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hyypnotix-writes · 9 months

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Part 3

~ howdy! it's here ..I don't fully know how I feel about it, I might keep editing it at another point, but I've taken the piss with keeping you waiting for so long, I just want you to have something ~

~ it's long - I thought the other two were bad enough but this is longer than both of them combined. it's 26k words so I'm very sorry, and I do understand if that's too much for any of you ~

~ I don't know how to break it up to make it easier, or more fun, for you to read. I hope it doesn't put all of you off, but unless you're an incredibly quick reader ..you will probably have to read this one when you genuinely have nothing else to do ~

~ I'm not sure how well this chapter will go down, this could well be the end of our little journey together ~

~ I've had a lot of fun writing for all of you if it is, despite me stressing myself out with it! you've all been very kind and lovely, and however you've enjoyed any part of my writing, I've really appreciated every interaction ~

~ whether you liked, reblogged, or sent me a little message - every single one of you has made me smile, so I really hope this doesn't disappoint any of you too much! ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

Part 1 Part 2

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Rain is absolutely not what you signed up for when you agreed to come to Barcelona with your sister. Travelling all the way to sunny Spain, and bringing the bloody British weather with you as you go? What a horrible little joke.

You’re not going to be the sun-kissed envy of your friends if it stays like this, you’ll be going back to London even paler than you were when you left it.

The rainfall dribbles down the outside of the window, opposite where you rest your forehead, and a mournful sigh escapes your lips as you look out at the abysmal sight of the city streets down below. You draw a smiley face with your finger, where your breath fogged up the glass, and you try to mirror the expression on your own face as you extract yourself from the pane and flop back down onto the bed with a very dramatic groan.

It’s already been one of the longest mornings of your life, and it’s only just turned 10:00.

Sleep eluded you once again last night. Every hour, on the hour, you watched the clock tick over. Seconds suspending themselves in the air, minutes moving like molasses, as you counted infinite sheep in your head. Time flies when you’re having fun, as they say, but boy does it drag its heels when you’re praying for it to soar.

Despite your fun little belief that you might’ve finally been sleeping soundly last night, it didn’t actually come to fruition. It turns out that it’s quite difficult for someone to fall asleep after finding out that the woman they’re falling for has secretly been a famous sporting icon the whole time that they’ve known her. Who’d have thought?

It’s still a little hard for you to wrap your head around. The fact that she’s a bit famous, and her celebrity status stems from football of all things. Even with detective skills as exceptional as yours, that possibility never crossed your mind.

Exhaustion is starting to plague your body after so many restless nights, and the antisocial behaviour you’re demonstrating because of it, isn’t largely appreciated by your sister. Abandoning Em to go and have breakfast on your own, before she had chance to wake up and join you, wasn’t a deliberate act of cruelty from you, you genuinely thought you were doing her a favour by letting her have a lie in.

You are on holiday together, though, so she didn’t fully enjoy waking up alone in your shared hotel room. She made that much abundantly clear to you, with the countless strongly worded text messages that you received as you awkwardly traipsed back upstairs to apologise to her.

A silent and forceful barging into your shoulder was all that greeted you, as you returned to the room and she made her exit from it.

It’s unfortunate. She’s in a pissy mood, the weather’s in a pissy state, and you have to go to a pissing football match later on this evening. What a cruel world it is that you’re living in.

It’s very unnatural that your one saving grace of the day is the pissing football match that you have to attend. That being one of the highlights of your holiday, really won’t make much sense at all to any of your friends when you tell them about it.

You stare longingly at your phone for a while, tapping your fingers over your torso as you wait for Em’s return from breakfast. You let out a soft sigh as you gaze up at the ceiling, before gently closing your eyes, in the futile hopes of having a quick nap. The darkness behind your eyelids allows your mind to wander all too freely. Which it very quickly does, to more thoughts of Alexia. The same way that it has done, since the very first moment that she so casually waltzed into your life.

This morning, however, it’s not thoughts of confusion, that cloud your brain. Sexuality concerns and hopeless pining are far from the forefront of your mind. It’s excitement that envelops you, anticipation. The fact that you’ve found your impossible-to-find woman, and that she’s no longer impossible for you to find at all. She may very well be one of the easiest people to locate, in all of Barcelona, as it happens. Knowing that you get to see her, at least one more time again this evening, even if it’s only from a distance, is a promise that has an involuntary smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and your heart doing cartwheels inside of your chest.

There’s the distinct feeling of potential that hangs in the air for tonight. You can’t pretend that you’re not feeling hopeful about seeing her a little bit more up-close-and-personal than just from your seat in the stands. You’d quite like to be able to congratulate her, if the scoreline goes in her favour.

You pull the neck of Alexia’s sweatshirt up over your face, in an attempt to fully bring the possibilities to life in the playground of your imagination, and you let out another sigh as you rest your hand over your stomach.

It really doesn’t smell enough like her anymore, but it still your favourite item of clothing, as it is still very much hers. It’s the most effective key for unlocking your memories with her, and you breathe it in deeply, as you let your thoughts of her consume you.

You really are feeling desperately needy, you’ve already been in this position once this morning.

It’s not a hunger that’s ever infiltrated your body and mind quite so fervidly. You’re not a particularly clingy person, you’re not usually so obsessive, or lustful. You’re certainly hot-blooded, and you know how to enjoy yourself, but there’s never normally this type of craving in you for another person.

Having your mind be so fanatical about someone else really isn’t something that’s ever overcome you quite so powerfully. It’s a rare sort of desire in you, that only she’s been able to spark, and it’s proving very difficult to satiate it.

Your hand wanders slightly, as she takes over your head, the tips of your fingers trailing the waistband of your shorts, before the excessively loud opening and closing of the hotel room door, abruptly halts you from getting too invested in your fantasies.

You turn your attention to your sister, removing your fingers with an unfortunate twang, as the elastic hits back down your skin, and you slowly free your face as she obliviously trudges across the room.

You offer up an apologetic smile for abandoning her earlier, as she places her coffee on the table, and, with a piece of toast dangling from her mouth, she smiles back at you, the power of a full stomach seemingly diluting her previous feelings of anger.

Her smile quickly contorts into a mischievous little grin, and there’s a glint in her eye, as she pounces on the bed.

“Are you good?” You chuckle, as she rummages next to you, but she doesn’t gift you with any verbal reply. It’s your phone that she’s interested in, you realise, and you hold out your hand, for her to return it to you. “Behave.” You warn her, but she only giggles at the unlocked screen and shakes her head at you.

“Do you have a new girl crush?” She mocks, goading you as she waves the device in front of your face. “Big into Alexia Putellas, are we?”

“I was just ..familiarising myself.” You tell her, shuffling yourself a little, as a soft pink hue rushes to your cheeks.

“Is that what you’re calling it?” She scoffs. “You know, I also tend to search for someone’s back tattoos when I’m trying to memorise their face!”

“I was— I ..can I have my phone back, please?” You sigh, giving up on any attempt at trying to defend yourself.

You don’t need to defend yourself to her. You like Alexia’s tattoos, and simply wanting to see them again, is merely an appreciation of art. That’s entirely innocent enough. It wasn’t a perverse search; it didn’t come from a sinful place.

The fact that it immediately triggered flashbacks to you tracing over all of them with your lips, really wasn’t exactly your fault. It was unintentional, an almost reflex response from you.

Letting yourself get mildly carried away with remembering how Alexia had kissed along your own body and how her lips had this wonderfully curious tendency of just always roaming down. The little knot that tied itself in your stomach, and your breath hitching as you relived the eye contact that she made with you before she had your back arching under her.

That’s all a little less innocent, maybe, but it still wasn’t deliberate. It couldn’t be helped; it was just an automatic reimagining of events.

You’re allowed to do that, they’re your memories. It’s entirely permissible for you to take a little journey through them every once in a while. It’s been over a month for you, and you have some overdue frustrations. That’s not a crime, you’re not a pervy creep.

“You have a real thing for Spanish women at the minute, huh?” Em recognises, pulling you from your dirty thoughts again as she drops your phone down onto your stomach and takes another bite of her breakfast.

“Mhmm. I quite like her tattoos.” You tell her casually, and she smiles back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Whenever you’re ready for me to do your next one, let me know!”

“Mm.” You mumble, as you feel the ink on your rib cage begin to sear under her stare.

You really do like tattoos, but there’s a reason that you only have the one on you. Your distinct lack of body art probably doesn’t seem like the greatest advertisement for your sister’s abilities, but it’s your own indecisiveness, and aversion to needles, that’s stopped you from getting too many, not her deficiency of talent. Maybe you’re a little bit squeamish, but it really did hurt.

“You’re a big baby.” She laughs at you as you rub at the side of your body, trying to relieve the faint burning of your skin, and she claps the remnants of toast crumbs from her hands onto the floor, as she lays next to you. “What do you fancy doing today?” She asks you. “I’m sorry about the shit weather, that’s kinda fucked with your tanning plans.”

“It’s not really your fault, but I was going to ask for your help, actually. If you’re feeling a little guilty?”

“Oh?” She turns her head, furrowing her brow at you, her interest piqued, and you let out a sigh as you swallow your pride.

“I was hoping, maybe you’d help me learn some football things.”

“Football things?” She scoffs, but you don’t let her mockery deter you, as you nod at her decidedly.

“Mhmm.”

The back of Em’s hand very quickly finds itself pressed against your forehead with a quiet little smack, and you scrunch up your face in confusion as she frowns down at you.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, yes!” You sigh, pushing her arm away from you to stop her from checking your temperature. “I’d just like to know some things. Stop me from going into the match so blind.”

She narrows her eyes, considering you for a moment. “What do you want to know?” She asks, and you wince at the freedom she’s granted you.

“Just like ..players’ names, probably? I think that’d be helpful. Maybe some basic rules.” You shrug.

She continues frowning at you, and you buckle a little under the intensity of her stare.

“What?”

“You’ve never cared before..” she reminds you, the suspicion in her eyes only increasing, as you release a small huff through your nose.

“That’s not really true..” You try to start arguing, but it’s a completely pointless activity, you’re both far too aware that you’re completely lying.

Football has existed for your entire life, and you’ve been interested in it, a grand total, of zero times, before now. You find out that it’s Alexia’s favourite thing to do, and you suddenly want to know everything you can about it. It's entirely tragic of you, and it's too convoluted of a confession to share with your sister right now. She was useless enough when you admitted to a single kiss with another woman, trying to explain all of this mayhem would absolutely break her little brain.

“I’ve definitely cheered with you a couple of times!” You offer and she shakes her head, laughing loudly at you.

“No no no!” She states. “Quietly saying ‘woo team’ when I tell you someone’s scored, is not cheering with me! I told you Rachel Daly scored once, and you still threw your fist in the air!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“She plays for Aston Villa!” She points out, smacking your shoulder, and you let out another tiny huff. “I could tell you that Emma Hayes had scored, and you wouldn’t question it.”

“Why would that be weird, is she the goalkeeper?”

“For fuck’s sake!” She sighs, scraping her hands down over her face. “She’s the manager.”

Yikes. You really are an idiot.

“Well.. okay..” you wince, “and that’s why I need your help.”

“Why does it matter?” She asks. “This’ll be the only match you ever watch.”

“Maybe, but I quite like the woman who gave me that shirt.” You admit, gazing over at it as you play with the hem of the sweatshirt you’re wearing. “I don’t want to let her down by knowing nothing.”

“Will she be there today?”

“Mhmm.”

Em contemplates for a moment, and you know that look in her eyes, she’s about to cave in. You sit up on the bed, readying yourself to deliver the final blow to her composure.

“Please?” You say, pouting with a perfectly rehearsed, quivering bottom lip.

“Nooo! Not the puppy dog eyes.” She groans, averting her gaze from you to try and stay strong. You don’t back down, and she lets out a pathetic cry of defeat when she catches your expression again.

“There’s not much else for us to do until this rain stops.” You point out innocently.

“That’s not true! There’s that aquarium you wanted to go to?”

It’s a valid point from her, but rather incredibly, it’s no longer as appealing an option to you. You want to embrace football today. It’s important to Alexia, and she’s becoming important to you. As such, football ..is also important ..to ..well, no. Let’s not push it. She isn’t your girlfriend; you don’t need to be football’s number one fan just yet. Football will be tolerated by you, until further notice.

You plead to your sister again, adding a small sniffle after your words for extra impact, and her resolve is positively crumbling in front of you.

“You’re really serious, you want to learn about football?”

“Mhmm!” You grin, excitedly crossing your legs, to fully show that you mean business. “Please!”

“Fine.” She chuckles, rolling her eyes at your childish little excitement.

“Thank you!” You grab her head to place a kiss to the top of it, and she quickly pushes you off of her. “I’d just like to know enough, though.” You clarify, before she starts getting too carried away with her lesson planning. “Just enough to stop me from looking like a fool.”

“Well, steady on.” She snorts, with a roll of her eyes as she reaches for her sketch pad from the nightstand. “We’ve only got a day!”

There’s a lot of information for you to learn it turns out, and you really hope Alexia’s worth all of this relentless studying you’ve subjected yourself to.

It isn’t just her teammates that you end up memorising. Em also makes sure to teach you some footballing fundamentals, what ‘being offside’ really means, how the Champions League works, and she takes a great twisted pleasure in letting you know that tonight’s game of all games, could go to extra time and penalties, if no side is able to score more sodding goals than the other.

You’re definitely being tested. 90 minutes is all that you signed up for when you agreed to watch the football, not a possible 120 with the looming threat of a penalty shootout attached to it. It’s entirely far too much. Why the hell is this Alexia’s favourite thing to do? Why are you still so into her? This is unbearable.

It proves a little hard for you to keep concentrating on all of the facts that your sister keeps throwing at you, but she very quickly realises, that letting you watch some of Alexia’s highlights at irregular intervals, keeps you from getting too bored with everything else.

It quite amusing to you, to see Alexia wearing the captain’s armband, if you can believe. This nightclub nuisance, taking on a leadership role? That doesn’t seem right at all.

Club captain, best on the team, best in the world? Turns out, it’s you that has the impeccable taste in women.

She’s very sexy in her little football kit and watching her kick a ball around is surprisingly entertaining. She’s also very good, even you can see that, and the fact that she’ll occasionally lift her shirt when she’s a little frustrated with herself? Well, replaying that in slow motion is entirely fine and acceptable.

There’s no real heterosexual explanation for your enjoyment of it, but you can pretend it’s merely an appreciation of fitness for you to keep pausing all of the videos and zooming in on her body.

It’s not something that you ask to learn about, but Em can’t help mentioning all of Alexia’s achievements to you. It’s very fun to find out about everything, and there’s a genuine sense of pride in you for all of her plentiful accolades.

It does feel a little misplaced, perhaps. You probably still don’t know her well enough to be just as proud of her as you are, you’ve certainly not known her long enough to be quite so pleased for her.

It’s also slightly daunting, maybe, realising how decorated she is. Finding out about her FIFA’s best awards, the World Cup, her consecutive Ballon d’Ors.

This is a very highly celebrated woman that you’ve been mingling with.

She’s widely regarded as the greatest women’s player, of all time. It’s not just your sister that’s been saying it, Alexia’s been awarded for it, on the television, in front of the whole world. There’s a mural of her in Barcelona, a viewpoint that’s been named after her, and it turns out, that there’s a fairly huge amount of people that really enjoy calling her La bloody Reina. She’s revered by these people, almost worshipped.

You’re not letting it get to you too much. Yes, she’s widely adored, she’s won pretty much every single award it’s possible for her to achieve, and she’s only just turned 30. She’s famous and well-loved and you’re just a little nobody from London, but you’re not letting that get to you too much.

That probably wouldn’t be very wise. That would bring questions into your head, and make you start doubting yourself. That’s not a fun thing for you to do. Why would you do that?

Don’t do that, you’ll start spiralling. It doesn’t take much to get you overthinking. You spent the past month questioning your sexuality because of one single night with another woman. Don’t let yourself worry about it, that won’t end very well for you. Don’t let her success in her career start clouding who she is to you. She’s still just the confusing lime woman, at the end of the day.

Don’t start thinking of her as Barcelona’s sweetheart, Alexia Putellas. That’s putting her on a pedestal that you’ll never be able to reach her on up there. That’s very careless of you, to leave her up there on it without you sitting next to her, don’t do that. She’s just a woman. A very beautiful and successful woman. That’s fine, there’s lots of them about. Calm down.

The rain finally relents a few hours before the big match, and while it doesn’t really grant you a huge amount of time to do anything too adventurous, it is a relief to realise that you won’t be getting completely drenched as you watch Alexia play.

Em makes a rather hasty escape to the beach, as soon as the sun makes its long-awaited appearance. She hasn’t enjoyed your little study session quite as much as you have. You really just can’t win with this woman. She’s grumpy when you hate football, she’s grumpy when you’re a fan of it. She really just loves being grumpy with everything.

Your constant refusal to be taught anything about the Chelsea players probably didn’t help you to keep her happy, though. Your insistence that Barcelona is the far superior team, didn’t go down very well with her either. Your new ‘girl crush’ on Alexia Putellas was something she began to find really irritating. You were almost actively trying to wind her up, actually. Maybe you did deserve her abandonment, looking back. You were lucky the rain kept her about for as long as it did.

She didn’t ask if you wanted to join her at the beach, but you’d have decided to stay where you are anyway. Making sure you really have learnt enough for tonight, is your number one priority at the moment. Quizzing yourself and rewatching a few more compilation videos, is far more important to you than the city around you. The tan you actually came out to Spain for really is taking a hit today, but you can enjoy Barcelona a bit more tomorrow.

You’re having a small dilemma in the hotel bathroom, as you’re getting yourself ready for the game. It’s an escalating concern for you, and one that your sister is growing increasingly frustrated with you for. You’re going to be late to the match if you don’t start getting a move on.

Em barges into the bathroom, startling you as you study yourself in the mirror, and you narrow your eyes at her reflection as she stands in the doorway, staring at you.

“What’s taking you so long?” She asks, with a very clear tone of exasperation.

“I’m debating.” You tell her thoughtfully, ignoring her choice of intonation completely, by offering her an innocent little smile, as she lets out a very long and loud groan behind you.

“Of course, you are.” She mutters, and she leans against the doorframe, preparing herself for you to begin your impending little spiel.

“Right. So, I want to have the whole shirt on display.” You begin, gesturing down the front of your body and tapping your fingers to the lettering across your back.

“Of course, you do.”

“Right. So, I’m thinking, hair up,” you explain, demonstrating your vision as you carefully scrape your hair up into a ponytail, before narrowing your eyes at your sister again, to see if she can also see the problem with your plan, “buuut..”

“Is that a love bite?!” She exclaims, rushing towards you and tugging at your shirt collar to examine the light bruising on your neck.

“Ex-actly!” You sigh in defeat, letting your hair cascade back down as you grab your makeup bag again, to have another go at concealing the little gift that Alexia left on you yesterday. “I knew I hadn’t done a good enough job with it.”

“How did you get a love bite?!” She asks, still clearly shocked by your rather tame, levels of promiscuity, as she pushes you away from her in disgust.

“The usual way.”

“A man sucked on your neck?”

“Is that how you usually get your love bites?”

She pulls an immature face at you and flips you off in the mirror. “I’m 24!” She says, indignant. “I haven’t had a love bite in years!”

“Well, that’s very sad and tragic of you.” You tell her with a sympathetic pout. “I can only apologise that you’re so prudish and boring, I hope you’re able to recover from that soon!”

“You’re in a very annoying mood.” She recognises with a sigh, frowning at your reflection as you carry on with your camouflage attempt. “We’ve only been here a day! I thought I was supposed to be the slutty sibling!”

“You are the slutty sibling.” You remind her with a chuckle. “You were in a relationship just last week, and I’ve already had to make breakfast for three different girls since you broke up!”

She smiles at you, very proudly, because she’s very very gross, and has absolutely no shame in it.

“It’s no wonder you looked so happy last night, then.” She says, carefully inspecting your neck for you. “That’s covered it, you’re fine.”

“Mm. Thank you very kindly!” You tell her, giving her a great big kiss on the cheek for her assistance, that she very quickly rubs back off again.

“Be less annoying!” She begs.

“I will not be making any promises!” You warn her, smiling widely as you tie your hair up and give yourself another once over. “How are we looking?” You ask, giving her a quick twirl.

“Traitorous.” She grumbles.

“Perfect!” You squeal, excitedly grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the hotel room with you.

Your enthusiasm doesn’t die out at all, as you clamber into the taxi with your sister, and, as luck would have it, your driver is an even bigger culer than you are. You’re able to have a pretty in-depth conversation with him, what with all of the new knowledge that you’ve so recently acquired, and Em’s just ecstatic for the pair of you.

It isn’t a long drive from the hotel to the stadium, but you do clearly make quite the impression on the driver, as you end up having to reject, with as much politeness as possible, his invitation of a date for after the game.

You’re really hoping to have other plans tonight, with some much-preferred female company.

“He’s not ugly.” Em informs you quietly as you get out of the car, and she certainly isn’t wrong.

‘Not ugly’ is just about as big a compliment as Em will ever give, regarding a man. So, you can rest assured that he is actually a very good-looking gentleman. She narrows her eyes at you suspiciously as you close the door to the vehicle, and you furrow your brow back at her.

“What?”

“You can agree to go out with him tonight, you don’t need to look after me.”

You shake your head at her, with a mild grimace, muttering out an ‘mm’, as your only offering of an explanation for your lack of interest in him. “No doubt you’ll be going home with someone else after the match?” You check, trying to switch the focus back to her.

“Naturally.” She winks. “It’s been an unsuccessful holiday otherwise!”

There's still an unfortunate level of determination in your sister to get you a date for tonight, and you have to really insist, that you simply don’t want the driver’s number. She eventually reluctantly agrees to let him take off, giving him an apologetic nod as he rolls up the window, and you give her an uncomfortable smile as she turns her attention back to you.

“I really think you should be getting back on the horse.” She encourages, still eyeing you with suspicion as you start the short walk to the stadium. “You can’t waste your life pining after Jamie forever.”

“I’m really not doing that.” You tell her with a sigh. “I just didn’t want to go out on a date with him.”

“Do you already have plans with hickey-man?” She giggles.

“Please don’t call them that,” you chuckle, “and no ..not technically.”

“But that’s who you’re hoping to find again?”

“Mhmm.” You mumble, trying to stifle the smile that’s pulling at your lips.

“Is he nice?”

“Mhmm.”

“Is he attractive?”

“Mhmm.”

“Do you like him?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“..Mhmm.” You reply again, and your slightly nervous smile fully takes over your face.

“Oh ..you really like him. After just one love bite?” She questions, narrowing her eyes at you again. “You don’t usually fall so quickly.” She tells you, and you can only shrug at the suggestive tone to her voice.

“I don’t really know what you want me to say to that?”

“I just ..want you to be careful.” She explains. “I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“You were just trying to bag me a date with him?”

“Yeah, but as a one-night thing.” She clarifies. “Falling in love with a random Spanish man isn’t the best way of getting over your ex.”

“I’m not in love with them, and I’m not ..really still trying to get over Jamie.”

“Hm. Good. He was a prat.” She reminds you with a rather disgusted looking frown at the memory of him.

“Thanks, Em.”

“Ugly cheating bast—”

“Okay, Em. Enough.”

“But he was an ugly cheating bas—“

“Enough!”

“Sorry. He was a horrible dickhead, though.”

“I know.” You sigh. “I get it, thanks.”

“He still gets to you?” She realises, noticing that your hands have balled themselves into tight fists, and your stomach turns slightly as you shrug your shoulders at her.

“A little.” You admit, as a less exciting reimagining of events begins to torment your brain. “I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, only to find out he’d been sleeping around for two years.”

“Two years?” She asks, eyes going wide, and you kick yourself for saying too much.

“I thought I already told you that.”

“No ..you told me he’d been with a few women. Two fucking years?”

“Please don’t do the maths, you’ll hate him even more.”

You attempt to walk away, already having had enough of the conversation, but you don’t get very far.

“You are joking.” She says, grabbing your arm to stop your escape attempt. “He cheated on you, because Mum died?”

“Not because Mum died, you idiot. Even he wouldn’t be that foul.”

“But it’s linked?”

“Enough, please.”

“No. What the fuck, Y/N?”

“That’s enough, okay. I just want to enjoy the match. We can talk about it later.”

“We can talk about it now! I have the tickets,” she reminds you, with a very clear anger brewing in her, “you’re not getting in there without me! Why the fuck would he cheat on you aft—”

“Because I didn’t really fancy having sex with him straight after.” You interrupt, in a hushed tone, trying to stop her from causing a scene. “I didn’t fancy having it for a while, he clearly had ..needs.”

“Don’t justify it.”

“I’m not ..but ..I understand why he did it. I practically pushed him into the arms of other women.”

“That’s disgusting, Y/N. You can’t really be blaming yourself for it?”

“Well ..I don’t know..” You mumble.

“He cheated on you for two years, because you didn’t want to sleep with him for a bit, and you think that’s okay?”

“That’s not what I said. I just ..get it.”

You turn away from her again, to carry on with the walk and she hurries after to you to keep in step, not really content in letting this godforsaken conversation die out just yet.

“That’s really the excuse he used?” She asks.

“That’s why it started, apparently. There was obviously ..something else, for him to want to carry on doing it.” You admit, fidgeting with your fingers uncomfortably as you start thinking. “Maybe I was ..missing something that he liked or ..not doing something he wanted me to. I—” you let out a sigh, shaking your head, “..it really doesn’t matter, okay? Please, that’s enough. I honestly haven’t been thinking about him, I don’t want to start again now.”

“I’m sorry.” She tells you, with a clear look of remorse, and you give her a light nod with a tight-lipped smile in an attempt to ease her guilt.

You carry on your walk for only a few paces before realising Em is no longer travelling with you, and you turn back to find her staring at her feet. “What are you doing?” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers and thumb.

She taps her toes to the ground a few times, before lifting her head and approaching you with a real sense of purpose. “Here,” she says, handing you a small piece of paper, “in case you can’t find hickey-man.” She tells you, and you do let yourself chuckle a little at Alexia’s unfortunate new nickname as you unfurl the note.

“You got his number for me? I really don’t need this.” You sigh. You hold the paper out to return to her, but she pushes it back to you.

“I think you do.” She tells you earnestly. “I don’t think it’s good for you to keep getting hung up on people. First Italian-man, now hickey-man. You were even working yourself up about one kiss with that Spanish woman.” She rolls her eyes at you, before giving you a sincere look of concern. “I know you fall hard, but you don’t usually fall fast. It's weird, and it’s not like you.” She explains, placing her hands on your arms, trying to get you to listen to her better. “I think you should have a proper meaningless night with someone.” She suggests with a shrug “He’s not ugly, and you’re not interested. That’s perfect one-night stand material! You're welcome!”

“Fine ..thanks.” You mutter, giving her a little nod in defeat as you stare at the number in your hand.

A meaningless night with a stranger really isn’t what you’re after, but you’re not about to fight her on it now. It’s not an ideal conversation to have just had, really. Your sister isn’t exactly calculated enough to have done it deliberately, she’s not trying to upset you because your footballing-happiness was winding her up too much.

It’s frustrating from her, but she’s genuinely concerned about you, and maybe she has a reason to be. Maybe you have been ignoring some things about yourself, refusing to confront a few little issues that are bubbling under the surface.

The ending of your relationship isn’t super ancient history, and you were with him for an unfortunately excessive amount of time. Meaningless hookups were exactly what you were preparing yourself for before Alexia ended up being your first one and ruining the rest of your plans.

You do know that you’re not letting yourself get hung up over three separate people, though. Italian-man, hickey-man and Spanish-woman are all one person, and letting yourself get so hung up on Alexia as quickly as you are, is fine. Probably. That’s not really a cause for concern.

