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kingtomura · 1 month

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Cat and mouse

synopsis: Your ex boyfriend has some nerve texting you at three in the morning — an entire week after the disaster breakup you had. You should really go over there and give him a piece of your mind. Well, you know what they say about famous last words. wc: 6.1k | crossposted to ao3 content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, no quirks au, toxic tomura, reader is kinda toxic too tbh, unhealthy relationships, breaking up and making up, vaginal fingering, overstim, breeding kink, piv, dubcon creampie, degredation, threats of baby trapping, hurt/comfort, sweet at the end idc

You’ve told your friends time and time again to stay out of your business. They never listen.

“Oh my god, Kirishima? Is he even twenty yet?” You drag as you watch your friend flip through several pictures of the redheaded boy like he was a member of the bachelor.

She smiles, scrolling her phone for more options, “no, but he will be in a couple of months!”

“No!” Your words are sharp. You love Mina but god, you don’t want her to play matchmaker with you. It’s not like you’re a charity case or something.

She gasps and you swear you could see the lightbulb go off above her head. “What about Denki? He’s fun!”

You groan, falling back onto the bed and covering your eyes with your arm. “Mina.”

“Hey, just give her a break okay? It’s only been about a week.” Your saving grace Yaoyorozu speaks up and it’s nice to finally have someone on your side.

“Thank you.”

“Seriously? So we’re just going to sit around and watch you mope about all day?” Mina questions, irritation clear in her voice and it grates your ears.

“Preferably, yes! Just let me be.” You roll over, face officially shoved into your pillow. It’s been a rough couple of days and you haven’t gotten a single call or text from Tomura. Not that you should be expecting one. You broke up with him after all.

It’s just.. this time feels different. Usually there’s more arguing and he’s fighting for you to stay around, but this time there was nothing. No quips, no insults, just “fine, get out then.”

That hurt the most.

You had no idea what he was up to.

Maybe he was as depressed as you were.

Maybe he’s found someone else.

The thought makes you stop in your tracks. The idea of Tomura, your tomura with someone else is enough to make you nauseous.

You jump to your feet and rush to the bathroom, locking yourself in and falling to your knees.

God, what if that was why it was so easy?

You pull out your phone, the device lighting up and unlocking with your facial id.

Tomura doesn’t use social media much but you could still check to see if he’d blocked you.

To your surprise, he hadn’t.

He hasn't posted anything either and there’s no new person in his followers.

You feel yourself exhale a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. No change is a good thing.

There’s knocking on the door and you thank the stars you locked it. Your friends would judge you so hard if they saw you lurking through your ex’s social media.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” It’s your saving grace Yaoyorozu again and you almost feel bad for shutting her out.

“Yeah, I’m sorry if it feels like I pressured you! I’ll give you some space.” Mina's regretful voice calls and it makes your heart clench. You know she means well but she just doesn’t understand. None of them do.

Whether you want to admit it or not, you love Tomura.

Yes, you argue and yes, you fight, but he just gets you. He’s so cynical, but so caring — in his own special way. Too bad he was such an asshole. The argument wasn’t even supposed to go that far.

There are tears beginning to blur your vision and you wipe them away, willing the feelings down and standing to your feet.

If he wanted you to stay away, then fine. You could do that.

You splash cool water onto your face and take a breath, steeling yourself and getting ready to face your friend once more. It was Saturday and they were convinced you needed a fun girl’s night.

It takes a lot to refrain from cringing at the phrase, but you believe they held some truth with the idea. You definitely didn’t want to be alone right now.

You unlock the bathroom door, meeting Mina and Yaoyorozu’s worried expressions with a smile.

“We should probably get ready now, huh?”

Mina’s eyes light up, smile blinding and excitement contagious.

“Yes! Jirou and the others are here now.” She starts to clap, excitement buzzing around her, “Girl’s night is going to be amazing!”

—-

Girl’s night was a bust.

The moment everyone arrived the apartment quickly filled with chaos. Noisy and busy, it was all giving you a headache. Until someone decided it would be a good idea to pregame before going out.

In preparation for the night your friend’s insisted that you get dolled up, hair makeup and skimpy clothes you wouldn’t look twice at on any normal day.

You had to admit it made you a little more excited to get out and at least feel like your world isn't crashing around you. It was supposed to be a fun little night out. Somehow one drink turned into two, which turned into three which turned into Mina swearing she could beat everyone in a dance battle.

The group only got more riled up as everyone indulged in this silly challenge.

One challenge leads to another, which leads to more drinking, which then ends in everyone being too drunk to function and knocking out — all laid out in odd places around your living room floor and couch.

The groggy feeling came first, your arms radiating in dull pain as you vaguely recalled trying to beat Mina in a contest of who could do the most push ups. It sure as hell wasn't you, but the drunk version of you thought it was possible to move mountains.

You blink a few times, trying to will your eyes to rapidly adjust to the darkness of the room and find out what this odd buzzing noise beside you had been. Turning over, you find your phone, squinting as the too bright screen lights up your face and you see that it is three a.m.

You had fallen asleep with everyone else.

The phone buzzes again, lighting up and you have to squint further to read the contact name.

Tomura.

Your eyes widen as you scan over the three texts he’s sent you.

Wasting no time, you rush to your feet and into the bathroom so you can look at your phone without the chance of prying eyes overlooking your shoulder. Even though they were probably going to be out until late morning.

Tomura’s messages were short, no paragraphs, no essays but three different messages sent in succession.

When are you coming to get your shit?

I’m tired of waiting.

And I’m deleting our farm btw.

The first two messages don’t get much of a reaction from you, especially since it’s three a.m and he knows you’re usually asleep around this time.

But the third message…

Your Stardew Valley farm that you’ve had and worked on together for almost two years being put on the line and threatened? What the fuck was his problem?

This farm was a constant in your relationship. Throughout the ups and downs and back and forths. You were sure that hell would freeze over before you both would give up that progress. But here he is, threatening you while you would have been asleep. What an asshole.

Your feet are moving before your brain can stop them and you make your way to the front door. Since your friends were all passed out it would be easy to sneak over to Shigaraki’s place, give him a piece of your mind and then sneak back. In and out, quick and easy.

Your decision is made and you grab your coat, deciding to just go over there as you are. You hadn’t changed out of your outfit that was supposed to be for the night out, but it didn’t matter. You only needed to get over there and get there fast.

Once you arrive at Tomura’s doorstep you waste no time knocking. It’s around three in the morning so he should still very much be awake.

There's a chill in the air as you wait for his answer and you wrap your jacket closer to your body. A rumble of thunder caught your attention and it's then you notice the rain clouds rolling in. You knew it would only be a matter of time before the bottom of the sky falls out and rain drenches everything. You were on borrowed time if you wanted to make it back before then.

After what feels like forever the door finally opens, revealing a very cozy pajama-clad Tomura, who seemed a little too pleased for his own good — if that sly smile he was doing a bad job at hiding was anything to go by.

You don't give him a chance to greet you or say anything for that matter, stopping his words in their tracks as you cut him off. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk now, the expression making your fists clench and your anger boil. “What do I want? You’re at my door, in front of my apartment.” He scoffs, clearly getting the exact reaction he had wanted from you, “I should be asking what do you want?”

Caught like a deer in headlights. Whatever, you don't let that stop you as you pull out your phone to show him his text. “You sent this, I know you’re bluffing. What do you want?”

Tomura shrugs, leaning against his door frame and giving you a pleased look. Expression relaxed and content. Not a care in the world. “To talk.”

“Well, I'm here now, so let’s talk.” You spit, crossing your arms and waiting for whatever else he would throw at you.

“Sure, but you should come in first.” He starts, looking up towards the darkened sky, confirming his assessment. “It’s gonna rain soon, you know.”

Of course you knew that.

You just didn’t want to give him more time than you had. But you agree and go in, ignoring the fighting feeling in the back of your mind screaming at you to turn away and hightail it out of there.

Tomura’s home is the exact way it was the day you left, give or take a few more containers of takeout littered around the place. You have half a mind to scold him about it, but quickly remember that it isn’t your place to do that anymore.

So instead you stay quiet, following him into the apartment and into the living room. Opting to stand as he sat, and resisted the urge to get comfortable.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” You try, done watching him pick up a controller and boot up a video game. Seriously?

Your patience was wearing thin now as you watched him ignore you to play some stupid game. You try calling to him again, knowing this was probably a waste of your time and groans.

“I was in the middle of something before you got here. Let me finish and we’ll talk.” It's flippant the way he waves you off and continues the game. The lack of care only hurting your feelings further and making you realize this may have all been a big mistake on your part.

You shouldn’t be at your ex boyfriend’s house being ignored. You should be at your house getting drunk and hanging out with your best friends. There was no reason to stay somewhere you’re obviously not valued.

It’s a simple choice when you put it into perspective.

But things are always easier said than done.

You sigh, the air puffing out your cheeks, a bad habit you had when angry, and walk right in front of Tomura’s TV. There was more satisfaction in making him lose the game and then announcing your departure than just leaving quietly.

He cranes his neck to see around you, but it doesn’t work, finally giving up as his character inevitably dies. “What!?”

“I’m leaving!” You announced, turning on your heel and heading towards the front door.

“You had to make me lose first? I said I was almost done!” He spat back, rising from the couch to follow you.

You shrug, “I don’t care. Why invite me in if you’re just going to ignore me?”

“Didn’t think you had the patience of a child.'' Tomura stands in front of you, cutting through your path and stopping you in your tracks.

It's almost comical the way he insults you. “Okay pot, meet kettle.” You try to brush past him, but he side steps with you.

“What are you dressed like that for anyway? Did you go out tonight or something?”

“No!” You deny, a little louder than intended and then pause. “But it’s none of your business what I do anyway.”

Tomura hums at this, taking the words in and running them through his mind as he gives you a once over, eyes scanning from the too-tight shirt you wore — showing a generous amount of cleavage, down to your mini skirt that left little to the imagination.

“Could've fooled me.”

“What do you mean by that?” You hate when he gives you cryptic answers, like it’s impossible to pry into his mind to see what he was thinking at the moment.

“You knew you were coming to see me so I dont get why you're wearing that skimpy shit. Unless you wanted me to check you out.”

“Not everything is about you, Tomura. Maybe I just wanted to dress up and look nice.”

“Bullshit—”

“God, Tomura you always fucking do this!” You yell, walking right up into his face. The excitement in his scarlet eyes sends a chill up your spin, but you can’t back down.

He gets closer, matching your tone and you can still see the grin he’s trying to hide. It makes you see red. “Do what? Tell you the truth? You know I’m not wrong.”

“Yeah, you think you know everything, but you don’t. I’m dressed up because I want to be, not because of you.” You’re insisting at this point, frustration threatening to tip over and spill out into the form of another pointless argument. Why did you think you could actually come over and have a decent conversation with him?

Tomura is a master at getting under your skin and hitting where it hurts. In all of your arguments he’s never really pulled out the big shots but you wouldn’t put it past him to do so now.

“Oh, so you come over to my place dressed like a slut and you expect me to believe you don’t have some hidden motive?”

And there it is.

Your last straw. He could be so egotistical and mean — you’ve had it.

You regret it the moment you do it, but your body moves before your brain can process your actions. You push Tomura. Hard.

He doesn’t fall back far but you know it’s enough to piss him off. And he’s never been one to hold anything back, so he shoves you back and your back hits the wall.

Tomura has you pinned before you know it and there’s a thrill that runs through your body in a way you know you shouldn’t be feeling. Your knees feel weak for reasons that are not related to fear and your panties were gradually becoming more wet.

His voice is low and his eyes are narrowed as he pins you against the wall, pressing your cheeks together with his other hand. “You’re really starting to piss me off.”

You have to bite back a smile, knowing this has taken a turn and you aren’t strong enough to stop where it’s going. Not that you would want to.

“Oh yeah? If I piss you off so badly then why are you hard?”

He doesn’t look down. He can feel his own arousal just as well as you can while it’s pressed against your abdomen.

Tomura pushes off of you — maintaining some distance as he turns away.

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Sure am.” You supply, chipper and certain as you trail behind him.

He’s walking further into the apartment, and you follow. Legs moving on their own accord as you go further into the lion's den, exchanging quips and insults. You jab your finger into his shoulder, bothered by the way he continues to ignore you, it's a pathetic attempt at catching his attention and it works. Kind of.

The only response being him slapping your hand away with a glare and muttering a soft fuck off as he walked on.

You both went back and forth. Like the sun and moon, you just can’t stay away from each other.

It was how these things usually went between you and Tomura. He would start up, make a petty argument and you would never back down. Tomura is someone who was used to getting his way and others simply did what he said with no objections.

But that was not how you were.

And he loved it.

You knew by the way he would get that devious glimmer in his eye when you would challenge a point, starting up a debate. Sometimes they were heated enough to make you both break up. It never lasted more than a few days. A week being the longest.

Push and pull.

Tomura made his way past you again, ignoring your calls about how you hate being ignored. At this point you’re sure he’s doing it on purpose to rile you up more but you can’t help but take the bait. You grab his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face you as you point a finger in his face.

“Stop walking away from me!”

He grabs your wrist and pulls you closer, making you stumble on your feet and almost lose balance. You were so close you could feel the heat from his body and smell the fresh linen scent of his shirt. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

You snatch your wrist away from him, tension between you two growing hotter by the second as the space between you got thinner.

“What are you going to do about it?”

The narrowing of his eyes only made your grin grow wider as you watched the gears turn in his head as he thought about just how many things he would do about it. All of it enticed you, so you beat him to the punch.

You reach forward again, fully intending to shove his shoulder again for another reaction, another glare, maybe even more words, but he stops you. It was fast, the way you both tumbled through the hallway as Tomura crashed his lips to yours. The relief of finally feeling his lips again meshed with the excitement of how rough he was with you.

You lose yourself in the kiss, welcoming him in with open arms as you vaguely register the dark walls of his room and posters plastered along the walls in your scuffle.

It was exciting, probably the best part of breaking up and making up. At this point you think the whole point of falling apart is coming back together again. An endless cycle where the reward is worth the punishment.

Cat and mouse.

You end up on top of him, straddling his hips while your smug smile beams down at him. Tomura gives you an unamused look in return, yet the way his hands rested on your thighs gave away the ill hidden interest. It was all the encouragement you needed as you leaned down, hovering above him with both hands on his chest.

“Not so tough now, are you?”

It’s bait. You know it’s bait, he knows it’s bait, but he takes it anyway — the way you knew he would.

Tomura wastes no time flipping the both of you over, quickly reversing your positions as he settled himself between your legs. It’s dangerous the way his actions riled you up further, and you have to bite your lip to keep the smile from betraying your false anger. You couldn’t let him know how excited you were to be back in his bed.

He presses your cheeks together and rocks your head left to right, tone mocking and eyes wild with fever, “Oh, look who’s become a firecracker all of the sudden. Where did that flame come from, huh?”

You want to respond, but Tomura beats you to it, releasing your cheeks and pointing a nimble finger against your forehead, “Don’t be dumb.”

His eyes trail from yours and then down to your lips, then finally down to your exposed cleavage. The movement was swift as he cupped one of your breasts in his hand and dipped down, claiming your lips again. It was softer than the first time but not by much, especially not when he matched his pace by grinding his clothed erection into you, making you moan at the contact.

Your skirt was so short and it made you feel even more exposed than you already were. Tomura had easy access to you and the thin fabric of your panties made everything feel so much closer.

You moan at the contact, swiping your tongue against Tomura’s bottom lip and wasting no time deepening the kiss as you pull him closer. You needed more and you needed it as soon as possible.

Tomura pulled the low cut front of your shirt down, easily exposing your breasts from the confines of the shirt and massaged them, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your nipples and making you cry out from the sensitivity.

He pulls away from you, eyes gazing into yours and you swore in that moment he put you in a trance. Tomura’s ruby red gaze always left you mesmerized and you can’t help the whimper that leaves your lips, brows furrowed and eyes wanting, “Please.”

“Please what?” And he’s not taunting you, he’s not mocking you. His eyes are soft as he brings a hand to your cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” Fuck, you’ve missed him. “I just want you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face as he strokes your cheek, soft look in his eyes making your heart flutter, and then it’s gone. Replaced by a hardened gaze as he moves to remove your shirt and bra, fully exposing you to his hungry eyes, and then moves to remove your short skirt.

