tell Luci how you felt " Luci... I " love you, those words were suddenly lodged in your throat and you couldn't let them be said- be heard why did that happen, you were sure you could say them- hell you said them before to people who you see as family!, "sorry what i meant was I- " loved you for so long now, I love you and I don't think I can ever stop loving you " loved that too- it was so fun! "

She couldn't say it,

she was too scared to tell her dear Lucifer

of her true feelings... though did he feel the same?

What was wrong with you? You couldnt say it, why? You loved Lucifer- there you admitted it in your mind but you just cant say it to him. You sighed and stared at your mirror- looking over your face, your long hair (angels all had long hair, it was one of the things that they always cared for and almost showed off)

Of course he did,

how could he not?

he loved her more than anything

she listen to his ideas, she added onto them

she never hated them, never judged.

but then, the high order formed the earth-

Adam and Lilith.

" [name? " Lucifer walked over to you, a smile on his face- though he always smiled, this smile seemed different in a way but you couldn't place your finger on it however that did not stop you from returning his smile " Luci! hey! " you grinned as he stopped just in front of you " [name]? do you know the two humans? " " Adam and Lilith? " " yes! Me and Lilith... are in love!"

...

he.. he loved the human Lilith? The one who ran from Adam (you heard of this from Sera, and while you acted disappointed you agreed with Lilith's decision of leaving Adam, you would have too), he found her and fell for her? .. how? she hasn't even existed for that long! How could you possibly fall that quick? it was impossible right?

It took you a few seconds to compose yourself so you can smile for Lucifer, though it didnt feel right " That's... brilliant Luci! I'm so happy you found love- how does it feel like? " and with that question you bared the suffering of listening to Lucifer, the one you loved, gush about Lilith, and you were almost envious of Lilith- almost hated her, you never met her and now dear god you probably don't ever want to. You had lost your Lucifer to her, though... you suppose he was never yours.

and with that,

those confessions of requited love

would forever be sealed away,

locked behind their grinning lips

though the perish of love was not their only problem.

Lucifer went too far,

he created evil through the second bride,

she bit the apple, she took the fall

and Lucifer and his love was to blame

though you would not let him be punished alone.

You too were part of this.

" No! " You screamed as you ran to the shaking Lucifer's side, almost trying to shield him from the anger of the higher order of angels. " Leave him be! He has done nothing wrong! " you defended him, still caring over your friend. Nevertheless, the angels did not listen to your words in the way you intended- they saw this as a further act of aggression from you as you also had a part to play in coursing dear Eve into biting the apple from the tree of knowledge of good or evil, you lead her to the tree, plucked the apple with Lucifer in tow and let her bite it. Now you and Lucifer were being punished, Lucifer getting the harsher side of it.

The angel was thrown to the depths,

to a world name named Hell,

where the only side of humans Lucifer was granted to see,

was the side he created.

You were also punished to fall,

tho to hell was too much they said

so you fell the half way

now for ever trapped in a dead land-

forever banished to be alone.

𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 ⠆ ⸺ @reverse-soe @jellibean2018 @aliazy @sugarrush-blush @littledolly2345 @immahuman @marsilis

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soulrph · 10 months

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chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence starters #dialogue prompts #writing prompts

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hyypnotix-writes · 9 months

Text

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.

One perfect night.

That’s all it took.

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since.

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.

It's not that you haven’t tried.

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right?

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you.

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.

It was just one night.

It was one perfect night.

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.

“What?”

Oh ..maybe she is!

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?”

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?”

“Do you find every woman attractive?”

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?”

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?”

“No. Not once. Why?”

“Never ever?”

“Y/N!”

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.

“About women?” She queries.

“About ..why women. What it is about them.”

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.

“Stop doing that!”

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!”

“I need your help.”

“I don’t care!”

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.

“Nothing. I was just—”

“Thinking about women?”

“No!”

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.

“Why? For a man?”

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.”

“..and ..was it?”

“Mhmm.”

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.

“Y/N?”

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?”

See what I mean? What the hell?

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.

Did you?

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?”

“..we broke up.”

Shit. She would make this all about herself.

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.”

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.”

“Well, thank fuck for that!”

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!”

“She was horrible!”

“You could’ve said.”

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.”

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?”

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.

“Where are you going in Spain?”

“Barcelona.”

“Why?”

“Football.”

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.”

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.”

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.”

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.”

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.”

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.

But what if it’s a sign?

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.

“You’re still going with that?”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.”

“I hadn’t met her before.”

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.”

“I don’t mind doing that.”

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh.

What’s the worst that can happen?

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.

Mm.

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.”

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.”

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects.

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.

It’s her. It has to be her.

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.

“….Hi.”

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from.

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.”

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?”

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.”

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.

“What are you doing here?” She questions.

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face.

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck.

“Mhmm.”

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.”

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare?

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?”

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.”

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.

Alexia.

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again.

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it.

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else?

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.”

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.”

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?”

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?”

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.”

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”

“Uh oh!”

“What?”

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..”

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.”

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!”

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.”

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!”

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.”

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.”

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?”

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?”

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?”

“Hm?”

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—”

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.

“I really missed you too.”

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other.

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit!

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head.

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.”

“Just don’t let her burn it!”

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!”

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.”

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her.

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.

“Long day?” You ask.

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?”

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm.

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.

“I was given it.”

“By?”

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.”

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.

“What do you mean?”

“Going for the best player on the team.”

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.

“..What do you mean?”

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible.

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.

No.

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you.

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.

“Who is Alexia Putellas?”

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.”

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele.

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all.

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.

She really is absolutely everything.

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!”

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.

“You can’t wear it!”

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.”

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?”

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.”

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine

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