Right?

Of course, you’ve still spent less than 24 hours with her, there’s probably still lots of things you don’t know about each other. You have shared some pretty intimate details about yourselves together already, though, and she doesn’t feel like a rebound, as such. That would be grotesquely underselling the connection between you both.

She is a woman, which is still new to you, and you really don’t usually fall so quickly for people. It took that bellend over six months to finally wear you down for a date. All Alexia needed to do was hold out a lime for you, to get herself wedged inside of your head.

Don’t let yourself think about it too hard, you’ll do yourself a mischief. You’re just here to watch some football. You’re here to watch the girl you like, play a bit of football.

Let’s not overthink, it isn’t good for you. It will only lead to questions and concerns, and that’s not what you need right now. Let’s have fun!

The atmosphere around the stadium is quite the riot, and it’s very effective in distracting you. There’s flares being let off, the sound of trumpets and drums, there’s colourful smoke everywhere, the most enormous flags you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s like a little carnival, and it’s invigorating, letting yourself get swept up in the excitement of it all.

You receive a tremendous amount of friendly looks, solely because of the badge over your heart and the name proudly on display on your back and noticing that your sister isn’t shown the same courtesy for wearing her Chelsea shirt, really only adds to your enjoyment of the occasion.

Em drags you through the large flock of fans, trying to make sure that you don’t get separated from each other on your way into the stadium, and you keep offering up apologies on her behalf, as she carelessly mows people down for you. She is quite the woman on a mission.

You opt to keep your head down, a little embarrassed by your sister’s rudeness, but even as you make an effort to avoid making eye contact with all of the disgruntled supporters that she keeps barging through, there is one thing that you do struggle to avoid seeing, with some of the Barcelona fans.

An overwhelmingly impressive amount of them, also have ‘ALEXIA’ on their shirts.

This doesn’t come as a complete shock to you. She is the best player on the team, after all. There is something about seeing her name plastered over quite so many strangers’ backs, however, that has sent your heart racing.

This turnout of people is undoubtedly nothing compared to the millions of followers that you found out she has on Instagram yesterday, but it’s a very different feeling, seeing her fame condensed into a little figure on social media, than it is, to actually seeing so many of them in person. It’s much harder for you to ignore the countless amount of admirers that she has, when you keep physically bumping into all of them.

“Are you good?” Em asks, as you find yourself frozen in the crowd, staring at the back of another person’s shirt.

“Hm? Yeah, sorry.” You mutter, giving your head a shake, before letting yourself get dragged along again. “She’s very ..popular.”

“Putellas?” She checks, and you can only nod back at her, still a little dumbfounded by it all. “Well, yeah. Obviously!” She snickers. “Come on!”

Maybe it’s pride that you’re feeling. Knowing you’ve been spending a bit of time with someone so well-liked. That’s very nice for you, that’s entirely enjoyable and fun. It doesn’t need to be anything other than that. What good would that do for you?

Perhaps there's a slight nervous tension in your stomach, at seeing her name absolutely everywhere. That’s probably understandable and fine. You knew she was famous, but that’s still a little confounding to actually play witness to. No one’s going to hold that against you, it’s okay to be a little overwhelmed by it all.

It’s a new reality for you. It makes sense that that would be accompanied with a new feeling too. Anxiety isn’t something that’s really presented itself to you when thinking of Alexia before now. Of course it isn't, why would it have been?

Picturing little scenarios with her in your mind was fun, it was silly. It didn’t really mean anything when you were never going to find her again. You didn’t need to go putting doubts about yourself in imaginary-Alexia’s head, that wouldn’t keep things very fun and silly at all.

There are a few doubts about yourself in your own head now, perhaps. Seeing as you have found her again, you’re falling for her, and she’s clearly not the little nobody that you thought you’d entangled yourself with, but that’s probably fine. It’ll be a temporary thing. Let’s not worry about it right this second. Let’s just enjoy the game instead!

It really isn’t wise for you to start stewing on things. You really will start spiralling.

How could you not?

If you start letting yourself think too hard about all the things that you were lacking, and what you simply couldn’t offer to keep a pathetic pig of a man satisfied, and you really start allowing yourself to question why you weren’t good enough for him, that isn’t going to put you in a very good mindset when seeing all these fans that Alexia has.

Her supporters aren’t limited to just little kids or grown men. There’s a lot of women here, also sporting her name. It isn’t necessarily the case that all of these women are gay, that’s not really how watching women’s football works. She can have straight women being her fans too.

Some of them are probably gay, though, aren’t they? Lots of the ones that are gay, with her name on them, might have a little crush on her. It’s very likely that absolutely none of them will have had to do research all day to make sure that they knew what was going on this evening. All of them will have already known everything. They’ll be genuinely into football, genuine fans of Alexia.

Gorgeous, confidently gay, and really into football. Those are the women that surround you right now. That’s fine. What’s wrong with that?

Why are you letting yourself worry? Why are you letting them get to you? Because they make more sense for her? Because they’re better for her? Because you’re not a fan of football?

Alexia already knows that, she didn’t walk out on you because of it.

She did giggle a few times at your idiocy, though, didn’t she? So, she probably did think you were a little foolish. She would presumably think it was a bit lame of you, to have spent quite so much time studying for a football match. Who else has ever had to do that? You really probably are the only one. That is a bit embarrassing. Quite pathetic of you.

Damn.

What a loser, you are.

Shit.

Maybe you should let it get to you. Maybe you’ve let yourself get carried away. Maybe you’re having a psychotic break. You’re letting yourself fall for a woman. A Spanish woman. A famous Spanish woman. A famous Spanish woman who plays football professionally, for crying out loud! Look at all of these beautiful lesbian fans that she has here. What the hell do you think you’re playing at?

You? A little nobody from London, who couldn’t even keep an ugly bastard of a man happy? If you weren’t even able to manage to do that, how could you possibly hope to be good enough, for two-time Ballon d’Or recipient, current Champions League and World Cup winner, Barcelona’s sweetheart, Alexia Putellas?

That doesn’t seem very likely at all, does it? You being the soulmate of this ethereal goddess of a woman? Behave yourself. You really are delusional.

Maybe that’s why she wanted you here, to laugh at you. Point and laugh at you with all of her football friends.

Just go home now. Pretend that you’re ill. You do look a little ill. You’ve let yourself spiral, haven’t you? I did warn you about doing that. Now look at the state of you. This is very tragic.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Em asks, as you once again find yourself paralysed, staring at yet another stranger’s shirt.

“I just ..I don’t feel well.” You mumble.

“Noo. Please don’t do that!” She begs, all too aware of what your next statement is going to be. “We’re here now!” She reminds you, bouncing on her toes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up that wanker, but please, we can still enjoy this together. You’ve been so excited about it all day.” She gives you a very sad pout, lightly pulling on your arm, trying to encourage you to keep following her.

You really have been excited all day. It would be a shame to let your intrusive thoughts ruin it for you. You don’t want to let that bastard keep dictating all of the fun you’re allowed to have. You’re just here to enjoy some football.

Woo!

“Sorry. I just—” You pause, giving your head another shake as you try to catch your breath. “She’s just ..very popular.” You reiterate, gesturing to the stranger’s back with your thumb.

“Did you think you’d be the only one here wearing her name?” She snorts. “I told you the woman who gave it to you was basic.”

Your mind is still racing a little as you follow your sister out towards the stands. The atmosphere is even more intense inside of the stadium, and you try to let yourself embrace it all again, but it is mildly dizzying this time around.

Em has nabbed you some pretty decent seats to be fair to her, though. One thing about your sister, she is absolutely going to treat herself and overspend on her interests without a care in the world. It’s something you often advise against her doing, it's not the wisest thing for her to do with her money. You couldn’t really be more grateful for it right now, though, when you’re practically sitting front row.

Both teams are still out warming up, and you let your eyes roam the Barcelona side for a moment. You finally notice Alexia amongst all of the chaos, and you immediately stop noticing anything else. Your mind goes completely blank, just at the mere sight of her.

She really does calm you right down, truly nothing else matters when she’s around you. That’s really very lovely. It’s a good thing you don’t live in two separate countries from each other. Imagine the way your mind would implode if you couldn’t just look at her all the time to stop your mental deterioration..

You watch Alexia, as she completes her runs, does some drills, begins to stretch. It’s like she’s the only one out there on the field, working in slow motion, putting on a show, just for you. There’s absolutely no reason for it to be as sexy as it is, she’s literally just warming up, but you find yourself, jaw clenched, as you observe her movements.

She pauses for a drink break, and you remain mesmerised as she squeezes a jet of water into her mouth and pours a little extra over her face. You bite down on your bottom lip as you follow the beads of liquid rolling down her neck, slowly travelling under her shirt, and your breath hitches, as you allow yourself to remember exactly what it is that she’s concealing under her shirt. You can picture that body perfectly; you’ve thought of little else aside from it for over a month.

She’s all hot, and sweaty, and— please! Pull yourself together! You’re in public, and you’re practically drooling. Do you remember when you were straight? Straight straight straight. Try channeling a bit more of that, perhaps. You’ll be an absolute puddle right there in your seat, otherwise.

“There’s your one.” Your sister reminds you, making you jump as she nudges you and gestures down across to the pitch, once again pulling you away from your redacted thoughts.

“Oh yeah! Thanks.” You tell her, feigning surprise, as you hide the small smile on your face, and swallow down on your arousal. You subtly wipe at the corners of your mouth with the back of your finger, just in case a bit of drool really had started falling, and you nod to your sister in acknowledgment. “She really is quite ..pretty.” You say pointedly, paying close attention to your sister’s thoughts and feelings on the matter.

It probably wouldn’t be ideal if your sister showed an interest. She has a rather troubling talent with the ladies, and you’re not too sure you’d rate your chances going up against her, where another woman’s concerned.

It really isn’t something you’ve ever had to think about before. There was never any chance of you two being into the same person until Alexia flicked a switch inside of your head. It was only a joke when she mentioned it in the café, but you can’t pretend it hasn’t niggled in the back of your mind a little.

If you do end up introducing them, and they really hit it off? They almost certainly have more in common than you and Alexia do. They could talk for days about football together; they both have multiple tattoos where you only have a single measly little thing on your ribs. They’re both definitely gay, which is far more than you can say about yourself.

That’s three strikes right there, isn’t it? That’s not very good.

That’s all you get.

You’re already out of the race.

You’ll introduce them, they’ll fall in love, get married, have kids, and you’re left pining after your sister’s wife for the rest of eternity. Even the sweet release of death wouldn’t save you from a heartache that powerful. That’s an eternal pain. It’s permanent, infinite. A truly deathless agony that’ll haunt you till the very end of time itself.

Good grief!

What’s going on with you? You’re being very dramatic and sad suddenly. This really isn’t like you. You’ve only met this woman twice. Snap out of it!

“Sure, I guess.” Em shrugs, not at all taken in by Alexia’s beauty. She really does have very questionable taste in women. You really should have known that already, that isn’t new information to you. You desperately need to calm down, you’re getting yourself into a really bad place.

“Which one’s that?” She asks you, testing your knowledge as she points to another player on the field.

“Ona Batlle.” You tell her confidently, shaking your worries from your head as you try to focus on what really matters right now. “Defender. Used to play for United.”

“Very good,” she commends, genuinely quite impressed with the results of your last-minute cramming, “and that?”

“María León. Mapi. Also, a defender. Didn’t go to the World Cup.”

“Mhmm! And that?”

“Not a bloody clue!”

“For fuck’s sake.” She grumbles.

“What? She’s one of yours,” you point out, grinning, “I don’t give a shit about the Chelsea players!”

“You really are a twat.” She tells you, smacking your shoulder, before she crosses her arms and leans back into her seat. “Do you remember how the game works?” She asks you, rather condescendingly. “Do you need me to go through it all again for you?”

“No, thank you.” You reassure her, innocently. “I think I’ve got it all memorised ..it’s just the best of three sets in the women’s game, right?”

“Twat.” Em calls you again, and you chuckle to yourself, relaxing back down into your own seat, entirely satisfied with just how incredibly easy she is to wind up.

You return your attention back to Alexia’s warmup routine, making sure to not keep letting your mind run wild with more dirty thoughts. It has been over a month for you, but even your sister’s showing a bit more decorum with her ogling of Sam Kerr. You really can control yourself better than this, you are not an animal.

Alexia pauses her drills to have another sexy little drink, and you notice her surveying the crowd as she downs her water. She does a very careful examination of the away section, and she stops to stare, as soon as she finds you.

You’re once again the only two people in the whole vicinity, as her eyes meet yours, and a bashful smile takes over her face.

Whatever concerns you might be battling with, you can definitely be certain, that this woman wants you here today, and she isn’t at all discreet about how happy she is to see that you’ve come, and that you’re wearing her shirt.

She mouths a little ‘hi’ to you, and it’s impossible for you not to smile at her, when your heart’s jumping up inside of your chest. You mouth back a ‘hi’ followed by a ‘wow’, with a slight wince, as you dramatically flit your eyes around your surroundings, and she bites at her lip, with a clear sense of awkwardness.

‘I’m sorry.’ She tells you silently, but you shake your head at her with a furrowed brow.

‘Don’t be daft, good luck!’ you offer with a smile, and a subtle thumbs up. You tap proudly at the badge on your chest, and Alexia’s smile only grows as she watches you.

She responds with a nod, a ‘gracias’ and her own thumbs up, which clearly wasn’t as subtle as yours, as it didn’t go unnoticed by your sister.

“Was that directed at you?” She asks, squinting at Alexia as she moves with the other players down towards the tunnel.

“Hm? Looked like that, didn’t it?”

“That’s quite cool.” She acknowledges. “She’ll probably think you got lost on the way in, sitting here with us. You don’t exactly blend in!”

“No, that’s true.” You chuckle, tapping your hands down the red stripes on your torso. “Maybe she just felt bad for me, stuck here with you losers.”

“Mm.” She grumbles, pulling a face at you. “That’s Sam Kerr!” She informs you excitedly, quickly moving on from your interaction, and focusing back on who she deems to be, the more important star of this evening’s show.

“I know who Sam Kerr is,” you sigh, “I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen her poster on your wall.”

“Mmmmmm.” She hums, gazing very dreamily at the striker as she makes her own way off of the pitch.

“Oh, please.” You start, rolling your eyes at the state that she’s getting herself into. “Have some self-control, Em, we’re in public!”

You really are a shameless little hypocrite.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as the teams return to the pitch, and the Champions League anthem rings out around the stadium. You can feel the excitement really getting to you, as the hairs on your arms stand up on end.

It’s very overwhelming. You couldn’t have cared less about this match yesterday morning, and now it’s the most important thing in the world to you.

All for a girl, what has gotten into you?

The game is highly contested right from the first whistle. With the first leg ending in a 0-0 draw, neither team is able to rely on aggregate to get themselves through, and you can feel the pressure that the players are under.

Both sides are naturally desperate to win, though expectation is slightly higher for Barcelona, seeing as they won the whole thing last season.

There’s a very mild sense of nervousness in you about the result. You’re not really sure how you’d go about consoling someone after a huge sporting defeat. You’ve never been very good at comforting Em when a football score has left her upset, and it’s probably far worse when you’re actually on the team that’s lost, and not just watching it through the television.

You know exactly how Alexia would be able to cheer you up, and you’d be more than willing to try the same technique with her. She might not be as horned up as you clearly are, though. You may very well need to start drafting a proper commiserative speech for her, if the game does start running away from them. Sexual favours may simply not be enough.

You do take some comfort in the fact that Barcelona haven’t lost to Chelsea before, and while you appreciate that nothing’s guaranteed in sports, Alexia’s very good, and you know for a fact that the rest of her teammates really aren’t too shabby either. There’s a reason that they’ve won this whole thing twice, and you’re letting the knowledge of that keep you from getting too worked up about it.

Alexia’s the best in the world, and no best in the world is losing to bloody Chelsea, not today.

Alexia’s incredible for you to watch when she plays, even when she only has possession for a second. She’s just a wizard on the ball, the way she reads the game so easily, how she seems to predict everyone’s movements. She’s always in control, unwaveringly calm, deliberate in her choices.

She almost dances with the ball, and it’s impossible to deny how unbelievably gifted she is, as she weaves around her opponents. She has a very distinctive flair, for making it all look so effortless. It’s just incredibly sexy of her, and you find yourself wiping at the corners of your mouth again as you watch on, just in case.

It’s not a skill that you’ve ever really appreciated in a person before. You’ve had boyfriends that played football in school, you watched your sister plenty of times when she was little, but you never really focused on them while they were actually playing.

You’d cheer at the right moments, making the correct noises when you needed to, just following the rest of the crowd’s lead, mainly. You found it all a bit boring, really, it didn’t mean anything to you.

Now, Alexia’s only casually passing the ball between herself and a few of her teammates, and you’re absolutely entranced by her, you couldn’t think of anything else you’d rather be watching. There’s a glow to her as she plays. She’s enthralling, captivating. You might be her number one fan.

The match aside from Alexia’s performance, is far more tense than you’d care to admit. Both teams have plenty of attempts on goal, neither of them score. Every missed shot from Barcelona has you cursing under your breath, and every near goal from Chelsea has you covering your eyes like a child. It’s a little unbearable, you absolutely love it. It’s what sport’s all about.

It’s a very unexpected reaction from you. The way your heart’s started palpitating, the slight tightness in your shoulders whenever a Chelsea player’s on the ball, the elation shooting through you every time Barcelona regains possession. It’s the skin around the nail of your thumb that suffers the most under your passion, as you nibble at it relentlessly, watching everything unfold with a high degree of intensity.

You keep knocking your sister every time Alexia gets close to scoring, gripping at Em’s sleeve and tugging at her in anticipation. It’s hard to tell if it’s an excitable twitch, or if it’s stress-tapping of your foot, but every nerve in your body is on fire as you watch Alexia in her element. Em still can’t really understand your newly established avidity for the game, but she continually embraces it all with a light chuckle as she keeps telling you to “please, calm down.”

The whistle blows for halftime and it’s still level at 0-0. You can barely contain yourself, letting out a huge breath that you weren’t fully aware you’d been holding in.

“I can’t survive another half like that!” You warn Em, bashing your head against her shoulder. “I need a goal. Just one goal!” Your legs are bobbing up and down, as the adrenaline in you tries to find a way of escaping your body, and she rests her hand over them to calm you down.

“Do you need a wee?” She asks, a little concerned at the mess you’re turning into, and you shake your head with a laugh.

“No, I’m good, thanks! I just ..really want them to win.”

“You’re really into it, aren’t you?” She chuckles.

“Mhmm. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome! I’m glad you decided to stay.” She tells you, with a proud smile on her face at finally winning you over on her favourite interest. “It’s a shame you’re rooting for the dark side, though. It’s weird that this is the team that speaks to you.”

“Mm. I’m sorry about that.” You offer half-heartedly, pulling at the badge on your shirt to give it a kiss.

“You’re such a traitor,” she tells you with a flick to your forehead, “Dad will be disgusted when I tell him.”

The second half starts, and it’s much the same as the first. There’s more near misses, a few choice attempts on goal, and the game starts getting far sloppier as both sides get more desperate to score. There are some pretty ugly fouls, resulting in a few yellow cards being issued to both teams, and you’re suddenly far less concerned with winning, and far more worried about Alexia just making it out in one piece.

“It’s quite brutal!” You point out to your sister, flinching as another Chelsea player goes tumbling to the ground.

“Mm. You think she’d be more careful.” She tells you. She taps at the number on your shirt, and it sends an instant chill racing up the back of your neck.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You question, biting down hard on your thumb as you await her response.

“She tore her ACL a couple years back, took her out of the Euros. She hardly played at all last season.”

“Tore her ACL?” You ask, exhaling slowly as you make the connection in your head. “Would that be her knee?”

“Mhmm.”

“Shit.” Drops out of your mouth, as you bite your thumb a little too deeply, and you try to shake the stinging from your hand.

It makes sense, that Em would choose to withhold this little titbit of information from you, you really are quite squeamish. If you’d known this game could turn into such a bloodbath, you’d have probably elected to stay home.

Alexia had played it coy, when you traced your fingers over her scars that night. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with you asking her about them, but it still wasn’t something she was going to get into with you. You weren’t going to force the issue too hard, you’re not an idiot, but it had certainly piqued your interest. She really wasn’t forthcoming with any information about herself, and it quickly became apparent how talented she was at deflecting from your queries.

It stopped being at the forefront of your mind completely, when she was otherwise so distracting with it. Her scars didn’t inhibit her at all when she was pressing her knee against you. It felt good, she seemed fine, who were you to question?

“Should she be playing at all?” You ask flicking your thumb against your finger to try and weaken the pain shooting through it.

“Sure! Lots of them do, you just think it’d freak ‘em out a bit more.” She tells you. “It’s amazing she still throws herself into it as much as she does, really.”

“You don’t become the best by tapping out.” You recognise, and she excitedly nods her head at you.

“No, exactly! Sometimes it happens again, though. Can be the exact same rupture, different tear, same leg. A few players have it happen to their other leg..” Em continues to give you a very unhelpful rundown of just how common this career-jeopardising injury seems to be, and an uncomfortable lump forms in your throat as she goes a little too deep into all of the details with it. “Are you okay?” She asks, cutting herself off at your obvious discomfort at her lecture, and she gently taps at your shoulder. “You’ve gone quite pale.”

“I don’t like seeing people get hurt, you know that.”

“She’ll be alright.” She reassures you, gesturing to the Chelsea player as she pulls herself back to her feet. “It’s just when a player gets stretchered off, really. That’s when you properly worry about them.”

You suddenly find yourself, very stressed.

It immediately feels like Alexia, in particular, has a target on her back as the game continues. Every time she gets on the ball, a Chelsea player comes flying in, rather aggressively, trying to win it back off of her. It’s a very violent onslaught, and it’s not one that you’re keen on watching.

She spends most of the second half having to drag herself back to her feet, and you no longer feel like you can just blame it on the slightly wet grass, when there’s a menacing little Chelsea player hovering ominously over her every time she goes down to the ground.

The game is still level as the clock starts running down the final few minutes, but any sense of relief that this torture is almost over, is immediately extinguished, as you remember that this specific game would have to go to extra time, and then penalties, if no one’s able to break the deadlock.

Penalty shootouts, on their own, are usually just about the only thing you can tolerate in football, when you’re a neutral with zero stakes. It sounds like a nightmare now, however. Especially as it means you’d have to endure 30 extra minutes of the Chelsea players’ assault on Alexia.

You really can’t take it. Your heart’s started thumping. You have a headache forming. Your fingers have turned to ice.

You’re out of your seat as Alexia makes a beeline for the goal in the 87th minute. It’s an incredible scoring opportunity, she can’t miss.

A Chelsea defender appears to the side of her, as if from nowhere as Alexia lines up her shot, and she’s brutally slid into, just outside of the area.

You can hear the collision as it happens, it almost reverberates throughout the whole stadium. Life in the arena comes to a complete standstill, as everyone just watches it all unfold.

Alexia goes down, and the world stops spinning, your heart stops beating, and time stands still.

She stays down, and your body goes rigid, your blood runs cold, and you want to be sick.

Get up. Please get up.

Your sister grips on to your arm trying to comfort you, trying to tell you that it probably isn’t as bad as it looked, but your eyes don’t move from where Alexia lies on the floor, clutching her knee.

Medics are rushed onto the pitch with a stretcher in hand, and you remain frozen in place.

Please get up. Just get up.

The defender is back on her feet only a minute after the tackle, and she’s shown a yellow card for her foul. You want to throttle the referee right there and then.

“It should be a straight fucking red!” You shout, as you grip your hands together on the top of your head, trying to distract yourself from the burning in your eyes, and the new quiet ringing that’s started in your ears.

You receive a couple of snide looks from the supporters surrounding you for your little outburst, and you can hear a few less-than-friendly words being bellowed out at you, but frankly, you don’t give a fuck.

Just get up. Get up and walk off if you have to. Just get. up.

You want to jump over the seats. Push every annoying, arsehole supporter in a Chelsea shirt right out of your way and invade the pitch to be with her. Your body’s screaming out at you to do something, anything, and you can’t. You’re useless to her.

Just get up.

Alexia looks to be in agony on the ground. A few of the Barcelona players are swarming the referee for her blatant incompetence. Even the other Chelsea players are a little amazed that they’ve gotten away with it, without going a player down.

It was a dirty foul. Out of character, according to your sister. You don’t care. It could’ve been a complete accident by her, and you’re not fussed. It was reckless, it was filthy, and she should be off that goddamn pitch with some level of suspension at least.

Get up. Please.

Em tries to pull you back into your seat and you still don’t budge. You stand where you are, watching the small crowd on the pitch, as it slowly blocks Alexia from your view. You bite at the skin on your thumb, willing yourself to stay calm, willing Alexia to just get the fuck up.

It feels like a lifetime waiting for things to happen, for any sign of development from the scene on the ground. You ultimately collapse back down into your chair, trying to catch your breath, trying to stop the world from swirling around you, trying to stop your brain from assuming the worst. You close your eyes, holding your face in your hands, blocking it all out.

Get. Up.

This isn’t really what you signed up for, is it? You wanted to watch the girl you like, play a little game of football. Possibly celebrate her winning, with some adult-fun-time. Not find out that she’s fairly recently had such a serious injury, and then watch her go crashing down to the ground, holding that specific body part. You can’t do anything about it. You can’t help. You’re stuck in place, watching it all happen right in front of you.

This is torture. Maybe this is why you never let yourself get into football. Who is this fun for exactly? What’s the point in it all?

What an unbelievably useless waste of your time. You were already in a bad enough place before the game kicked off and distracted you from it. Now it’s made it worse. This is terrible. You really should have just stayed home. Imagine coming all the way out to Spain and making yourself bloody ill with it. Jesus Christ.

Please. Get up.

After what feels like hours, the medics do start slowly dissipating and there’s a cautious ripple of applause around the stadium, because Alexia has gotten up, but not of her own accord. She’s being flanked by Mapi and Asisat, and she looks very unstable.

They carefully remove themselves from under her arms, and she’s not very well balanced at all. She’s reluctant to put too much weight on her leg, she’s limping, and she’s still gripping onto Mapi for dear life, but she's not being stretchered off. She’s up, and you can breathe again.

You watch on as she tests her strength, steadily gaining confidence that her knee isn’t going to give way beneath her, and she puts her hand up to Jonatan to indicate that she will not be getting subbed off. She gives her body a shake, looks over in your direction, and she nods to herself with a reinvigorated sense of determination.

You don’t know if you’re completely turned on by her bold display of bravery, or if you want to give her a slap for being quite so carelessly audacious. She doesn’t need to play the hero; you’d rather she just sat it out.

“What is she doing?” You mutter under your breath, shaking your head as Alexia waits to be let back into the game.

“You don’t become the best by tapping out!” Em reminds you, with a smile, patting your shoulder reassuringly. Her entire demeanour is in stark contrast to the one that you’re currently displaying, and as comforting as she’s trying to be by rubbing at your arm, it isn’t very effective. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks. “You look really unwell.”

“Mhmm.” Is all you’re able to mumble out, as your eyes lock onto Alexia on the sidelines.

The free kick awarded for the foul is saved, and Alexia’s back on the pitch for the corner. You want to stop her. You want to swear at her. You can’t handle it. You need a drink.

You grab at the neckline of your shirt and pull it up over the bottom half of your face. You’re very very stressed. Even the familiar smell of her on your top isn’t doing much to comfort you. She’s an idiot. She’s so unbelievably stupid. What the fuck?