His hands hover there for a moment, debating whether or not he should keep it on and fuck you in it, but then decides against the idea and pulls it off, taking your soaked panties down with it as well.

The air in the room feels cool against your skin as you shiver in anticipation.

“Fuck,” Tomura whispers, now eye level with your cunt. You gasp as he runs two fingers between your wet folds and holds the digits up to show you. Syrupy clear slick clung to them, slowly trailing down as Tomura rose back up, eye level with you once more.

“You’re so wet…” He murmured, bringing the digits to your mouth and you opened, taking them into your mouth and tasting yourself. You kept eye contact as you watched his eyes widen in delight — Tomura loved it when you put on a show for him.

There’s another moment of Tomura pressing against your tongue with his fingers and then he pulls them out, opting for a kiss in exchange, his tongue dipping into your mouth and groaning as he could taste what’s left of your slick on you as well.

The pleasant feeling and linguid action of your movements made your shoulders relax as you practically melted into his soft bed, the feeling of his body above yours bringing you mountains of comfort. It was a distraction, of course.

You felt the same two of Tomura’s fingers prod at your slick entrance before pressing in fully and all the way down to the knuckle. The stretch was intense but the pressure was euphoric, making you squeeze your eyes shut and grip him closer.

He didn’t make you wait long as he pumped his fingers, quickly finding that sensitive spot so deep inside of you that only he could pinpoint and brushing against it over and over.

The feeling was so good it made you pull away from the kiss to breathe, thighs twitching and toes curling in pleasure. You wouldn’t last long like this.

“Tomura, fuck..!” You moaned, drowning in ecstasy as he continued his abuse of your spot, never letting up or slowing down, aiming to make you cum as quickly as he could. It was obvious he wanted you to come undone as soon as possible by the way he watched your every expression.

The way your brows furrowed to the way you bit your lip. Tomura eagerly drank every expression and gave it back to you in the form of pleasure.

“What?” He started, unphased by your dilemma, “Gonna cum?”

It took a lot of focus and effort, but you nod — done with fighting for the night and accepting the fact that you will come apart quickly. So you give in to the pleasure.

Tomura smiles, a devious grin splitting his features as he curls his fingers, hitting the spot one more time for good measure and you lose composure, your climax crashing into you like a tidal wave. There was nothing you could do besides ride the feeling while holding on to Tomura tight — like you would get swept away if you didn’t.

He fucks you through it with his fingers, eyes never leaving your face as you come down from your high.

“Pent up, huh?” He questions, and this time there is that little hint of teasing. It brings you back to reality.

Yes, you have been pent up. You haven’t been able to get off to anything since you’ve broken up and it’s been hell.

You have no time for the games, you just want him and you want him now.

So, you take Tomura’s face in your hands, making him look you in the eyes. The flecks of black in his carmine eyes always makes you remember why you come back. Every single time.

“Fuck me, please, Tomura.” It's soft and filled with desire that you cannot be bothered to hide, and Tomura has never been one to deny you.

He quickly discards his own clothes, making sure to not stay away from you for long. His cock is hard and leaking precum from the head as he strokes it in preparation. You feel giddy at the thought and watch as he slides the head of his cock between your folds, coating it with your slick, and rubbing against your clit. The action makes your hips twitch up towards him.

He loves to tease and make you wait, but today he doesn’t make you wait long. Tomura leans down after lining himself up with your entrance and places his free hand behind your head, right above the nape of your neck. His hands were warm and the feeling of those hands cradling your head felt so comforting in the space of his familiar dark bedroom.

You bring a hand to his hair, tangling your fingers in his ashen locks as he pushes forward. The stretch makes you whimper and Tomura captures your lips in a kiss again, swallowing the noises and releasing a groan of his own as your walls tighten around his cock.

There's something about the way Tomura drags his hips, the way he starts off at a slow pace, winding you up as he steadily increases his speed and force. It happens so gradually that you don't realize you’re screaming his name until he tells you to shut up — threatening to cover your mouth because he didn't want his neighbors to hear how much of a slut you were.

It drove you mad the way he said it all with a smile and fucked you harder. Almost daring you to be louder so he can punish you with a hand over your mouth.

Tomura knew how rough you liked it and he always delivered, giving you back arching pleasure as he pounded into you. It leaves you gasping and struggling to keep your voice down. Your hands find the surface of his back, trying to hold on as much as you could with building pleasure on the horizon.

“Tomu— Tomura..! Please,” you cry and he doesn’t miss a beat, driving his cock so deep against your sweet spot it makes you see stars. “Fuck..!”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Tomura cooed, eyes filled with mischief as he brought you closer to the edge. “Cry for me.”

And you do, your body feeling euphoric as the feeling buzzed up your spine and filled your brain with the fuzz of ecstasy.

“What are you gonna do, huh?” He starts, his hips grinding against you, the closeness of his pelvis rubs against your clit, making you cry out again, “What are you gonna do when I breed this pretty cunt and make sure you’re stuck with me forever?”

He’s bluffing, you know Tomura doesn’t want kids. He’s just trying to gauge your reaction. Your dedication.

“Tomura…” You only moan, breath catching as he hits that spot inside you that he knows so well.

Tomura is smiling, wild and devious, as you look up at him with glossy eyes, so close to crying from the feelings, “I’m gonna do it. I’ll make you mine forever and you can’t do anything about it.”

“Ah!” You should stop him, tell him to calm down but he has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your back arching off of the bed. Everything is blurring together and you can only slur words as the drool from your earlier kiss trails down your cheek.

You are completely at his mercy like this and you know your friends would be beyond disappointed.

It just feels so good the way his cock drags in and out of your body pulling moans and whines from your throat. He was relentless in the way he pounded into you — beyond the point of being soft and slow because he knows that’s exactly you like it.

“Say you want it.” The command comes with the slowing of his hips and you whine, high and needy as Tomura slows to a near stop.

“Tomura, I—“

“Say you want it or I swear to god I’ll stop right now.” It’s a threat and you don’t want to find out if he’ll go through with it. Tomura never goes back on his word.

“No, please, don’t— I want it!” you pant, frustrated and aching for more movement.

“I want you to,” you stammer, desperate to have your release. “I don’t care if you cum in me. I need you so bad.”

“That’s my girl,” He coos, dipping his head down onto your shoulder, “Fuck.. love you s’much”

You stop — you’ve never heard him say that. Ever. You doubted he would ever say it since it’s been so long.

He doesn’t give you a chance to ruminate on it because he's picking up the pace again and giving you the friction you were so deeply in need of. The feelings are swimming in your head as your cries reach new heights. Tomura is too far gone to stop you or care and you’re thankful. You couldn’t stop yourself if you tried.

The build of your orgasm crashes down and sends you with it, making your thighs quiver in pleasure and your eyes squeeze shut. Tomura’s mouth meets yours before you could cry out, the warmth of his tongue guiding you as he fucked you through it.

He didn’t last long after, the way your walls tightened around him with the force of your orgasm has Tomura’s pace erratic as he chased his own high.

The bed shook as Tomura finally finished, hips stuttered as he released inside of you, hot seed coating your insides and making heat rise to your cheeks. He really did it.

You watch as he slows to a stop above you, his eyes closed as he enjoys the feeling of release. Tomura’s breathing was heavy and you couldn’t stop yourself from bringing him down into another kiss, traveling from his lips to his cheeks and then back again.

It was intimate and you were worried it may have been too much, given the reason you were both in this situation was because of a stupid breakup.

Tomura’s pulls out of you, making you wince and taking the feeling of being so full away from you. He doesn’t go far, opting to stay on top of you and rest his head on your shoulder, wanting to keep you as close as possible.

“You really piss me off.” He mumbles into your shoulder, out of breath and tired. “God, why can’t you just stay with me.”

“Tomura…” Your hands run through his hair, the sweat is making it stick to his forehead as you wait for him to keep talking.

“Stop leaving me.” His voice is firm, unwavering.

“You told me to go.”

“I didn’t think you fucking would. I would never actually want you to.”

“I can’t read between the lines Tomura, I’m not in your head.” You make him look at you this time, pulling his hair a little to get him to raise his head. “Did you mean it?”

“I just said I didn’t—“

“No, the other thing you said.” He gives you a look of pure confusion and you lose a little bit of hope, “when you said you loved me?”

You stare into his carmine eyes, hoping, praying it wasn’t just pillow talk from the heat of the moment.

He looks at you for a long time, frustration still wearing on his features. If you didn’t know any better you would say he was pouting. “Of course I meant it. I’ve always felt like that.”

“But you’ve never said it!”

“I show it!”

“How?” This is getting frustrating and going in circles.

He groans, sitting up and taking his warmth with him. “I’m not going to sit here and list everything I’ve ever done for you. I don’t think it works like that.”

You open your mouth to counter, irritation on your tongue because that’s not what you meant, but Tomura stops you again.

“I don’t know how to explain it, okay?” He shakes his head and sighs, laying next to you on the bed and looking up at his ceiling. “It’s weird. I have these strong feelings, but it’s not hate, it's not anger. It's the opposite of that.”

You stare at him as he focuses ahead, keeping his eyes trained on the uninteresting ceiling above.

“Father said it’s a weakness and I should feel that way but,” There’s a pause as he looks away from the ceiling, meeting your eyes finally, “if it’s so weak of me, then why are the feelings so strong?”

Your heart aches. It's clear that he’s torn, and with the strange way he was raised you know that he can’t help the way he is.

“Tomura…”

“And it won’t go away. I can’t fight them down or push them away like I can with everything else. It eats me up and I… guess I lash out because of it.” He shakes his head and for the first time Tomura looks defeated. You’ve never seen him this way — he’s always been filled with confidence and self assured. “I just don’t know what to do.”

You bring a hand to his cheek as you press your forehead against his. It kills you that this is what’s been on his mind and you aren’t sure what you could do to fix it. Maybe there was nothing you could do, physically, but you would do your best to be there for him emotionally.

“Sometimes,” you try to be careful with your words, knowing how much Tomura looks up to his foster father even though the man has been nothing but strange to him. “People say things that aren’t true because they don’t know how to live with it.”

Tomura’s guardian cannot live with love nor the idea of it.

“That doesn't mean you have to live that way.”

And it’s the truth.

Tomura doesn’t say anything, just watches you with heavy lidded eyes, ruby red nearly glowing in the low light of the room. He was so much more than what people thought they knew of him and you didn’t care if it took time for others to see that.

He leans in, closing his eyes and you meet him halfway into a kiss.

It's warm and it's soft and you know that even when your phone is buzzing from dozens of missed calls and texts from your friends, it will be fine.

You and Tomura would take things one day at a time.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura x reader #mha x reader #my works #tomura shigaraki smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you

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chaoticbardlady99 · 5 months

Text

I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- It’s been 4 months since you last saw Astarion and 3 months since you killed the Netherbrain with your other companions. Shortly after, you settled down in Silverymoon to begin a life out there and try to push Astarion out of your mind- except it can never be that easy. You shortly discover you are pregnant with his child- a child that could kill you during childbirth. Scared and alone- Shadowheart stays with you to help you deliver the baby and keep you alive.

While out at the local market, Shadowheart runs into Gale and invites him over for dinner. Gale has unexpected company.

CW: Pregnancy, mentions of potential death during birth, mentions of nudity, mentions of NSFW smut

To my fellow DND fans- no this is probably not canon compliant, yes I’m upset about that, but look I really needed to write this so sue me I guess

Author note- Self indulgent, I have baby fever, but don’t want a baby fic. I’m unsure of how long this will be or if it will have more parts-it depends on how angsty I feel, but I need to have like six different ideas to think about at a time soooo 😂

*This hasn’t been edited ✨well✨so please forgive me

*again, no fucking clue who’s picture it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine so if it’s yours- reach out so I can give credit!

You keep yourself propped up against the sink in the kitchen as Shadowheart holds your hair out of your face and dabbing away the cold sweat that drips down your neck.

You are really sick of being morning sick. It’s absolutely the worst thing in the world- well besides your potential death from carrying your little girl inside of you. You sometimes think Astarion may get his wish- you may just die screaming.

You dry heave one last time- not a single thing comes up because you haven’t kept a single thing down since two mornings ago. Your morning sickness is inconsistent and comes on with little to no warning.

It’s been five months since you conceived this fricken kid, but it was like all the symptoms hit after you killed the Netherbrain.

A part of you really wishes you had somehow known before then- maybe it would have changed the cruel fate that ended your relationship with Astarion. You were literally pregnant in the middle of fighting Cazador. You think about what he last said to you all the time and just sob hysterically- like it happened yesterday.

A deeper part of you feels abandoned, but you blame yourself for him leaving. You should have been more convincing or maybe you shouldn’t have flat out told him no and explained why in the hells you didn’t want him to ascend.

For example- you didn’t want to lose him to some evil version of himself.

Ironically, you lost him anyway and are pregnant with his fucking child who insists on occasionally making you miserable.

Despite your inherent sadness, anger, and sickness, you find you are actually quite excited to meet her. You haven’t settled on a name yet and Shadowheart has been very helpful in regards to making sure you are healthy and strong for delivery. She’s your best friend and you could not be more grateful for her.

“I’ll go back to the market today and get you more of those herbs,” Shadowheart says quietly when she talks to you, “they seemed to help last time?”

You nod- exhausted and your head is pounding. You and this kid are going to need to have a serious conversation. You will not be letting a second Acunin make you miserable before she is ever born.

Shadowheart guides you to your bed upstairs, standing behind you in case you get hit with a wave of vertigo- which usually happens post vomit episode.

You pull your curtains closed- thankful that the desperate hope in your heart led you to buying black out curtains. You close your door and lay down on your bed- tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You miss him terribly. You shouldn’t. You should positively hate him, but everyday of this pregnancy makes you ache for him. You should be doing this together.

You know it’s hormones- the weepiness, the intense longing, and the Gods awful horniness. Dreams are the worst. You wake up a squirming disaster at least three times a week with your skin burning hot with memories of Astarion touching you.

You are happy that isn’t the case currently, but the weepiness sucks too. Remembering how he used to curl around you, the way it felt to have him kiss you on the forehead, and all those late night conversations with (now empty) promises. You curl yourself around your pillows, willing your imagination to pretend it’s him, and you sob until you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion tries to contain his excitement and fear as he follows Gale and Shadowheart to your home. Finally, after searching for literal months, he was going to see you again.

Astarion has been haunted by the last words he had said to you for what feels like eons now. He hadn’t meant it at the time and he certainly doesn’t mean it now.

He had been too afraid to come back to you after everything he had said. Astarion decided you probably hate him anyway so he tried to move on.

He tried being with other people (it always failed miserably because they weren’t you), he drank until he couldn’t remember a damn thing, and when all else failed, he began his search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

After the nightlife of Baldur’s Gate lost it’s appeal and he finally found a ring location, Astarion found himself in front of Gale’s door in Waterdeep- begging him of all people to help him.

The wizard had been puzzled and melancholy when he realized Astarion was at his door. Astarion told him every little piece of how he feels about you, how much he misses you, and how he wants to be able to give you the life that you deserve. Astarion was practically on the verge of hysteria while trying to make his case.

Thus began the search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

They were able to locate and obtain one after a grueling three month long journey and some help from one of Gale’s old friends. Then, they headed straight to Silverymoon- your last known whereabouts.

Running into Shadowheart had felt like a miracle, but to also have her living with you had made the trip even easier. Except Shadowheart was being really really weird towards him.

When Gale first asked if Astarion could come along too, Shadowheart had asked Astarion why he wanted to come and see the person he “hoped died screaming?”

Astarion had flinched at the anger and venom in Shadowheart’s voice. He figured the others would be mad, but he was hoping maybe Shadowheart would give him a little easier time like Gale had. Astarion was genuinely surprised by how quick she was to be defensive of you and your whereabouts. When Gale confirmed that Astarion was telling the truth, Shadowheart reluctantly said he could come.

The three arrive at the front of your shared townhome- it faces the beach and has the perfect amount of windows for the sun to light up the house, but one of the rooms is hidden from sight with heavy, black out curtains.

Shadowheart turns to both of them, “Tav might not be able to join us… she’s been sick for a bit now and is… recuperating.”

Astarion feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Sick? For how long?”

Shadowheart shifts on her feet uncomfortably, “5 months, but it got worse around 3 months.”