You watch the corner kick, as the ball goes sailing over the heads of everyone, before it connects with Alexia’s forehead and skims past the tips of the keeper’s fingers.

The stadium erupts around you, and you’re back up off of your seat, letting out your own roar in celebration. Your eyes are absolutely stinging with tears, as you hold your forehead against your hands, and there’s more than a few snide looks at you from the supporters you’re buried in, given your lack of propriety about the situation.

You’re getting called every colourful derogatory term under the sun for your rather ungodly little cheer, and still, you couldn’t care less. You let out a few huge breaths, trying to steady yourself, and despite her team now trailing in the final minutes, Em wraps her arms around you, giving you a shake, as she tries to get you to properly enjoy the moment.

Alexia points up to the sky in celebration, and you can hear her name being gradually chanted around the stands. It catches in your ear, echoing in a crescendoing drone. It’s deafening, unrelenting, and you try to shake it back out of your head before it really starts getting too much for you.

You know that there’s going to be a fair few minutes of added time with how many fouls the second half has had and given how long Alexia was just down for especially, but you can see how the life’s just been completely zapped from the Chelsea side. They’re not equalising today; the game is done.

The whistle blows for full time at 1-0 and you finally slump back down into your seat. The stadium is going absolutely wild around you, and you just close your eyes to it, waiting for it all to die down.

You can hear your sister trying to pull you out of your head, but you press your palms against your eyelids, trying to block everything out. Your body’s racking itself. There’s a sharp shortness to your breath, an uneven rapidity to your heartbeat. Your head’s burning up, and your eyes are stinging.

You’re not really cut out for this, are you? It’s all gotten a bit much. You really are spiralling, look at the state of you. All this, because of one unfortunate, mistimed tackle? Because there’s a few extra people here that know Alexia’s name?

Barcelona just won, Alexia just scored the winning goal, and you’re collapsing in on yourself.

What would you have been like if they had just lost? If Alexia had been genuinely hurt? Not much good, clearly. Not very helpful.

Alexia deserves someone better. Someone who doesn’t go into a panic in the stands whenever she hits the deck. Someone who isn’t unnerved by her celebrity status. Maybe someone, who isn’t questioning her identity, at the ripe old age, of 26.

She deserves someone, who very much, isn’t you.

It takes a few minutes for you to come back around, pulling yourself from your oppressive thoughts, and you can see colourful stars in your eyes as you finally relieve the pressure you were forcing against them. Em offers you some water, and you down it while she stares at you, her brow wrinkled with worry.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhmm. I’m fine, sorry.”

“You won!” She points out, with a cautious optimism, smiling at you as she chuckles softly. “You’re supposed to be celebrating, not ..whatever the hell this is.”

“I’m really sorry, I just ..I don’t like people getting hurt.”

“You wouldn’t have had to go to a hospital with her, it’s alright.”

“Mm.”

She gives you a hug, which lasts a suspiciously long time for her, and you can feel her jaw moving against your shoulder as she lifts her head slightly.

“Are you okay?” You ask, frowning as you push her away from you.

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, not moving her eyes away from whatever it is that she’s seen behind you. “Are you definitely fine?” She checks again, with a mild desperation to her voice.

“..Yes?” You reassure her, turning around in your seat to try and follow her gaze.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then!” She tells you hastily, and she nudges your arm, before tossing your sweatshirt from her bag at you, and straightening herself up.

“Wait, what?” You question, rather baffled by her quick switch in focus. “Where are you going tonight?”

Em just directs your vision up a few rows of seats, to a red-headed woman who has very clearly taken her fancy. They’ve been making googly-eyes at each other all match apparently. Since you wound your sister up earlier, with your unwavering new support for the enemy, and Chelsea have just crashed out of the Champions League again, she’s going home with her tonight, to drown her sorrows.

She really does have an incredible success rate with the ladies, at least you won’t have to make breakfast for this one in the morning.

“You’re off, just like that?” You ask.

“We can hang out again tomorrow?”

“Aw, I appreciate that, Em. Thanks!”

She chuckles at you, bouncing on her toes. “Ring taxi-man.” She advises you with a wink. “Or try to find your mysterious hickey-man, again! You deserve to have fun tonight. Celebrate the win properly! Get yourself another love bite!”

“Mm.” You mutter, and she crouches down in front of you again.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks. “I can stay with you, if you want?”

“Hm? No, don’t be daft. It’s fine, really. Thanks. Go, have fun.”

She doesn’t hang around long enough for you to change your mind. She gives you a far quicker hug than the previous one, patting you on the head, before running off and introducing herself to her new friend at the steps. They both cast you a quick wave, which you return a little awkwardly, before they walk up towards the exit. Just as easy as that.

“Be safe!” You call out to them behind you, as you turn your attention back to the celebrations on the pitch.

It takes a long while for the atmosphere in the stadium to really start fizzling out, and there’s still a distinct little hum of excitement that rattles through it, as the crowd dwindles, and the players continue making their way around the grounds.

Alexia grins up at you as she passes by your section, and you can only manage to give her a weak smile in return as you pat your leg at her with a questioning look. She smacks her knee a couple of times, smiling with a dramatic roll of her eyes, and she gives you a thumbs up to signal to you that she really is okay. She isn’t limping anymore as she heads over towards the fans, so you could almost pretend it hadn’t happened at all, if it hadn’t been quite so mentally draining.

A fair amount of supporters still line the barriers, holding out shirts and signs, and just about anything else that they can get a player’s autograph scrawled onto. Most of them are shouting for Alexia’s attention, and her popularity and fame is still quite an overwhelming thing for you to take in.

She doesn’t miss any of them, they all get their moment with her. She makes sure everyone gets seen too, everything gets signed. She doesn’t rush a single encounter, and you don’t miss the way people’s faces keep lighting up whenever she approaches them.

It’s very hard not to keep falling for her, watching her interact with people, the way that she is with them. She’s just good. She’s good at what she does, she's good with her fans, she’s a good person.

You’re biting at your thumb again.

The knuckles on your other hand, turning white, with the vice-like grip that you have on her sweatshirt. Your legs are bobbing, and you can feel your fingers freezing up. There’s a lot of combatting emotions fighting for dominance in your head, and you’re very unsure of yourself.

The Chelsea fans were in far less of a partying mood, clearly, as you find yourself the only one left in the away section. You watch Alexia converse with the ever-diminishing crowd for a moment longer, before deciding, maybe it’s time for you to go, too.

This isn’t your world; you don’t belong in it. It’s been a fun time with her, and there’s definitely a something between you, that’s been nice to explore, but there’s clearly been some sort of mistake. A divine, serendipitous little mix-up. She can’t be the one for you, as you’re really not the right one for her. It’s okay for this to be it, it’s okay for you to go.

You walk down to the barrier and carefully rest her sweatshirt over it. You can’t really also leave her football shirt behind with it, but she’s probably not desperate for that back. She’ll have loads of them lying about, there’s probably another one waiting in her training bag, ready for her to give to someone else.

You pat at the sweatshirt a few times, debating with yourself, and you look back up across the pitch to where Alexia is still signing shirts. She almost certainly does deserve someone better than you but abandoning her is still quite a harsh thing for you to do, she definitely deserves better than that.

You can’t just leave her and not give her a reason for it, that’s very cruel. She was excited to see you, she’ll be upset if you walk out on her.

You crash your head down onto the sweatshirt trying to decide your next move, letting out a quiet groan as you draw a blank. She’s still preoccupied with her fans when you raise your head again, and you start pacing the length of the railing tapping the tips of your fingers together.

You look back down at the sweatshirt, across to Alexia, and up to the exit. Down at the sweatshirt, across to Alexia, and up to the exit.

Sweatshirt, Alexia, exit.

Sweatshirt, Alexia, exit. Exit. Exit.

You find yourself stuck on the steps, only a second later, facing away from the pitch, without her sweatshirt in your hands. You’re really not sure what your plan is.

You do still have that number in your pocket, you could always give him a call, he really was very good-looking, exactly your usual type. Tall, dark, handsome. Friendly. Very friendly. It’s classic to you, it’s easy. Maybe your sister’s right. You need to have a meaningless night with some random company that you just don’t give a shit about.

You really just don’t want to go out with him, though. There’s a woman on the other side of the pitch that your heart’s still lunging out in the direction of, who still puts butterflies in your stomach every time she so much as looks at you.

You don’t want to leave. You like this woman too much. There’s something real between you. Something strong.

Maybe it’s too strong.

It’s impossibly strong.

It’s a delusional level of strong.

You’re almost at the final step before the exit, when you hear a little whistle from behind you and it stops you in your tracks. Maybe it was that little bungee cord between you both, that alerted her to your leaving.

It sends another chill coursing up the back of your neck, and there’s an instant blurring to your vision, as your eyes start welling up.

“Y/N?” She calls up to you, with a small strain to her voice, and you flinch, your gaze dropping to the floor. Your jaw clenches, and you freeze in place, closing your eyes, in the hopes of just disappearing from right there in front of her.

You can still go, just keep walking. It would still be very hard for her to find you. She doesn’t have your surname, or your address, she doesn’t know your phone number.

You can get a clean break.

Leave it as a solo night of fun. The meaningless distraction from him, that it was always supposed to have been. Stop letting yourself fall for her. Stop letting yourself care and worry, about a woman that you barely know. Go home. Behave. Find yourself a man and get on with your regular life.

There’s another cautious whistle as you debate with yourself, and your heart aches, hearing it echo around you. You shift your body weight, awkwardly, from your toes to your heels, and back again, a fair few times. You drum your fingers against your thighs, over your stomach, and you look up at the sky, searching for an answer.

You need someone to give you a push, give you a sign that you’re not making another mistake. You want your sister to come back and slap some sense into you. You want your mother to tell you what to do, she always did have the right answers.

You gently tap your fingers to your face, trying to pull yourself back into your body, as you study the stars above you.

There seems to be a definite twinkle to one of them, and you really don’t care if you’re just seeing things. You’re looking for an excuse, any excuse, and a slight flicker in the sky, is exactly what you needed.

You straighten yourself up, before letting out a long breath with a small nod. You bounce on your toes, and you give your eyes a quick rub, before you ever so slowly, turn yourself back around.

You might still be an idiot. A whole damn blasted fool.

But she’s impossible for you to walk away from. That’s just not how it’s going to work with her. She already means too much, you’re already in too deep. She’s set up shop inside of your head, she’s already living inside of your heart. You couldn’t walk away from her, even if you wanted to.

She has your heart skipping beats, whenever she says your name. She has the rest of existence fading into nothingness around you, when all she’s done is take your hand in hers. She sends goosebumps down your neck when she whispers to you, has you rolling your eyes with a chuckle, when she’s being a playful windup. Your mind starts spinning when she kisses you, and you feel safe when you’re resting in her arms.

You had one of the best afternoons of your life yesterday, doing nothing, but spend a bit more time with her. Learning about her, laughing with her, kissing her. She’s put a burning inside of you, and a smile on your face. You spent the whole of last night, wide awake, because you couldn’t wait to see her again. She told you that she couldn’t wait to see you, either.

This isn’t a solo night of fun, it’s not a meaningless distraction. It never really has been with her. It might very well be your person, that’s waiting for you down there, and you’d only stand to lose everything, if you walk away from her now.

You draw in a breath and look down to the sidelines of the pitch. It’s the greatest women’s footballer in the world, that’s leaning up against the stands for you, and she’s hoping, that you’re not about to leave her, not without at least saying goodbye to her first.

She looks very small when you see her. All the grandeur, and spectacle that shrouded her during the game, has been completely wiped once again. She’s just Alexia, Ale, A. She’s just a woman that you met in a nightclub, just a girl that you’ve been getting to know.

There’s a very obvious sense of worry in her, it’s not a look that often spreads across her face. She shuffles herself, tapping her hands gently on the sweatshirt over the barrier as she tilts her head down towards the ground, and you steadily make your way back down the steps towards her.

“Felicitats.” You offer weakly, and she smiles softly up at you.

“Gràcies.”

“Is your knee okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“It wasn’t a very friendly challenge.” You tell her, frowning at the tunnel that the Chelsea player made her escape from you down. “You gave me a fright, when you didn’t bounce straight back up. Are you definitely okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” She insists. “Look!” She tells you, patting her knee a few more times, and kicking her leg out to show you that it hasn’t fallen off. You can’t not smile back at her when she’s being so very cute, even if she is incredibly stupid. “I promise you, it’s fine.” She repeats, and you just have to believe her.

“You didn’t fancy telling me your big secret, yourself?” You call out, as you continue making your way towards the pitch, glancing around the stadium, before sliding your hands into your back pockets.

“It didn’t feel ..that important,” is the excuse she gives to you, as she picks at the fabric in her hands, “the night that we first met.”

“And yesterday?” You push, crinkling your brow up slightly. “Still not that important?”

Her gaze drops to the ground as you wait on the bottom step, and you nibble at the inside of your mouth. “Are you angry with me?” She asks nervously, quietly tapping her hands with a bit more agitation, and not yet meeting your eyes.

There’s a painful twinge in your heart as you watch her unfamiliar mannerisms, you much prefer when she’s being insufferably cocky and annoying. It’s far less painful, a lot more fun.

You let out a breath, before closing the rest of the distance between you both, and you gently rest your hands on top of hers, to stop her little nervous drum solo. She still doesn’t lift her head to face you, and you take in a shaky breath, readying yourself.

“Do I seem angry?” You ask her quietly, trying to encourage her to look at you, as you delicately draw shapes on the backs of her hands, to distract you both a little from the obvious tension.

You don’t miss the goosebumps that quickly form up Alexia’s arms as you do, and there’s a feeling that jolts inside of you, knowing that you both have the exact same effect on each other, even with the most casual of touches.

She lifts her eyes to study your face, and she shakes her head, as you smile softy back at her.

“Well, there you go then!” You tell her with a light chuckle, placing a kiss to her forehead before resting yourself against the railing between you both, and she lets out a wobbly breath. “Of course I’m not angry with you ..I did feel a bit stupid last night, that I really didn’t know.” You explain. “..I feel a bit intimidated, now that I do.”

“I’m still just me.” She reminds you quickly, and you can see the shimmer in her eyes, as she tries to keep herself from cracking.

You can’t help narrowing your eyes at her little claim as she collapses her head down into you, nestling it in the crook of your neck. “They call you the bloody queen, Alexia.” You remind her, and she shakes her head against you.

“I hate that title.” She confesses. “I promise you, I’m still just me.”

It’s hard to deny her that. When all of the noise has died out, and it’s only the two of you left. She is just her, she’s just another woman. A woman who is very clearly worrying about you and your reaction to her career. She knows that she stands to lose you because of it, and it’s very obvious, as her tears pool on your skin, that that isn’t something she wants to happen.

Despite it still being ridiculously early days between you both, this connection that you feel so strongly, may very well be reciprocated by her, and it would be a shame, for a bit of football, to stand in the way of it.

It’s terrifying, knowing that she can get hurt. Realising that everything she’s worked so hard her whole life for, rests on a knife’s edge, every time she steps foot onto the pitch. It isn’t easy, being made aware of how common of an injury it is, and how there’s no way of protecting her from it.

If she’s going to get injured again, that’s just a harsh reality of football, and that’s a very difficult pill for you to swallow. It’s not a risk that you can stop her from taking, either. This is her dream, and you’d just have to support her through it. The good, and the bad.

It’s also a little disconcerting, knowing how adored she is. The fact that she’s quite a bit famous, especially in this city, if nothing else. As much as you don’t want to let it seep into your mind, and affect your thoughts about Alexia too deeply, it’s impossible for it not to have altered things for you slightly.

You’re only human, and you weren’t really fully prepped, on what her celebrity actually entailed. She was just another regular person to you yesterday, but in reality, she is clearly very far from that, and it’s a little unfair that she wasn’t the one to break the news to you. To give you some sort of heads up, before throwing you in at the deep end today.

But ..you really were having fun, before it all went south. You were excited, you were proud, you were enjoying a football match. She does things to you. She brings out a side of yourself that you’ve never explored before, a side that’s laid dormant, for your entire life. She’s incredible, in ways that largely transcend her achievements on the pitch.

Alexia’s never made you doubt yourself. She’s never given you any reason to question her interest in you, that’s one thing that she’s never been secretive about.

She doesn’t know what you do for a living, but she probably correctly assumes that you’re not famous, and that hasn’t put her off at all. She doesn’t think she’s too good for you, she hasn’t treated you like you’re beneath her.

Her fame doesn’t follow her everywhere, you were able to be completely oblivious to it, before your sister told you about it. It’s not debilitating, it doesn’t stop you from having moments together. It’s something you might have to get used to. Find a way of understanding it, learn how to cope with it. Especially on match days, when you really can’t ignore the actual magnitude of it. That wouldn’t be impossible for you to do.

There’s a connection between you both, it doesn’t matter how celebrated she is. You haven’t just shared a few careless kisses; it wasn’t just one night of meaningless sex. There’s something real between you both, and it already existed before you knew who she was. This madness that surrounds her, was always the reality; you were just unaware of it.

There was a spark, regardless. You’d have the same connection with her if she was filling shelves in a supermarket, why should this be any different?

She wasn’t put off by your lack of interest in football. She really wanted you here today. She gave you her shirt to wear. She told you she hoped you’d enjoy the game. There were tens of thousands of people in attendance this evening, and she searched for you, specifically.

She deliberately put you in a contrasting shirt, so that she’d easily be able to find you, so that she’d definitely know that you came, and that you were here, watching her. That’s all she wanted. She just wanted you to see her play, and for you to have fun while doing it. She wanted you here, cheering her on. The best player in the world, and she's been choosing you. A little nobody from London.

You’re allowed to be excited about that. You’re allowed to stop questioning her and second-guessing yourself. You don’t need to pay attention to the noise around you, the excited obsession with her from strangers, those distracting little seeds of doubt that he’s put into your head about yourself.

There’s just her. There’s just Alexia, and she wanted you here.

“Well ..just you,” you start softly, placing a kiss to the side of her head, “is a bloody lot more impressive than most people ..you were incredible out there.” You whisper shakily, and you can feel as she smiles against you, burying her head further into your neck.

“You enjoyed it?” She breathes, and you can see a small bit of the weight that she’s bearing, lifting from her shoulders.

“Until that moment. Yeah, I really did!” You tell her, smiling in mild disbelief at yourself. “I was worried, that I might have to pretend for you, but I just ..really loved watching you play, seeing you score!”

“Were you quietly cheering?” She asks, pulling herself back from you, to excitedly take you in.

“There was nothing quiet about it!” You admit with a grin, as you wipe away the streaks of tears on Alexia’s cheeks with the backs of your fingers. “You scored the winner!”

The biggest smile spreads over her face at your bold act of tiny rebellion, and she pinches at the fabric of your shirt, gliding her fingers down the front of it, as she gives it a quick examination. “You were lucky they didn’t throw tomatoes at you, then!”

“Mhmm! I did get a few words thrown at me, mind! There’s some horrible people about.” You tell her, as she continues holding onto your shirt. Her eyes meet yours and it’s a pair of nervous smiles that you exchange with each other. “I know it won’t mean much, coming from me. I’ve not watched a lot of football, and I know you have some pretty big awards for it, but ..you’re really bloody good! I’m so proud of you.”

“It means everything.” She tells you ardently, pulling you into her over the railing. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it!”

You let yourself get lost in her embrace for a moment, while she clings to the back of your shirt, and you can hear as her breath hitches when you place a quick kiss to her neck.

“I really didn’t enjoy watching you get taken down, mind.” You reiterate, quietly.

“No? I didn’t love that either, really.” She admits, chuckling to herself.

“But you’re definitely okay?” You check again, pulling away from her to look properly at her leg.

“Yes. I promise you. It’s fine, I’m fine. It just happens sometimes.” She shrugs.

“Please don’t tell me that!” You beg, quickly shaking your head at her. “You can’t be putting me through that every match!”

“Mm? You’ll be watching more games?” She asks, with that famous little smirk coming back into view as you nod your head at her.

“I mean, it’s a bitch of a commute to do this weekly, but I’ll definitely be watching you on the telly, when I can’t make it.”

“Wow.” She says, linking her arms together behind your neck. “You really did enjoy it.”

“I know ..you’ve broken me!” You chuckle, as she rests her forehead to yours, and her lips are once again, the only thing you can focus on. You watch as she wets them in front of you, and it almost feels like she’s taunting you a little bit. “Are we allowed to kiss here?” You ask, trying to disguise your desperation, as you pull yourself away to scan the stadium.

There’s only a few random stragglers making their exits up the steps, and none of them seem to be paying any attention to the pair of you at all. So, it might not be beyond the realms of possibility.

Alexia takes your face in her hands and tilts your head. “Yes.” She tells you, simply, and she pulls you into her, capturing your lips with hers. She doesn’t do her own check of your surroundings at all; she really isn’t too fussed if anyone’s watching you both this time.

It’s quite the romantic place to have a kiss, honestly. A huge colosseum, that’s almost entirely empty, a blanket of stars in the sky up above you. It’s not a kiss with any caution. It’s not hasty or secretive. It’s familiar, safe, and it’s able to finally be unreserved.

It’s a kiss that the pair of you have been craving. One that doesn’t taste of tequila, that doesn’t have to be hidden from view, and one that doesn’t have the looming dread of immediate departure attached to it. It’s a slow deep kiss, that feels like home, and you’re quite content to drown yourself in it.

“Where’s Em?” Alexia asks, and she really has ruined the moment.

She seems unaware, as her lips are still moving against yours, but you freeze, breaking the kiss at her twisted choice of topic.

“Woww?” You drag out, pulling back from her with a frown. “Mentioning my sister is a real mood-killer I do hope you realise!”

“I’m sorry!” She giggles, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re supposed to have come over here for me, not her!”

“I did come over for you!” She tells you, rolling her eyes at your dramatics. “I just meant ..you’re here on your own.”

“Mm. She left me.”

“Why?”

“She met a girl, while we were watching you play,” you explain, “they’ve gone back to hers already.”

“Oh?” She questions, her eyes sparkling as she arches an eyebrow at you. “To play cards?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “I think so.”

She links her arms back over your shoulders, leaning in very close. “So ..you’re without company tonight?” She checks, her lips ghosting yours, and your heart starts racing again at the suggestive tone to her voice.

“Mhmm. That’s quite sad, isn’t it? When I’m on holiday?”

“That’s very sad.” She agrees, tracing your jawline with her index finger.

It’s hard not to have a physical reaction to the way that she’s always touching you, and you swallow down as she angles your face to draw her mouth even closer to you, your breath catching in your throat as her lips brush against yours.

“Are you short on company tonight?” You whisper, rather shakily.

“Mhmm.”

“Oof. That might be even sadder.” You point out, and she nods in agreement with a small pout, before finally succumbing to another long kiss.

You breakaway, entirely short on breath, and she smiles as the obvious effect she’s just had on you as you try to come to your senses. “Do you ..not want to celebrate with your teammates?”

“Not really.” She tells you, her pupils dilating as her eyes roam over your body.

“Would you ..maybe, want to do something with me, then?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” She asks, her cocky little smile curving her lips, and you chuckle despite yourself.

“I really think I might be. You admit. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me!” You tell her, shaking your head with a smile. “I’d never looked at another woman before, never cared about a football result. Never asked someone out on a date.”

“Mm? And now look at you.” She says, cradling your face as she searches your eyes. “Does it scare you?” She asks, stroking her thumb over your cheek, and you pause for a beat in consideration.

“A little,” you confess, “but never when I’m with you.”

Your candour earns you another kiss. Whether she’s fully aware of the power her lips have on calming your nerves, or she just fancied kissing you, you don’t really know, and you don’t really care. You welcome it the same way you’ve welcomed every other kiss from her, and the same way you’ll continue to welcome any future kisses from her, should you be so lucky.

“Were you going to leave me?” Alexia asks after a moment, tapping at the sweatshirt again with a horrible look of uncertainty in her eyes.

“I really don’t know.” You tell her honestly, and worry creases her brow, as you let out a breath. “I don’t think I’d have got very far,” you admit, “but it’s just ..been a lot to take in.”

There’s a familiar look of understanding from her. It’s the exact same look she had given you when you’d stayed still in the hotel elevator, as she had made her exit. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, that barely curves her lips. It’s a look of acceptance, resignation, and it’s a heartbreaking sight to see.

“I don’t want to leave you.” You clarify. “I don’t really know ..what this is, between us, but I know how I feel about you, and I don’t want to run from it. I just know ..that you can probably do better.”

You bop your own hand gently on the barrier in a fist, and she narrows her eyes at you. “What do you mean by that?” She asks, and you nibble at the inside of your mouth.

“I freaked out ..when you went down. It got to me outside, seeing your name everywhere. I couldn’t ..really tell you what my sexuality is, at this point.” You take a breath, still knocking your fist awkwardly on the railing. “There’ll be so many other women, more sure of themselves, more ..prepared, and ready to embrace everything.” You explain, closing your eyes to stop them from stinging. “They won’t need to study your team before you play, they won’t go into a panic every time another player gets a little too close to you. They’ll be just as desperate to be with you, and they’ll be bett—”

You’re cut off from your little ramble, with what you’re assuming was a kiss.

Your eyes are closed, and it was unbelievably quick. You’d be forgiven for thinking you’d imagined it completely; it was really quite so fleeting. If the fireworks that Alexia’s set off on your lips weren’t quite so familiar to you, you might have thought it was a bee that had stung you. She’s really gone and left you all lightheaded with little more than a peck.

“You kissed me!” You tell her breathlessly, as though she wasn’t the one to do it to you.

“Mhmm. Imagine that.” She says, as she lets her eyes roam over your face with a small smile. “You studied the team?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You cringe. “I just didn’t want to not know who you played with. I mean, I didn’t even know who you were yesterday, what chance would I have had with any—”

She kisses you again, the exact same way, leaving you with the exact same reaction.

“You kissed me!” You repeat, and she chuckles at you, nodding her head.

“Mhmm. You’re on vacation,” she reminds you, “and you spent the day studying my team?”

“Mm.”

“And you worried about me getting hurt?”

“Mm.”

“And you’re so desperately into me, that I’ve got you questioning your sexuality?” She winks.

“I mean..” you chuckle softly, rolling your eyes, “..maybe.”

“And you really think, that any of that ..would make me like you less?” She asks, narrowing her eyes with that familiar smirk.

“Well ..sort of.” You admit. “I mean ..the studying. Most people wouldn’t need to do that.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” She points out.

“Mm ..no, I really think I did.” You chuckle. “I didn’t know anything about football this morning, you can ask Em.”

“You don’t care about football.” She reminds you.

“Maybe not ..but I care a little bit about you. I just knew it was important to you, I didn’t want to be completely clueless about it.”

Alexia shakes her head at you lightly, before kissing you again. It’s not so quick this time, so you don’t need to be as embarrassed about her still leaving you lightheaded and short on breath.

“You kissed me!” You repeat, a childish grin taking over your face, and she rests her forehead to your shoulder, chuckling at your excited little reaction. “So, you do still like me the same?” You double-check and she lifts her gaze to meet your eyes.

She cradles your head in her hand, shaking her own lightly back at you as she rubs her thumb over your cheek. “I think I might like you even more.” She tells you. “I wasn’t really sure that would be possible after yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well ..what else are you into? I can study anything.”

She giggles at your eagerness before kissing you again. “I’m very into you.” She says, and your eyes light up in front of her.

“That’s so unbelievably lucky, I know almost everything about her already!”

“Yeah? Then maybe we’re perfect for each other.” She tells you, with a distinct conviction in her voice that sends that special little thrill running right through your body as she pulls you in for another kiss.