“Tav has been sick for that long?” Gale exclaims, “why didn’t you write!? I could have helped.”

“This particular affliction is one you wouldn’t understand,” Shadowheart says with a finality that suggests the conversation is done as she leads them into the kitchen.

Shadowheart immediately gets fussing with the herbs while Gale looks around the house. Astarion is still unsure of what he should be doing. The house engulfs him in your scent and he feels positively intoxicated. You must be really sick though because your scent smells different- not bad at all, just different.

Does he talk to Shadowheart? Does he look around with Gale?

Or does he sneak off and find you? Astarion doesn’t want to waste anymore time than he already has. Slowly, he creeps towards the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Astarion,” Shadowheart warns.

Astarion looks at her and then back at the stairs. He does this a couple times until Shadowheart appears to be annoyed enough that she’s let her guard down a bit.

Astarion takes off up the steps and he hears Shadowheart and Gale coming up right behind him.

Astarion hears a dry heave from down the hallway and he goes racing for the door.

If you are as sick as Shadowheart has suggested (5 months is crazy long), Astarion may not have much time with you and Gods he needs to take advantage of the time he does have.

Shadowheart be damned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up feeling even worse than you did when you fell asleep. Your headache feels like it’s taken on a life on it’s own and Gods you are going to vomit all over the floor if you don’t move NOW!

You get up with an impossible amount of speed for how dizzy you are and you grab the pail on your nightstand and heave painfully.

You are rocking back and forth, groaning as more stomach acid comes up because again, not able to even keep anything down.

You hear a pair of footsteps and then Shadowheart screaming after-

“ASTARION! THEY ARE SICK! YOU NEED TO WAIT!”

“I have been looking for them for months now,” you hear him hiss, “if they are sick, I need to see them. If this has lasted five months- then who knows how much time I’ve wasted!”

“Will you stop being selfish for five minutes!? It’s not about you and who even says she wants to see you!?”

Shadowheart and Astarion are yelling in front of your door now. You feel tears prick your eyes- Astarion is here. Here here. A flurry of excited kicks from inside you catches your attention and a feeling of blissful happiness comes over you. Oh look, the nausea is gone. Of course it is.

“Traitor,” you whisper before laying down on your bed for a moment.

You are very happy that your unborn daughter appears to be pleased and feels good about her dad being on the other side of the door. You, on the other hand, are less than optimistic.

Wasted time doing what? And why did Shadowheart say I was sick!? In what world was that going to keep him from going upstairs!? Especially if he, your mind pauses, cares about me? Again?

Which you hope he does- you would hope Shadowheart wasn’t so sick of taking care of you that she brought him here to finish the job. Maybe this is all one big show.

Another, “I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE” from Astarion, a “YOU SELFISH BASTARD” from Shadowheart, and a “Please can’t we all just be nice, catch up, and get along?” from Gale finally gives you the motivation to get up. The arguing feels far too much like being in camp again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing the growing headache to go away.

It doesn’t so you change into a pair of longer cotton pajama pants, a t-shirt that is unfortunately showing off your bump more than you’d like, and then you swing open the door in tired annoyance.

You are met with Astarion looking at you- his eyes scanning up and down your body- settling on your stomach. His expression is unreadable- it’s somewhere between lust, love, grief, and heartbreak. Embarrassed by Astarion’s intense gaze, you look over at Gale who is all smiles for you.

“Congratulations Tav!!!” Gale practically yells, making you wince, “the father is a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he considers himself a lucky man,” you say pointedly before turning to Astarion, “or do you?”

Astarion’s face changes entirely with your words. His eyes look at you, round and soft. His eyes are full of adoration and need- a look you never thought he would give you again. You have to fight the urge to grab him and drag him into your bedroom. You will not let the hormones win- you will be strong.

“I- it’s- I mean,” Astarion is fumbling over his words, “you are carrying my child?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, crossing your arms,” and she’s been giving me nothing but trouble. Thanks to your genetics, I’m sure. This is day two of not being able to keep a damn thing down and this fucking headache is UNBEARABLE so please for the love of every God keep the arguing down.”

Astarion is still looking at you with a mystified expression- taking you in as if for the first time in his entire life. You look back towards Gale and Shadowheart- you are entirely too self-conscious and way too excited to see him for him to be looking at you like that. You are trying to be mad dammit!

Shadowheart gazes at you and your surely red tipped ears with amusement before she says, “I’ll go and get the potion ready for you- that should hopefully help.”

“I will- uh,” Gale says awkwardly, looking between you and Astarion, “join you! I might need to know which herbs to use… in the future?”

“Planning on getting pregnant Gale?” You say with a smirk.

Gale snorts at you, “Dear friend, as wonderful as you look right now- none of the side effects sound appealing.”

“Oh they most certainly aren’t,” you say,” but thanks for thinking I look ‘wonderful’. I feel, well, disgusting.”

“Gods, how could you even think that?” Astarion blurts out, appearing shocked that he even said it, “you look like…. A vision. A wonderful, stunning vision, Darling.”

Shadowheart and Gale excuse themselves as you struggle to find the words for Astarion’s comment. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you feel yourself begin to melt a little bit. You feel your emotions bloom into something resembling spring as he steps closer to you- looking at you with pleading eyes.

You clear your throat, “would you like to come into my room and talk?”

Astarion nods eagerly, following behind you so close that you once again have to remind yourself that ripping off the clothes of someone who literally told you they wanted you to die screaming was not healthy- at least not until you get a proper apology.

You sit against your headboard as Astarion walks around your room- running his fingers along the bassinet and rocking chair in the corner. You still can’t get a read on him.

“A girl?”

His question breaks the air.

“Yes,” you smile at him, “no name yet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick a nice one,” he says with a smile, but his tone is entirely too melancholic.

A painful thump in your heart fills your body with sadness. He doesn’t want to be involved. Of course he doesn’t want to be involved. You are his knocked up ex-girlfriend. What were you expecting? The lump forming in your throat is unbearable.

“You don’t want to be involved?”

Oh good Gods you are crying. Astarion rushes over to you the minute your tears begin to fall- sitting in front of you on the bed. He reaches out and gently wipes your tears away as he speaks.

“I want to be involved so badly it hurts,” his voice comes out scratchy and emotional, “but that is your decision, not mine. You have been on your own for months, my Love. Instead of trying to come back and make it better- I pushed it off until I thought I could give you what you deserved- a life in the sun.”

You almost whine in protest when his hands leave your face. He twists the ring around his index finger before continuing, avoiding your gaze, “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what you deserve is a person that isn’t so damaged. Someone who can give you what you actually deserve which is a loving partner who hasn’t hurt you over and over again- a man worthy of being a father to ou- I mean your child.”

His confession and the tears that are streaming down his face are enough for you. Yes, you absolutely want to scream and yell at him, but you also ache for him. You can’t fault the man for being a slave for 200 years and then not taking it very well when you told him what to do. You always knew you would forgive him if he came back- you never thought he would, but here he is and like he said- there is no reason to keep wasting time.

“She is our child, Star,” you whisper and guide his eyes to look at you, “I want you to be involved. I don’t care what you think I deserve either. I have missed you so horribly since you left. It’s almost pathetic really. I’ve tried to blame it on the hormones, but… I don’t know. The picture has felt incomplete up until now.”

You absentmindedly put your hand on your stomach- receiving a kick. You glare at the place where your hand is resting.

“Will you stop kicking me for five minutes!?” You scream, “I WAS IN THIS BODY FIRST!”

Astarion looks at you bewildered and confused, but quickly realizes you aren’t talking about him. The smile that spreads across his face is wide and Astarion gingerly moves closer. You are still a little cautious- needing to protect not only yourself, but also your unborn child. He moves to the right of you and goes to move you just slightly so he can slip in behind you.

“Could I? I mean if it’s not crossing any boundaries!”

Astarion is on edge- you can tell that much, but he doesn’t look at you like he did that last time you saw him- Astarion is looking at you like you are the most precious individual who has ever walked this earth.

You nod shyly, and then Astarion slots himself behind you, your back against his chest, his face in the crook of your neck, and his legs on either side of yours. He cautiously puts his hands on your stomach and is immediately kicked.

Astarion laughs with joy, “she’s strong!”

“Strong willed and strong physically,” you shake your head and you are laughing a bit now too, “you may just get your wish yet.”

“What wish?”

It had slipped. You hadn’t meant to bring it up again- or maybe you did. You want to know for sure if he still feels that way, but the confusion in his voice says he doesn’t. You go rigid and go to dismiss it when you feel his posture change behind you, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“Right… that.”

The silence is nerve-wracking. You’ve lost him again, you are sure of it. A stray tear begins to roll down your cheek.

“Astarion-“

“No, let me think, Darling. I want to make sure I say everything I want to say correctly.”

You continue to sit there in silence, he places soft kisses on your neck. You feel him smile against your skin at the needy moan that escapes your lips. You absentmindedly reach out for one of his hands and begin to play with his fingers while he thinks. Astarion used to let you do this all the time while you were traveling- it helps you feel grounded.

“I was so consumed by all that power in the moment,” he says slowly, “I wasn’t thinking. By the time I had realized what I had done, I felt like it was already too late- you most likely hated me and moved on.”

You have to bite your tongue- you want to scream. Hate him? Never. You had been miserable without him around for that last month of traveling. Your heart had felt like a dead weight in your chest and you had been moving around like a zombie.

“So I tried to move on… I even tried to be with others, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish, but I want you. I never want anything bad to happen to you- I certainly don’t ever want you to die screaming. I don’t want you to ever carry a child that is not mine.”

You are surprised by the warmth in your core when he says his last sentence. There is something so primal there that you have to really focus on what he is saying next.

Astarion clears his throat before finishing speaking, “I don’t want to be without you anymore- four months is too long. I don’t want to miss out on anymore of your pregnancy and I want to be here for you- with you- doing this together like we should have been doing this whole time. I was a horrible fool- please give me another chance. Please, Darling. I love you- so so much more than I ever thought anyone could ever love someone.”

Astarion’s words hang in the air and you are trying not to begin crying for the 15th billion time. This is what you had wanted to hear all along. You can feel his tears on the collar of your shirt- the way he inhales as if to memorize your scent like this is the last time. Astarion is not expecting you to say yes- you know that because he’s starting to loosen up, pulling away from you so that he can respect your decision.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “I don’t want to be without you anymore either. I forgive you- please stay.”

“I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me too, my Love.”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #astarion x tav #karlach #bg3 #astarion x f! reader #astarion x f!tav #pregnancy #astarion acunin

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hyypnotix-writes · 9 months

Text

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.

One perfect night.

That’s all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

It's not that you haven’t tried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until she wasn’t, of course.

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

You knew even then that you should have.

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

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

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

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

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

It was just one night.

It was one perfect night.

________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

Oh ..maybe she is!

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

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

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

“Do you find every woman attractive?”

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

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

“No. Not once. Why?”

“Never ever?”

“Y/N!”

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

“About women?” She queries.

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

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

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

“Stop doing that!”

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

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

“I need your help.”

“I don’t care!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing. I was just—”

“Thinking about women?”

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? For a man?”

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

“..and ..was it?”

“Mhmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

See what I mean? What the hell?

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

Did you?

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“..we broke up.”

Shit. She would make this all about herself.

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.”

“Well, thank fuck for that!”

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

“She was horrible!”

“You could’ve said.”

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going in Spain?”

“Barcelona.”

“Why?”

“Football.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what if it’s a sign?

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

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

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

“You’re still going with that?”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

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

“I hadn’t met her before.”

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

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

“I don’t mind doing that.”

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

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

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

What’s the worst that can happen?

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

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

Mm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.

It’s her. It has to be her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“….Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” She questions.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh oh!”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really is very curious.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really missed you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just don’t let her burn it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________

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

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

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

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

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

“Long day?” You ask.

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

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

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

“I was given it.”

“By?”

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

“Going for the best player on the team.”

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

“..What do you mean?”

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

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

“Who is Alexia Putellas?”

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

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

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

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really is absolutely everything.

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

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

“You can’t wear it!”

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

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

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

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

887 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months

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i recently found your page and i became instantly obsessed, you're such a good writer!! i'm not sure if you're taking requests rn (if you're not, ignore this hahaha) but i saw a post somewhere saying that when spencer is in love he loses the sense of direction 😭 we saw moments like those with lila and maeve (like he starts walking but then it's the wrong direction <33) and i was thinking about that with bau!reader!! they're on a case and he gets distracted by her and starts walking on the opposite direction or says something wrong and the team is all like??? because he never gets things wrong and maybe morgan teases him or something like that

sorry for the veryyyy long message!! i just thought it could be so cute, and you would write it perfectly!! obviously if you want to write it in a different way it's okay, i would be happy if you wrote it (but again, if you're not feeling it it's completely okay!! 💗) thank you and have a good day :))

Thank you sweetness <3

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 539 words

There’s an eyelash on your cheek. You’re staring at the board, and your lips are all pursed, and you’re sitting forward on your elbows, and there’s an eyelash on your cheek. Spencer has no idea how you haven’t noticed it, sitting there with both ends curled upward, precipitous on the curve of your cheekbone.

You’re saying something to Hotch about the overly gruesome nature of the case, how it points to a connection with the victims. Your cheek moves as you talk. The eyelash looks like it should be a breath away from falling off, and yet it stays stubbornly in place. Spencer really, really wants to get it for you. It’d be such a tiny gesture, the quick brush of his finger underneath your eye, so brief no one would have the chance to question it. He wonders if you believe in wishing on eyelashes. He’s seen you throw salt over your shoulder more than once, but you claim it’s more a habit from childhood than actual superstition. Still, you’re more a romantic than you like to let on. But the origin of the salt tossing is more rooted in Christianity, Spencer thinks, whereas the practice of wishing on eyelashes is more recent and often suspected to be rooted in Paganism. It supposedly emerged only in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, when someone in the British isles spread word that blowing an eyelash off your finger was the equivalent of blowing away the Devil, and eventually the belief morphed into good luck and wishes. Spencer wonders what you’d wish for.

“And it’s pretty clear what this is hailing to.” Prentiss’ voice is weary.

“Paganism,” Spencer says quietly, absentmindedly.

“What?”

Spencer blinks, returning to the room to find the entire table has turned to look at him. “Sorry, I—I was thinking about something else.” He glances at the board. “Jack the Ripper. The degree of mutilation is the same.”

“Right,” Hotch says, instantly back on task. “And if we’re right, he’s going to act again soon. Wheels up in twenty.”

Spencer picks up his bag, but doesn’t leave the room. “Hey,” he says as you stand, stepping closer to you. “You’ve got an eyelash.”

You blink, almost knocking it askew, but hold still as Spencer brings a hand to your face, brushing it onto his finger.

Your cheek pushes upwards as you give him a lopsided smile. “Thanks,” you say.

“Wanna make a wish?”

You make a soft, amused sound. “I don’t believe in that, and I know you don’t either.” But when Spencer holds up his fingertip, you lean forwards anyway. Your mouth purses prettily, a tiny little o, and you blow softly. It’s a small puff of air, but the eyelash whirls off into the air. The both of you track it until it reaches the ground. You quirk an eyebrow at Spencer as if to say satisfied? and go, passing your hand along his arm fondly as you exit. Spencer follows after you like you’ve got him on a leash, and it’s only once he’s in Garcia’s office that you say “Do you need something, Spence? I just came to bring Penelope something,” and he realizes he’s completely forgotten where he was supposed to be going.

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shiny-jr · 1 year

Text

damnation (peek V?)

Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Neige LeBlanche, Epel Felmier, Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit.

Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

Note: Should I be posting this right now? Probably not. Especially since Scarabia isn’t completed, but I haven’t posted anything in a while and I’ve been more motivated and inspired for Pomefiore lately. Maybe seeing comments and opinions on this might boost my energy and make me write more and complete both Scarabia and Pomefiore. Hopefully. Anyways, I wanted to post this anyways because technically it was part of the first sneak-peek before I edited it out so I could make its own and make it longer too. That, and after seeing fanart by a mutual, I wanted to write even more. I’m finally getting the chance now. So I’ll be writing right after I post this. Go check out the most recent fanart I got for this specific part of the project. Oh, and if you have no idea what this is, you might want to check the first sneak-peek post (the “I” below) and my previous posts under the #damnation twst au tag. One last thing. None of this is edited, I just copy and pasted from the draft I have so yeah, just in case y’all see mistakes it’s because I haven’t gone over it yet. I usually go over everything once it’s completed.

I . . . II . . . III . . . IV . . . V . . . VI . . . VII

THE BEAUTIFUL KING

A dark robe. Wrapped around your shoulders was a black cloak, like wings folded in. Speaking of feathered appendages, there was a single shiny feather tucked behind your ear. You had felt it tickling your earlobe, leading you to pluck it out of your hair to examine it. It was long and black, huge in size, making you imagine it came from a beast of a raven. Slowly you looked up, confused to find yourself at a desk surrounded by books, bottles of odd colorful liquids, and there was even a cauldron in the corner of the stone wall!

Returning your attention back to the feather, you were perplexed but quite liked it so you placed it back behind your ear where you had originally discovered it. Upon standing from the wooden chair, you noticed your change of outfit. A simple white ruffled shirt and black pants, although nearly every inch of you was covered by the black cloak on your back that reached all the way to your ankle and draped around you like a curtain. Lifting up the cloak, you could feel a short sword strapped safely and securely in a hilt on your back hidden away from sight. What was this place…? Why were you dressed like this? Why did you have a sword? What was going on? Was this your punishment?

Just then, your eyes drifted over to a book stand where a heavy leather tome sat open to prying eyes. Your prying eyes, to be exact. Curiously you stepped toward it, your fingers ghosting over the crisp pages of the aged book as you squinted incredulously at the words printed on the surface in a large font, occasionally dotted with red ink. “Poison apple…?” Beside it was the painted image of a ripe red apple, and in its shining reflective skin was the distinct shape of a skull. “One taste of the poisoned apple and the victim’s eyes will close forever in the sleeping death.”

But that… that was from a fairytale! The story of Snow White and the Beautiful Queen! This page about a poisoned apple, the tome, this basement filled with ingredients and suspicious concoctions… So it was true, criminals were often sent to dangerous tales where they would perish. And you... you were a criminal and you were here, but... what role did you play? Lifting your hand up to your ear, you suddenly felt the familiar soft sensation of the black feather accessory and realization dawned on you. Didn’t the queen have a pet raven…? Could that explain why you were here in these strange but fancy clothes? Of all things, why did you have to be the raven?

How did the story go again? The Queen was vain and wicked, she wished to be the most beautiful of all. It was said that she consulted her magic mirror every day and would inquire as to who the fairest of them all was. Should the mirror ever reply with another’s name instead of hers, she would find a way to kill her rival and would only be satisfied once the mirror answered her name. So when her step-daughter, Snow White, grows to become the fairest of them all, the Queen goes mad with jealousy and has a huntsman attempt to kill her. When that fails, the Queen takes matters into her own hands, eventually turning herself ugly as a disguise and even causing her own untimely demise by falling off a cliff and being crushed by a boulder, her remains left as feed for hungry vultures. That was the Queen, but what about the raven? Well, it’s never disclosed as to what happens to the bird, at least to your knowledge. The last the raven is seen, it was being tormented by the wicked Queen as she was creating the poisoned apple. Actually, maybe being the raven wasn’t so bad afterall… At least it didn’t perish or receive some other horrible ending.

Knowing this brought you much relief. At least you didn’t end up as the raven in that other story about a sleeping princess. That raven was turned to stone! You pity any poor sucker that might’ve ended up in that position. This outcome was adequate, for now. Perhaps it was best to venture outside, to attempt to find this beautiful queen. To be honest, it was a little exciting. You had always wondered how beautiful she was, since the novels always claimed they could never do her justice. But that's besides the point. Once meeting her, you then had to decide what your next move would be.

Keeping all that in mind, you climbed the spiraling stone staircases just barely lit by candles. You winced whenever you heard the squeak of a rat or spotted a rotting corpse of a forgotten prisoner still in chains. Quickening your pace until you reached a wooden door, and stepped into the sunlight. It was warm and delightful, the sun’s rays shining on your skin. You felt free. As of now, this was far from punishment. But knowing that you were sent here to be punished or even die, was what kept you from being completely at ease. You could almost just relax here in the calm and beauty of this garden–– key word, almost. Shrieking and many voices shattered your temporary peace, even scaring away the white doves that had flocked in the open courtyard.

Grumbling, you followed the sound of the commotion. It sounded like it was coming from over the high palace walls. There was one portion of the wall that was shorter than the rest, if you climbed onto the smooth edges of the railing by the stone steps, you could successfully scale onto the top of the wall where you decided to lounge about and spectate the action. On the other side of the wall, you could see a young man getting closer and closer, nervously waving at a large group giggling and following him. It was obvious that he was a little uncomfortable, and that he was trying to lose them without hurting their feelings by how he continued to smile even as he picked up the pace.

When his eyes landed on you, he appeared surprised, and as he walked the path he was getting closer and closer. Feeling pity for the lad, you sighed and stretched your arm down, to which he hesitated a moment before finally deciding to place his hand in yours. You heaved him up and slid down to the safe side of the wall, the palace side, just before his apparent fans could catch him. Their whining and complaining was amusing.

“Thank you…! You saved me!”

Oh, right, he was still here. You glanced over at the young man peering happily up at you with the brightest smile on his lips. Your eyebrows furrowed as you slowly began to notice his features. Hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, dressed head-to-toe in rags… No way––

“Ah, I know you!” He exclaimed, delighted as he took a step closer. “You’re my elder brother’s attendant! I’ve seen you around the palace countless times. You are always working so hard that I’ve never gotten a chance to properly meet you! Of course you must already know but my name is Neige, it’s truly so wonderful to finally talk like this with you!” He performed a small but polite bow. Such manners for a prince in rags. “I never knew you were so kind! Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Ah, no, there’s no need for that…” You studied his face, attempting to make sense of it all. If this Neige was Snow White, it did make total sense. His skin was flawless, it looked like a marshmallow, so pristine but soft. He was cherubic. His beauty was more of a one of innocence and cuteness, and it seemed the townsfolk noticed his looks judging by how they focused on his physical features instead of his attire. You force your gaze away. This was the prince who the Queen would try to kill. But there’s a chance it may be King in this version, because you’re fairly certain that Neige had just mentioned something about having an elder brother that you apparently worked for. “It was nothing.”

“Please, don’t be so modest! Your actions were selfless and heroic. Had it not been for you, I’m afraid I would’ve been stuck outside all day with no choice other than to interact with all those that followed me. And I couldn’t have that! I promised my brother that I would do my chores.” A sad frown appeared on his face as his gaze traveled back over to the wall, “Although I do regret having just left them without so much as a goodbye…”

So he was kind… Makes sense. Most princesses, or prince in this case, were kind-hearted souls that were far too naive or trusting and had the strangest ability to communicate with woodland creatures. However that last part worked, you weren’t entirely sure.

“The doves of the courtyard gathered by the well with me this morning! And we all made a wish! I, well… It's a bit embarrassing, but I wished for something truly special. And I believe that my wish may have come true!” A pretty pink blush made his cheeks rosy as he clasped his hands together, looking so truly content as he peered up at you.

“Is that so…?” Well, magical animal talking ability, check that off the list. He really was like the princess from the fairytale. But you didn’t like where this was going. You outgrew fairytales a long time ago, but when you read something so fantastical and magical in your innocent imaginative youth, it sticks with you. Perhaps that was a good thing, because even now you could recall the small details of the story.

In the beginning of the story, Snow White is cleaning the courtyard when she meets the doves at the well where she makes a wish to meet her true love. Not too long after, the prince appears on horseback, hearing the princess’ song that leads him to climb over the palace walls to get to her. When you got older, you quickly realized how creepy that actually was. The prince crept up on her like some sort of stalker, and essentially trespassed on private palace grounds. But that’s besides the point right now. The point is, Snow White made a wish to meet her true love which happened to be the prince. Well, right now, you have yet to see another so-called dashing prince or princess. There was just the courtyard and you were alone with Neige, and he was gazing up at you through his lashes and with a pretty smile that appeared too fondly. The Queen, or King, really needed to stop cooping up Prince Neige within the palace walls. It was dulling his sense towards social cues and common sense.

“Hey! What the hell are you doin’...?!”

Surprised at the sudden presence beside you, you looked to see another stranger. This one you couldn’t automatically connect to a role. It was a short young man with a cuteness that could possibly even rival the prince. He had such wide blue eyes and odd soft lavender curls that framed his face. Unlike you and Prince Neige, his outfit was of much finer detail which consisted of a white tunic and long dark blue sleeves from the shirt he wore underneath. A red cloak was draped over the shoulders of his small frame, the ends brushing against his simple pants and boots. But despite his fine clothing and adorable appearance, he spoke with such brashness, irked for whatever reason.

“Ah, you must be Epel! My brother speaks often about you! He says he sees great potential in you!” Neige interjected, oblivious to this Epel fellow’s irritation. Epel… the name didn’t ring a bell. You could accurately deduce what Neige’s role was based on his appearance and the fact that his name meant snow in French. But you still had no idea who Epel was supposed to be. Again, Neige bowed his head in polite greeting as he exclaimed, “Today must be my lucky day! Not only have I met you now, Epel, but I’ve also met–– Um…” He paused, turning to you and inquiring softly, “I’m sorry, I’m so excited that I’ve forgotten to ask your name.”

The lavender-haired boy quickly snatched your attention away from the prince, grabbing your cloak where your arm would be as he hissed in a whisper so as to not involve Neige. “Are you crazy? Talkin’ to the prince…! Vil is gonna fly off the handle!” Not-so-discreetly gesturing to the window right above them with his eyes darting to it and back to you, but not moving his head, so as to not alert the onlooker behind the glass.

You froze, not moving your head but your eyes moved up to where Epel had been glancing at. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely make out a tall and thin figure in purple standing at the large window, holding the red curtains open with both hands. They were watching, and just as you moved your head the tiniest bit to get a better look, you only caught a glimpse of a deep angered frown before the curtains were abruptly shut, barring you from seeing anymore. That could’ve only been the beautiful royal, the monarch in charge that sees Prince Neige as a rival. When you looked back at Neige, he was still smiling at you with his hands folded in front of him, patiently awaiting an answer. Poor guy doesn’t know what’s coming.

“We gotta go, or Rook is gonna drag us back himself…!” Without even waiting for you to give Neige your name, Epel took your hand and ran like a bat out of hell. Making a beeline straight for an entrance to the palace, you attempted to keep up with him. He was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Behind you, you heard, “W-Wait, I never got your name…!”

Well, that’s a crying shame. Focusing your attention on where you were heading, you began to lose track of all the twists and turns within these palace walls. Epel led you forward, he certainly knew where he was going. But you? You hadn’t a clue. That is, until after a few minutes, you arrived at a long hall where at the very end there were double doors already opened. The few soldiers standing guard paid no mind to you and the lavender-haired fellow, probably because in their eyes, you belonged here. And yet that couldn’t be further from the truth.

You felt so incredibly out of place as you stood on the lengthy blue carpet that stretched forward toward a small yet intricately designed throne of gold and jewels formed in the shape of a magnificent peacock with its feathered fanned out. But what was more entrancing than the priceless throne, was the person sitting atop it. Oh, how the novels did not lie, they truly could not do the monarch any justice in portraying their beauty. The King, who must’ve been Vil, could’ve been a world-famous model. His face looked like those perfect sculpted marble statues, it was the type of look that would incur the envious wrath of gods and goddesses in mythology. There was not a single blemish or flaw. Not even a single hair of his golden locks fading into lavender was out of place. The long purple robes under the longer black cloak flowing down his body, complimented the color of his amethyst eyes. Those eyes looked even more shiny than the golden crown perched atop his skull. You weren’t a simp but wow.

The King appeared less than pleased, it actually made you incredibly nervous when he bore a frown and silently beckoned you closer with a single curling movement of his index finger.

Walking past Epel who stood by the door, you took a deep breath as you recounted what knowledge you had on etiquette during this time period. Once you were a few feet in front of him, you began to kneel, when he spoke and caused you to freeze.

“Don’t.” Intense gaze glued to your form, he watched you carefully as he instructed, “Come closer.”

You slowly stepped forward, closer to him.

“Closer.”

Hesitating, you took another step so one foot was on the step in front of his throne.

“Closer.”

Pausing, you inched forward, now standing on the same elevation as the throne. Now you were just centimeters away from him, and it was putting you on edge. When he appeared seemingly satisfied, that’s when you finally kneeled in front of him. With a bowed head, a common sign of respect in customs with monarchies, you greeted simply, “Your Majesty.”

The King peered down at you, silent for a moment as you kept your head down and eyes glued to the ends of his purple robes and how his black cloak that matched yours, but his was much longer, pooled around his throne to look like a black void. After a few moments, you felt his hand at your chin, his slim fingers urging you to look up. When you did, he hummed, “Well, my lovely pet, have you had your fun with my little step-brother?” He gave a question, but it became obvious that he didn’t want an answer. At least not yet. This king must not be too fond of the prince. As his thumb stroked your chin and raised it so your head was almost at his knee, he continued slowly while gazing down at you, “You know that I loathe sharing, don’t you? So why would I share you with my step-brother, hm? Have you perhaps… begun to favor him over me?”

It struck you then that the royal must be an extremely envious person. Not only did they want to remain first in standing when it came to beauty, but he also wanted to monopolize people’s attention so that they may focus on him. Replying carefully, you spoke while keeping your eyes glued to his enchanting yet intimidating gaze, “Of course not, Your Majesty. It was merely a coincidence that I encountered him. I cannot be as easily swayed as the masses.” For a moment you hesitated, seeing that he seemed unconvinced as you proceeded, “... My loyalty to you cannot be broken by a prince in rags.”

After a few moments, the tension in the air evaporated as the king graced you with a smile that made your breath hitch. You had said the right thing. Tempted to glance at Epel for a possible clue on what to do next, you refrained and instead remained still as a statue when the king reached forward with his other hand to remove your hood. “Let me see your face, my retainer.” As soon as the hood was removed, he examined your face in the light. It took an incredible amount of calm to keep composed and not squirm in place under his intense scrutinizing gaze. Finally, he frowned and sighed, “I’ve been keeping you confined beneath the castle for far too long. You’re beginning to look ghastly, and I can’t be seen with someone beside me that’s less than appealing to look at.” Removing his hands from your face, he motioned for you to stand, which you did. “You’ve done enough. Getting rid of our guests and covering it up must’ve been challenging, especially for you to do it all on your own. This time, Rook will take over while you will be receiving enough sunlight to revitalize your complexion. Do not overdo it. Rook.”

Guests? Cover up? This wasn’t in the story. There wasn’t any time to fully process what you heard before you detected yet another voice just right beside your ear.

“Good day, petit corbeau!” You felt your soul leave your body for a single second when these words were said beside your ear by a voice, an extremely close and unfamiliar voice. When you jumped, startled, you noticed there was another young man literally only an inch behind you. When did he even get there? You didn’t even notice him until now! When you stepped to the side out of the way, you furrowed your eyebrows at his smile.

The young man was blonde, with hair styled into a ridiculous looking bob-cut but he somehow made it work as he wore a wide-brimmed brown hat with a black feather. Over his shoulders and back he wore a large hunter green cloth that wrapped around his shoulders like a scarf and extended over his back like a small cloak. Underneath, concealed by the cloth, was a dark tunic and black pants with a belt and knife at his hip. However, what unnerved you wasn’t the knife at his hip or the bow and quiver chock full of arrows on his back. It was his eyes.

His forest green eyes were glued to you, and he bore a wide and charming smile. “Ah, to see you without your hood and out of the undercroft, what a rare sight! Marvelous! I must thank you, Your Majesty, for making this possible! It is not everyday we see your dutiful, striking, mysterious little raven. It is truly a spectacle to behold! I will treasure this rare moment where I’ve not only heard you speak, but have seen your visage without being shrouded by shadows and concealed by your hood!”

You did not like this. The way he was looking at you as he spoke so dramatically made a shiver crawl up your spine. Yes, he spoke nothing but praise in such an honest tone and declaration, but there was something in his eyes. Something that placed you on edge as his smile turned slightly ominous and his eyes narrowed at you. There was a twinkle in his green eyes as he tilted his head at you inquisitively, as if sensing your unease without you even saying a word. This had to be the Rook fellow that Epel mentioned offhandedly, and now it made sense as to why he ran back so quickly just to avoid encountering him.