“So ..is that a ‘yes’?” You ask. “To maybe going on a date with me? It’s a bit late now, I know, but we still have tomorrow.” You suggest, beginning to stumble over your words. “I know it’s probably not the smoothest way you’ve ever been asked out. I’m new to this. I’m not very good, but I’ll work on it. I’ll get better.”

“I think you’re already better than you think you are.” She tells you softly, resting her forehead to yours. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Even though my head’s a mess and I’m still figuring things out?”

“Mhmm.” She giggles, gently rolling her bottom lip under her teeth. “I’ll help you figure things out. We’ll work it all out together.” She offers.

“That could be a lot of work.”

“I know, and I really think you might be worth it.” She tells you, giving you another gentle kiss. “I’m sorry all of this got to you. I should have told you about it yesterday, but ..I didn’t want to scare you off.” She explains. “I know it can be a lot, I don’t love every part of it..”

“It’s okay, I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me for it, really. I knew you’d have a lot of fans ..it was just seeing them all. Like this ..Alexia army.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t be. You have nothing to apologise for.” You reassure her. “Not unless all those other buggers also got their shirts from you?”

“No,” she chuckles, running her fingers up the front of the fabric on your body, “you’re the only one.”

“I should probably feel quite special, then.” You wink. “People would kill to be wearing this.”

“Mhmm. You are special.” She tells you, her fingers trailing the neckline of your shirt. She pulls you back into her, her lips feathering yours. “You’re in my top three for a reason.”

The barrier’s proving to be a little bit of a pest to the pair of you, what with it being such a hindrance to all of your kissing. After receiving confirmation from Alexia, that no one would attack you for joining her on the grass, you throw her sweatshirt on over your head, and quickly negotiate the railing to be with her.

It might be your favourite place to be, just melting into her arms as she holds you against her. Even though she’s still a little bit gross from running around for so long, you wouldn’t really swap it for anything.

Your eyes flick around the stadium as you look over her shoulder. There’s a faded majesty to the arena when it’s empty like this. You’re the only ones still out here and the beauty of the place isn’t lost on you, as you get to share it with Alexia. It feels more special without thousands of other strangers crammed in here with you, it’s like a secret discovery you’ve both stumbled upon. A vast abandoned colosseum, existing just for you two.

“Does it not freak you out, playing in a place like this?” You ask her.

“Not really.” She tells you, rather casually, joining you in staring up at the stands.

“There’s so many eyes watching you.”

“Mm. You sort of just block it all out.” She says. “You can hear everything, all the chanting and singing, but you don’t really pay too much attention to it. Not until you score, and then again at the end of the game. It isn’t really scary at that point, though. Then it’s just thousands of other people celebrating with you.”

“You’re quite amazing,” you realise, gently nudging into her, “I think I’d shit myself.”

She giggles at your blunt confession, intertwining her hand with yours. “I’d probably freak out if I did that in front of everyone.” She admits, kissing your fingers. “That’d be quite hard to live down.”

“Do you not get nervous at all?”

“No.” She tells you, simply. “I’ve worked hard for this. I trust myself; I trust the team. Us playing in stadiums like this, in front of crowds like that, it’s what we deserve. It’s what we’ve been doing it all for.” She drops her head momentarily, taking in a breath. “I wasn’t too sure I’d get the chance to play again at all, after..” she gestures loosely down to her leg and stands a little taller as her grip on your hand tightens, “I don’t take it for granted, that I’m able to be here. It’s where I’ve always wanted to be. I’m not going to waste time being scared of it.”

There’s a different air of confidence to her on the pitch as you watch her. It’s not the same playful cockiness that she so often uses with you. It’s not arrogance, she isn’t being smug. She’s just proud of herself, the journey that she’s been on. She’s proud of where she is, she’s proud of her teammates and she really has every bloody right to be.

“Are you okay?” She asks, her brow crinkling lightly as she looks to you. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry. You’re just ..very beautiful.” You shrug, and you can see a small flush of colour settle over her cheeks as she smiles before quickly averting her eyes.

“You haven’t told me what it is that you do for a living.” She reminds you, shirking the focus away from her as she walks backwards a little ahead of you, pulling you along with her. “We had an agreement.” She reminds you.

“I think it’s far less exciting than your big reveal.” You warn her. “I’m just in finance ..banking.”

You offer it with a tone of apology to your voice, which she certainly picks up on as she smiles at you and takes your other hand in hers. “That’s very impressive.” She assures you and a blush spreads across your own cheeks as she interlaces her fingers with yours. “You’re quite clever?”

“I’m not too bad with numbers.” You chuckle.

“Do you enjoy it?” She asks, and you nod your head.

“That must seem ridiculous to you.”

“Not at all. Are you good at it?”

“Oof ..I’m not awful.” You smile. “I’ve actually been named ‘Employee of the Year’ on more than two separate occasions.”

“Have you really?” She giggles.

“Mhmm. That’s the same as those balloon awards of yours, right?”

“Mhmm. Yes. Yeah ..I think that’s the exact same thing.”

She really must like you if she’s willing to lie like that. There is slight tone of sarcasm to her voice, and rightly so. Your sister’s explained to you what a Ballon d’Or is, and Alexia being presented with it, for two years on the trot, is no mean feat. She’s been recognised for being the undisputed best at her profession, globally. You’ve received ‘Employee of the Year’ bonuses because your boss is a filthy pervert with a crush on you. These are not the same things at all.

It’s very sweet of her to downplay her achievements for you and there’s something about her lack of arrogance with her career that’s very intriguing. She almost minimises her own importance, ignores the significance, and the impact that she’s had on the sport. It’s really just a regular job to her. She’s ‘just’ a footballer.

She takes genuine pride in it, but she’s not gloating at all, she’s not bragging. Without her fans around her, you really wouldn’t know how big of a sensation she actually is. The fame and accolades really aren’t what she’s done any of this for. She just loves playing the game.

“You’re staring again.” She points out, kissing your forehead.

“You’re ..still very beautiful.” You tell her, offering up another shrug in lieu of any better explanation for your continual admiration of her.

She places a kiss to the back of your hand, and her eyes twinkle over it as she meets your gaze. “We should get out of here.” She tells you. “I need to have a shower, but then we can go.”

“Do you want me to wait here?” You offer, and she frowns at you in confusion. “So that you don’t have to introduce me to anyone.” You explain, and she giggles, shaking her head.

“A few of them would probably recognise you.” She says, and a hot flush of embarrassment spreads right through your body.

“Shit! For being drunk and angry?”

“Mhmm! And straight.” She reminds you with a wink. “I think they quite like you, don’t worry. Mapi’s definitely a fan already.”

A small groan falls from your mouth as you remember your rather unfortunate behaviour from that night, and it’s hard not cringe at yourself. It’s amazing you made such a good impression on Alexia, all things considered, but it’s a bit embarrassing to realise there was more than one world-class footballer watching your drunken antics.

“I’ll have to stay out here.” You grimace. “That’s horrific!”

“They’re probably already gone!” She giggles. “We’ve been out here for a while.” She places another kiss to your forehead, before walking backwards towards the tunnel holding her hand out for you to join her. “Are you coming?”

You nod your head at her but make no real effort to move from where you are. “I never thanked you.” You call out to her, and she stills herself, tilting her head.

“For what?” She chuckles, narrowing her eyes.

“For saving me that night. From that old man ..I really don’t know where I’d be now if you hadn’t.”

A grin splits her face, and she doesn’t miss a beat. “Therapy, probably!” She says, and her laugh echoes in the air around you.

You quickly pull her sweatshirt back up to hide your face under it, shaking your head in shame, because she’s almost certainly right. It would have taken you a very long time to recover from waking up next to him the following morning. You definitely wouldn’t have been going for seconds, thirds and fourths with him all night. He’d have had a heart attack trying to compete with Alexia’s stamina.

“He was so gross.” She reminds you, pulling the sweatshirt down as she returns to you. “You were very drunk.”

She pushes the loose hairs back from over your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips as she cups your face.

“I don’t remember you helping me with that.” You point out. “I had more drinks with you than anyone else.”

“Mm ..I quite liked being inappropriate with you. You were very daring,” she recollects, kissing you again, with her cocky little smile, “you’d already licked most of me before we even left the club!”

“You started it!” You remind her, and she giggles in front of you.

“Well, if that was a competition we were having, I think you certainly won!” She admits. “I’m sure abuelo would have enjoyed drinking with you just as much.”

“Oof. Please don’t.” You mutter, suppressing a gag. “I think I’d have slapped him if he’d tried licking me.”

Alexia laughs again, lifting your hand to her lips, to place a kiss to the back of it, and she winks at you, before she licks all down it with her tongue.

“You’re such a child!” You giggle, wiping your hand against your shirt, and she winks at you again. “You could’ve been here with that girl from the toilets.” You point out. “At least she was very pretty.”

“I know.” She sighs wistfully. “It’s a shame someone stole me from her.”

“Mmm ..okay.” You mutter, rolling your eyes.

She shakes her head with a small smirk, taking your hand and pulling you into her before wrapping her arms around your waist. “I’m glad I’m here with you.” She tells you, lightly bumping her nose to yours. “Bit scary of you, though. Following me all the way out here!”

“I didn’t follow you!” You tell her, removing yourself from her hold. “I barely even remembered you existed before you draped your arm over me in that café.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” She scoffs. “You even followed us into that toilet.”

“No, I didn’t!” You chuckle, crossing your arms in front of you as you smile up at her. “You followed me, though. Couldn’t keep you away!”

“Mm ..maybe I really should’ve stayed with her instead.”

“Okaay, that’s enough of that. She’s gone now, you missed your chance with her!"

“Are you still jealous?” She winks, running her hands down your sides before slinking them back around your waist.

“I wasn’t jealous. She was just ..all over you. In the toilet, of all places! It was very gross of you both, very unsanitary.”

“Is that why you wanted to interrupt us?” She smirks, tilting her head very close to yours. “Bumped into me to stop me from catching germs? You’re very cute.”

“That was an accident.”

“You’re a terrible liar!” She laughs.

“You were winding me up! Kissing someone else, what were you playing at?”

“You went to go kiss men!” She points out.

“I didn’t kiss any of them, though.”

“It’s not my fault you were unsuccessful!”

“I wasn’t unsuccessful!” You giggle, pushing her away from you. “I didn’t want to kiss any of them. I had one person on my mind that night, and I was actually very successful in getting her to kiss me ..eventually.”

“I was on your mind?” She asks, bouncing her eyebrows as she rests her hands on your hips.

“You’re so annoying, always so cocky.” You roll your eyes, linking your hands behind her neck before pulling her down to kiss you. “Yes. You were on my mind.” You admit, collapsing your head to her chest. “You’re always on my mind. You’re like a bloody broken record in here.”

She kisses the top of your head, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. “You’re always on my mind too.” She whispers. “I don’t think I’ve really stopped thinking about you at all since I first saw you in that club.”

“When you shoved that bloody lime in my face?” You mumble against her.

“I didn’t shove a lime in your face!” She laughs. “I held it for you, I was being helpful.”

“Mm ..well, then I owe you two lots of thanks.” You realise, lifting your head to meet her eyes. “One for your ..handy little lime assistance, and one for saving me from that ancient creeper. I am genuinely grateful for the second one.”

“You don’t need to thank me for either of them.” She tells you. “I was being selfish really.”

It’s difficult to know just how much time you both managed to kill outside, but the dressing room’s completely empty by the time you two make your way through to it. You sit, patting your hands against your thighs, as Alexia goes for her shower, and you try to keep yourself entertained without her.

There’s a lot of things for you to look at in the room, lots to take in. There’s a history to the stadium, which should be interesting to have a backstage pass to. It’s a privilege, being in here. Legends have roamed these halls, sporting greats from decades past. It’s very exciting for you to be granted access to it, and yet, none of it’s at all fascinating to you when you know there’s a wet, naked lady in the other room.

You continue drumming out your frustrations as you try to stop yourself from thinking of Alexia in the shower.

All on her own. In the shower.

Alone.

Showering.

You really just can’t help yourself.

She doesn’t take too long to return to you and a loud gasp falls from your lips when she re-emerges.

“¿Qué?” She winks, and the blush doesn’t even have the courtesy of creeping up on you, you’re just immediately bright red.

“You’re naked.” You inform her, very quietly, in case she hadn’t already realised.

“Mhmm.”

“Wow..” You breathe, gritting your teeth as you try to remain calm.

“Oh? That’s so funny. I seem to remember that being the exact same reaction to the one you had last time!”

“Heh heh heh!” You draw out slowly, rolling your eyes at her unremitting need to be cocky.

She leans against the wall in front of you, and it really isn’t very easy to maintain eye contact with her when her body’s on full display in front of you. It doesn’t feel like she’s particularly bothered about your wandering eyes, which is really rather lucky, because you’re not exactly doing it with any level of subtlety.

This isn’t really helping in keeping all of the dirty thoughts that you’ve been having about her at bay. You’re also going to split your lip open if you keep biting down on it as hard as you are.

She moves towards you steadily, and your heart starts beating in double time. “You’re staring.” She tells you, yet again, and you nod at her very astute observation skills.

“You ..are ridiculously beautiful.” You point out, struggling to keep your composure as she steps within reaching distance. “You’re also very dry.” You realise with a frown, trapping your hands under your legs. “You’re supposed to be having a shower so that we can get the hell out of here!”

“Mm.” She hums, hooking a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to face her. “I was wondering if you might want to keep me company?” She says, and you have to gasp again at her very friendly little suggestion.

“In the shower with you? While you’re naked?” You grin, and she chuckles, nodding her head.

“Mhmm. I was hoping you might want to get naked too.”

“Oof. What an incredibly tempting offer.” You admit, bobbing your legs as you wet your lips. “I just need a few minutes to really think about it.”

“Mm?” She shakes her head and folds her arms. “You have two seconds before I’m revoking.”

“Two seconds? Do you see what I mean about you being cocky and annoying? You think I fancy you that badly? That I’m that desperate and needy that I’ll just cave as soon as you—”

“Uno.”

“I’m in!” You exclaim, jumping to your feet with embarrassing haste. “I’m in I’m in I’m in I’m in I’m in!” You continue mumbling against her lips to make sure that she doesn’t start her unnecessary counting again.

You make very light work of pulling both layers off over your head in one swift motion, and Alexia looks rather impressed with your efficiency as she drags her thumb down the middle of your torso. She bites her lip with her eyebrow arching slightly, as she takes you in, and you do feel a little bit proud of yourself.

“I’ve been going to the gym a lot.” You tell her, tensing slightly to show off your progress.

“I can tell.” She says, running her thumb back up your stomach.

“Really?” You grin, trying to ignore the goosebumps that have spread over your skin from her touch. “I slept with this girl whose body made me drool.” You admit, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Felt like I was letting the side down a bit, so.”

“I think you’re beautiful naked.” She tells you, and your heart skips a beat as her eyes darken over you.

“That’s very crazy! That’s the same thing that she kept saying!”

“Mm?” She loops a finger through your belt buckle, drawing you in closer to her.

“It does turn out that she’s a professional athlete, though. So, I might have to just settle for being second best.”

She chuckles at you, shaking her head. “All this ..is for her benefit?” She asks, leaning into you.

“Mm. Well ..I wasn’t really sure I’d ever find her again,” you admit, letting out a very cautious exhale, “..but no one else has seen me..”

It’s a pointed confession from you, carrying a lot of added weight to it. Neither of you owe each other any loyalty from that night and you’d have no real right to be hurt, if she has explored other options. It’s not a test from you, you know it wouldn’t really change things, you did give it a try yourself, to be with someone else.

It didn’t feel right to you, when it wasn’t with her, you could barely even flirt with another person, but you can’t really have any negative reaction, if Alexia hasn’t had that same struggle. There’s a morbid curiosity in you, perhaps, given the direction your previous relationship went in, and you can only hope, that she will treat your heart more gently than he did.

She doesn’t know, that you were cheated on, she wouldn’t know, what her own admission would mean to you. You’re offering yourself up unprotected, to a woman who isn’t aware of the bomb she could be setting off inside your chest. It’s a silent plea from you, that this really has been as all-consuming to her, as it has been to you, and it’s very a big ask of someone, who you’ve only met thrice.

Her eyes pierce through to your soul, as she studies you, and it’s excruciating, waiting for her to give you something. There’s a clear caution in her, of what she’s about to tell you, and you’re not certain if it’s guilt, or sympathy, or something else entirely.

“Really?” She asks, and her voice is hoarse, as her eyes narrow at you. You can’t trust yourself with words right now, so you only offer her a silent nod, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes at your promise. She’s tentative, and nervous, and the mystery that once shielded her eyes when you first looked into them, is slowly dissolving in front of you. It isn’t guilt or sympathy that she’s feeling, she’s scared of letting you in.

It’s not unreasonable for her to have her own concerns, regarding you. You were incredibly pig-headed, about being straight, the night that you first met. You told her your relationship had ended only recently, and then you jumped straight into bed with her.

She can be certain that you’re attracted to her, you haven’t hidden that very well, but she has no real reason to assume that she isn’t a rebound, or a little sexuality test for you. You’re not the only one putting yourself in a vulnerable position here, she also stands to get hurt from this.

There’s the slightest hint of a smile on her face, as she accepts that you’re telling her the truth. The subtle confession, that the girl who was so relentlessly hunting for some random male company the night that Alexia first met her, hasn’t been on that same hunt since, clearly means as much to her, as a similar confession would mean to you.

“I haven’t been with anyone else either.” She tells you, and it breathes life back into your lungs.

You catch her entirely off guard as you press your lips against hers, but she’s very quick to catch up with you. There’s a distinct desperation in the kiss this time, a fervent hunger. An intense desire to make known how much she means to you, to show her that the small question mark that you have over your sexuality, doesn’t extend to any questions about her. You’re in no doubt of your feelings, you’re very certain of what you want.

Actions speak louder than words, clearly, and you’re definitely not leaving anything up to speculation. The passion in you continues to build and it’s Alexia who’s left breathless, when you finally pull away. You’ve rendered her speechless, and she blinks hard a few times as she lifts her fingers to her lips, before collecting herself again.

You’re sporting her smirk as she looks back at you, and she rolls her eyes with a shy smile. “Are you getting naked, or what?” She asks impatiently, and a laugh rings out from inside of you.

“Oof. I love when you’re romantic with me, baby.”

This might actually be your favourite place to be. Not the random shower stalls, they’re not particularly important to the rush that’s shooting through you. It’s entirely down to the wet and naked company that you have in here.

Reacquainting yourself with the curves and the ridges of her body, having her pressed up against you as her hands explore yours. It’s exciting just being back with her, your body’s on fire under her touch, your soul’s been reawakened, and none of the scenarios you kept playing through in your head, could ever really compare to having the real thing in front of you again.

“Is your leg still sore?” You ask, placing kisses along Alexia’s jawline as she leans her back against the tiles.

“I’ve already told you, that it’s fi—“

“Because I was thinking,” you interrupt, cutting her off with a kiss to her lips, “we should probably take some precautions.” You suggest, and her eyes narrow as she smiles slyly at you. “We wouldn’t want to aggravate it..”

“Mm.” She nods, trapping her tongue between her teeth. “Are you offering to get down on your knees for me?” She asks you knowingly, tangling her fingers in your hair.

“Mhmm ..for the good of the team.” You offer, feigning herosim as you kiss along her chest. “For football.”

“Mm ..well, I did score the winning goal.” She reminds you.

“Well, exactly, and that deserves to be celebrated.”

She chuckles, as she pulls you back into her by your neck, catching you a little off guard as her tongue re-enters your mouth. “I really have missed you.” She murmurs against your lips.

“Mm but like ..as a person,” you check, pulling back slightly, “not just my bloody tongue?” You pout softly up at her as she giggles with a nod. “Because I’m quite nice company for you to have around ..I’m very cute and funny.”

“You’re adorable and hilarious.” She agrees, running a finger up the middle of your torso. It sends goosebumps all along your body again, which she’s acutely aware of as that smirk is very much back on her face.

“But in like a sexy way.” You tell her, trying to ignore the heat she’s sent through you, and she continues to nod her head as she bites her lip. “Like a ..'I should take that girl home with me and do dirty things to her' kind of way."

“Is that what you’d like me to do to you?” She asks, with her eyebrow arching.

“After our shower ..yes please.”

“Okay.” She promises, tangling her fingers even further as she kisses you. “Then drop to your knees.” She instructs you, and much like a loyal little soldier, you’re very quick to do as you’re told.

She’s never really been quite so assertive with you, and a mild moan escapes you from it, as you traverse down her body, leaving a trail of kisses as you make your descent. She tightens her grip on you as she tilts your head to look back up at her, sending a dull pleasure running through you, before she guides you to the place where she’s wanting you most.

It ends up being one of the longest showers of your life, and you’re lucky to be leaving the stadium together before you both get locked inside of it.

Discussion turns to sleeping arrangements as you walk the length of the parking lot. Neither of you have any intentions of going home without the other, despite the lateness of the hour, and it feels like there’s an obvious choice for where you’ll end up staying. The hotel isn’t the best place for you tonight. The receptionist would undoubtedly recognise the company you’re keeping, and despite Em being out for the night, she isn’t exactly known for hanging around with her lady-friends the morning after.

You don’t really want to have to kick Alexia out super early, and Em catching the pair of you tangled up in bed together when she gets back, also doesn’t sound ideal.

“Are you scared of dogs?” Alexia asks as she opens her car door for you.

“No..”

“Then we’ll go back to mine.”

“You told me Nala was a Pomeranian?”

“She is.”

“Well ..then even if I was scared of dogs, I probably wouldn’t be afraid of her.” You giggle, placing a kiss to her temple before getting into your seat.

“I was just checking.” She tells you as she joins you in the car.

“Is she unfriendly?”

“No, she is a very good judge of character, though.” She warns, with a smile that’s mildly disconcerting.

“Oh ..so it’s a red flag if she takes a disliking to me?”

“Mhmm. I’d have to kick you out!”

It doesn’t feel like a fully-fledged threat from her, but there is a tone to her voice, that tells you she’s not completely joking either.

She starts up her car and rests her hand on your leg as she sets off from the stadium. Her fingers trace circles on the inside of your thigh and you have to link her hand with yours as she starts trailing up, to stop her from doing too much when the goosebumps quickly form along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” she offers, “you don’t like it?”

“I might like it a bit too much.” You chuckle, placing a kiss to the back of her hand, before placing it back in your lap.

It’s hard to stop your eyes from drooping a little in the car, you really are very exhausted. You rest your head against your seatbelt and dig the nails of your free hand into your leg to try and stop you from falling asleep. You have limited time with Alexia as it is, and you don’t want to miss out on any precious minutes.

There’s something unfortunately hypnotic about the glow from the streetlamps above you, though, which isn’t super helpful with your plight. The light pulses through the windows as Alexia drives, and you give your head a shake when you find your eyelids getting too heavy.

“Are you okay?” She asks, a little alarmed at your sudden spasm.

“Mhmm.” You mumble, stifling a yawn. “I really need you to keep talking to me, please. I don’t want to fall asleep.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything.”

She stares out at the road in front of her, losing herself in thought for a moment. She raises your hand to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, and she bops her other hand on the steering wheel.

“I asked after your initial.” She tells you whimsically, and your face scrunches, not at all following what she means.

It was a very weird thing for her to say to you, it’s not entirely down to your sleepiness that you didn’t understand.

“Sorry?” You ask, and her grip on your hand tightens.

“I was back in London last week ..I went back to that club.” She reveals, and your heart misses a beat as she speaks. “I was hoping, maybe you’d be in there again ..looking for a man.” She rolls her eyes and drums her fingers over the wheel. “I was worried ..that you might have already found one, when you weren’t there.” You place another kiss to the back of her hand, and her fingers twitch as they link through yours. “I think we made a big impression on that bartender.” She giggles.

“Bless him. We really did put on quite the show.”

“Mhmm! He was there again, when I went. I asked him about you, and he said he definitely remembered us, but he told me he really had no idea who you were.” A sigh escapes her lips, and she taps at the steering wheel again. “I couldn’t stay in there for very long.” She admits. “It gave me a headache. It was bad enough being in the same hotel. I did have a roommate this time, so ..we really did end up playing cards together, but ..I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Knowing you had to be near, but I’d never be able to find you.”

“I could’ve gone to that game.” You tell her thoughtfully. You stroke your thumb along the side of her index finger and clench your jaw. “Em invited me, and I told her to bore off.” You explain. “If I’d have had any idea ..I’d have been front row for you. I hate that we missed out on time together.”

“We’re together now.” She points out quickly.

“Only until tomorrow night ..then we’re right back where we started.”

“Not really.” She assures you, giving your hand a squeeze. “We know who we are now. We know where we are, we’ll swap numbers.”

“And we’ll what, make a proper go of it? With all of these miles between us?”

Her jaw tightens slightly as she continues staring out in front of her. “If you also want to.” She says softly.

“I’ve never really loved the idea of doing long-distance.”

“You don’t think it works?” She asks you, and her voice cracks slightly.

“I know that it can. It’s just ..not ideal.” You sigh.

“You’d miss me too much?” She smirks, and you shake your head with a small smile.

“Maybe.” You admit. “Why’d you have to be bloody Spanish?”

“You’d prefer me to come from London?”

“Yes! I mean ..you wouldn’t sound as lovely, but at least you’d be local.” You point out. “It’d be far easier.”

“Mm.” She mumbles. “Well ..you could have been from Barcelona, that would’ve been helpful.” She pulls the car up outside of her home, and you stare out at it through the window. “Come on.” She tells you, patting your thigh as she opens her door. “We won’t have to worry about any of this if Nala doesn’t like you!”

Alexia greets you at your side of the car and takes your hand as she leads you to the door. “¡Buena suerte!” She whispers, and you’re not 100% sure what it means,��as she gives you a very dramatic look of dread before she pushes through the entrance.

It feels like she’s really trying to worry you, but it would be very harsh to send you back to your hotel with your tail between your legs because her dog’s barked at a stranger. You’re not exactly Dr Dolittle but are you a fan of animals, and you’d be quite upset yourself if Nala didn’t take a liking to you.

You’re attacked, as soon as you step through the door. It’s not an uncontrolled ravaging that you receive, Nala certainly isn’t rabid. It’s a very excitable licking that you’re greeted with, it would seem that dogs really are like their owners. It really isn’t the big and scary personality test that Alexia likes to pretend it is at all, but she might have already known it wasn’t going to be a dealbreaker when she pushed you into the house with this vicious scary animal before her.

“Well, shit.” She sighs, looking down at you as you play with her dog on the floor, and the rare expletive from her mouth rings very cutely in your ears.

“What?” You giggle, craning your neck to meet her gaze.

“Now we might have to worry about it.”

You lift Nala into your arms and rise to your feet. A toothy smile spreads across your face as you move towards Alexia, and there’s a lot of affection for you being carried in her eyes.

“She quite likes me.” You point out, and Alexia nods her head, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. “And she doesn’t even know what I’m saying to her.” You place a kiss to the top of Nala’s head. “You might have to teach me some Spanish ..so we can have a proper conversation.” You tell her, bobbing Nala in your arms as you bury your face in her fur. “It’d make my trips out here a bit easier too.”

Alexia’s eyes widen slightly at your casual words of intent, and she beams at you as you give her dog another kiss. “You do want to give us a go?” She asks.

“Mhmm. I think I’d be crazy not to.”

“It could be a lot of work.” She tells you, and you nod, smiling up her.

“I know ..and I really think you might be worth it.”

A full smile takes over her face as she quickly takes Nala from your arms and places her back down on the floor, before giving you a quick kiss. She pulls you through with her to let Nala do her business outside, and something shiny on the wall draws your eye.

“These are all your trophies?”

“..Some of them.”

“Blimey!” You chuckle, as you move closer to them all. You keep a small distance, crossing your arms to make sure you don’t accidentally knock anything, and you study one, in particular, that’s caught your attention. “You made my sister cry, when you got this one.” You tell her, pointing to her World Cup medal. “I thought something terrible had happened when she rang me.”

“I’ll have to apologise to her," she winks, “when we meet.”

“Mm. You’ll have to apologise for today’s match, too.” You point out with a grin. “You’ve ruined her life a few times, I think.”

Nala makes her way back inside, brushing against your legs as she scurries off to who knows where, and a finger tapping at your shoulder, distracts you from your perusal of Alexia’s trophy cabinet. She smiles as you turn to face her, and she runs her finger down your nose before giving you a quick kiss.

“Oh my god!” Escapes your lips in a breathy giggle as Alexia lifts you into her arms and you wrap your legs around her waist. “Hi.”

“Hi!”

It’s a passionate kiss that she gives you, and any sense of tiredness that was taking over your body a few minutes ago, is very quickly forgotten as you lose yourself in her.

“I can walk.” You remind her, as she carries you towards her bedroom.

“I don’t care.”

You’re almost winded when your back hits the mattress, as she flings you onto it, a little carelessly. You’d probably be more stroppy about it, if she didn’t pull her shirt off before joining you on the bed. She didn’t bother putting a bra on after your shower and you’re very easily distracted.

It is her actual eyes you find yourself fascinated by this time, though. They really are very beautiful, and there’s far less mystery lingering in them now. It’s tenderness you see in them as she looks over you, silent intimacy, devotion, and the idea of eyes being the window to the soul has never seemed more true to you.

There’s an honesty in her eyes that far exceeds any words she could ever say to you, but you’re fairly sure you know what she’s thinking. You’re almost certain, in fact, and you feel compelled to confess something to her yourself.

“You. are. staring. again.” She tells you, punctuating each word with an increasingly deeper kiss.

“Mhmm.” You concede, and your hands rest on her hips as she smiles down at you. You swallow down carefully as your eyes meet hers, and your heart skips a few more beats. “I really think ..that I might be falling for you.” You profess, and her pupils dilate as she smiles down at you. “Is that ridiculous? To fall for someone so quickly?”

“I don’t think so.” She says, her brow furrowing slightly. “Sometimes you just know.”

“Would it be okay ..if I did start falling?”

“Mhmm.” She runs her finger under your chin, rubbing her thumb over your bottom lip, before leaning herself down over you. “I’m falling for you, too.” She tells you, before pulling you into her by your neck.

It’s different, from the sex you’ve had with other people before, being with Alexia. It never seems to be quick, and it doesn’t feel one-sided. You’re not left wanting after it, it isn’t unfulfilling. There's a continual desperate desire in you, to have her be with you, and to make sure that she’s also feeling good. It’s not a chore, and it isn’t something that she’s demanding from you.

There’s passion between you, affection, and it’s an equal offering from you both. It’s exciting, it’s fun, and it puts all your past experiences to shame. There’s an innocence in your enjoyment of each other, it really isn’t just a physical act between the two of you. It’s a bearing of your soul to each other, every time, and it’s no wonder at all, that you’re falling as quickly as you are.

There’s far more confidence in you now. You’re not having to follow Alexia’s lead quite so much. You know her body, what she likes you doing to it, and you savour every second of having her back under you. Every whimper and moan that you’re able to coax from her, how she feels around you, the taste of her on your tongue. Having her able to cry out your actual name this evening, has also set your soul on fire. Hearing it echo around in the showers, having her moan it like a quiet secret into your ear, as she grips at the sheets beneath her.

Alexia does have you entirely at her mercy when she chooses to take back control, and whether she really did appreciate you being so selfless by caring about her injury in the shower, or the fact that Nala took to you quite so quickly, you can’t be certain, but you’ve definitely done something to have her wanting to treat you extra nicely, before you remind her that she doesn’t need to be quite so gentle with you.

This isn’t your first time; you’re very much wanting her to have her wicked way with you.

It satisfies the burning inside of you, completely, satiating your hunger, and happily leaving you a little worn out after everything. She’s in a similar state of exhaustion, panting when she collapses back down onto you. So, you can probably give yourself a little pat on the back for your own efforts with her.

“Are you okay?” She checks with you, as you try to steady your breathing. She places a kiss to your neck in such a way, that you know she’s leaving another mark that you’ll need to cover up, and you run your fingers down her sides.

“Mhmm ..I think you’ve wiped me out.” You admit, lazily kissing along her shoulder.

“I think you’ve done the same!” She tells you, chuckling, as she rubs her thumb over your neck, admiring the new bruise that she’s decorated you with.

She watches over you for a moment, and you raise your fingers to your face.

“Do I have something on me?”

“No..”

“Well ..now you’re staring.”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you okay?”

“Do you want children?” She asks you, rather abruptly, and you have to chuckle at the timing of her question.

“What?”

“Children.” She repeats.

“..I don’t know what the Spanish education system has taught you, Ale ..but what we just did to each other ..isn’t resulting in any babies.”

“Idiota,” she chuckles, “but do you want them?”

“I don’t want you to go out stealing any.”

“Y/N!” She giggles, holding herself up over you. “I’m being serious.”

She shakes her head at you, and you grin up at her. “I think I do, yeah. Eventually, with the right person.”

A faint smile spreads over her face and she leans down for a kiss.

“Do you?” You question, and she nods her head, before kissing you again.

“Two.” She tells you. “One of each. A girl first.”

“I’ve always thought I’d have a girl first.” You admit. “Though ..I figured I’d just have two girls ..a little boy would be cute.”

“Mhmm!” She hums against you, linking her hands with yours as she pushes herself back up.

“That's a very intense question,” you point out, “before we’ve even been on our first date. I should be running for the hills.”

“Do you want to?”

“No,” you admit, “but you’ve got me picturing a family with you, and we’ve only hung out three times!”

“Is that what we’re doing?” She questions with a smile. “We’re hanging out?”

“What would you call it?” You ask her, and her eyes glitter above you.

“I don’t know,” she says, “but I don’t hang out with anyone else like this.”

“That’s a relief!” You chuckle, and she bites her lip as she shakes her head again.

“I think I want to be doing more than just hanging out with you.” She tells you, and a small smirk pulls at your lips.

“Well ..if our date goes well tomorrow, and we keep agreeing to meet up and go out with each other. Then ..we’d probably be dating.”

“Would that scare you, dating a woman?”

“Not when the woman’s you. I don’t think I’d ever shut up bragging about it.”

“That’s a lot of pressure on you, then.” She points out with a smile. “To make sure our first date goes well.”

“I know, and I don’t know Barcelona very well.” You remind her. “I wouldn’t know where I can take you, where you won’t get papped.”

She nods in understanding and leans down for a kiss. “Then, will you go on a date with me?” She asks, with a very knowing smile. “I can arrange our Barcelona dates, if you sort the ones in London.”

She holds out her pinky in front of you, for you to solidify your promise with her, and you place a kiss to your linked fingers, before losing yourself in her eyes again. “Deal.” You tell her softly, and a thrill flows right through your body as she collapses back down onto you.

It stirs in your head, as you realise that this is what it should actually feel like to be with someone. An excitement inside of you when you know you’re about to see them. A constant wish to be near to them, a genuine enjoyment of their company. A want to share your life with them, to talk about a future together without a sense of fear, or dread about it.

It’s what you could have gone on to miss out on, for your whole life, without her.

There’s a comfort in you, when you’re with her, a lazy pleasure in having her body resting on top of yours. The way her fingers trace over your every curve, how her lips light tiny fires on your skin. Each caressing touch from her is one that you crave. Every kiss, the way she laughs. Her relentless teasing, her continual cockiness.

It’s all something you want no other person to be lucky enough to experience the way that you’ve been able to. It’s all what combines together to make up Alexia. You want her, completely. Body and soul.

And it hits you, like a hammer to the chest.

You’re already in love with this woman.

“Are you okay?” She asks. “Your heart’s beating very quickly.”

“Mhmm ..I’m fine.”

She props herself up on her elbows over you and tilts her head with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m a terrible liar?” You realise, and she softly nods her head.

“You can talk to me.”

“I know, I just ..I’m just going to miss you, after tomorrow.”

“We can’t do that to ourselves.” She tells you quickly. “We still have the whole day to spend together.”

“I know, I just—”

She mutes you with a kiss and shakes her head. “No.” She says. “We’re not doing that. We can worry about it later. I’m taking you out tomorrow. You can’t go into our first date feeling miserable, the rest of our dates rest on the success of this one. You go into this date worrying about saying goodbye, we’ll never have any other da—”

You cut her off this time.

It seemed like she was really about to start spiralling almost as pathetically as you have been doing all day. What a pair of losers you are together. Maybe you are perfect for each other.

“Okay.” You tell her, nodding as you wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“We have one more day together,” she whispers, “we’re not wasting it being sad.”

It’s an unfortunate curiosity, that sleep has been so hard for you to come by when you’ve been so desperate for it, and now, it’s threatening to steal you away when you fancy nothing more than staying awake forever. You don’t want to go to sleep, but a yawn that you’re not quite quick enough to stifle, lets Alexia know that you’re struggling a little to stay up with her.

“Shit.” You mutter, throwing your arm over your face. “You caught that didn’t you?”

“Mhmm. You can go to sleep.” She assures you, but you shake your head with a petulant pout.

“I’m not tired.” You tell her, and she giggles, placing a kiss to your forehead before rolling off the side of you.

“You really are a terrible liar.” She says, opening her arms to welcome you into her, and you don’t waste much time nestling yourself in her embrace.

“I don’t want to sleep.” You admit to her chest, and she runs her fingers through your hair. “Not while I’m with you.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“You’d better be.” You tell her.

She throws her leg over your hip, drawing you in even closer to her, and you run your fingers up her thigh.

“Are you quite comfy?”

“Mhmm! I’m not having you roll away from me again in the morning.”

“I really wouldn’t want to.” You murmur, placing a kiss to her chest, as you snuggle closer against her.

“Well, now you can’t!” She tells you. “I have very strong legs.”

“I know, you do.” You chuckle sleepily. “I’ve had them clamped around my head a few times.”

Another small yawn escapes you as you close your eyes, finally accepting defeat, and you place another lazy kiss to her chest as you begin drifting off.

“Te quiero, Y/N.” Alexia whispers. “Dulces sueños.”

“You sound really very lovely ..and I’m really bloody sorry ..but I don’t know what you’re saying to me.” You remind her, and you can feel her nodding her head gently.

“Sweet dreams.” She translates, tightening her arms around you, as you struggle to stifle yet another little yawn.

“Sweet dreams, Ale.” You manage to mumble in reply, before sleep fully consumes you, and you’re finally able to rest.

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

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thepathwechooseif · 6 months

Text

DEMO TBA

In the English countryside in 1914, you live with your two children on your late husband’s grand estate. Two years have passed since the tragic sinking of the Titanic, from which you became a single parent.

Though surrounded by wealth and community, you remain lost in a fog of grief. But with the arrival of summer, the neighbouring family prepares to host their annual month-long house party. Your curious children persuade you to attend, hoping the festivities will lift your sorrow.

Lucas/Lucia Bertham, the family's charming heir, bonds with your children and seems to understand you in a way others cannot. But will secrets regarding their family's future prevent love?

Azra Hays arrives, a traveling storyteller with a gift for magic in their words that soothes your soul. Gardner Isaac Hill has loved you in silence, finding joy through your children's smiles.

More suitors await too - brilliant sculptor Zephyr Langston, whose art mirrors your heart, and Doctor Henry Bellman, who ministers to the people with patience and good humor.

As festivities crescendo with masques, fireworks and more, you start to believe in love and laughter again. But which person holds your whole heart? And will dark forces from the past destroy this new paradise you’ve begun to build?

The summer promises intrigue, blessings, and maybe a sweet romance if you can let go of history and embrace the gifts of tomorrow.

Customise your character as well as your children’s

Choose where you live and how you dress

Your choices have an impact on how society reacts to you!

Uncover secrets from your past!

Pursuing different ROs with varying levels of affection leads to unique story endings that resolve the mystery

Lucas/Lucia Bertham (m/f/nb)

The Heir, 26, Lucas/Lucia Bertham is the only child and heir to the prestigious title and lands of Bertham. They are a successful businessperson, but relish returning to their ancestral home each summer. While other young people prefer to travel abroad, they prefer the simple pleasures of country life. They take their duty as head of the manor seriously, helping tenants with an approachable demeanor. Though destined to marry well for station one day, they remain single and enjoy lively flirtations. While others dance at balls, they are the happiest hosting gatherings under the stars or riding alongside farm laborers by day. Lucas/Lucia lights up any room with their charm, wit and easy smiles. But is there a lonely heart searching for more beneath this carefree facade? As always, only time will tell what develops between Lucas/Lucia and you over the magical summer months at Bertham.

Isaac Hill(m)

The Gardner, 35, Isaac Hill has lived and worked on your estate for years. His strong, weather-worn hands coax beauty from the soil. Gardenings comes naturally to gentle-souled Isaac, as does his way with any creature in need of care. The expansive gardens are his pride and joy, a wonderland open for all to enjoy. Despite his huge build, muscular arms and calloused palms, his demeanor remains soft-spoken yet self-assured. While most village maidens sigh for officers or heirs, Isaac's gentle soul and way with children has turned many a head. But he remains devoted to coaxing new life from the earth, finding solace in small things. Perhaps amid the Bertham's blossoms, Isaac's own heart may bud anew this summer as well.

Zephyr Langston(m/f/nb)

The Sculptor, 27, Zephyr Langston hails from one of London's most prestigious arts families. Though young, their sculptures have already gained fame across England. While many London soirees vie for their presence, Zephyr relishes escaping to the countryside each summer. Using moody landscapes as inspiration, they work tirelessly to capture fleeting emotions in stone. Some say their sculptures are too sensually lifelike, but the Berthams proudly collect their edgy works. Zephyr charms salon attendees but remains unmarried, focused solely on their "passionate mistress," their art. Though prone to brooding moody spells while working, they come alive at parties with a playful wit. Could this summer be when they find inspiration of the heart as well as hands among the Bertham estate's rolling hills?

Henry Bellman(m)

The Doctor, 29, though young, he runs the village medical practice with a maturity beyond his years. What he lacks in words, Henry more than makes up for with his compassionate bedside manner. He listens with steady brown eyes that seem to see into patients' very souls. While others chat idly, Henry prefers observing life unfold with subtle calm. An avid reader, he's as learned as any university man but without pretense. More than one farmer's daughter has blushed starry-eyed receiving his attentions, yet he remains a bachelor focused solely on his work. The Berthams value Lucas greatly for his discretion and healing touch. But does his solemn façade hide deeper passions waiting to emerge? As always, only time will tell what mysteries lie beneath the calm exterior of Doctor Henry Bellman, and what intrigues he may stir in your heart this season.

Azra Hays(m/f/nb)

The Storyteller, 27, Azra Hays is a free spirit , with mischievous eyes like the summer sky. While others settle, Azra is happiest wandering the countryside in their worn boots, flute in hand.They’re a jack of all trades but lives for their art - spinning spellbinding tales that transport listeners far from their daily toils. With their easy smile and flirty manner, Azra charms all they meet. Yet beneath this bohemian exterior beats a kind and generous heart, always helping travelers in need. An orphan from youth, they never take their freedom or talents for granted. Azra makes their coin sharing folklore, gossip and bawdy jokes in villages along their route. But they save their most magical stories for moonlit campfires, weaving magic that leaves audiences in awe. Some say their nose for intrigue could even rival the Sherlock Holmes tales. Will Azra linger longer this year among Bertham's gardens and party revelries? Is there feeling breeding beyond friendship beneath Azra's roguish charm? As always, only time will tell the true depth of bonds woven beneath the summer stars.

#interactive fiction #no demo #twine game #twine wip #twine interactive fiction #twine story #twine if #wip #status: wip

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asherbakugou · 1 month

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When You Become Friends | He Falls For You

Jiang Kai | Kai Kalama

Kai impatiently tapped his foot, waiting for Reader to emerge from the doors of Ninjago City College. His amber eyes scanned every person who came out from the doors until he saw her.

They were wearing all red, which made him smirk as a blush colored his cheeks, with black heels and pants to tie the outfit together. It took Reader a second to find him across the street and for her to begin to make her way through the crowd.

"I'm surprised you actually waited," Reader mused, lips twitching upwards.

"How could I not escort such a lovely person home?" Kai asked, winking as Reader shook their head.

"Flirt."

"Only for you."

Reader did not know how true that was, did not know that Kai had completely stopped flirting with other girls even when she wasn't there.

Rolling their eyes, Reader turned and began to walk, leaving Kai to stride after her own long strides. Grinning smugly, he dropped an arm over their shoulder, eyeing them nervously from the corner of his eye to see if they were okay with it.

When his arm was left to rest upon her shoulders his smile grew as he held himself taller.

At their house, they sat with glasses of wine and chatted about their respective days.

The entire time Kai could barely keep his eyes off of her, listening intently though his mind wandered everytime he looked to her lips. Their voice was gentle, calm, the soft melody of light rain and sunshine shining through the clouds. When it was his turn to talk, Reader gave him their full attention, asking questions when things confused her.

He was falling for her. Not just her looks, but her.

Zane Julien

Zane smiled gently when he saw Reader practically bouncing towards him, satchel swinging with their movements.

"Zane!" Reader called, throwing her arms around his neck in a quick hug. When she pulled back, Zane privately wished she hadn't.

She had to tilt her head up a little bit to be able to look him in the eyes and it always set his wires alight. "It is good to see you again, Reader."

"It's good to see you too. So, where too today?"

"Well, a new exhibit opened at the museum about the prehistoric animals of Ninjago. I believed it would be something that interests you, but if not–"

"I'd love to go!" Reader blurted out, shrinking back into herself when some strangers looked at her wierdly. "Sorry. But I'd love to go. Come on."

Grabbing onto his wrist she tugged and he allowed himself to be led as she happily gave out every piece of information she had on prehistoric animals, which was a surprising amount.

While normally Zane would have cut off anyone else to remind them that he was a Nindroid, and as such, knew such things but coming from her . . . It was far more interesting hearing it from her than pulling up the information on his database. The rest of the day, Zane was hesitant to call it a date, he watched as Reader bounced around from display to display to take pictures and read the little plaque's full of information.

He adored the way her eyes lit up as her mind ran with hundreds of ideas for her art. He was falling for her, her mind, her creativity, everything.

Cole Brookstone

Cole sat at one of the tables of Fairy Tale, waiting for Reader to finish up the last little bit of organization for the next day of work. Smiling, Reader emerged, sitting across from Cole and pushing over a cup of hot cocoa for him.

In their own hands was a London Fog, their personal favorite.

"So how was the store today?" Cole asked, leaning forward a little.

"It was good. Miya's getting more confident in herself, even dealt with a customer before they could get too loud and rowdy," Reader said, waving a hand.

"I'm glad she's settling in well."

"She still can't believe that the Earth Ninja comes to visit, sometimes just to see lil' ol' me," Reader teased, voice low and pleasently husky making Cole swallow. Their gaze was lidded but focused, exhaustion showing.

"Well, I come for the cake too."

Reader barked out a laugh, shaking their head. "You should've seen her face when you devoured a full cake in less than 5 minutes. Oh, she came running back to tell me and I thought somethin' was wrong with how afraid she looked. I come out and its just you, devouring a cake in one sitting."

Cole vividly remembered that interaction and rolled his eyes affectionately as his cheeks colored.

"No need to be embarresed, Cole," Reader soothed, reaching to pat his hand. "It was funny, and not in a bad way."

Cole felt his grin grow. Reader was attentive and so direct that they rarely let misunderstandings last, and they were constantly checking on those around.

"Meh, I've had worse."

"Worse?" Reader raised an eyebrow but did not pry, though they were curious. Cole didn't mind and happily dove into one of the many stories he had.

Reader watched him so softly that he could practically feel himself melting. He was falling for the person who had no problem telling him the truth, never letting him fall into his own thoughts.

Jay Walker

Jay bounced in place as the line to the rollercoaster moved slowly forward. Reader, on the other hand, groaned, bored from having to wait in line so long when all she wanted to do was get on the rollercoaster.

"So, how'd Lloyd's new engine come out?" Jay asked, still bouncing on his toes.

Reader grinned, happy to talk about her baby, "Well, Nya came to pick it up last week so Lloyd could test it, and the video she sent . . . Dragons! It was going so fast, and the turns he made were so smooth! I was so proud of my baby!"

"Congrats! I wish I could've seen it," Jay complained, genuinly a little sad that he hadn't.

"Well, I've always got new projects and I wouldn't mind a test partner," Reader offered, grinning. Jay lit up in delight.

"You're kidding!"

"No way! Why would I kid about that?!"

"How many in your party?" The lady at the gate asked, looking bored to tears.

"Two," Jay answered, so she pointed to the first row.

Trying to hide their twin squeals of excitement they both bounded towards the front row, bouncing together as they waited for the next coaster to come in.

"Oh, this coaster is supposed to be the fastest and largest in Ninjago," Reader said, spitting out fact after fact that Jay was quick to build on.

"Yeah, they replaced the old track cause it got less popular."

Climbing in, the bar was pressed down over them until they were firmly wedged inside.

Jay happened to glance over at Reader, whose cheeks were flushed from excitement, eyes wide in anticipation, and could his heart stutter as his entire face went bright red. He didn't know he could fall for anyone again, especially after Nya.

But looking at Reader, who always let him be himself, instead of scolding him for being innapropriate at times of crisis, he knew he was falling for her. Falling for her looks, her quick wit, and her humor.

Lloyd Garmadon

Lloyd couldn't stop his eyes from flickering over Reader, whose legs were thrown into his lap as she read a comic. He'd hesitantly rested a hand on her calf but she hadn't reacted in any way, content to flick through the comic in her hands.

Unfortunately he hadn't been able to focus on his comic, too focused on how pretty Reader looked sparawled on the couch of their tiny apartment with the sun shining around them like a halo.

"You know, if you didn't want to read your comic, why'd you suggest we read," Reader teased, peering over her comic at him. He sputtered, face growing red as her smile grew bigger. Unable to keep it in any longer she busted out laughing, dropping her comic onto the coffee table. "I'm kidding, sweets."

Sweets. A nickname that she had begun using after watching him inhale a bag of gummy bears in less than 2 minutes. Everytime it rolled off her tongue, he could feel his cheeks heat up.

"Well, I didn't know what else you'd wanna do."

"Well . . ." Reader glanced to the side, pursing her lips in thought. "We could watch a scary movie."

"A scary movie? Hehe, good luck finding one that will scare me," Lloyd said, poofing out his chest. "I've seen all the spooky and scary in real life, nothing'll scare me."

The wide grin probably should have made him nervous but it just made his heart pound. Swinging her legs off the couch she headed over to her bookcase full of movies, searching for a specific dvd.

Annabelle.

An hour later when he was practically tucked into her side as he stared at the screen in fear, he couldn't even be dissapointed in himself. Reader had happily invited him to cuddle, so now she was tucked against his side, head on his shoulder as his head rested on hers.

Reader had, of course, laughed at him but her teasing had gone no further, simply offering him comfort. She'd even offered to change the movie but he didn't want to lose any more dignity than he already had.

Not that Reader would see him less. But he wanted to impress the girl who'd begun tugging at his heart just by smiling at him.

Morro

Morro quietly stepping into the bakery, finding Reader waiting for him already. Her gaze was on the same spot it always managed to fall on. The spot where Anya had been shot just over a month ago, losing her life in an effort to get away.

"Reader," Morro murmured, grabbing her by the shoulder to escort her out. Since the incident, Morro had felt indebted in a sense to at least check up on the girl who witnessed the murder of her coworker and friend, but it had grown into a friendship. Somehow.

"Sorry," She whispered, leaning into him slightly. Morro hummed, keeping an arm around her shoulders in comfort.

"How's your week been?"

"Difficult. I think I'm gonna switch to a new therapist," Reader admitted, glancing up at him.

Morro frowned, "Why?"

"He's just . . . He makes me uncomfortable and-and I know that they're going too but I can't . . ."

"If he does anything," Morro rasped, the nearby winds picking up in a quick demonstration that made Reader smile.

"I know. You'll kick his ass," Reader giggled, leaning up to press a sweet kiss against his cheek. Morro turned his head away a bit to hide the flush of his face.

Since they'd begun hanging out, Morro had learned how physically affectionate she was, something he'd never had any experience with.

"Come on," Morro grumbled, disguising the warmth he felt at the affection. "Ice cream place or bookstore?"

"Ice cream, then bookstore?"

Snorting, Morro nodded.

Giggling Reader happily picked up the pace, excited by the prospect of ice cream and books. Morro couldn't help but watch Reader softly, not even realizing how his face softened.

Since he'd gone through the Rift he'd struggled with touch of any kind unless he was fighting but when it was Reader the touch felt . . . comforting. Plus she understood bounderies and could read him surprisingly well, so she always seemed to know when she could and could not touch him.

For the past week anytime he thought of her, her snile, her laugh, her eyes, his heart would jump. It had taken him days to truly understand what he was feeling. Morro was falling for Reader, quickly and badly.

#Ninjago #kai smith x reader #kai smith #zane julien x reader #zane julien #cole brookstone x reader #cole brookstone #jay walker x reader #jay walker #lloyd garmadon x reader #lloyd garmadon #morro x reader #ninjago morro #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago headcanons

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helplesslypurple77 · 7 months

Text

AU Week: Detective AU(Dazai/Reader)

Summary:

“Remember Dazai.” You hiss in his ear, as the servant by the door rings the knocker for you. “As of now, I'm your wife.” “I know darling.” He says, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. Your stomach whirls to life, butterflies, leaping and bounding inside you. You don't know if you’ll survive the night, truly

Warnings: Smut~

Notes: I grew up with Nancy Drew, can you blame me? Also at some point the word count got away from me and i had to gloss over the actual mystery bits to get to the smut

then i also simplify the smut a little at the end but it got wayyyyyy to long

...

Even after so many years, the sight of dead bodies still made your stomach curl. You supposed it would never change, that disgusting stench of death, the quiet reverence that permeated the air as you stood before the body, the mangled body of a young woman, life cut much too short. And even though you loved your job, this was most definitely your least favorite part.

The grimy streets of London were as they usually were, dark and unpleasant. The streetlights scattered every ten feet did their best to cut through the blanket of fog that fell at dusk, hiding the surroundings from even the keenest eye. The rain fell in a mist, having been caught in the tail end of its fall. It always rained in London. You didn't mind, you actually liked the dreary atmosphere, as long as you weren't actually in the rain. You preferred to look upon it from inside a warm house.

“How tragic.” Dazai, your investigation partner says, reaching for another chip. He's holding a large bag of them, and as you eye them distastefully he crumples up the empty bag, tossing it into the garbage can. You take a deep, deep breath, letting it out through your nose in one big gust of air. Every day you come one step closer to simply ending it all.

Dazai Osamu is brilliant, that's obvious. Able to solve impossible cases with the barest bits of evidence, to track down serial killers and trick them into confessing. He’s so brilliant, you don't know why he even needs you to be his investigative partner, but he keeps you around, for some reason. You’ve never asked. Perhaps to field the questions he doesn't care to deal with. Or to foil his dumb antics. Or for comic relief.

“Let us investigate, my partner.” Dazai says, grandly swiping a magnifying glass out of his pocket. You take a deep, deep breath.

“Dazai, you shouldn't bring snacks to a crime scene.” You say, mostly for the benefit of the confused police officer standing in the back of the room.