Much to your relief, Vil sighed and interjected without even standing from his throne. Furrowing his eyebrows, he scolded in an irked tone, “I didn’t summon you to pester my little retainer, Rook. Stress from you is not what my retainer needs right now. It causes wrinkles.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty.” Rook chuckled, obediently turning to fully face the royal as you stood stiffly beside him, keeping a safe distance between you two.

Behind you, out of the corner of your eye, you could see Epel quietly closing the doors once Vil gestured for him to do so. It seemed the king wanted privacy, he wished to say something not even the guards outside the thick wooden doors were allowed to hear. The only ones that would be witnesses to his words were you, Epel, and Rook. You had to wonder what was so secretive that he didn’t even want his soldiers stationed outside to hear, and why were you allowed to hear? Was it because you were supposedly in the role of his trusted retainer? Maybe it had something to do with that cover-up he mentioned just a short time ago.

The tension in the room was thick, it disturbed you and you can tell it bothered the short purple-haired young man too if his growing perturbed frown was anything to go by. Despite this, he took up the space beside you. The blonde with the bow, Rook, who you now were assuming to be a huntsman if his attire and weapons were any giveaway, continued to smile without much of a care. Rook was on the left, Epel was on the right, and you were in the center, and still on his throne was King Vil. With luck, you’ll be able to keep up this act. It wouldn’t do for a retainer to fail. It might cost you and be the slip-up that would put an end to this charade of survival.

“I’ve decided. Rook, the duties I normally give to my retainer will be passed onto you today. You’re much more suited for this job. It involves my little step-brother, Neige.” The way he said the prince’s name made it sound like it pained him just to utter it, like it burned his tongue just to mention him. But he continued. “It seems he’s been working hard at completing his chores, hm? He’s been begging for a day out, and he adores flowers so… Rook, you will take him far into the woods, a secluded meadow where he can pick as many wildflowers as his little heart desires.”

Once you processed his words, you froze. It dawned on you that it was happening, this was the moment in the story when the beautiful queen commanded her huntsman to murder the princess in the woods. Vil must’ve already consulted the magic mirror and was told that he was no longer the fairest in all the land. That title now officially belonged to Neige, but it wouldn’t for long if the king had anything to say about it.

The other two loyal and trusted by the king had no idea, as Epel appeared vaguely bored and disinterested while Rook seemed elated. “Of course! I’ll see to it that it is done, Your Majesty––!”

“I’m not finished.” Vil interrupted, frowning tersely as his gaze turned cold. Tapping his well-manicured nails against the armrest of his throne, his eyes narrowed and he leaned an inch forward while instructing, “There, you will kill him.”

The shock was immediately evident on the face of the two beside you. Epel, who had been quiet throughout this entire exchange, finally broke his silence with a small gasp as he moved to cover his mouth with one hand. But it was too late, everyone had already heard him and seen his stunned expression. And yet, no one seemed to really care. Everyone was far too engrossed in what was just said by the king.

Rook appeared just as confounded before disbelief took root, as if he didn’t even wish to believe his own two ears. Removing his hat, he held it to his chest and lowered his head respectfully as he placed a hesitant foot forward. “Your Majesty, our beautiful and lovely Vil, you can’t possibly mean–– our prince Neige…!”

“Silence!” Immediately standing from his seat, he scowled, the prince’s name only making his rage more bitter. And then, he said something unexpected, something off script and never in the story. Gesturing to you, he hissed, “My loyal retainer here could make six souls vanish without a trace, why can’t you do it with one mere prince? Must they do everything? Must I have to dirty my own hands? Hm?”

Lowering his head further, the huntsman replied quietly, somberly, his smile now gone. “Of course not, Your Majesty. Your delicate hands aren’t meant to be soiled…” It’s as you suspected. Rook stayed alive and was one of Vil’s closest servants because he was witty enough to think of something on the spot that was complimentary enough to appease the bitter royal. At least, that’s what it seemed like at the moment. For now, you were grateful you weren’t him. Some people who read the story of Snow White liked to theorize that the huntsman was murdered by the vicious queen for failing to assassinate the princess.

Vil was quiet, not completely calm judging by his sneer but he was composed enough not to say anything more. Standing tall, his gaze honed in on you and Epel, to which he spoke, “My loyal, diligent retainer, escort my successor out. I need to have a word with Rook, privately.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

#yandere #neige lubanche #neige leblanche #epel felmier #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twst writing #work in progress #damnation twst au

1K notes · View notes

bunnysbrainrot · 8 months

Text

No Vacancy - Day Two

Characters: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader, Dean, Castiel

Content: Majorly plot building. Romantic/sexual tension.

Summary: In day two of your one-on-one case with Sam, you gather intel together. Once things settle down for the second night, Dean reveals some news. Sam realizes he’s made a huge mistake involving a lust spell.

*A/N: This chapter was getting a bit long, and I haven’t posted in a couple days, so this chapter is out early! Honestly I like the pacing of this a bit better so I don’t burn out. Y’all better be ready for the next chapter 👀

————

“Mrs. O’Connor, would you say that your daughter had any enemies? Anyone who would want to cause her harm?” Sam’s tone was filled with compassion as the woman explained the situation.

Her lips wobbled, “I-I don’t know. Casey was a sweet girl, she just got caught up in the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Did you see any changes in her behavior in these past few weeks?” You piped up, matching the softness of Sam’s voice.

Casey’s mother shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. You reached into the inner pocket of your suit jacket, handing her a pack of tissues. She gives you thanks and takes a moment before she speaks again.

“Not much. She was quieter, sure, but I thought, y’know, maybe she was depressed - she spent almost all of her time in her room. We were so close, and she just… distanced herself.”

“How so?” Sam asked.

Through tears, her voice broke, “Her whole demeanor changed, got… darker. She wouldn’t let me into her room anymore. That was where we had our movie nights…”

You nodded as you listened, glancing to Sam for a sign of a breakthrough, but his expression was muddled. A few moments later you were handing your personal number to Casey’s mother, and wishing her a good day.

Sam asked, “So, what do you think?”

“I think we should check her room, but we need to give her mom some time,” you replied, mulling over what could have caused Casey’s murder.

Your phone buzzed against your hand in your pocket. To your relief you saw a text from Casey’s mother: Thank you for your help. I’m glad Casey has people who care like you do.

You showed Sam the message. His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“What do I say back?”

“Well, we need to mention looking at Casey’s room,” Sam detailed, “and that we’re happy to help further.”

Your fingers fiddled with your phone as you issued a reply.

Of course. I’m sure the police have done so already, but we were given instruction to inspect Casey’s room. Would you mind letting us look around later today?

The reply was swift: Yes, that's fine. I'll be home later this evening, 7 p.m. would be the best time.

Stuffing your phone back into your pocket, you updated Sam.

"She says we can come back at 7 tonight. Until then, we should probably look over the police report and see who might know what happened to her."

Sam nodded, "We'll head back to the motel and look into it."

The motel. The goddamn motel where you and Sam blurred the lines of your friendship. With any luck, he wouldn't mention anything of last night, or this morning.

It was the way it felt so normal to wake up with him, to be enveloped in his arms, his scent, his soft breathing before he woke. It was a one-time thing that wouldn't, and couldn't, happen again. It was a vow - a guarantee to yourself that you wouldn't slip up like before. You reminded yourself on loop until you reached the motel again.

—

Twenty minutes later, and you were still staring at your computer screen. The thoughts couldn't flow like they normally did with your research. Vague searches covered the screen, but nothing constructive.

'Casey O'Connor family' 'Casey O'Connor facebook' 'Casey O'Connor instagram' 'Casey O'Connor death’

The tension you held in the pit of your stomach turned over itself when Sam cleared his throat.

"Find anything yet?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. Maybe Sam hadn't given things much thought after all. His tone was his usual curious self, but those bright hazel eyes swallowed you whole.

"Uh- no, not yet," you stammered, "I was, um, gonna take a pause and go to the lobby. About the... room situation."

Sam's lips thinned into a terse smile. For him, he didn't care one bit if there was another room available. He watched you leave the room, cursing himself all the while you were gone. You returned with a nervous smile, sparking a hidden hope in Sam's chest.

"Still no other rooms. And no cots, either."

It was Sam's turn to remind himself that last night crossed a boundary. All he'd thought about today was you, regardless of how hard he tried to reroute his thoughts. The way you'd buried your head into his chest, how you murmured in your sleep, how delicate your body felt in his hands...

He snapped himself out of it again, muttering to himself.

"What'd you say?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head, "Nothing, I'm just mumbling to myself."

You let out a soft laugh, taking a seat on the bed. The ache in your shoulders reminded you of the consequences of sitting hunched over on the floor.

"The least they could've done was give us a desk or something."

"That's what you get in a small town, remember?" Sam quipped, that goofy grin back in action. You rolled your eyes at him and settled into your side of the bed, laptop open across your lap again.

Sam leaned over to you, staring at your screen. Well, you weren't lying when you said things on your end weren't interesting. You turned your head, watching him scour the Google search you haphazardly thought up.

"I... didn't really know what to look up," you admitted flatly.

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing sidelong at you. Those damn eyes. Part of you dared to close the inches between you, to brush your lips against his as if it were nothing. One wrong move, and you could risk everything you'd made with him. You surveyed his parted lips, suddenly pulled back up to his gaze when he cleared his throat. You shook yourself out of your trance and gave him a muttered apology before he took your laptop.

Within seconds he found something substantial - report cards from school, Facebook posts, tagged photos on Instagram.

"How'd you do that?" You asked.

Sam pushed himself beside you to give you a better angle at the screen, "First thing you gotta do is have the full name. Otherwise, you're flooding your search with 'Casey O'Connor's' from all over the country."

His arm brushed against yours, but he didn't pull away. Instead he rested fully against you as his fingers flew over the keys, opening page after page of information. You chose to let go and ease into him, head dropped to his shoulder as you watched. Sam's fingers stalled more than usual with you now relaxed against him. It was his turn for his thoughts to escape him.

"So, um," you piped up, "what are we looking for?"

He cleared his throat, "Changes in behavior, maybe in stuff that she posted, grades dropping, anything that seems like a red flag."

Casey's most recent posts to Instagram caught your eye. After explaining your gut feeling to Sam, the both of you kept mental note that perhaps Casey did get involved with something sinister.

—

The two of you had gotten lunch, lazed about town, and stoped by Casey’s school by the time 7 pm rolled around. At the O’Connor house, you kept downstairs to talk with the family, while Sam searched Casey’s bedroom. It took about 30 minutes, and you two were on your way.

“What’d you find?”

Sam handed you his phone, the photos organized into a neat folder. You inspected each image, taking stock in each sign - herbs scattered around, countless candles, and bottles of dark liquid.

“Is that..?”

“Blood, yeah. Almost didn’t see them; one rolled out of the closet. And if you see here,” he trailed on, scrolling to another photo, “seems like a pretty intricate altar in there.”

“Figures why she wouldn’t want her mom in the room,” you added.

You handed the phone back to Sam, fighting back a shiver when his hand grazed yours.

Perhaps he noticed, too, judging by the way his cheeks blushed. In the evening sun, it was barely noticeable but you were almost certain of it. You packed yourselves into the car and drove back to the motel. You rummaged through your duffel bag the moment you stepped in the door, picking out a new outfit for bed. Sam kicked off his dress shoes and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Bedtime already, huh?” Sam teased. You turned to him and smiled.

“Just wanna get cozy. Makes doing research much easier.”

Sam shrugged, “Not a bad idea, I’ll probably do the same when you’re done. Need to get out of this damn suit.”

—

The time on your computer screen read 11:43 p.m., meaning you and Sam had been continuing your research for at least two hours. It had taken a toll of you both, with eyes dry and shoulders aching. You rested your tired eyes and felt the pull of exhaustion start to take over.

Until Sam’s phone rang - it was Dean. Sam immediately placed his brother on speakerphone.

“How’s the lovely couple?” Dean asked. He wasn’t in the room, but you could tell he was smiling - a shit eating grin that irritated you as much as his brother.

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam replied smoothly, a twitch in his eyebrow showed his annoyance. “How are things going on your end?”

Castiel muttered in the background of the phone call. Dean stuttered over his words as he told Cas to stop interfering.

“Okay, so we did a little searching on Casey. I mean, well, Cas did most of it. Turns out, our lovely Miss O’Connor had gotten involved with magic.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to yours, then to his laptop where he had stored photos of Casey’s bedroom. As you two listened to Dean the dots connected to make a full picture.

It was Castiel’s voice that piped up next, “We have reason to believe that Casey was involved with something dark. It doesn’t look like your average witchcraft. We’re talking about more forceful magic - breaking and creating soulmate contracts.”

He continued, “Those kind of bonds, soulmates, are meant to take time. It seems that Casey’s spells were focused on peoples driving emotions. Feelings like fear, insecurity, lust, and mania. Anything that could make people act out, it’s been happening in her social circle.”

“So, basically she’s playing Cupid?” you offered.

“Exactly,” Dean confirmed, interrupting Cas, “we broke some of the spells, but it seems like Casey did all of her little projects at home. Hell, she sent the spells to her friends in the mail. Who knew you could Amazon Prime some witchcraft.”

You chuckled at the joke, rolling your eyes. Sam smiled at you with relief that this whole situation had blown over.

“So, what’s next?” you prodded.

“If you two didn’t see any weird hoodoo at Casey’s house, then everything should be all settled.”

Sam furrowed his brows, “But Casey was murdered, how did she die, then?”

Dean replied, “That’s the karma of it. Casey planted a sachet on her boyfriend - love spell gone haywire. He eventually went a little too love-crazy, and ended up killing her. Jealousy was the source of it.” His tone has grown sullen with the final piece of news.

Now with the extra details, you didn’t know how to feel. What happened to Casey had been horrible, and it had worked itself out in the end. It was the part of hunting that never settled well with you. Sometimes, you simply couldn’t save everyone.

“Got it. So we’ll head back out tomorrow to meet you at the bunker, yeah?” Sam confirmed.

Dean’s tone changed to playfulness again, “Actually, I need y’all to check out a case the next town over. Mind camping out a couple more nights?”

It seemed Dean’s request was a final verdict based on the way Sam pursed his lips.

“Yeah, no problem, talk to you later,” Sam ended the call. He threw his phone onto the bed and closed his laptop.

“You alright?” You asked him. Sam let out a soft sigh and looked toward his suit jacket by the door.

“I think I might’ve screwed up.”

You did a double take, “What do you mean? Dean and Cas figured it out.”

He raced over to the jacket, fishing through the pockets until he plucked a small bundle. Your expression dropped completely at the sachet in his palm. Sam returned to your side and let you examine it - a small brown sack you assumed held herbs, oils, and then some. The sigils across the fabric stumped you; they were nothing like you’d ever seen before.

“What is this, Sam?”

“One of her spells,” he said, defeated, “I wanted to examine it, to see if someone planted something on her. That was before we knew that Casey was the witch.”

“Okay, so, what kind of spell is it?” you asked further.

Sam reopened his laptop, silent as he furiously typed away. Image after image splayed onto the screen - the realization came over the two of you at once.

“Lust.”

He coughed at the word, unable to choose his next move. Sam leaned back and let his head thump against the wall.

“Can’t we just…. burn it? Toss it out?”

With bated breath you waited for Sam to say something, anything. Instead he just shook his head.

“By now I’ve had it on me for hours. We’re kind of past the point of burning it.”

“Okay, but the spells only work on feelings that are already there, right? It wouldn’t work unless you’re with someone you wanted to, um… you know.”

Sam’s breathing quickened with each passing second. His words came out with an overwhelming shakiness.

“It’s a little late for that.”

Hi again! Thanks so much for supporting my work, the next chapter will be out in the next couple of days!

- Bunny

#spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 5 months

Text

Give Me What I Want ~Bratty!Bottom!Larissa Weems xFem Wife!Teacher!Reader

Summary— You won’t give into a bratty Larissa. No matter how much she persists…

Anon Request— Wanted to ask for two separate requests. One Morticia and one Larissa (two separate posts), but they’re both bottoms. Like really bratty bottoms. Thank you for taking the time to read this. You don’t have to do both you could just do one or the other or none. Sorry if that doesn’t make sense. But thank you I love your stuff!! Anon Response— Thank you for the request, anon!! Here’s the first one, a bratty Larissa. Hope you Enjoy! ♥️

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!, heavily implied smut, used sex toy, implied masturbation, nudity, comforting, light physical touch, teasing, flustering, bratting, begging, implied begging kink, etc.

Enjoy (;

Larissa let out yet another loud and dramatic groan. She was sitting at her desk, working away, and you were sitting by the fire, reading.

Every few minutes, the woman would groan needily. And every time the groan got louder and more like a moan. A minute passed before she groaned again.

“Larissa May…” you hummed warily, not looking up from your book.

You only used her full name in professional settings or when she was bratting and you needed her attention.

Larissa straightened up a bit at the sound of her given name.

“Yes Darling…?” Her sultry tone replied with a deceptive innocent cover over it.

“Do you need something…?” You hummed.

You knew she did. She needed sex. Or to masturbate. But she wasn’t allowed to. She had been teasing you and bratting all of yesterday and into today. She would not be rewarded for that kind of behavior, not on your watch.

Larissa groaned again in response, slouching and leaning back in her seat.

“Use your words…” you hummed across the room.

Larissa grumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out. You finally put the book down and came over to her desk, standing on the opposite side and placing your hands down on the desk.

Larissa looked at you from her slouched position.

“Touch me, Darling…?” She whined.

You shook your head.

“Nuh uh, you haven’t earned that.”

Larissa replied in a groan, then standing up.

“Maybe I’ll just do it myself…!” She huffed, making a dramatic attempt to run off to her attached private quarters in her office. You swiftly moved in front of the door, blocking her from access to her bedroom.

“Nope.” You crossed your arms in an attempt to show your unwavering mind.

“You are mean…, so mean… you know that right?” Larissa huffed, going back to her desk to sit back down with another groan.

“Then you should have been good.” You quipped with a shrug of your shoulders.

Larissa’s response was to stick her tongue out in you in a playful manner.

You had never seen this woman so bratty before…

“That,” you pointed at her scowling expression and out stuck tongue, “is not helping your case. Behave.”

You then turned around and went to sit back down on your chair by the fire. You picked up your book and continued to read.

Time went by, and you went from reading back to grading , and while Larissa had stopped groaning so dramatically, she was now whimpering and every time you looked your way, she gave you the biggest puppy dog eyes.

And she also got distracted more and more from her work. You caught her giggling as she looks at her phone screen from time to time. You knew she was probably texting with Marilyn, comparing to her about how unfairly you were treating her.

But you just continued to ignore her tactics. A couple hours, you and Larissa decided to call it a night, both retreating into your shared private quarters for the night. Larissa looked at you hopefully as the two of you got into bed. But you simply gave her a kiss good night, wished her sweet dreams, and then turned to the other side facing away from her.

The next morning, Larissa was just as fired up and determined to get her fix from you. Her hands along your figure were wandering all morning, teasing you endlessly. She joined you in the shower too, beginning to kiss your exposed collar bone, but you swiftly turned around and put Larissa back in her place.

You both arrived at the staff room early that morning, Larissa reorganizing the room from the last days and you making the morning coffee for all your colleagues. That’s when Marilyn walked in, holding her morning cup of tea.

“Morning, you two…” she hummed suggestively, taking a sip of her tea afterwards.

“Morning…” Larissa grumbled.

“Morning!” You chirped.

Marilyn eyed the two of you.

“I see that Larissa hasn’t gotten what she wants?”

You chuckled and hummed with a nod, to which Larissa scoffed.

“She is being ridiculous.” Larissa huffed, obviously that being a no to Marilyn’s question.

Marilyn laughed dryly a little, smiling in amusement at the interaction between the two of you.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I am sorry, Larissa…” Marilyn spoke to Larissa, then turning to you and whispering, “Don’t give in”

She gave you a not so well hidden thumbs up with the hand closer to you, but Larissa immediately caught Marilyn’s whispering and hand motion.

“Hey!! Mar, I thought you were on my side??” Larissa whined.

“Jesus, it is bad.” Marilyn chuckled, taking another sip from her mug, glancing at Larissa and then towards you in sympathy.

“You both are mean…!” Larissa scoffed, leaving the staff room in a huff.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, as you watched Larissa storm off. Marilyn gave you a sympathetic smile and walked out, most likely back to her greenhouse to prepare for her first class.

The day went by, and you didn’t hear much of anything from Larissa. This made you suspicious. So during lunch, you made your way to your shared private quarters to find the woman.

But you didn’t find her in the bedroom, instead you found an obviously used vibrating dildo placed right at the center end of your bed, still coated in lube and what you knew what your wife’s juices. You then heard the shower start, and you immediately went to the bathroom, only to find a nude Larissa in the shower.

You gasped lightly, giving you away, and making the talk blonde turn around and give you the most mischievous grin.

“Hello Darling… How was your day…?” She cooed mischievously.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“You know that you are digging yourself a deeper hole, right?”

Larissa bit her lips and shrugged.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” she suggestively cooed, “My day was amazing, thank you for asking.”

You took a deep breath, and left without another word. You went back into the bedroom, grabbing the used sex toy, and returning to the bathroom.

“Clean this.” You said while placing the toy on the bathroom counter.

Then you actually left, needing to get the woman out of your mind. She had successfully started to get under your skin, and you needed to take a breather. You went back to your classroom for the rest of your classes and grading.

It was late evening, you had finished your grading for the day and you were tired. So you finally made your way back to Larissa. You entered her office without knocking. As soon as you entered, Larissa stopped all that she was doing.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Darling” the blonde exclaimed, standing up and coming over to meet you in the middle of the room.

She went to embrace you, and you allowed it. At least for a a couple seconds, before backing up out of the embrace.

“I… I made it worse…” Larissa confessed, looking down at the ground and biting her lip.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, bringing your hands to the woman’s shoulders. Larissa hummed in delight at the touch you were giving her.

“Should have listened to me…” you teasingly cooed.

Larissa went red.

“Shut up…” she muttered.

You grabbed her chin, swiveling her gaze to your eye level.

“What do you want, hmmm…?”

“You. Need you…” She whispered.

You smirked, dropping all touch from Larissa, making her whine.

“Then beg.”

Larissa’s mouth nearly dropped and her eye widened.

“I—No.” she scoffed.

“Oh well, then I can’t help you…” you said with a shrug, starting to walk to the door to your bedroom.

But Larissa grabbed your wrist, turning you back to her after a couple of steps.

“Wait…!”

You tuned around, looking at the woman with a smirk.

“Yes…?” You purred.

Larissa took a heavy breath, then she marched to the bedroom, pulling you by your wrist. You allowed it mainly because you thought she was about to break. She closed the door behind you, then she asked you to sit on the edge of the bed.

Larissa now stood in front of you, shuffling your feet.

“Please…” she whispered.

“What…?” You teasingly cooed, “I can’t hear you, ‘Rissa…”

“Please Darling… please fuck me…” she breathed out, her eyes screen shut and her fists clenched.

“Mhmmmm…” you hummed, not quite satisfied, “Kneel. And say it with your eyes open.”

Larissa’s breath hitched and she gritted her teeth. She wanted it so bad… bad enough to beg…?

Apparently so, as Larissa dropped to her knees after a minute, and looked up at you with open eyes.

“Please fuck me, Y/N, I need you… Only you can satiate my needs… please Darling… I’m desperate…!”

You smirked and cupped the woman’s chin. Larissa hummed, closing her eyes and happily leaning into the little touch you gave.

“You look so good when you beg, ‘Ris…” you cooed.

You retracted all touch once more.

“But you haven’t apologized for what you’ve done these last few days…”

Larissa’s eyes widened again and she gulped. Her eyes glinted in that mischievous nature once more.

“I—I’m not sorry for that.” Larissa suddenly quipped.

You sighed, getting off the bed.