“But that's so boring.” Dazai says loudly, attracting a few angry stares from the police officers scattered across the sight. You send them all small apologetic glances. It's smart to remain on good terms with these officers, because as soon as your small detective Agency loses the trust of the police, you lose cases, and when you lose cases, you can't pay rent.

The body is more gruesome up close, mangled in a totally unnecessary way. Her face is untouched, preserved perfectly in death, but her body is a mess. Her stomach is completely opened up, organs spilling onto the wet sidewalk, blood mixing with the pools of rainwater that run down the street, small red rivers, dashing away downtown. Why does it always rain, you’ll never know. But it always rains in London, that you could count on.

She’s dressed well, in a fine evening gown and sparkling jewels. Her handbag is lying a few feet away, strangely untouched. Dazai leans down, carefully inspecting her rain soaked face.

“Her jewelry is still on her.” You notice, probably stating the obvious. “You’d think the perp would have stolen it. Those are fine jewels.”

Dazai rolls his eyes in your direction. “Obviously, this was a crime of passion.” Dazai says, poking the dead woman's cheek curiously. He says the words like you should already know, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Dazai can grate on the nerves, his assumption that everyone is as smart as him is egregiously wrong. You try not to let his tone affect you in any way.

“Is she wearing makeup?” Dazai directs this at you, and you lean down, carefully inspecting her face. This is one area that Dazai lacks, women's makeup and fashion.

“Yes, she’s obviously dressed for a social engagement. A date or a fancy dinner.” You say, stomach turning as you try your best to avoid the more disturbing area’s, like the stomach. You dislike this part immensely, looking at the dead bodies of people who were just like you once. It makes your thoughts turn dark, scary, and entirely unnecessary. You sigh.

“Wasn't there a ball this evening? A sponsored event I think.” You say, directing this at the police officers standing behind you. It's raining, and yet they stand there, scarily still. Their uniforms were wet with rain.

“A charity ball, sponsored by the Stonewall Corp, Ma’am.” The officer on the right, a handsome young man with a sad-looking face says. You shoot him a thankful smile, and watch as his cheeks flush a little. He’s cute, thin and pale with small eye bags under his gray blue eyes. If you weren't on a murder investigation and bogged down with unrequited feelings of love for your dumb(at least when it came to emotions) partner, you would flirt a little, maybe find the time to sneak off for some ‘fun time’ but alas that's highly inappropriate. Dazai coughs from next to you, still crouching near the body.

“Flirting at a murder scene is in bad taste.” He says, as if he was not just eating an entire bag of chips, in front of a dead body. You take a deep, deep breath, inhaling the smell of the wet london streets, and holding onto your patients with all your might. Dazai is a brilliant man, intelligent and kind but he was also tactless, rude, and a terrible flirt. And maybe it was because of your ill fated crush on him, but every time he criticizes you, every time you felt unwanted and useless, a deep well of sadness opened up in your heart, sucking at your soul and wringing out every ounce of self worth you possessed. It was tragic and pathetic and your patience was running thin. You had been feeling especially emotional and broken lately, and Dazai’s carefree attitude was grating at your nerves.

“Tell me oh so amazing detective, have you finished.” You say, tapping your foot insistently against the wet pavement. “Because I'm cold and wet and I want to go home.” You sound bratty and childish, but you can't bring yourself to care, not right now.

“Geez, cool your jets partner.” Dazai says, giving the body one last ounce over. “Fine, we can go. Hey you there.” He directs this part at the police officer standing behind him, an older gentleman who looks very, very tired.

“Send us an investigation into this woman.” Dazai continues. You shoot both police officers apologetic winces as Dazai pulls his brown coat closer around him, meandering away from the crime scene. You move to follow him.

“Wait Miss, let me walk you home.” It's the police officer from before, the handsome one with the gray eyes. He pulls out an umbrella, holding it over your head. You shoot him a grateful smile. It feels nice to be admired for ounce. He blushes, scratching the back of his head to hide it.

“It's dangerous this late at night.” He says, voice trailing off towards the end.

“No need.” Dazai jumps in, suddenly reappearing in between you and the cute officer rather rudely. The officer jumps back skittishly, giving a defeated little sigh as he tries to protest.

“At least take my umbrella Miss, it looks like it's going to rain.” He says, pressing the umbrella into your grateful hands. And with one last tip of his cap, he's gone.

“It always rains, it's london,” Dazai says, once again heading along the back street. You follow him, your heels clicking on the soaked pavement. The clicks echo about the empty street, accompanied by Dazai’s loud humming and truly unnecessary comments. You roll your eyes in Dazai’s direction.

“Would it kill you to be a little nicer? The police do their best, you know that.” You say, opening the umbrella with a click. The rain begins to come down in earnest, and Dazai ducks under the umbrella as well, crowding into you.

The two of you turn a corner, entering the shopping district. It's late, and most shops have already closed their doors. The only light comes from the street lights, casting rings of light onto the soaked pavement.

Dazai grumbles faintly, something you can't quite hear. You sigh.

“So, any ideas?” You say, extending a little bit of an olive branch. You really do appreciate your partner, and you love him as well, even though he can be childish and annoying. You value his time and intelligence greatly.

Dazai sighs out a great breath, as you turn the corner onto the street that houses your little detective office.

“Just a few things, we don't even know who she is yet.” He sounds tired, and a little depressed, and as the rain starts coming down harder than before the two of you sprint towards the office.

You lock the door behind you with a decisive click, you're not taking any chances. The office is dark, but you can make out the familiar shape of the secretaries desk, and the darkened typewriter. You make your way up the back stairs, Dazai on your heels and open the door to your warm apartment. You share it, to cut rent costs. It's also conveniently placed right above the office. There are two people already in the room, sitting by the fire.

Dr Yosano, one of the people you share the apartment with, is a very old friend of Dazai’s, and a great person to have around when one of you stumbled home, potentially very badly injured. She works as a doctor by day, and sometimes disappears at night. You don't ask her where she goes, she honestly scares you a little. But she’s a very kind woman, who’s known you for years now. She’s sitting across from the fireplace, a book in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

Atsushi is curled up in an armchair, textbooks and handwritten notes scattered out on the coffee table in front of him, little sighs gusting from his half parted lips. Atsushi is only eighteen, and studying to become a professor of literature one day. A good childhood friend of yours for many years, you considered him a little brother of sorts. You smile in Yosano’s direction, leaning down to press a kiss to Atsushi’s sleeping forehead gently. The poor boy overworks himself, always trying his best to keep up with some of the weirdos who go to his school. He’s a kind boy, good natured and handsome, and a bit oblivious. There's always a bunch of innocent college girls coming up to you, asking after him, yet he never notices.

“So, how was it?” Yosano says, her voice pitched low so as to not wake Atsushi. You sink onto the couch beside her, your skirts brushing against your tights. You're wearing darker colors, a dark navy blue and black striped walking suite. You love this particular outfit, and the dark colors match the dark weather. Your skirts rustle around your feet as you lean down, pulling off your black kitten heels. You take off your hat, placing it gently on the coffee table away from Atsushi’s notes.

“Gruesome. The body was mangled. Unnecessarily I might add.” You say, sinking back into the couch cushions with a sigh. Dazai hums behind you, hanging his brown coat on the rack.

“Obvious crime of passion. None of her jewelry was stolen. And her face was completely intact.” Dazai sighs, sinking into the armchair opposite Atsushi’s sleeping form. “She was coming from some sort of charity ball? High society and the like.” He scoffs, his opinion on the upper class as clear as ever. You close your eyes as you let your body sink back into the soft fabric of the couch. It's late, and you can feel sleep tugging at you, pulling at your limbs and urging you to fall deep under, into a quiet, peaceful, sleep. You wish to obey.

“Dazai? ‘M going to bed.” You murmur, taking a deep breath and slowly getting to your feet. You arch your back with a crack, and trudge towards the room you share with Yosano. He hums noncommittal in your direction, and Yosano sends you a small, tired goodnight.

☂☂☂

The next few days are filled with boring, boring interviews. Interviews with relatives of the poor girl, interviews with her slimy brother, and interviews with her weepy rich boyfriend. But you get a few good things out of it. One, Dazai solves the case. And two, you get a free vacation.

“She was going to attend this mansion party.” The boyfriend of the dead woman tells you, swiping at his nonstop tears with a soaking wet handkerchief. “At the digression of a billionaire.”

Her boyfriend is a rather ugly man, portly and balding but kind and sensitive. He hands you a small envelope sealed with a red wax seal.

“I just know she would have wanted you to have it. I'm entrusting it to you.” He says, bowing his head in thanks and standing up to leave.

The whole thing was a wash, a confusing mess of emotions and hidden words that you don't want to sort through, but as you and Dazai sit there, in the front office with that envelope in your hand.

“You know.” You start, sitting back against the hard wooden back of your chair, “I wonder if this is what it feels like to strike gold.”

Dazai spares you a small chuckle, before he stands up, stretching with a yawn. “Better get packing, partner.” He says, shooting you a smile. “We're going on a trip. And it looks like we're getting married.”

☂☂☂

“This place is huge.” You whisper in Dazai’s ear, gloved hand hooked in his elbow. You whisper the words, almost smacking him with the brim of your hat. You're wearing another walking suit, because it's raining, again, and you don't want to ruin your nicer dresses for this farce.

The dress is a pretty brown, trimmed in black lace and ribbon, and matches Dazai’s brown and white suit well, in a way that says ‘we’re married and get our clothes tailored by the same person’. Because as of now, as you step through the threshold of the massive ivy-covered mansion, you are married.

“Remember Dazai.” You hiss in his ear, as the servant by the door rings the knocker for you. “As of now, I'm your wife.”

“I know darling.” He says, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. Your stomach whirls to life, butterflies, leaping and bounding inside you. You don't know if you’ll survive the night, truly.

The door opens with a crack, an older man with hair as silver as a coin peeks out. His eyes are beady, suspicious and angry as he looks the two of you up and down. You try not to fidget, standing straight and tall like you’re supposed to be there.

“Mr and Ms Osamu Dazai? Your invitation.” The butler says, eyeing you suspiciously. You try not to fidget with your wedding ring, hidden under the pair of brown leather gloves you wear.

“Yes, here.” Dazai says, passing the invitation over. “I guess you were informed of the change?” He sounds as careless as ever, but in this situation, it actually works in his favor. He sounds just like a rich newlywed husband, taking his new wife on a fine vacation to the countryside. You clutch his arm tighter, nodding at the butler dismissively.

“I just really wanted to go, you know, and my darling Osamu managed to get an invite for me.” You giggle, playing up the young and in love. “Oh, you’re such a dear.” You simper, planting a lipstick kiss boldly on his cheek. His chest puffs up and he grins at you, sending the caretaker a side eye.

“Can you hurry it along? My wife is offly tired from the road.” Dazai says, and his voice portrays the air of someone who finds it very annoying to be doing something as tedious as checking identities. You reach up, adjusting the top hat that sits upon his head. The caretaker fixes the two of you with an unimpressed stare, but steps aside.

“Very well, i’ll show you to your room then.” He says, ushering the two of you inside. The door shuts with a slam behind you, and you're suddenly surrounded by eerie silence. The large hallway is empty, and cold with portraits lining the walls. Their grand portraits, of stern looking men and women, positioned so they are looking down upon each person that steps foot inside the mansion. You dislike each of them immediately, but a stern looking woman dressed in an unpleasant blue dress stands out to you. She seems to be watching you specifically, and you clutch Dazai’s arm tighter, turning away from the unpleasant painting.

The grand hall is big, arched ceilings support a large crystal chandelier that throws beams of light across every surface, be it the wooden paneled floor or the green wallpaper that lines the walls. The entire room is quiet, although faintly in the distance you can hear the sounds of a piano. You lean close to Dazai, whispering directly in his ear.

“This place is so spooky babe.” You stage whisper, eyeing the butler out of the corner of your eye.

“Don't be impolite darling.” Dazai stage whispers back. “Not everyone can have your suburb taste.”

“Welcome to the Crowley Estate, Mr and Ms Dazai. You’re our last guests to arrive.” The Butler says, leading you up a large twisting staircase, wrought iron handling and wooden steps. Your heels make loud noises in the mostly abandoned room. Every now and then you can catch the faint glimpse of a maid, dashing back and forth and then disappearing into one of the doors on the landing.

The Butler leads you down a hall, your footsteps vanishing into the carpeted floor. The doorknobs are silver, the many colored doors at odds with the green wallpaper. You eye them, taking note of any strange details.

“You guys are in room seven. Dinner is in thirty minutes. Do not be late.” The Butler says. And then he turns on his heel and leaves. You sigh.

“What a lovely man.” You say, turning the knob to room seven and stepping inside the room.

☂☂☂

The maid leads you and Dazai to the dining room twenty minutes later. You're still attached at the hip, and as you open the large doors with a creek, the panicked chatter in the room dies. There's a small circle of people in the room, gathered around something, obscuring it from your view. And because you’ve seen this exact scene go down a few to many times, you have a bad feeling you know exactly what happened.

Arm still hooked in Dazai’s, you walk forward, half dreading the sight you know you’ll see when you arrive. The half circle of eccentrically dressed people part like the red sea, and what you see in the middle makes you cringe.

The body of the butler, laying face down in the carpet with an axe buried deep in his back. You take a deep breath, and start your theatrics.

“Oh Hubby.” You say, turning dramatically and throwing yourself in your ‘husbands’ waiting arms. “It's a dead body baby. Oh that's so scary!” You say, your voice whiny and annoying even to your own ears.

Dazai pats you on the back reassuringly. “What is going on here? Can't you see, my wife is deeply disturbed by this?” He says, as you cry fakely into his jacket. “She has a very delicate constitution.” He informs the crowd of confused people that watch your theatrics. You clutch his shoulders, forcing real tears to ruin your makeup.

“Oh ‘Samu, our vacation is absolutely ruined!” You say, pulling away from his coat to stair beseechingly into his eyes. “And I was so looking forward to it. Whatever shall we do?”

Dazai puts on an admittedly convincing look, eyes suddenly glued to your lips. Your heart is in your throat, beating an unsteady rhythm as the two of you stand chest to chest, your matching wedding rings flashing in the lowlight. All you can see is his eyes, the strange expression that sits on his face, all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears, all you can feel is him.

“Well.” Dazai starts, his voice all breathy and low. “I guess we’ll just have to make our own fun then darling.”

The world around you is gone. The other people in the room are simply gone. The dead body lying on the floor in a pool of blood is gone. All you can see is Dazai. His eyes lidded, locked on your lips. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, chewing it lightly and he takes a breath in. And suddenly he’s moving closer. His eyes are still locked on your lips, and you feel your own eyes fall closed, your fingers notting in the fabric of his jacket and then—

Someone coughs, and you open your eyes, suddenly remembering that there is a dead body and six confused strangers in the room with you. You move away, flustered.

“Is this really the time?” A woman says. She's an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, dressed finely in a periwinkle blue dress and a silver animal fur of some kind. She hides her annoyed expression well, but you can still see it in her eyes. The other occupants of the room nod.

They are an odd group, all dressed in finery and dripping with money. Their wealth drips off them, and if you weren't busy throwing a kind of fit, you would cringe away from them. They give off the air of people who think they are very important, far more important than those ‘commoners’. But right now, you are those people. You take a deep breath, and continue on with the theatrics.

☂☂☂

“What a waste of time.” You say, closing the door behind the two of you. The minute the door shuts you sink down into a chair, the exhaustion clear in your body language.

Dazai chuckles to himself, hanging his brown coat on the coat hanger by the door.

“They're all annoying, but none of them are murderers.” He says, placing his hat on the coffee table and checking his watch.

You spent the rest of the evening in the room, deftly feilding the flying accusations that spun around the room, and doing your best to convince them that you’re a young and in love couple.

“You think they believed us?” You ask, turning your eyes on Dazai. He sinks down next to you, shooting you a wink.

“You were very convincing.” He says, siding closer to you on the couch. You tamp down the butterflies in your stomach, outwardly rolling your eyes. As much as you wish his flirting was only for you, you know that's to the contrary. Although for some reason, lately he’s really stopped his flirting. Maybe he finally got tired of being rejected. And it wasn't flirting, it was double suicide invitations. Somehow, even though the man annoys you to no end, the butterflies still whirl around your stomach, your palms become sweaty and your heart beats double time. You hate him, just because of what he’s reduced you to. But you know you love him.

Dazai stands with a groan, stretching his arms above his head. “Well my Darling wife.” He says, shooting you an exaggerated wink. “I'm off to bathe. Won't be long.” He says, yanking one of the fluffy towels that the maid had left and soldering off to the bathroom. You give a noncommittal hum in return, and when the door slams behind him you start the process of getting ready for bed.

First the outer jacket is taken off, folded and carefully placed in the dresser. Usually you would have a maid help you undress, but you were very suspicious of everyone in this house, be it staff or guests, and although it was hard you would rather just do it yourself. The outer skirt is taken off, then the thin layer of petticoats and the shaping pads and the pretty lace trimmed corset until you're left in just your silk and lace chemise. It was a pretty one, one of your favorites and unusually short, reaching about mid thigh. It was trimmed in layers of lace and the edges brushed your skin as you carefully picked up your pile of clothes, carrying them into the walk in closet. You're carefully placing them away when you hear the voices, people chattering just outside your room. You still, listening.

“Do you think those two are actually married?” someone, a man, speaks first. You freez, not making a sound as they continue their conversation. They can't see you, but they might be able to hear you.

“You think they are faking?” It's Margaret, the older woman from earlier, her haughty pompous voice full of disdain. She continues. “Then are they the perpetrators?”

The man coughs lightly before he speaks again. “I don't know, but I do know that when my wife and I were newlyweds we simply could not keep our hands off each other if you know what I mean.” You blush, still hiding in the closet.

“I suppose you're right.” Margaret says, and you hear something hitting the outside wall. She might be leaning against it. “Well it seems like the husband is taking a bath. Maybe they don't get along that well after all.”

They continue their chatting, walking down the hallway and soon Margarets door slams, and you can hear their conversation through the wall. They think you can hear them, you suppose. A plan forming in your head, you carefully finish putting the clothes away. The walls are thin, very thin. Earlier you heard Margaret through the right walls, loudly complaining to the maid for the thousandth time. It would be so easy to fake it, to moan just loud enough that she can hear, and so can your other neighbors. You smile to yourself, trying to calm your racing heart and the embarrassment lighting your face. Just in time, you hear the sound of the bathroom door opening.

You exit the closet in a rush, and turn on Dazai, advancing on him much like a predator. He smiles at you, with not a clue.

“I was waiting for you.” You say, purposely pitching your voice a little higher than the purr you would usually use to seduce men. You need the snoopers on the other side of the wall to hear you. Or hear you enough that their suspicions are eased and they leave the room in a hurry. Dazai eyes you, confused. You're upon him now, and you slip your bare hand into his, trying your best to caress the skin, to seduce him with touch. Still gripping his hand, you pull him towards the bed. He stumbles after you, his face still pulled into one of confusion.

“What are you doing?” Dazai asks you, a strange light in his eyes as you stop before the large bed. His eyes are locked on you, his hair still damp from the bath, droplets dripping down his neck and soaking the fabric of his complimentary bathrobe. The air in the room has changed, it's charged with electricity as he looks at you, his eyes jumping from the low lace collar of your chemise to your exposed thighs, to your lips. You smile, small and seductive. Maybe you're doing too much, it's not like the people on the other side of the wall can see you, but you can't help the faint hope that maybe he wants you, that maybe he loves you. You banish any thoughts like that from your mind and gently push him onto the bed.

His back hits the fabric with a sound, a soft sound that you know the snoopers on the other side of the wall can't hear. He props himself up, still watching you. You hear a creak near the door, and you sigh. More suspicions are flying it seems. Time to up your act a little.

“What are you…” Dazai tries, trailing off as you climb onto the bed, crawling forward on all fours, doing your best to employ all the seduction techniques you know. You don't stop until you're on top of his prone form, and then as you sit down, plopping yourself directly on his lap. He hisses, gripping your waist with a question on his lips and arousal in his eyes.

“Name, what are you doing?” He hisses, his voice urgent but low. You ignore him, slowly grinding down on his lap, and the hardness you find there. His protests die on his lips as you move, back and forth along the length you can feel beneath the fabric. Dazai grips your hips in a slight protest, hands trembling against your skin as you lift your chemise over your head. His eyes run to your boobs, his dick twitching against your bare pussy. You whimper a little as you grind harder, the stimulation ruining your sanity. But you must hold on, this is only an act.

“Why are you protesting babe?” You say, a little too loudly for the benefit of the watchers. “Are you too tired?” You grind down a little harder, and Dazai bites his lip. Hard.

You lean down, pretending to kiss his neck as you speak. Your voice is a whisper, a caress, your body still singing with arousal. “They're suspicious. They're watching.” You whisper, moving your hips back and forth, back and forth. It's all the words it takes. It seems Dazai’s brain isn't completely fried by arousal, because understanding flashes through his brain, followed by something you can't quite place. It almost looks like disappointment. You banish the thoughts, for it's impossible and only going to upset you later.

“You're quite needy today darling.” Dazai says, his voice heavy and deep. You do have to give him credit, it sounds oftly realistic and makes more heat pool in your gut. You bite back a whimper, fingers tracing the line of his bathrobe against his chest.

“I don't want that nasty body to ruin our vacation.” You pout, trying to conceal the obvious arousal in your voice. But you can't conceal your body's reaction, the wetness that spreads on his bathrobe. But, based on the hardness pressed against you, he can't control that either. It feels good to have at least this on him, it proves he's attracted to you in some way. It's a small consolation, but a consolation indeed. He chuckles beneath you, as you grip the ties of his bathrobe, pulling them undone and running your hands over the soft skin of his chest. He’s surprisingly built, with a faint abbs and a v-line running below the only part of his body still covered in soft white bathrobe. You giggle, running your hands along his body.

“You’ve been working out huh, baby.” You smirk. Dazai nods, hands tangled in the sheet as you grind down lightly, pussy leaving streaks behind on the fabric.

“Wanted to impress you.” He gets out, his voice sounding surprisingly wrecked. His face looks almost open, losing some of the guards he usually has in place around people, and if you didn't know he was making this up, you would totally be fooled. You have to congratulate him.

You grip his wrist, pulling his hand away from the sheet and bringing to you boob, giving him a permission of sorts to touch you. You want him to, in this case now and normally, and you wish he would take, take you however he wanted. You whimper as the rough pads of his finger come in contact with your sensitive nipple. If you strain your ears, you can faintly hear a commotion next door, what sounds like hushed conversation and the sound of footsteps, but the horny haze that surrounds your brain makes it hard to compute. You just need to control yourself until you hear them leaving, then you can go masturbate in the bath or something.

Dazai’s hand moves from your boob, once again gripping your hips and moving you, to simulate sex. You just close your eyes and let him, letting your moans leak out of your mouth and into the open air. You hope he thinks they're fake. You can hear faint little pants and grunts from him, and every so often he bites his lip red, his eyes locked on you and you grind. The expression on his face is something you don't think you’ll ever forget. Eyes locked on your face, dark with arousal and something that looks like amazement or disbelief, flushed cheeks and bitten lips, parted slightly with little pants into the already stuffy air of the bedroom. You know you don't look much better, face flushed, lips releasing moans into the air. You don't know if you will be able to hold on much longer.

And then, the sound you're waiting for. The next door slams loudly. “Oh, I must go downstairs.” Margaret exclaims loudly, and the sound of three sets of footsteps hurrying away is prelude to the end of this charade. You stop moving, still panting and quivering above him.

“They're gone.” You say, voice still full of arousal. Dazai staring at you. All this time, his eyes have never left you, your body, your eyes, your mouth. Their such a deep brown, the pupils dilated to almost black. There's a light in them, a light of disappointment, a light of desire. You don't know what to do from here.

Neither of you move, just frozen on the bed, you on top of him. It feels as if a spell might be broken, as if you are Cinderella and the moment you make a move to get up, the spell will break and the status quo will be back. The normal everyday you, and the Dazai that doesn't love you. You take a deep, deep breath, and prepare to move.

Dazai’s hands anchor you in place, his eyes narrowing slightly as you try to move off him. You frown. He grips your thighs, big hands anchoring you in place.

“Dazai…” You say, the word still full of arousal but tinged in confusion. He seems to be making a decision, weighing the pros and cons and as you sense his hands loosening around your waist you fall backwards. You spread your legs, fingers playing with your boobs and decide to take a leap of faith.

“Dazai.” You start, your voice certain. “I want you too fuck me.”

The effect is immediate. The emotions at war in Dazai’s dark eyes vanish, and suddenly he's upon you, gripping your waist and pulling you toward him, toward his dick. The bathrobe falls off, landing without a sound on the blanket and all you see is skin, pale skin, and dark eyes. They dont leave you as he lines up his hard dick inside you, pushing the head past your walls. The effect is immediate, you arch off the bed with a moan. Dazai smirks.

“You look so pretty like this.” He says, hands still slowly pulling you down on his cock. “You feel what you’ve done to me baby?”

His voice is rough as he slowly pushes in, hands gripping you so tight you're sure they’ll bruise. You whimper, hands gripping into the fabric beneath you as he bottoms out and starts to move. Your back arches off the bed with a moan, and as he sets a pace, fast and rough and oh so delicious, you grip his shoulders.

“Oh god Osamu.” You practically shriek the words, nails scratching his back. “Oh god i love you.”

You almost regret the words, but as he sucks possessive little marks into your neck, he murmurs the words into your skin.

“I love you too.” Dazai says, the words to tender and full of sincerity you nearly break. And then, he hits that spot inside you and you come with a scream.

☂☂☂

The atmosphere when you and Dazai enter the dining room the next morning, Dazai glowing and you limping and covered in hickeys, is one of many different emotions.

The maids are giggling, and even the butlers and some of the people at the large table are muffling laughter behind hands and napkins. Margaret sticks her nose in the air, as haughty as before.

And even though you have your work cut out for you, dealing with all these people and finding the killer, you find you are starting to anticipate the prospect. Dazai’s hand is still wrapped around your waist, supporting you as you walk around the table and you know he’ll be able to support you like this for a long time. It feels nice.

“What are you thinking about?” Dazai says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You giggle.

“Oh nothing.” you say, taking a seat beside him. “Nothing at all.”

...

End Notes: been dealing with a nasty headache lately. Annoying as fuck. Btw i also did a little bit of research on the clothes but i am by NO means a fashion history expert. I just have google and sometimes that's wrong. Tried my best though.

on a totally unrelated note…Junko posing is coming back on tik tok and im terrified.

its lowkey fun though…

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai smut #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #helplesslypurple77

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twistedwonderlandshenanigans · 21 days

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TWST Cast Food Order Series - Coffee Shop

Idk it seems like fun and I want to do their subway orders eventually so if you have a req drop it. Also, gonna update my tags Eventually, but this will be the first post that refers to Jack T., Che'nya, Najma, Neige, Falena, Rollo as 'twst side characters'

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Heartslaybul

Riddle Typically, Riddle has a lot of rigidity regarding food and drink, and what he will or won't allow himself to have. However, as he starts to work through it all he eventually gets to the point where he feels comfortable ordering a small London Fog (Earl Grey Latte basically, with vanilla syrup) and a cake pop if he's feeling indulgent, though usually he just asks Trey for them. Even farther into the future, he'll indulge in getting himself a small white hot chocolate with 2 pumps of strawberry syrup because then it's basically drinking chocolate-covered strawberries....it just takes him a while to get there. (He always spells his name out when the barista asks, he learned after getting Ridelle on his cup)

Trey Whenever he makes candied violets, he also has violet syrup. He tends to carry a small vial on him when he goes out because if he's going to pay for tea, he's going to make sure it turns out perfectly. He typically gets a medium iced lemon herbal tea and he adds his syrup to it for just the right touch of sweetness. (Always gives a name like. Batman or some shit, especially when his siblings are around)

Cater Coffee connoisseur. You might think he's a basic bitch, but to me a basic bitch still means he's getting some sort of sweetener in his drinks and he is Not. Cater cannot STAND drinking a lot of drinks that go viral because they're so damn sweet. That all being said. Yeah, he's getting a large iced latte with skim milk. He won't have normal milk because of the fat content, but the other milk alternatives tend to have a sweetness to them naturally. He could get an iced black coffee or cappuccino, but he likes the ratio of a latte better. Iced black coffee is reserved for exam week LMAO it keeps him awake in more ways than one. Those spicy drinks that circulated at Starbucks? He definitely tried one. Didn't finish it. (Has had his name spelled as Carter. So. Many. Times.)

Deuce He likely won't have gone to a coffeeshop until he's at NRC so he's a little overwhelmed by the menu and what to order. I think he would go for a small frozen hot chocolate because it's familiar enough that he thinks it sounds good, but it's still something new and he doesn't know how to make it himself yet. Once he starts going more regularly though, I think he would really like REALLY sweet frappes. Like large cookie frappuccinos whether it be chocolate crumble or sugar cookie it does not matter lskjdfhlksdjf (has had his name spelled as Doose)

Ace Having a regular latte does not satisfy his sweet tooth, though he'll have one here and there. Ace likes trying lots of different drinks, but the one he always comes back to is a large iced white mocha, no whipped cream. (In relation to my MC, the no whipped cream thing was a change he made because he knows she likes eating the ice and he drinks slower than she does, so by the time she finishes the ice in her drink, he gets to pretend like he didn't time finishing his drink just in time to let her have the ice 'like a fucking weirdo, but okay' but the whipped cream always leaves a weird fatty residue on the ice that she hate). Ace is also a sucker for peppermint hot chocolate when it's in season. (Straight up had his name written as 'ass' on the cup which is the ONLY reason he doesn't tease Deuce about his spelling)

Savannaclaw (just assume pup/cubcups are implied LMAO)

Leona Ugh this pretentious bitch /lh. Flat white is too boring, lattes are the basic bitch drink, this has too much 'coffee flavour', this needs more milk YEAH I'M SURE IT DOES KITTY. Anyways, when he's alone, he gets himself a small cup of just steamed milk, with like a half pump of (sweet) vanilla syrup. When he's around other people he gets a Cafe Cubano, which is an espresso shot prepared with brown sugar. It's a small enough portion that's sweet enough he can get over not having milk in it, but he's not Jazzed about it LMAO he just doesn't want to get the milk in front of other people my poor baby man. He sometimes gets a Cortado, but he can never remember what to call it. (Refuses to give a name, just goes by the name of the order, or he's just called by his title)

Ruggie My man works so hard. He and coffee are best friends. He and Silver bond over coffee sometimes. It's beautiful slkdjfhlksdjfsdf In the mornings, he tends to make himself a large double-double coffee, which for non-Canadians means 2 milk, 2 sugar in drip coffee. In the afternoon, around 2pm, he makes himself a small iced dulce de leche latte. When he goes to coffeeshops, he goes because he wants something he can't make/imitate at home as easily....which would be a vanilla coconut cashew smoothie. (Vanilla ice cream, coconut milk, cashew butter and protein powder). He would have a fresh fruit smoothie, but he can't enjoy fresh fruit without feeling like he should share it with his siblings because it's a hot commodity, it's a luxury for them. Frozen fruit is cheaper and easy to make into smoothies, so he makes them a lot at home. Of course, if he's at a coffeeshop, he's going to get a donut too. (Has never paid attention to the spelling of his name, doesn't care)

Jack He cannot handle caffeine my poor baby, he would be so jittery and anxious. He is a fresh fruit smoothie guy, and also he cannot stand matcha (Vil made him try it at one point). He likes blueberry-acai banana smoothie with greens, yogurt, and protein powder. Otherwise, Jack will just get a small chamomile tea with honey as sweetener. (His name is always right and his tail wags when the barista throws on a happy face next to his name.)

Octavinelle

Azul Azul tends to drink Milky Oolong tea, because of the health benefits. Does he like the flavour. Debateable, I don't know I haven't had this drink I can't tell you if I think he does or not. Probably. I read somewhere it kinda tastes nutty or like Danish cookies. When he goes to an actual shop though, he tends to get an Americano. (Assule, Asul, Azhoole, he tends to spell his name out for people now too)

Jade Not a coffee or sweets guy. We know that he's fascinated by the varie-tea (badum tss and I immediately get hit in the head with a chancla) that tea has to offer. I think Jade has had caffeine once and like. You know how humans. kind of have exposure to caffeine as kids even in small amounts, like in chocolate, or in stuff like certain sodas. Mers don't get that. They don't get that exposure at all. Jade on caffeine was a terrifying experience for any and everyone involved and he is not allowed to have more, nor will he allow himself to have any because dear great seven he swears he saw God and he doesn't even know who that is. That being said, Jade likes Jasmine herbal tea, while he prefers it piping hot and just a touch sweet, he isn't opposed to having it iced. His favourite blend is good either way, as it has rose hips, hibiscus and orange peel. He also enjoys Chaga mushroom tea. (His name is generally spelled correctly)

Floyd Like I said. Mers don't get that exposure to caffeine that other species in TWST do get. However Floyd, to me, has ADHD. And what does my ADHD do to me sometimes when I drink caffeine? I pass the fuck out, orrrr I'm finally able to focus because caffeine is a stimulant and makes everything better!! (This is why I would down an extra large iced vanilla latte right before exams LMAO) Floyd doesn't care so much about the flavour than he does it's effects, so he generally just asks what drink has the most caffeine and gets that, usually a large nitro cold brew, and he tells the barista to surprise him with a flavour just NOT salted caramel flavour. (He gives a random name every time)

Scarabia

Kalim ADHD 2.0 but addiction is just a general worry for his family, so Jamil makes sure he only makes herbal teas, and smoothies. That being said, left unattended Kalim would order whatever tea a barista recommends. Otherwise, he gets a mango lassi. He also often enjoys any flavour of lemonade, carbonated or otherwise.

Jamil Aw man. This guy. Needs so much caffeine, and as much as he enjoys tea, Kalim only serves herbal tea, but Jamil doesn't mind too much how sweet he makes it. When he's in the mood for it, Jamil will make his own chai blend. However, when he wants caffeine, he'll consume it in a way that would make Rollo think he's a demon. He will order a nitro cold brew, and a 2 bags of green tea on the side. He will then microwave the cold brew to make it hot and steep the green tea in it. Using Starbucks as a baseline, a large nitro cold brew has 345 mg of caffeine. One bag of green tea has anywhere between 30-50 mg of caffeine. A 'safe' amount of caffeine to consume in a day is considered 400 mg.

Pomefiore

Vil We already know that Vil's favourite food is homemade smoothies- So when he goes out of his way to go to a coffeeshop, he's not going to pay for a smoothie, unless it's right after a run with Jack. Vil's order fluctuates with the weather and time of day. If he's getting something in the early morning (5:30am-7am) and it's cool outside, he's getting a flat white with soy milk. If it's warm out, he'll get an iced Macchiato with soy milk and cinnamon. If it's mid-late morning (8am-11am) and it's cool out he gets a medium americano, though if he's feeling indulgent he gets a honey vanilla tea latte with skim milk. If it's warm out, he gets a medium vanilla oat milk cold brew or a strawberry acai lemonade if he's again, feeling indulgent. He won't consider drinking anything until about 2pm, which, if he needs something caffeinated he goes for an iced matcha latte with oat milk regardless of the weather. In the evening, (4pm-6pm) he avoids caffeine and will either drink a small decaf iced lavender latte with oat milk or decaf green tea. Once in a while, Vil will try ordering something new. If he ends up liking it, that time of day is associated with that drink, so that would be the time of day he orders it again. the Vil in my head is telling me just how hard he has to mask when a coffeeshop doesn't have the thing he wants to order and how some of these orders. he doesnt even like. but he knows that they won't be out of the ingredients because it's Just the coffee and a milk alternative. So They Can't say they Can't Make it so he doesn't have to worry about needing to mask.his day is ruined if it's a day he wants to be indulgent and they dont have the ingredients but he has to try and hide like he is crying on the inside and he feels stupid about it because its just a drink I cant tell if it's OCD or Autism but there's a little something funky going on/lh

Rook He is well aware of the effects caffeine has on him. They aren't bad per ce, but he doesn't particularly appreciate the gastrointestinal consequences. He also doesn't really find the appeal in super sweet drinks. Most of the time, Rook just wants iced lemon water, though on nights he struggles to wind down enough to go to bed, he'll brew himself or order rooibos tea with a splash of milk. The smell is the most comforting thing about it, he remembers his sister used to make it for him.

Epel He says he's not a snob, yes he is, if you don't have apple cider, you suck, if you do have apple cider but it's a 'bad brand' you still suck, just a little less. That being said, a lot of coffee shops don't have apple flavoured drinks, and he likes making apple cider at home anyways. When Epel is out and about, he likes to order a large iced decaf maple latte. He always whispers the decaf part like it's a bad thing he can't actually have caffeine or else he turns into the squirrel from Hoodwinked. (Get's called Apple a lot, also Elle once or twice)

Ignihyde

Idia Do you seriously think this guy goes to a coffeeshop? No, it's 3am, he's on UberEats/CarriageBites, he's put in an order for a bunch of energy drinks and some of those iced coffee bottles, he throws an energy drink and probably a salted caramel cold brew in one of those SUS slushy cups, makes it slushy and downs it in less than two minutes. Get on his level. Noob. I say this as someone who drinks a near liter of an iced vanilla 'americano' in less than two minutes.

Ortho Is worried about his brother. He also loves the smell of cinnamon coffee cake.

Diasomnia

Malleus He's so lost in a coffee shop. He will spend a moment to read over the menu, realizes he needs to research the different kinds of coffee drinks before he feels comfortable ordering one, only for him to decide on having a coffee frappe. The caffeine has no effect on him so he drinks it purely for the taste.

Lilia Who do you think taught Idia to be a fucking caffeine gremlin. This motherfucker isn't even affected by the caffeine he just likes the taste of his abominable combinations and accidentally got Idia hooked. The only step Lilia doesn't do is the slush, he prefers his energy drink-coffee combo to be room temperature. Freak \lh

Silver He has Lilia as his father. Jamil and Ruggie as his peers. And Cater Diamond as a fellow coffee fanatic. This boy tries so hard to use caffeine to keep him awake, his coffee order scares the barista. (This was based an actual order I got from some guys FRIENDS because this poor dude was studying for engineering finals week, we were told not to worry about the price because they were willing to pay, and we had to give them like. Four warnings about the caffeine content. It ended up being 12 shots of espresso over ice in a 24 oz cup) He wants the biggest cup they can give him. He wants it filled with just straight espresso shots. Let me just iterate - one ounce of liquid espresso typically has about 63mg of caffeine. 12 espresso shots, using 63 mg caffeine as a baseline is 756 mg of caffeine. I don't know where that college student is now but god bless. I hope his friends took away the coffee at some point.

Sebek He doesn't like black coffee, I do think he likes particular types of coffee. Like the coffee that doesn't taste like coffee. However, his go-to order is still just a piping hot cup of hot chocolate. Also pleeeease give him the steamed milk art/latte art, he loves it more than he'll admit.

Others

Jack T. Jack has a running joke on Ace where he only drinks black coffee in front of him, each time claiming some sort of delicious or exotic flavour just for Ace to fall for it every time when he offers it and it's just black coffee...but every once in a while, it's magically cloaked Vietnamese iced coffee, but Jack won't tell Ace the name just to piss him off because Ace really likes it but he can't place what's different about it from normal coffee with sugar and milk.

Che'nya As chaotic as our favourite purple cat is, I think Che'nya is partial to a rich, thick French vanilla. I think he likes the smell more than he likes drinking it, but yeah, it's just a yummmmmmmmy drink. He gives his full name out and just. :3 at the barista.

Falena He has a latte macchiato, much like Leona, he likes his coffee to be milk heavy lmao

Najma She doesn't usually drink anything for caffeine, when she does though, it's usually her brother's chai LMAO, but she'll make it an iced chai latte. Unfortunately, I HC her as iron deficient so this isn't always. The Best Choice. When she wants a coffee flavour, she gets it in the form of ice cream or in a mocha.

Neige Doesn't drink caffeine because it's an addictive substance. Yes Vil has mocked him in his bedroom at some hour in the morning hate listening to an interview with him in it. Fucking. Golden Child. (lh) When Neige goes to a coffeeshop he usually just goes to pick up a pastry and tip the barista. He sometimes has chamomile tea before bed but with enough sugar to rot your teeth.

Rollo Every once in a while he treats himself to a decaf con panna and madeleines on the side.

----------------------------------------------------- Rapid Fire OC Orders Vizzie - Iced white mocha, no whipped cream, or iced vanilla americano/latte

Aspen - matcha latte with lavender foam and honey

Oisin - Bicerin with cinnamon on top

Cory - Romano (weirdo) /lh ----------------------------------------------------- Taglist: *DM or send an ask if you'd like to be added @fluffle-writes

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wuxiaphoenix · 1 year

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Worldbuilding: Soap, Taxes, Consequences

Way too many writers seem to create dirty, decrepit fantasy or historical settings, without giving much thought as to why things might be grimy. Or why not.

For example, Victorian England, specifically London, is infamous for being dark, with choking smogs and lower classes regarded as filthy. There is a fair amount of truth to this... but historically, we as writers should look deeper. There were a lot of factors involved in this grime, but three of the big ones were heating, the window tax, and the soap tax.

...Yes, there was a tax specifically on soap. I’ll get to that.

All three of these were either directly caused by or exacerbated by the government. Timber was in large part reserved for ships and construction, so unless you had a lot of money to spend on firewood, if you wanted heat, it was usually peat or coal. Peat burns with a lot of smoke. A lot of smoke, to the point that it was doing about as much damage to lungs of the poorer folk who used it as all the tobacco in the surroundings combined. There are reasons it took a long time to get a handle on potential causes of lung cancer.

The better option - and yes, it was actually better - was coal. Only England’s local coal is a high-sulfur type, meaning besides heat and regular smoke you also got sulfur dioxide and its related acid compounds eating people’s lungs and etching everything else in sight. People are pretty sure this was the source of the infamous London fogs. (Though not entirely. Historians are still poking it to see if there were other contributing factors.)

So. That’s the smog. The window tax is Exactly What It Says On The Tin. Which made it very dark inside buildings, especially of the poor, because they couldn’t afford a yearly tax on taking advantage of natural light.

And here we come to the soap tax, the most rage-choking one of them in my mind. It was apparently high enough that good money could be made smuggling soap from Ireland (where there was no tax on it) to England to sell. Smuggling soap.

...Talk about your clean getaways.

But here you see the problem. If you’re already poor and you have to choose between enough food to survive on and enough soap to be clean... taxed soap makes your life much, much harder. Staying clean harder. Staying healthy harder.

And it has nothing to do with “oh, it’s the past, of course it’s more primitive”, and everything to do with a government deciding the best way to squeeze out more taxes is to tax something everyone has to use. A fantasy or alternate historical setting where there was no soap tax would be entirely different. And was, in Ireland just across the water - where there were the same problems with peat and coal, but even the poorest people tended to be clean.

Consider your world’s governments. What have they done well, and what have they (ahem) royally screwed up? And are your heroes just trying to stay out of the way of the worst insanity - or are they actively doing something about it?

It’d be a heck of a thing, to get arrested for smuggling soap....

#creative writing #worldbuilding #history #soap

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marzipanandminutiae · 7 months

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hi! i just moved to the boston area—i was wondering if you had any basic recommendations for things to do or places to eat that you’re willing to share!

Welcome! Some of my top recs include:

Any museum in the city! I may be biased in this, but we've got art museums, historical house museums, a museum of science and an aquarium...go nuts. Many have free or discounted admission days too, so keep an eye out for that. But if you see me at work when you visit, no you didn't.

Join a library or library network. For books, of course, but also for museum passes and other services

Speaking of libraries, the Boston Public Library is STUNNING. And they have a tea room where you can go and have high tea. It's pricey, but as a special treat, highly recommend

Dunkin has the cheapest Little Cafe DrinksTM in the city. Tatte (TAH-tay, local chain) has the best, in my opinion. Plus their London Fog is only $3.50, so that's nice!

"Locals don't go to Faneuil Hall/Quincy Market" is a filthy lie. QM is like a big indoor food court, perfect for feeding groups with different tastes. Plus...they have a macaroni and cheese stall. Heaven, IMO.

You do not have to take a stand in the Mike's vs. Modern "best North End Italian bakery" debate. Free yourself. Hipsters prefer Bova's anyway.

(But do go to some Italian restaurants in the North End. They're all pretty much excellent)

Do not go to Salem in October. It's insanely crowded.

Do go to Salem any other time of year. It's insanely fun.

Mount Auburn cemetery is gorgeous and garden cemeteries were built to be enjoyed by the living. Take advantage!

Like antiquing? Check out the four-story Cambridge Antique Market right next to Lechmere station. Fun Antiques in Cambridge is good for all your lamp repair needs. The antique stores on Charles and Newbury streets are good for window shopping and weeping internally at the prices.

Pandemonium Books and Games in Central Square is ideal for sci-fi and fantasy titles, as well as tabletop gaming supplies

Don't waste your time at Prudential/Copley mall. It's overpriced, full of chain stores, and depressing.

When Pigs Fly Bread stores have $3 loaves of normally $7 sourdough on Wednesdays. It's delicious and baked fresh daily, so get on that! You can call ahead in the morning to reserve a loaf if you want to be sure to get one.

I've probably got more, but that will be enough to start with. I hope you enjoy the city!

#ask #anon #boston #recommendations

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astroboots · 2 years

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 7

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: Your subconscious is trying to tell you something important about the choices you have to make. Or alternatively: is it still a threesome if the two men are alters?

Content: Stefon voice: This chapter has everything: angst, vaginal sex, anal sex, threesomes, DP sex.

Word Count: 8,165

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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You stare up at the shadows on the ceiling above your bed, willing yourself to fall asleep.

But it’s simply not happening.

Every time you close your eyes to the darkness, your brain takes it as an invitation to play a slideshow of this evening’s highlights.

Marc showing up at your door, Marc holding you on the DLR, Marc's face inches from your own in front of the fish tank, Marc tucking you into the taxi. The images play behind your eyelids over and over and over again like a broken merry-go-round until you’re dizzy with it and dart up from your bed to pace the distance of your flat for a good twenty minutes, calming your jittery nerves enough that you can lay still long enough, close your eyes– only for the reel to start again.

Get up–walk around–lie down–replay–and so it goes. Again and again and again.

You don’t get much sleep that night.

Friday morning comes early.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point because you wake to your alarm blaring, but your sore back and the heavy dull ache behind your eyes tell you it was not nearly enough rest.

One look at the clock informs you that you have 15 minutes to get yourself together and out the door or you’ll be late for work. It’s a mad scramble, and you earn yourself a bruised shin courtesy of the bloody ottoman, but you make it out the door and to the tube just in time, dashing down the stairs and squeezing yourself through the already-closing doors as the morning commuters around you grumble.

Pressed up between a grumpy construction worker and an even grumpier 20-something office worker, you’re holding onto your belongings for dear life as the train sways, trying to make sure you’ve got everything you’re meant to, when you realise the jacket in your hand is not one of your own.

It’s Marc’s.

There’s no need for another layer in the overpacked warmth of the train, and it’d be too hard to manoeuvre yourself into it in the minimally-available free space anyhow. You drape it over your arm instead, the way you might if you were just… holding it for a friend. There it stays for the entirety of your commute until you exit the station into the damp chill of late Autumn London fog so heavy it’s nearly drizzling.

You glance at the jacket. The sensible thing to do here would be to just put the bloody thing on, but for some reason you can’t quite bring yourself to do it. Instead, you shiver your way through the two block walk to your office, arriving cold and clammy and feeling all together out of sorts.

On top of that, your sleepless night and slapdash makeup application are apparently not doing you any favours, because once you arrive at work, no less than three of your coworkers ask if you’re ill. With as polite of a smile you can muster, you push off their concern and get to work. Busying yourself with small, mindless tasks, you manage to get through most of the morning without thinking overly much about anything.

That lasts right up until 11:47am when your phone pings out, rattling against the surface of your desk.

Steven Hiya love! 🥰 What did the sushi 🍣 say to the bee 🐝?

Steven’s silly random texts usually bring a smile to your face, and this one still does, but today it’s accompanied by a sickening swoop of your stomach and a heavy feeling that weighs you down, slowing your fingers so that it takes you twice as long as usual to type a response.

You I don’t know… What did it say?

Steve Waaaasa-bee!!!!! 🤪🤪🤪

You Oh my god!

Steven Speaking of which, how do you feel about sushi for dinner tonight? Shall I get us some from that Eat Tokyo place on my way to your office? 🍣🍱😊

You glance at Marc’s jacket where it’s sitting, innocently folded atop your purse by the side of your desk, and tear your eyes away. Guilt over your actions yesterday comes crashing down on you all over again like a ton of bricks. You can’t imagine sitting with Steven in his flat eating dinner under the watchful eyes of Gus 2.0, The Imposter while lying to his face about what you did last night. The very idea makes your already unhappy stomach turn.

You Sorry. I have Friday social drinks with the team tonight and I’m getting the side eye for having missed too many. Raincheck? xx

Drinks with your team is predictably awful.

It’s a longstanding social obligation at the end of each week that you’ve never enjoyed. Too much boozing and Graham from two cubicles down tends to get handsy and start hovering too close once he’s on his sixth pint. You’ve happily foregone it most weeks since you started dating Steven.

Tonight though, it’s the lesser of two evils and the perfect excuse.

Since it’s Friday, the pub closest to your office is an overpacked mess. The floors are sticky from spilt beer, and the rancid smell of what must either be old cider or piss has permanently seeped into the cracks of the wooden beams. You’ve entirely lost count of the number of elbows jammed into your back, and your voice has gone hoarse from shouting to be heard over the unnecessarily loud music and cluttered conversation taking place all around you.

The evening drags on. Sleep-deprived and exhausted, you find yourself zoning out, eyes drawn to the large fish tank in the corner of the pub. It’s a standard collection, a few guppies, a fat Gourami fish that shimmers red and a handful of goldfish swimming about.

One is almost orange in its goldenness, nothing like Gus’ more stark golden hue. Another one has the same colouring as Gus but is too skinny to pass, the third one… hmmm. That one is a bit more promising. It isn’t one finned, but it’s the right size and colour, and one fin is even a bit smaller than the other, so maybe–

Oh god, what are you doing?

Are you seriously scoping for another replacement fish right now? You need to stop.

Shaking your head to snap yourself out of it, you turn your attention back to the conversation at your table.

“My son’s gotten into a phase where he won’t stop watching Finding Nemo on rerun,” Poppy from accounting is saying next to you. “He loves that movie. Wants me to make him a Nemo costume for Halloween this year. Must’ve told me twenty times to ‘make sure it’s only got one fin.’”

A shiver works its way down your spine. The words feel accusatory somehow, even though you know that she couldn’t possibly have known what you were up to yesterday. You’re also pretty sure Nemo technically had two fins, one was just smaller than the other, but you’re not about to correct her when it’s all you can do to push down the image of Gus that’s trying to swim up to the surface of your mind.

From across the table one of the other accountants chimes in, saying how their kids love the movie as well, and then it’s a pile on of enthusiasm, everyone blathering on about their kids watching Nemo on rerun.

Nodding vaguely, you pretend to be following along in the conversation, but you keep having flashes throughout of the Imposter Fish and his two whole fins swimming around in Gus’ tank like he owns the place. Your skin prickles like you’re about to break out in hives.

You stand abruptly, nearly knocking your chair over in the process, earning yourself concerned and questioning stares from around the table.

Shit.

“I’ll… um… I’ll just grab another round for the table, shall I?” you blurt out, trying to salvage your dignity or at least the situation, then escape to the bar.

Ordinarily it would take an eternity to get the bartender’s attention on a busy night like this—a good twenty minutes to be spotted in the crowd, if you’re lucky. But tonight, on the one night when the wait would have been a welcome reprieve, the bartender spots you almost instantly and prepares your order with similarly unwelcome speed. That’s how you find yourself stacking pint after pint in your arms, cradling them as best as you can as you reluctantly start back towards your table not five minutes after you left.

You’re struggling to balance the drinks and evade the throng of people as you make your way through the crowded room when you spot him, and it feels like your heart stops.

There’s a man by the fish tank, his back leaning against a wooden beam. You only see him out of the corner of your eye at first, but the stiff, almost militant posture and rich black curls, slicked back but starting to unfurl from the heat and humidity of the pub, are unmistakable.

Why is he here!?

Time slows to a crawl, and you forget to breathe as the longest second you’ve ever experienced in your life stretches out and out and out until the lack of oxygen in your brain has you convinced that it’s Marc you’re staring up at. You walk forward, even as the firmness of the floor beneath you gives. All you can see is his wide back covered by the brown canvas jacket, identical to the one Marc had lent you last night. But that can’t be right, because you still have it. It’s on your chair, isn’t it?

Time has never unfolded so slowly as you watch the man turn his shoulder, presenting a full view of his face only for you to see that his eyes aren’t gorgeously brown. Nose, nothing at all remarkable or unique. His jaw is round instead of the ridiculously cut sharpness you’re so used to seeing.

There’s not a single feature in the man’s face that is as sharp or striking as Marc and Steven and with that realisation time slams forward then resumes its normal pace. Your stomach drops, landing on the sticky flooring near your feet.

You don’t want to be here.

Turning back to your table, you drop off the ordered drinks, as you murmur an apology about needing the loo.

Mumbling ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s as you dash through the throng of crowds, you push your way to the ladies room at the far end of the pub where you find your salvation through the door marked with a silhouette of a woman.

There’s a row of stalls, but you don’t bother checking each for cleanliness the way you usually do. Just make a beeline for the furthest one, thankful that it turns out to be unoccupied. You flip the lock and sit down on the rim of the toilet, eyes flitting over the bits of used gum that’ve been rolled up and tacked onto the cracked tiles. There’s soggy bog roll pooling around your shoes courtesy of a previous visitor, but you scarcely care, too relieved to have some space for yourself to just breathe for the first time this evening, without interruptions or anything to remind you of Gus or Marc or Steven.

That reprieve barely lasts for two seconds.

As if on cue, the main door to the ladies slams open. A group of women pours in, all shouting zealously, and there’s no sound isolation to protect you from hearing every bit of the conversation from where you sit.

“Pet, listen to me. If he loved you, he wouldn’t be lying to you now would he?” comes a shrill, concerned voice.

“It’s not like that. You don’t understand, he was just worried about how I’d take–” Before she even finishes her sentence, another voice cuts in, even shriller than the first.

“No! I don’t care what his excuse is. No partner worth a damn would lie to someone they’re in a relationship with. You need to dump that liar!”

The words plunge into your chest with a painful twist that tears through your insides, making your cheeks and eyes both burn. The universe certainly seems set on hammering some point home tonight, but this is really just a bit unfairly on the nose now, isn’t it?

Hunching over in the cramped space of the stall, you dig your elbows into your knees and hide your face in your hands. You don’t want to be listening to this. Can’t handle it right now. Just can’t.

Quickly, before they have time to say more, you stand and smooth a hand over your clothes and hair, as though making yourself a smidge more presentable might somehow smooth out some of your inner turmoil.