“Then I can’t help you…” you sighed lightly, leaving Larissa kneeling in front of the bed with an open mouth.

~~~

Larissa Weems Masterlist

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 29 days

Text

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 15

I can't believe we're at 15 already :O

MASTAPOST

Danny looked at Damian. Damian looked at Danny. They looked at the smoldering remains of the Atlantean barracks, the scores of soldiers whose feet were frozen to the floor or to each other, bearing incredibly precise scorch marks from the wrist ray (maybe he should take confiscate that soon). They looked at the retreating soldiers, some of whom were openly sobbing. Danny looked at the helmet Damian acquired from their poor Atlantean victims, and the bow and arrow strapped over his chest. He looked at the overflowing satchels full of plant-based food they had plundered from the town. The unluckiest of them sported Damian-shaped bite marks on their exposed skin, a very painful reminder to not enter the kid’s personal space.

“You said we were just gonna get a map.”

Damian crossed his arms and honest-to-god pouted. Or scowled. It was a scowly pout. “It was not my fault you lost control over your powers.”

Danny’s face went blank. “Who was the one who demanded to see the seahorses and stick around even after we got what we needed?”

And you know what? Danny could honestly admit the seahorses were pretty cute. Was it worth risking their lives? Probably not, even if with Danny’s powers, there wasn’t much risk to them at all. It was the principle of the thing.

Damian at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Is it truly my fault if I wish to admire our planet’s marine biodiversity up close?”

“Yes, Damian. Absolutely.”

“It matters not. Besides, the Atlanteans deserve what happened to them.”

Now that excuse wiped the deadpan off Danny’s face, leaving him in open-mouthed disbelief.

Damian continued. “We have done nothing to them, and yet they regard our mere presence with fear, and take up arms despite there being no hostility from us.”

Danny looked back to smoldering ruins. Granted, it was just a barracks and a few watchtowers, but still. The Atlanteans fear of them was starting to feel a little justified. Did the first settlement Damian raided yesterday suffer a similar fate?

He ran his hands down his face. Scratch the bloodthirsty theory. He was beginning to think Damian intentionally got them caught to have an excuse to wreck the Atlanteans. Then there were the weapons. One look at Damian’s satisfied face as he looked over the destruction practically confirmed it.

Man, kids really were menaces, weren’t they? Maybe he should’ve thought more carefully before agreeing to travel thousands of miles alone with this chaos kid. Was it the siren instincts? Youngblood was similarly unhinged. Maybe it just released his inhibitions.

His distress must have been visible, because Damian tutted once his silence went on too long. “I was being merciful to them. With my skills, I could have easily gut them like the fish I very reluctantly eat, but no longer have to thanks to having plundered their food stores.”

“You know what? I’m not gonna even try to unpack all of that. That’s a job for my sister.” The elder siren patted his shoulders. “Get on, we’ve got places to go.”

Damian beamed as he swam around Danny and latched on, head held high. And honestly? Danny would be an absolute hypocrite if he said he didn’t absolutely enjoy whooping the high and mighty bigots a new one.

“Hey B.”

Bruce could hear the strain on Tim’s voice. Even now, the boy was clacking away at the Batcomputer. He probably hadn’t taken more than a five-minute break.

“Tim.” Bruce said. He considered his next words. He was never one for talking much. It had become difficult to emote strongly after that night in Crime Alley.

“Still hacking into the GiW, and going over missing person cases. Haven’t found anything. I’ll post you when I do.” Tim said, all in work mode. Bruce sighed.

“Thank you, Tim, but I know it’s getting late at home. When was your last break?”

Tim didn’t say anything, but Bruce could practically hear the pout.

“I know you’re worried. I am too, but the Batcave will still be there in the morning.”

Tim hummed, still defiant to the last. “We’re losing valuable time. I can handle it. I handled Damian’s… everything. This is nothing. I’ve only been awake for sixteen hours.”

And wasn’t that half the issue.

Bruce took a deep breath. Countless hours of miming with Alfred, and talking to cardboard cutouts of his children.

“I’ve been worrying, Tim.” Just calmly. Just ease into the words. Don’t freak Tim out or scare him away.

“All you ever do is worry, and now it’s Damian so you’re worried even more.”

“I’m…” The lump in his throat grew. It felt like breaking glass to push through. “I’m worried about you.”

Silence on the line.

Bruce continued, stumbling into dark. “H-How are you feeling right now?”

A chair scraped on the other end., followed by retreating footsteps. “Nope. Nope. Not doing this.”

Bruce’s stress hiked. “Wait, Tim!”

The footsteps stopped, although Tim remained silent. Words, words, words, words. What did his manual say about this kind of situation?

“Thank you. I know you and Damian haven’t been on the best terms. But it… It’s…”

Bruce rapidly flipped through his manual, before deciding on the right word, before Tim could get away. “It’s… I’m proud of you. I always have been. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

The footsteps resumed, twice as fast as before. Bruce could barely make out muttering about coffee hallucinations. That was good, was it? Bruce looked over his checklist over and over again. Surely he hadn’t missed something?

Maybe he needed to review his notes before talking to Dick…

Arthur Curry, better known to the world as Aquaman, regarded the messaged sent to the palace from the Pacific frontier. The kingdom had benefitted immensely once the zeta system and advancements in instant communication allowed for him to easily communicate with every corner of the country in seconds.

The contents were worrying. Very worrying, in fact. He would almost have dismissed it as impossible, if he weren’t keenly aware of how much damage a clever enough child could do. Memories of the various Robins’ exploits around the Watchtower flashed through his mind, giving him goosebumps.

Never again.

It was a luxury which appeared unable to be afforded to him, as an attendant entered the room and handed him a second message, bound in twine and seaweed. Arthur thanked her, and opened the letter.

Another raid by the same child, this time accompanied by a young teenager. A young teenage siren. The local barracks destroyed, several watchtowers toppled, and food stores plundered. The two sirens fled soon after. About thirty injured personnel, but no casualties, and no civilian injuries either, thank goodness.

It was one of the strangest raids parties he’d ever seen. Usually siren pods descended on vulnerable border towns like a landslide, bringing dozens or hundreds of warriors charging through the countryside, pillaging farmland and razing whole buildings to the seafloor. Arthur transitioned to the archives to continue his research, pulling thousand-year-old records from their carefully preserved cases. His earliest predecessors had seen countless deaths to these war parties, before the Atlantean military was formalised and modernised.

The raids also occasionally took hostages. Sometimes adults or the elderly. Usually children. Arthur’s heart ached at his most vulnerable subjects being stripped away from their families. Those hostages taken were often never seen again, even as Atlantean forces made repeated incursions into siren territory to search for them. They would always be repelled back before finding any.

But one pattern was always clear with the raiders. Although those barbarians took Atlantean children for whatever sick purposes, they never brought their own children to fight. Some of his people believed they didn’t even have children, that they spawned spontaneously as fully formed spirits of destruction and rage.

It looked like those theories were untrue. But what circumstances could produce such a strange result? The first report only described a single siren child, who looked to be about five years old or so by Atlantean standards. The second report confirmed the reappearance of that child, now in tandem with a teenager who still appeared very young. Were they brothers? The reports stated the older one had translucent white and black skin, almost like glass, to the point where even his internal organs were faintly transparent. The younger siren sported a dark green coat, and golden fins and highlights. Neither before or after they struck did the soldiers ever catch a glimpse of an adult.

Could they be orphans? Arthur’s heart panged. Even if they were technically his enemies, he hated the fact that children were the victims of this continued conflict. Despite attempts to work out a peace treaty between his kingdom and the sirens, it could never work out. Atlantis was one kingdom with one king, but the siren pods spent as much time squabbling between themselves as with Atlantis.

Outside of their age and lack of supervision, the children also sported another deviation: Their choice in weaponry. While the capital invested in preferred to traditional weapons, favoring especially polearms like the spear, trident and javelin. Siren war bands in the past favored the bow and arrow, using their superior speed to outmanoeuvre and outrange Atlantean soldiers. Many men and women were lost to their feigned retreat tactics, to the point where every new recruit had to be drilled again and again to never pursue ‘retreating’ sirens.

The elder of the two raiders fought with only his magic, firing icy beams and throwing spears of ice. This was where the duo was most similar to typical siren warriors, contrasting against the disciplined and measured sorcery taught to Aqualad and others his age.

What was alarming was how the younger boy fought. He slashed at one poor soldier who got too close with a sword in his first attack. Mauled six others with his teeth in the second. At ranged he wielded a strange contraption on his wrist, capable of rapidly firing concussive energy beams that let him suppress and disrupt soldiers triple his size.

The sirens were never interested in technological development in the same way as the Atlanteans did, and never had they possessed a weapon even close to as advanced as the one sported by the tiny child.

Arthur’s eyes furrowed. Could it be that some third party was supplying Atlantis’ enemies? How long before another army gathered, before the kingdom faced another existential threat like Pariah Dark had once posed?

Arthur’s Justice League communicator vibrated. The king of Atlantis picked up the call.

“Arthur.” It was Bruce. “This is urgent.”

“What do you need?”

“What information has your kingdom got on sirens?”

“What a coincidence, because I’ve just received two new reports from the Pacific frontier…”

“… As for this Phantom character, the culprit of the attack seems to match your description perfectly.”

Bruce furrowed his eyes. He marked the location where Phantom had last struck. The boy was heading south, along the California Current. For what reason? Was he migrating according to his needs as a species, or was he searching for another haunt? Was he going further south or would he turn west once he neared the equator and follow the current there?

Six months of stalking a human town, fighting off other sirens, only to abandon it once the GiW came out in force, and then start marauding Atlantean settlements out of nowhere? Something extraordinary had to have happened. According to Arthur, Phantom had never been seen by his soldiers before. Perhaps Phantom had completed whatever goals he had in Amity, and was transitioning to his next move on Atlantis.

Phantom was young, or at least appeared young. Likely no older than fifteen. The fact that no records show any similar pattern of behaviour ruled out the possibility of it being some kind of coming-of-age ceremony. It seemed Phantom was an outlier among his species.

If sirens travelled in pods, then where was Phantom’s?

“It’s funny you mention that, since he wasn’t alone. There was a tiny child with him. I think he was about five years old or so. The boy carried weapons like a warrior, and blasted my soldiers with energy beams from a futuristic wrist gun. I’ll sent you the sketch the commander sent me.”

Bruce confirmed his receipt of the sketch. His eyes widened.

Emblazed on the gun’s side was a very familiar logo, a flaming blue F for Fenton.

The conversation ended soon after, with Arthur promising to forward him translated copies of the reports.

Bruce clasped his hands, holding them tight as he pondered (not brooded, despite what Dick insisted).

It seemed Phantom’s lack of morality couldn’t sink further. He had manipulated Amity Island teenagers into assisting him, and now he was leading what was basically a toddler half of Damian’s age into dangerous battles against trained soldiers.

Bruce’s will hardened with righteous anger. This Phantom was barely fresh off his last crime before preying on another child. He had to be stopped.

Suddenly he had three children to save now.

Please be ok, Damian…

#dpxdc #danny fenton #merman #damian wayne #dcxdp #merboy #angst #mermaid au #atlantis #atlanteans #good parent bruce wayne #arthur curry #bruce wayne is bad at feelings

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stylesloveclub · 1 year

Text

Pleasing (stressed blurb)

In which y/n is really stressed with school, and Harry just wants to take care of her.

˙· .° ｡ ˚ ｡ ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡ ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °. · ˙ ‧̍̊

Y/n has a lot of work to do today.

She still hasn’t finished her reading for her sociology class, nor has she finished writing that lab report that’s due next week. There’s a physics midterm coming up soon that she hasn’t studied for yet at all, and she reminds herself to finish that practice test her prof posted during their lecture today.

If she’s lucky, she’ll have some time to work on her lab report tonight, and then she can do the sociology reading before she falls asleep… or maybe she should do the sociology reading first, just in case they have a quiz on it in lecture tomorrow. Oh gosh, and she can’t forget that she has a shift at the restaurant tomorrow night too…

“Baby?” She snaps out of her thoughts. Harry stands at the food of the bed, his condom wrapped cock bobbing up and down in the air. She suddenly remembers that she’s naked, in his bed, waiting for him to grab a condom so that they could fuck. “Y’with me?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” She’s been fading in and out on him all night, so stressed and caught up in her school work that she could barely focus on the time they were spending with each other. He’d just spent 30 minutes eating her out to no avail, sucking and licking her clit with the kind of fervor that would usually have her writhing on the bed and cumming in less than 10 minutes.

But tonight… she’s just distracted. So when his jaw was too sore to keep going and she still hadn’t cum, he got up to get a condom on so that maybe he could fuck an orgasm out of her.

He shakes his head, climbing into the bed next to her. “Don’t wanna do this if you’re not in the mood,” he whispers, kissing her cheek softly.

“No, I do…” she whimpers, looking up at him with big eyes. “Was just thinking about school, m’sorry.”

“You’ve been working so hard baby, you need to relax.” His nose nudges her cheek softly, his soft breathing tickling her skin. “Need to stop worrying or else you’ll burn yourself out.”

“I know, you’re right,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m already so tired and I’m not even halfway through the semester.”

“That’s why you need a break,” he murmurs. “Can’t do all this studying if you’re running on four hours of sleep…”

She pouts up at him as his large hands skim over her stomach. “But I haven’t finished–”

“Hey,” he shushes her. “You haven’t got any exams tomorrow, right? No huge assignment due?” She shakes her head no. “Then stop worrying. You’ve got all weekend to catch up on your homework, just relax with me right now.”

Finally, he feels her relax into the bed, her tense shoulders falling and her eyes delicately fluttering shut. “Okay,” she whispers, “okay, yeah. I can finish it tomorrow.”

“Good girl,” he hums, lips skimming her throat. His warm palms raise goosebumps on her skin as he brushes over her hips, rearranging himself so that he’s on top of her. “Gonna let daddy take care of you now?”

She nods as he presses soft, wet kisses down her shoulders.

“Gonna relax and let me make you feel good?” he murmurs with his soft drawl, kissing down her tummy and over her hips.

She shuffles around in his expensive sheets, letting herself sink into his luxury memory foam mattress. “Please.”

His finger teases at her slit, testing if she’s ready for him. Her entire body shivers at the contact, hips twitching when his cool finger slips into her warm, wet center. She clenches down around him, and lets herself forget about all her assignments and exams. All she needs to focus on now is Harry… let him take care of her the way she’s been craving.

It’s not easy, being a college girl. She’s been running herself thin for the past few weeks, barely giving herself a break. Her days are spent cooped up in the library, studying and doing stupid physics problems, and her nights are spent at the restaurant, trying to make enough money to pay for her rent. Whenever she can spare time, she goes home with Harry so that they could have their romantic, quality time… but it’s midterm season, and she hasn’t been able to see him that much recently.

She always feels guilty, going over to his penthouse after one of her shifts, when she could be at home finishing up her lab reports. Or, whenever she sleeps over and spends an extra thirty minutes cuddling in bed with him, she can’t help the voice in her head that nags her to get up and get to school extra early so that she can do some physics homework in the library before her lecture. Her classes are hard this semester, and she’s really been struggling to keep herself afloat, especially with all the time she has to spend working in order to pay her bills.

So, she’s been isolating herself from him. Telling him that she can’t go over that night because she needs to study (he always insists that she let him drive her home, though), and refusing when he offers to come over and cook for her. She’s a big girl, she needs to be able to take care of herself! She refuses to let herself depend on a MAN.

But… it’s a lot. At the end of the day, she’s just a girl. She’s tired and burnt out and sometimes… all she wants is to let go and be taken care of. She misses being a little girl with no worries, eating her mom’s homemade meals and reading all the books in the Magic Treehouse series. She misses the time when she didn’t have to worry about paying her water bills, or calculating the force of a stupid spring.

She’s spent so much time trying to handle all of her stress by herself, but now… now, she has Harry.

It feels really nice when he dotes on her, she has to admit. When he texts her throughout the day, asking for updates about her schoolwork, or reminding her to eat before she comes into work. It makes her feel cared for, like she’s not alone.

And she craves physical touch so badly. It’s like she needs it to survive. Depriving herself of Harry’s touch, of his kisses and cuddles and even the simple act of holding his hand – it’s been making her feel off. That (mixed with how daylight savings makes her get so depressed during the winter months)... it’s been sending her on a downward spiral.

She’s hanging on by a thread… so maybe letting go, and letting Harry take care of her would do her some good.

He sucks on her neck, warm tongue poking out to lick a mark on her throat. It feels nice, a fuzzy feeling bubbling in her chest as he pulls her skin between his teeth, then presses a gentle kiss to the bruised mark. Her heart flutters as he takes care of her, each of her worries floating away with each kiss he presses down her neck.

She loves the way his hands feel on her, so big and manly, yet touching her so gently… it makes her feel small and fragile, like a delicate glass doll that he fawns over and protects. His strong biceps bulge next to her head as he braces himself above her, the broad expanse of his shoulders hovering over her and shielding her from the troubles of the world. She traces her hand over his chest in a trance, feeling the hardness of his chest, the ridges of his prominent six pack.

He is… so hot, it’s actually unbearable. Her head spins a little bit at how strong and large the man above her is, and a gooey feeling bubbles in her tummy when she remembers that he’s all hers.

“My poor baby,” he murmurs softly into her ear, “you’re too pretty to be this stressed.” She tilts her head towards him, a silent plea for a kiss. His lips skim her cheek, puckering in slow, sultry pecks. “Deserve to relax, be treated like a princess,” he continues to whisper, a slew of sweet words and praises filtering through the small space between them.

His words get to her head, helping her detach from reality just a bit more. He’s right, she does deserve a break! She does deserve to let her hot and rich boyfriend take care of her! Fuck physics!

He kisses her cheek one more time and lines his cock up with her center, nudging himself in slowly. A happy sigh leaves her lips as he slides into her, stretching her so nicely and filling the empty pit that had been forming in her tummy. This is what she needed. Not an extra hour in the library, or some useless review session. She needed Harry… needed him to clear her mind, kiss her cheeks, and stuff her full of his cock.

“How is it, puppy?” he coos, looking down at her fondly. “Feels nice?”

“So nice,” she sighs. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers toying with the tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. She looks up at him with her soft eyes, half-lidded and filled with a dreamy haze. He gazes down at her softly, green eyes glimmering prettily with an adoring glint as he sees how soft and gooey she’s turning now that she’s filled with him.

Her body has gone completely pliant, her once tense shoulders now loosened and her furrowed brow relaxed. Her limbs wrap around him like a koala bear clinging onto a bamboo tree, hugging him close as he rocks into her softly. And her cheeks have this warm glow to them, matching the glowing sunshine aura that he always sees around her. He can tell that there’s not one stressed out thought floating around in her brain anymore, and that she’s falling into her soft, dreamy state.

A sweet moan leaves her lips. “Daddy,” she whimpers, pressing her fingers into the broad of his shoulders. She just wants to be close to him, feeling him all over.

“I’ve got you baby, don’t worry.” His thrusts are steady and deep, pumping into her softly at a gentle pace that won’t overwhelm her, but still reaches deep enough to stimulate her. “Needed this, didn’t you? Needed daddy’s cock to help you feel better?” His palm cups her jaw, thumb rubbing over the apple of her cheek. She nods like a puppy, a small pout on her lips.

Sweet sighs fill the space between them, quiet whimpers falling from her lips that she tries to contain. Her teeth nibble on her bottom lip, chewing on it so it’s red and swollen and slick with her spit. Harry can’t help himself from leaning down and sucking it into his mouth, kissing her sweetly. She keens upwards, loving it when he kisses her. His soft stubble scratches against her lips so nicely, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip and into her mouth. Warm lips slick over each other continuously, a gentle pattern of tangling and untangling as he fucks her slowly. His teeth capture her bottom lip in a delicate teasing bite, one to just make her tilt her head upwards and closer to him.

His lips make her lightheaded, kissing her until she’s breathless and whimpering into his mouth. Even though she’s running out of breath, though, she whines when he pulls away, pouting up at him with her puppy eyes. “Kiss,” she whimpers, her voice high pitched and watery.

“Need to catch your breath, puppy,” he warns, but she whines again.

“Please daddy,” her voice cracks around the plea, “kiss me.”