Taking a deep steadying breath, you exit the stall. You hesitate for a moment before approaching the sink and hurriedly washing your hands, not quite willing to sacrifice personal hygiene or the appearance, at least, of normalcy. By now, the group of women have converged on their unlucky friend, cornering her against the far wall as they continue to rant on about lying liars who lie and exactly what liars deserve. (The worst, apparently, as far as these ladies are concerned.)

Oh god. You have to get out of here.

You do, hastily fleeing the loo and fighting your way back to the table. You must look as rough as you feel, because you don’t even have a chance to open your mouth before Poppy shoots you a concerned look.

“Are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

“Um… No, actually.” Grabbing the lifeline that’s been offered, you make a dramatic showing of feeling ill, “I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather all day, and it’s really caught up with me now. I’m going to head off early tonight.”

You nod your way through the condolences and well wishes, picking up your handbag and gingerly retrieving Marc’s jacket from the back of the chair as you make your polite goodbyes by rote, and then exit the pub as quickly as possible given the crowd.

Outside, the rain is bucketing down. It’s standard weather for London this time of year, but tonight it feels like one more bit of pointed commentary by the universe, and you huddle miserably under the pub awning.

You just want to go home.

Steven’s place is only two stops away by tube—if you leave now, you can be there in less than eight minutes. But even as you think it, you realise you can’t go to his. As much as you want Steven, want to burrow into the comfort of his embrace and never come out again, that wouldn’t be fair to him.

Instead you unlock your phone and pull up the Uber app.

It’s Friday, in the centre of Soho, and the only Uber that accepted your request is 30 minutes away (having to make a drop that is nowhere nearby, despite what the app is telling you) not to mention the surge in pricing. You confirm anyway, unable to bear the thought of braving the crowded trains for the long commute back to your flat.

Then you wait.

The awning isn’t nearly wide enough to protect you from the rain, and frigid water rebounds off the concrete, splashing onto your feet and legs and soaking through your shoes until your toes are swimming in the cold dampness of your socks.

Marc’s jacket is folded neatly over your arm, still dry. You think about how warm it was in the cab last night, how it smelled of him, but even with the chill seeping through your jumper, you still can’t bring yourself to put it on. For a brief second, you consider going back into the pub where it’s warm and dry, but being cold and wet seems like the preferred option at the moment. It feels like what you deserve.

This is a right proper bloody fucking mess, and it’s all your fault.

You and Marc almost kissed. Might have done if he hadn’t pulled back. You might have betrayed Steven—the man you love. And for what?

You’re attracted to Marc. You can admit that much to yourself.

You try to tell yourself it’s just because you’re attracted to the body he shares with Steven, but you know it’s more than that.

You’ve grown to care about Marc independently of his connection to Steven. You look forward to the quiet mornings you spend with him. Enjoy watching his micro-expressions while you prattle on about your days during breakfast. The small quirk on one side of his lip, when you tell him something he finds amusing. The way he grunts like a displeased pug when he spots another mess that Steven has left in the kitchen.

Impossible though it had seemed to begin, he’s become your friend. There’s no denying that after your ridiculous caper with the fish last night—you’d only go that far for a good friend, a trusted one.

Someone you really care about.

Someone you almost kissed.

You huff out a choked laugh and bury your face in your hands, disgusted with yourself all over again.

But it’s not really even about the almost-kiss, is it? Though that’s certainly bad enough.

It’s about the fact that you’re lying to your boyfriend—mostly by omission, but sometimes also… not. That you’ve been lying to him for so long that it’s somehow become a “normal” part of your everyday life. So routine you’d almost forgotten you were doing it.

It’s about the fact that Marc—your friend Marc—came to you for help, and you were so eager to help him that you didn’t stop to consider the consequences. That now you’ve gone from lying to Steven—your boyfriend Steven—to actively helping to deceive him.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped seeing Marc as the antagonist in the story of your lives together. And now you've allowed yourself to become his co-conspirator against Steven, which is exactly the opposite of what you wanted.

You’re deceiving Steven for Marc. Going along with him because he says it’s better for Steven that way. But is it? Is it really better? You don’t think so, but… you don’t know.

You believe that Marc wants what’s best for Steven.

You believe Steven deserves to know the truth about himself.

Two truths, but incompatible ones. And you’re the one stuck in the middle. It’s an impossible choice. No matter what you do now, you’re going to be betraying someone. Choosing one of them over the other.

And you don’t know how to live with that.

Bile rises in your throat, and you have to close your eyes and swallow hard. You dig your fingers into the material of Marc’s jacket, twisting it in your hands as you curl into yourself.

You’re so caught up in your misery that you barely register the slosh of tires against the rain, looking up just in time to see your Uber pull up to the curb. Hunching your shoulders, you hug the jacket and your bag to your chest, shielding them from the flood of frigid water that drenches you as soon as you leave the protection of the awning, and quickly make your way across the sidewalk.

Climbing hurriedly inside the vehicle, you close the door behind you and set everything on the seat beside you, guiltily smoothing out the wrinkles in Marc’s jacket caused by your rough handling.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart, you’re soaked. That’s London weather for you innit?” the driver remarks, and you look up to see him watching you in the rearview mirror.

He’s not wrong. You feel like a drowned rat, as you catch sight of your reflection in the darkness of the passenger window.

“Same as always, isn’t it?” you manage, hoping that will be the end of the forced pleasantries, and you’re grateful when he hums in agreement and turns his attention to the road.

The air in the car is warm and stuffy after the wet chill of the outside, the leather seat hot and sticky against your back even through your wet jumper. Your face feels overheated, and you lean your forehead against the coolness of the windowpane, staring blindly out through the rain-fogged glass as the car pulls away from the curb.

The evening traffic outside seems endless. The road is chockablock, and you’re stuck in a sea of red and amber tail lights blinking blurrily behind the rain-streaked darkness of the window. Your head rolls against the glass with the rocking motion of the vehicle as it starts and stops with the flow of cars outside, and the old motor rumbles on, making you drowsy.

Worn out from the lack of sleep last night and a day of emotional turmoil, you don’t even notice when your eyes slip close and you drift quietly off to sleep.

The car comes to a halt in the middle of a roundabout. In the rearview mirror, the driver pulls his cap down, covering his eyes and muttering under his breath that “this is as far as we go.”

Looking out the window, you’re confused. There’s nothing you recognize as being anywhere near your flat, but somehow you’re already turning the door handle and stepping out of the car.

You’re in the middle of the road, traffic on all sides of you. Before you have a chance to turn around and protest to the driver, the car is already pulling away, exhaust fumes your only goodbye.

At least it’s stopped raining.

Across the wide street, the St. Martin’s Theatre is lit up in gold. The marquee banner spelling out ‘M.O.U.S.E.T.R.A.P.’ in bright glowing red neon. You start to walk ahead, but nothing is quite as it is or where it should be. Tottenham Court road, which is always busy and buzzing with life, is entirely abandoned. Empty of people.

Next to you, you spot a pastel-coloured bubble tea shop. They’re a dime in a dozen in London, and it does nothing to help you make sense of where you are. It’s not until you reach around the corner and arrive at the familiar teal-coloured facade of Cafe Babka (one of your regular date spots with Steven) that you start to place yourself.

If you turn right up ahead, you’ll reach the British Museum. It is an hour away by tube from your flat. Still, as you make the turn, your building stands there in its square concrete familiarity. You can even see your small balconette on the fifth floor.

There’s a sensation like skipping a track on a record—you don’t remember entering the building or taking the lift up to the fifth floor, but suddenly you’re walking down the hallway to your flat.

Steven is there outside of your door, and the hallway lights up when he greets you with a bright smile and a small wave of his hand. His eyes are as sweet as always when he moves to kiss you.

Then you’re inside your flat, Steven moving with you towards your bed, mouth never leaving yours. Did you unlock the door? You can’t remember, but does it matter? How can you care about details like that when Steven’s lips are on yours like this, soft but hungry.

Somehow, you don’t stumble or run into any of your furniture as he walks you backwards with his kiss, the ottoman and its usual threat to your shins and balance are suspiciously absent. In fact… nothing is where it should be.

You’re disoriented.

Maybe it’s a testament to how good of a kisser Steven is that you’re losing all spatial awareness, but that can’t be the whole explanation. Something is off, but you can’t stop long enough to consider it, too distracted by the way Steven keeps pressing kiss after sweet lingering kiss to your lips, by the heat building low in your belly for him. Can’t stop to think until you find yourself pressed down against the mattress.

Linen sheets stretch endlessly out underneath you, wider than your own double mattress and lower to the ground. There’s sand underneath your foot where it’s hanging off the edge of the bed, and when you look up, you’re met not with your drab white ceiling, but with a large square of wooden planks overhead surrounded by wide open eaves and wooden beams.

This isn’t your flat, it’s Steven’s.

But still… Something's strange. Not quite right. The room seems to swim, lines and contours of the timber overhead blurring together. You drag your eyes to the walls, trying to clear your vision, but no matter how hard you concentrate on the many many books Steven has adorning his dusty shelves, none of them have titles on their thick spines.

That’s not right either.

In fact, everything in Steven’s flat is reversed, like you’re Alice, gone through the looking glass. Shelves that are meant to be on the left are on the right. The kitchen is by the exit instead of the far end. The fish tank looms large over the living room, expanding to eat up half the space of the flat. Gus doesn’t seem to mind though. He’s swimming in happy circles around his new, two-finned tank mate as if he’d never known anything different. Every so often one of them swims close to the corner, and the flash of a reflected fin tricks your eyes into thinking there’s a third fish.

There’s a part of you that wants to pause, take a moment and attempt to make sense of things. But Steven is there, anchoring you to the bed, not giving you a moment to consider your observations or try to connect the dots as he continues to kiss the breath out of you.

His hands are roaming your hips and thighs now, caressing every inch of your flesh that he can reach. One comes up to cup your breast lovingly, your nipple drawing up tight under his palm. Another hand lingers delicately on your throat, and he continues to stroke your hips all at the same time.

It’s good, so good. So much. Overwhelming to the point where you don't even fully register that there are three hands caressing you when, biologically speaking, Steven should only have just the two.

Greedy and determined, those nimble fingers grip into your hips then drift down between your thighs, sliding along the seam of your cunt. Steven groans low and needy against your lips at the wetness he finds there, and he parts your slick folds, gently pressing two fingers into you.

Moaning into his mouth at the pleasurable intrusion, you arch your back in open invitation, encouraging Steven's curled fingers to find that perfect place inside. Aching heat rolls over you in waves, streaming out along your limbs until you’re nearly numb with it. You bend further back, not sure if you're trying to chase the sensation or escape from it. As you do, a warm, firmly-muscled chest presses against your back, and you hear a rasped groan in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re eager for us.”

The tone is brusque and even, rough and warm like sandpaper made of velvet, and nothing like Steven’s. Electric heat shivers up your entire spine because you recognize the owner of the voice.

With a turn of your head, you meet his eyes. It’s all narrowed darkness as Marc holds your gaze for a long moment. His thumb catches under your jaw, tilting you up to him, and then he closes the distance between you, leaning in to press his lips to yours.

Finally.

The brush of lips is soft and measured. Completely unlike Steven’s hungry and eager kisses. Marc has far too much restraint for that. Instead his kiss is slow and controlled, his hand cradling your jaw, thumb caressing your cheeks like he’s savouring the moment. Savouring you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, an alert pings. A tiny, niggling doubt that makes you wonder what Marc’s doing here, how this can be happening. But you ignore the thought. Don’t question it, because god, you fucking want it. Want him.

Want to be exactly where you are.

You're caught, sandwiched tight between the two of them with little space to spare. Regardless of which way you move, to the front or the back, you only end up closer to them both.

When you push yourself forward, Steven’s fingers slide deeper inside you, his cock twitching against the softness of your stomach. When you push back, Marc’s hardened length meets you, pressing insistently against your lower back as he lazily thrusts against you.

There's nowhere for you to go, and that's fine. Better than fine. It's bloody perfect, because there's nowhere else you'd rather be than trapped between these two men.

Steven licks and nips his way down your breast and stomach in a long line of open-mouthed kisses. White heat tingles and simmers under your skin where his lips have touched, burning you up from the inside out until you’ve all but melted into the mattress from his attentions.

The sharp bump of his nose nudges at the inside of your thighs, and he looks up at you with pleading eyes, begging you to spread your legs for him. Before you even have the chance to comply, Marc’s calloused hands are already there, sliding down and in along the inside of your thighs, spreading them apart until you’re wide open for Steven. The two men moving in perfect simpatico.

Then Steven’s mouth is on you, hot and eager and perfect.

His tongue dips into your pussy without hesitation, licking a wide strip up around your clit and then back down again, and you cant your hips up and onto his tongue. He doesn’t resist. Steven’s always so generous, so trusting and giving in bed. He lets you—encourages you to try and fuck yourself on his beautiful, persistent mouth. Gorgeous, pleasurable heat flickers along your spine, searing into your limbs until you feel it everywhere.

“He’s good with his mouth, huh?” Marc murmurs into your ear, sounding almost admiring.

Opening your mouth, you try to say yes, but your throat is dry with the blinding heat, and nothing comes out, not even a moan. Electricity sparks, shimmering through you with every soft and long lick of Steven’s tongue on you.

You twist your fingers into the bedding beneath you, and the eaves in the ceiling crack and pull around the edges with the motion. The harder you grip the sheets, the deeper the shadowed lines carve into the wood, until they’re giant crevasses, wide enough that you can see the night sky through the gaps.

The pale moon peers down at you, surrounded by bright stars scattered against the blackness. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the stars shine so clear in the light-polluted London sky in all your life, and you dig your fingers in further into the bedding, unwilling to relinquish the view.

“It’s okay. I got you.” Marc’s voice is cajoling and sweet, the same soft tone he used when he held you in his arms to keep you steady on the overground. A part of you wishes he would always speak to you this way. “Think you can come for us?”

You close your eyes, nodding in reply because you think you’d do anything he wanted as long as he asked you so sweetly. Pleasure is already building steadily under the press of Steven’s talented mouth, your orgasm already looming on the horizon.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good,” Marc murmurs.

Everything is ratcheting higher and tighter inside of you, building and building until it’s almost too much. Too good. The feeling rocketing through you is so overwhelming that you can't think, can't move, can’t speak. Would scream or sob or shriek if you could still fucking breathe.

But somehow you still haven’t fucking come. Your orgasm caught somehow, suspended in limbo. It’s like you waited too long, flew too high, and now you're trapped right on the fucking edge, teetering torturously without ever falling over. Sparks dance at the edge of your vision, and you feel lightheaded like you’re going to pass out.

“Come for us.”

Marc’s voice cuts through the cacophony of competing sensations with that single simple order, and everything else disappears.

Your world narrows. There's only the firm weight of Marc’s body anchoring you to the bed. His low, encouraging voice in your ear, whispering praises. Steven’s mouth working hot and eager against you, and the soft warmth in his eyes as he stares up at you with rapt attention, pupils blown wide.

Static fills your ears, and then you come hard on Steven’s tongue.

The pleasure floods your system, blotting out the rest, until your vision darkens and everything sounds like it’s buried underground.

There’s nothing here. Just emptiness. Darkness a mile wide, like the insides of a music box snapped shut.

Are your eyes still closed?

Slowly, your vision repopulates again. Your surroundings filled in like a child playing with a paint-by-numbers app. The bed. The bookshelves. The fishtank. Steven. Marc.

Marc whose gentle hand cups your cheek, drawing you up to meet his eyes. “How do you want it?” he asks. “You want Steven to fuck you?”

Steven who is still draped between your thighs. His tongue drags over his lush bottom lip, savouring your taste, eyes dark and ravenous as he leans back in to lap gently at you again. He’s nowhere near done with you yet.

You huff out a noise, some strange merger of a moan and a hum, meant to be an affirmative, because of course you want Steven.

But your gaze is fixed on Marc’s face, watching the corner of his lips curve. Not snide, or mocking, never that. It’s the same unfeigned, half-smile you’d seen in front of the fishtank the other night, and your head buzzes with lightheadedness at the sight of it.

“Or you want me?” he asks.

You whine at his question, because you do. Of course you do!

But Steven is right there too, resurfacing from between your legs just barely long enough to press an indulgent kiss to the inside of one of your thighs and ask, "which is it, love? Me?"

He turns his head, nose brushing up against your clit as his mouth parts, licking into you, with a ravenous moan. His words are muffled by your body as he continues to speak, “Or do you want Marc's cock filling you up?"

You don’t answer him. Can’t answer him. It’s an impossible choice.

How can you choose one of them over the other?

Next to you, Marc leans closer, pressing a kiss to your temple, nose dragging along the back of your neck, as he speaks.

“Or maybe our pretty girl doesn’t want to choose, hmm?” His arms are against your sides, bracketed you in as he presses you down with his body. “That’s it isn’t it? You just want everything.”

And god help you, he's right. He's so right. You want them both.

You try to take a deep breath, try to inhale because you want to tell them so, but there’s no air in the room. That should be a problem, you think, but it’s not. Even though you’re not breathing, haven’t breathed for fuck knows how long, you feel fine.

So much better than fine.

You’re weightless, practically floating. Could easily drift away if Marc wasn’t pinning you down. Your orgasm is still pulsing between your legs, warm and insistent, but you can’t feel the pulse in your veins or your heart, even though it should be there beating its way out of your chest.

Marc is still watching you softly. Steven too. You nod at them, have to let them know.

“Greedy girl,” Marc says, voice soft and indulgent in a way that makes the words feel like the highest praise.

Wrapping his fingers around your arm, Marc rolls you onto your side facing him. Strong arms wrap around you, caging you against him, as those dark eyes bore into yours. You can barely imagine that there was ever a time that you used to be intimidated by this man, scared of him even, because all you want now is to be closer to him.

Lucky for you, that’s just what he gives you.

Like he can read your mind, Marc’s hand settles on your hip and slides down, down, down the length of your thigh until his palm reaches the bend of your knee. Warm fingers wrap around the joint and pull, hiking your leg up over his waist, opening you to him. He drops his face down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, then urges you closer still, slotting one thick thigh into place between yours, watching you all the while.

There was a time when you would have quailed under that direct stare, but when you see that ferocious intensity there now, it sends a skitter of elation down your spine.

Relishing his attention, you preen for him as his hand skims up the back of your raised leg and over your hip. Your eyes follow its path, watching as he takes himself in hand and aligns his cock with your slick wet entrance.

You’re a mess for him, dripping and swollen cunt providing no resistance as the blunt tip of his cock pushes in, slow and measured. Marc is unhurried, barely rocking his hips into you, and it’s maddeningly good. It’s all shivery heat and unbearable pressure as he eases his way inside, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.

You can’t remember where you are anymore. Your surroundings blur together, and all you know is the perfect weight of Marc inside you, the warmth of his thighs pressed against yours. It’s just you and him in this place, and you could easily get lost in this, forget everything else, but… Something’s not right.

Something important is missing.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, turning your head to look behind you, but there’s nothing there. No furniture, no room… nothing. You turn back to Marc, “Where’s Steven? I–I want–”

The question doesn’t have time to settle before everything fades back into existence, the bookshelves, the fishtank, the bed seemingly appear from nowhere. There’s a weight shifting behind you on the mattress, and when you turn to peer over your shoulder again, Steven is there, an adoring smile on his face.

“I’m here, love, right here. Not going anywhere,” he tells you when you clutch at him.

Steven’s chest is pressing up against your back, all solid and firm-cut muscles that you never get to see during the day when he’s half-drowning in his oversized clothes.

He has one hand resting on the curve of your hip, gently pulling you back as he presses in closer behind you. You can feel the fat head of his cock nudging hot and slick along the cleft of your ass.

“Can I? Is that alright, love? Want to be inside you.” His voice is desperate, filled with need, and fuck, who are you to deny the man you love?

You nod, and feel Steven repositioning himself behind you. His hand disappears from your hip, and his cock slides against you with more purpose, spreading precome across your skin as he lines himself up. His mouth skims your shoulder, and the shuddering breath he takes burns pleasantly across your skin before he grips your hip and presses in.

His cock slips into you more easily than you expected, barely easing inside before he retreats, then presses in again, a bit farther this time. His mouth lays hot kisses and tender words across the skin of your shoulder as he works himself inside you slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open and filling you to the brim.

If there was any space left inside of you, you’re sure that you would be breathing, but you can’t. Can’t even fit air inside your lungs. And oh fuck, Steven isn’t even all the way inside of you yet. Fuckfuck. You don’t know if you can–

A warm hand comes to your cheek, cupping it with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in your chest.

“It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re doing so good, baby. You can take it for us can’t you?” Marc coos.

You nod with a whine, trying to distract yourself with the softness of Steven’s touch. How he’s palming every inch of your skin he can reach, the slope of your ribs, the curve of your breast. His worshipful mouth on your neck. The softly murmured “I love you”s that he sears into your burning skin with his lips.

And that’s a bit easier.

Between Steven’s profuse adoration and Marc’s encouragement, it’s almost too easy to surrender the last bit of your doubt and give into them both.

“There we go. Good girl,” Marc murmurs. He presses an indulgent kiss to your cheek as a reward, and Steven takes over praising you, “that’s it. I knew you could do it. Knew you could take us both, love.”

Then they begin to move.

It’s a gentle rocking rhythm, barely shifting you back and forth between them, but even that is still so fucking much.

You’re overwrought.

Overfull.

All of you feel overexposed like a tender nerve.

But there’s nothing else for you to do but take it, shaking and shuddering between them as you take everything they have to give you. All you can think about is how full you are of both of them, stretched so thin to your limits to the point that you swear Marc and Steven must be able to feel each other through you with every slow, deep, maddening thrust.

Somewhere in the distance a bell rings. You turn your head and crane your neck, chasing the sound. The motion presses you back against Steven, who is right there, nuzzling into the side of your neck, nose pressed tight against the pulse.

His mouth glides over the side of your throat, hot and slick, and you lose yourself to it. The touch is consuming. The edges of his teeth flirt with your sensitive flesh, and then slowly sink in, biting into your neck. The pleasure is sharp and stinging. It’s almost enough to make you forget.

But the melody of bells ringing from afar grows increasingly louder. You try to ignore it but you are about to rip your hair out at the incessant clang.

“Ignore it,” Marc says. He cradles your face, lips tracing the contours of your jaw. “Focus on us.”

It isn’t hard to follow Marc’s commands. Not when his hips cant up and thrust back into you, a deep and mind-numbing slide. For once, you find yourself only happy to obey his words.

But the sound comes again, and you were wrong before. It's not bells, it's the doorbell buzzing. Someone's at the door.

There’s the sound of metal scraping against wood and then the metallic thump-thump of the lock sliding open. You try to squeeze down on Marc’s shoulder for his attention, but it only seems to spur on Steven who lifts his hips, thrusting himself inside you as deep as he goes.

“Wait,” you gasp, because no matter how good Steven feels inside, you’re still distracted by the stranger trying to get into the flat. “There’s someone at the door.”

“There’s no one at the door,” Marc says, pulling back slightly.

The words have a sharp impatient bite, scolding you in that tone that’s so customary from him. You want to frown, make a snarky retort, but he drives himself deep inside you, and pleasure streaks through your limbs until you nearly scream from it.

There are footsteps approaching.

A shadow stretches out in the corner of your eye.

Soon it looms over you, blocking out the muted light in the room, and the air around you shifts. There’s someone else standing at the end of your bed, observing you. You open your eyes and look up. Raven curls and thick brows that frame those familiar gorgeous brown eyes.

The ringing persists, blaring out. It’s not bells or the door buzzer. It’s a siren, flashing and waving red, warning you of danger.

The man looks like Steven. But you know it’s not him—the warmth and adoration reserved for you in those beautiful brown eyes is entirely absent.

It’s not Marc either. Marc doesn’t look at you like you’re some distant curiosity. You’ve seen annoyance, irritation, even anger reflected back at you in his eyes. But he’s never looked at you like you’re nothing to him.

You realise that now.

Panic grabs hold of you, and you sit up quickly, pulling at fistfuls of the sheets that you desperately cover yourself with. You scoot backwards in the bed, clambering up along the mattress, hands fumbling uselessly behind you, reaching for something to grab onto. You’re expecting the firmness of Marc’s chest, the warm touch of Steven’s hand, but there’s nothing.

When you turn to look, the bed is empty. Marc and Steven are no longer with you.

It’s just you and him now.

The man moves towards you, mouth twisted into a predatory smile. The alarm calls out to you again, but it’s too late to warn you now. You’re already trapped—can’t look away from him.

“Hear that?” His tone is flat, voice is devoid of emotion. It sounds neither like Steven's nor Marc’s voice. “It’s time to wake up.”

He comes to the side of the bed, looming over you as he reaches down.

You flinch back, but he’s too big. Too close.

You can’t escape.

Gripping the covers tight, you hunch into yourself, cowering, trying to brace yourself for whatever he’s going to do to you.

But then he reaches right past you.

Doesn’t touch you at all as he retrieves something from the bookcase at the head of the bed, and lays it gently across your lap.

You look down to see a bundle of brown canvas fabric, all soaked from rain and wrinkly from your rough handling.

It's Marc's jacket.

“Don’t forget this, sweetheart.”

With his words, darkness swamps you and everything disappears. There's no light, no warmth, no space—only a blank void slowly being filled with the soft hum of a motor running and the sounds of traffic honking nearby.

Your eyes are still closed as your consciousness is dragged back to an awareness of the sore stiffness lodged in your neck.

You open your eyes with a startled gasp, and then you have to inhale great lungfuls of air into your heaving chest, possibly the first time you’ve actually taken a breath since– oh. Since you fell asleep. You were dreaming.

Slowly but surely, you become aware of your surroundings. The cracked and dry leather seats, the grey felt of the low ceiling, the complete lack of any naked men in this space with you. You’re in a car—not in Steven’s flat or his bed. You’re still in the Uber.

It was just a dream.

Your skin tingles with the memory of being pressed against warm, firm muscles, and the space between your legs still pulses a phantom ache. The echo of Steven’s mouth on you, Marc’s thick length pressing into you, the overwhelming fullness of having them both inside you at once makes you throb. Your face is burning.

You glance at the front seat where the driver seems oblivious. Absent-mindedly you notice that he isn’t wearing a cap as you pray to the universe that you didn’t make any embarrassing sounds during your semi-public sex dream about being manhandled into a threesome by your boyfriend and his alter.

Dear god, what the fuck is wrong with you!?

The sound of bells fills the air just like before, and for a moment you wonder if you’re still trapped in the dream.

“Hey, sweetheart, your phone is ringing.”

The words jolt you from your thoughts. You’re an idiot. It’s not alarm bells, it’s your bloody ringtone.

Grabbing for your handbag, you plunge your hand inside, fumbling blindly until you finally manage to locate your phone. You quickly fish it out, swiping a thumb across the screen to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, love. It’s– uhm, it’s Steven.” His voice comes through the phone, nervous and rambling, and it instantly sends your anxiety skyrocketing. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, and you’re out with colleagues, and I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disturb, but I didn’t know who else to call–”

“Steven!” you interrupt when he shows no signs of getting to the point. It comes out louder and harsher than you intend, and you then force yourself to soften your voice as you encourage him to gather his thoughts, “It’s okay, Steven. Just– What did you need?”

“Could you… um… Could you come over tonight, please? I need to talk to you.”

~ CONTINUE ~

Dedication: to my one and only, the ewe to my ram, my beloved who stays up with me until 4am (her time) to discuss the significant differences between precum and precome (and how the latter clearly denotes sophistication and class 😂😂😂) to our crazy asses that extended this from a three parter to a five parter then an eight and ten parter and now we're looking at twelve parts and if there is more to come then god help us all. I love you always @thirstworldproblemss. xx

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