He gives in, of course. His sweet girl, more precious to him than anything in the world, begging for a kiss – it breaks his heart to see her eyes so sad. So he kisses her lips again, gently, pulling away every few seconds so that she doesn’t go breathless again. And once she’s calmed down, no longer fussy about not having his lips against hers, he moves to kissing all over her face. Down her jawline and over her cheeks, soft kisses that tickle her skin and make her smile sweetly.

It had been hard, seeing her wearing herself so thin. He could see it – saw the bags under her eyes from all the late nights she had, and how her normal glowing aura had gone dull from not taking care of herself. He did his best to look out for her, always offering to cook something for her, texting her and checking in on her, and giving her all the support he could… but it was hard when she tried so hard to be independent. He admired her for it, of course! She was a strong, independent young woman. So smart and mature, always working so hard.

But… he cares for her so much. It means the world to him when she lets him care for her, baby her a little bit. He wants to wake her up to breakfast in bed, take her shopping and buy all the expensive things that she’s always fawning over on pinterest. Wants to cuddle her to sleep, play with her hair the way that he knows she loves, trace over her back in soft circles until she’s dozing off on his chest.

Those moments when she just relaxes and lets him take care of her… that’s when he feels he can fully prove to her how much she means to him.

Pumping himself into her, he feels himself getting closer and closer to his end. He wants her to finish first though (he’d rather die than not make her cum), so he brings a hand down and starts rubbing her clit gently.

The more time that they’ve been together, the better he’s learned her body. So it doesn’t surprise him when she flutters around his cock as soon as his fingers meet her pretty clit. The shock of his cool fingers sends electricity up her spine, and she arches her back. Her soft tummy brushes against his hard abdomen, and she involuntarily clenches around him.

“That’s it baby,” he praises, “y’getting close?”

She nods eagerly, breathing picking up and her heart beating fast in her chest. She tries to keep her eyes open so that she can look at Harry, stare into his pretty eyes as he fucks her so nicely, but the feeling of her incoming orgasm is so overwhelming. Her lashes flutter shut and her eyes roll into the back of her head. “Daddy,” she babbles, “feels so good daddy.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, grunting into her ear softly as he keeps his composure together. “Gonna cum?” “Yes, please,” she whines, “wanna cum.”

“Go on then, cum for me baby.” His fingers work her clit faster, in tight little circles that he knows will make her cum, and he buries his face in her neck, lips skimming a special spot right below her ear where she’s super sensitive. When her orgasm hits and her pussy starts gripping his cock even harder, he bites down, choking down his own moans and focusing on thrusting deep inside of her, his cockhead pressing against her g-spot every time he presses his hips down.

“O-Oh,” she cries, hips jutting as she lets go. Her cheeks go warm and a ringing starts in her ears, that familiar feeling exploding in her core and spreading into her bloodstream. Her fingers go numb and her chest tingles, and she thanks god that she has Harry to make her cum. The orgasms she used to have with her fingers are so bleak and sad compared to how Harry makes her feel.

With an arched back she cries out sweet moans of “daddy,” Harry still thrusting into her so that she gets the most of her orgasm. Only when she finally goes limp, arms falling to her sides as if they’re made of jello, does he start to slow down. Her hands shake at her sides with the remnants of her orgasm, legs twitching every once in a while from how hard she came. He stops fully inside of her, despite how hard he and desperate he is for release, and he brushes his hands over her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes and gently petting her cheekbones.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, “so pretty when you cum for daddy.” She looks up at him with soft eyes, dazed in a post-orgasmic haze. Her brain feels gooey and all she can think about is how much she loves Harry. “Prettiest girl in the world, did y’know that?”

His words float around on heart shaped clouds in her head, filled with nothing but rainbows and fluffy thoughts. She leans into his touch, and when his thumb traces over her bottom lip, she eagerly opens it and sucks his thumb into her mouth. It nearly catches him by surprise, how willingly she takes his finger into his mouth and starts sucking on it for comfort - but with how dreamy her eyes are, he supposes he should’ve expected her to be feeling especially soft and vulnerable.

Her pussy is so warm and wet, encasing him perfectly, and he shivers at how achingly hard he is, sitting still inside of her. He thinks he should just pull out, go wank himself off in the bathroom and come back to comfort her… but then y/n looks up at him with the cutest look in her eyes. “Did you cum?”

He smiles, “Not yet baby, but s’okay. Want to take care of you first.” He starts sliding himself out, hissing at how her pussy practically sucks him in, almost in protest of him leaving.

“Nooo, please,” she whines, “Want you to cum daddy.”

“Y’so sensitive baby, don’t you wanna clean up instead?”

She shakes her head, furrow in her brow. “Inside please.”

His eyes roll into the back of his head, and he takes a sharp breath, “y’want me to cum inside you, puppy?” She nods her head.

With a deep breath, he starts thrusting himself back into her plushy heat, surrounded by her slickness. This time he doesn’t use as much self control, letting himself revel in how amazing she feels wrapped around his cock. He swears she was made for him – her perfect body, soft and beautiful. Pretty tits that he loves to suck on, her cute tummy and soft hands. Her lips, heart shaped and candy flavored, and her eyes, filled with stars that he wants to gaze at forever. It doesn’t take long at all, before he’s pressing his hips firmly against hers in one final thrust and cums.

“Good girl,” he grunts, kissing her cheek repeatedly as he spurts into the condom. His arms shake as he holds himself up, and his breathing falters in his chest. When he feels her soft fingers gently skim his back, he looks up at her. She smiles down at him with that pretty smile of hers, and he feels his heart explode.

“Thank you baby,” he whispers into the delicate bubble of intimacy surrounding them, “you were so good for me, so proud.”

He pulls himself out, and though she pouts sadly, she lies there and waits patiently for him to run and discard the condom. She expects him to run right back, maybe with a towel in hand to clean her up, but then she hears him start filling up the tub. She pushes herself up on her elbows, and contemplates getting out of bed to see what he’s up to, but he comes running out before she can move a muscle.

His hair sticks messily in all sorts of directions, so he pushes it out of his face and ties it back with a tiny little clip that she recognizes as one of her own. Standing at the edge of the bed, she thinks he looks adorable, with his flushed face and floppy curls. “Want a bath?” he asks. She nods with a glowing heart – it’s like he read her mind! She loves baths after sex!

He picks her up bridal style and carries her into the bathroom, kissing her cheek and making her giggle in his arms on the way there. When he sits her gently into the tub, she can tell that he’s saturated the water with her favorite bath oil, a relaxing persian rose scent that she had once offhandedly mentioned to him (she doesn’t have a bathtub in her shitty college apartment, so Harry went out of his way to get all her favorite bath products to have in his penthouse so that she could take a nice bath whenever she wanted).

He grabs another hair clip from her little stash that she keeps in his top right drawer, and twists her hair up for her so that it doesn’t get wet and bother her while they’re soaking together. And, before he finally hops in behind her, he runs to the living room to grab her hydroflask from her backpack, so that she can rehydrate and won’t get lightheaded in the steamy bathroom.

Stepping into the bath with his long and lanky limbs is always awkward, and he would never take one for his own enjoyment. But ever since y/n came into his life, he’s gained a newfound appreciation for bath time. It’s a soft and serene place, quiet and peaceful with no need for conversation. They have some of their most intimate and vulnerable moments here in this very tub. Sitting bare with each other, without any wild passion or desperate need to ravage the other. Just… peaceful love.

Whenever he’s in his bathroom now, he’s reminded of her. The rose scented bath products that crowd the edges of his tub, the hair clips that clutter his once barren drawer, the pink handled toothbrush that sits next to his… they’re all reminders of her.

Y/n leans back on his chest, sinking herself into the water and closing her eyes, while Harry’s hands lay on her stomach in an almost protective manner. Her breathing is steady, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Harry takes this time to admire his pretty girlfriend, her heart shaped lips and cherub cheeks. Her after sex glow makes her look like even more of an angel, he thinks, especially with how soft and relaxed she is in this moment. He rubs his thumb in small little circles on her stomach, and she twitches gently at his touch, eyelids fluttering and her abdomen jumping.

“Stop,” she whines softly. “It tickles.”

A soft grin dimples his cheek, and he stills his thumb. “Sorry, baby,” he apologizes gently. Another sweet kiss to her cheek makes her smile.

She opens her eyes and looks around the bathroom momentarily. Harry, so attentive to all her needs, knows exactly what she’s searching for. He grabs her water bottle and flips the straw up, holding it up to her lips. She takes a few sips, the water cooling her down and clearing her head from how lightheaded the steamy bathroom was making her. “Thanks,” she murmurs, laying back down on his chest.

He kisses the back of her head, probably the hundredth kiss he’s given her that night.

When she’s done soaking, Harry’s quick to hop out and wrap a towel around his waist, before grabbing the larger, fluffier towel and holding it out for her. She stands up and lets the water drip off for a sec, before stepping out and letting Harry wrap it around her shoulders. While she dries herself off, he picks out one of his old t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants for her to wear. They swallow her whole, the t-shirt big on her shoulders and the sweatpants pooling around her ankles.

With a pair of sweatpants on himself, he coaxes her into bed with him, letting her snuggle into his side with her cheek nestled on his bare chest. His hands rest on her back and hold her close, and she falls asleep within minutes. He stays awake a little bit longer, though, planning what he’s gonna cook for her for breakfast tomorrow.

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HI BESTIESSS HOPE U ENJOYED THIS BLURB :) NEXT PLEASING BLURB IS ALREADY UP ON PATREON!!!

HERES A SNEAKY

DONT FORGET TO RB AND LEMME KNOW WHAT U THINK :-)

#harry smut #harry styles smut #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #daddy harry #harry styles daddy king #daddy!harry #daddy!harrystyles #dom harry #dom harry styles

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prince-kallisto · 6 months

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I haven’t seen a post addressing this, but maybe it’s because this event happened such a long time ago?! But ever since Spectral Soirée, I cannot stop thinking about how the time works in Sage’s Island, or specifically, Night Raven College.

Malleus had the power to stop time WITHIN the barrier at NRC. So when he stopped time during the Halloween event, the rest of the world kept on going. The school was trapped in time. We don’t know how long the boys were inside the mirror realm in the event, but I’m piecing it together. At the very start of the event, Rook claims it should be 6 am. Already, the boys are 6 hours out of sync. But the boys spend a lot of time trying to figure out what is going on, and go through lots of trials in the mirror realm. A generous amount of hours should’ve passed during that.

Crowley also confirms this, as throughout the trials, the boys have been reporting to Crowley and the other teachers. But once the ghost party started at the end, they stopped communicating. So after being in the mirror realm for hours, the boys party for several hours too.

The party seems to go on all night too, as a ghost claims that they’ll dance “til dawn.”

When the boys finally leave the mirror realm, the sky is finally turning into day, and the time has changed to November 1st on their phones.

BUT THEY’RE WRONG. ITS ACTUALLY NOVEMBER 2ND AND THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW IT

THINK ABOUT IT. The event took place over many, many hours. And if they started to go into the mirror realm at 7 am (talking and prep time), they were in there for about 17 hours. Considering the exploration, fights, and the night long party, THIS ADDS UP

And the reason why their phones didn’t change back? Their phones were also trapped into the time spell- surely this messes with their internal clock. To all the phones in NRC, it is November 1st. But for the rest of the world, it’s November 2nd.

The game specifies that Malleus could only affect the inside of the barrier- the entire world didn’t stop because of his magic. The fact the boys escaped at dawn is such a convenient coincidence.

I was about to say that Malleus created his own time zone at NRC which is 24 hours apart from the rest of the world, BUT NOW IM DOUBTFUL

If this was the case, time should’ve returned back to the rest of Twisted Wonderland’s time. It means that once the time-barrier was broken, 24 hours should’ve passed in less than a second for the boys to return back to normal time. But DID this actually happen? Surely the effects of 24 hours passing in less than a second in this little area would have astronomical effects in the TWST world!

So what I’m thinking is that ITS NOT actually November 2nd for the boys. MALLEUS ARTIFICIALLY CREATED A POCKET DIMENSION WHERE TIME IS SET BACK 24 HOURS.

What does this mean?! Are the boys living a day younger than the rest of the world?! What happens when they leave the school premises?! Does everyone who enters the school premises suddenly age BACK a day?!

BASICALLY, NRC WILL ALWAYS BE SET INE DAY BACK FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD, NOT THROUGH A TIMEZONE, BUT NOW IN ITS OWN LITTLE POCKET DIMENSION THINGY

And I can just me generous and entertain the idea that time DID go back to normal so we don’t get into this spacetime, time travel nonsense. Either way, NRC now has its own timezone and NO ONE WILL REALIZE UNLESS THEY COMPARE THE TIME ON THEIR PHONES WITH AN OUTSIDER, AND NOTICE THAT THEIR PHONES ARE ALL SET A DAY BEHIND. JUST THINKING ABT THE ABSURDITY OF IT BECAUSE IF NRC PLANS EVENTS OR FUTURE SPELLDRIVE GAMES, ALL THEIR OUTSIDER GUESTS WILL ARRIVE A DAY EARLIER THAN THE SCHOOL PLANNED TO. FOR EXAMPLE, IF NRC HAD AN EVENT ON NOVEMBER 21st, ITS NOVEMBER 22nd FOR THE REST OF THE WORLD, SO EVERYONE ARRIVES A DAY EARLY. DISASTER ERUPTS YET AGAIN BECAUSE NRC HAD NO TIME TO PREPARE BECAUSE THEYRE LIVING IN A STUPID TIMEZONE BY ACCIDENT DUE TO MALLEUS

ID LIKE TO ADD THAT THIS IS TECHNICALLY NOT THAT ABSURD OF AN IDEA. SEVERAL COUNTRIES ON EARTH HAVE A TIME ZONE DIFFERENCE OF 24 HOURS, AND THE LARGEST TIMEZONE DIFFERENCE IS 26 HOURS. WHATS ABSURD HERE IS THAT NRC AND RSA, TWO SCHOOLS ON TRHE SAME EXACT SMALL ISLAND, HAVE A TIME ZONE DIFFERENCE 24 HOURS APART

Am I just overthinking this?!? (YES ANDBDBD RAWRRRRR) Is this ever explained or elaborated on, because that is just??? BAFFLING. It’s probably just a plot hole that doesn’t matter at all, it was just a silly Halloween event, but literally all I do on my blog is overthink plot holes 🧍

#IM LOSING IT #I DONT BITE I PROMISE RARRRR #HELP HAS ANYONE ELSE EVER THIUGHT ABT THIS #twisted wonderland #twst #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst halloween #twst spectral soirée #twst theory #kallistopost

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flutteringphalanges · 1 year

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Protostar

Adam Warlock x Star Lord!Sister Reader

Prompt: You’re pregnant. The very thought of it is so surreal. And more importantly, it’s Adam’s. Now not only do you have to break the news to the man you love, uncertain of how he will react, but then there are the rest of the Guardians too. And more importantly, your brother, Peter.

Word Count: 3,878

A/N: Hello! I am back again with another Adam Warlock x Reader baby themed one shot! I will add a link to this one to the post that has all of my one shots to this series so far. Requests are open! I’m currently working on one at the moment! Any thoughts of any kind, my comments and mailbox are open! I hope you enjoy! -Jen

Protostar

Pregnant. A word that had seemed so foreign to you up until now. An aspect you hadn’t even begun to fathom would happen to you. And yet here you were, sitting far off from the hustle and bustle of Knowhere’s square trying to clear your mind. Trying to think through haze and churning from your own stomach as you processed it all. Wondering how you would announce it to Adam. So lost in your head you didn’t even notice when Kraglin took a seat beside you.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

Kraglin had been like an older brother to both you and Peter. Though, your relationship was a little better at the time because, growing up, he felt as if he needed to compete with the boy from Terra for Yondu’s approval. That had changed though. Now the three of you were equally close. You looked over to him, not too sure what to say. In all honesty, he was the last person you’d imagined to break the news to first.

“I don’t know.” You responded softly with a shrug. “I haven’t decided, I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” Kraglin asked, his tone slightly concerned. “Did something happen? Is it Adam?” He paused, his expression more serious than you’re used to. “Did he do something?”

He did, but technically so did you. You exhaled, wondering why you didn’t stay cooped up in the confinement of your room. That way you could’ve at least hid from it all a little longer. Pretend that everything was as it should be. You wished Adam was here, he had a way of making you feel better. Then again, maybe it was better that he wasn’t.

“Y/N?” Kraglin’s voice snapped you back into reality. You turned and looked at him as he placed a hand on your knee. “Uh, you want me to get Pete?”

“NO!” The word came out much sharper than you meant it to causing Kraglin to visibly flinch. “Sorry, I mean, no…that’s okay.”

The last thing you needed was your brother. Peter was overprotective, he had always been. Even though you two were adults, he was still annoying when it came to you and relationships. When you and Adam first got together, he made it clear to you that he wasn’t exactly supportive of it all. Sure, the guy had saved him from literally turning into a human icicle in space, but he was still wary from the Rocket fiasco. That was something that you knew would take a long time to repair. At this point you were lucky he was tolerating it all and not getting on your case. If he knew you were expecting…well, you didn’t know how he’d take the news.

“Can I trust you, Kraglin?” You asked, knowing full well there was no turning back after saying something like that. “Swear on Yondu you won’t say anything? Especially to Peter?”

Kraglin looked at you with such uncertainty it was almost comical. Almost. “Yeah…” He replied with hesitation. “Cross a Ravanger’s heart.”

You nodded, looking at the ground. “I’m pregnant.”

“...Oh.” He said after a moment, shifting awkwardly where he sat. “...Is it Adam’s?” You threw him a dark look that caused him to hold up his hands defensively. “I’m sorry! It’s just well…congratulations? I mean, this is good, right?”

You let out a loud groan and covered your face. “I don’t know!” The words came out muffled from behind your hands. “You’re the only one who knows.”

“I’m honored! Thanks!”

“Only because you showed up here.” You didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Kraglin didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry, Kraglin, I’m…I’m not trying to take this out on you. Maybe it’s the stupid hormones, I don’t know. I found out today and I’m not processing it well, I guess.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offered, and you felt his hand rest on your shoulder. “I don’t know nothing about having babies, but if there is something you like, maybe a glass of water, or a blanket? Wait, that may be for shock…”

For the first time that day, you actually smiled. Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder what Kraglin might’ve become if he hadn’t ever joined the Ravangers. You leaned forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Just your support is nice.” You told him, inhaling deeply. “Thanks.”

“Well sure, we may be Guardians now, but we'll always be Ravangers at heart.” Kraglin grinned at you when you pulled back. “And Ravangers take care of our own. Well, except when we don’t, but you know what I mean. We’re family. All of us here. I guess what I’m tryin’ to get at is we’ve got your back. Adam’s a great guy, I mean, he did almost wreck all of Knowhere--”

“Kraglin.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s in the past, is in the past. He turned out to be a great guy, right? Saved Pete, helped fix up a mess, managed to even join the Guardians. That’s somethin’, right?” He took a deep breath. “I don’t need to be able to read minds or do that emotion thingy that Mantis does to know Adam loves you. Like a whole lot.”

“I know he does.” Your smile was soft. “It’s more than mutual.”

“So it’s gonna be alright, okay? When have I ever lied to you?” Kraglin asked with a grin.

You gave him a look. There were not enough fingers on each hand for you to count the number of times both he and your brother had pulled some stunt on you. All relatively harmless, but you had learned not to be so gullible since.

“I need to go find Adam.” You told him, dusting off what little dirt had gotten on your pants. “He’s probably worried. Last thing I need for him is to go hunt Peter down. I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to approach that one.”

“No matter what, Pete’ll come around. He always does.” Kraglin tried to assure you. “He got used to you and Adam. This is just another thing added on.” A big thing.

It was becoming apparent that, for the time being, you needed to focus on one thing--telling Adam. The rest you could try to get yourself to stop worrying about until later. You pulled Kraglin one last time for a quick squeeze.

“Thank you, Kraglin. For everything.”

“That’s what family’s for.” He said with a smile. “Even if we ain’t exactly a normal bunch.”

XXX

The nausea you felt the moment you stepped over the threshold and into your room was not from the baby. Part of you wanted nothing more than to just turn back and find a new spot to hide in, somewhere where no one could find you. But Blurp, Adam’s beloved furry F’saki, immediately bounded over and pounced excitedly at your legs.

“Hey, buddy.” You said, giving the animal a half smile as you reached down to scratch it behind one of its ears. “It’s good to see you too.”

“Y/N!”

Adam came bounding in with a mixed look of concern and relief at your arrival. You straightened up as he walked over to you, his hands immediately reaching and cupping your face as he studied you carefully. You felt as if you were a piece of fruit being checked for bruises by a potential customer.

“Are you alright? I was worried. You weren’t here when I returned and I kept waiting, but you didn’t leave a note--and I know that you can take care of yourself, as you’ve said before--”

“Adam.” You said, cutting him off. “I’m fine.”

He beamed at your response and looked down at Blurp. “See, I told you everything was fine. No need to get anyone else involved or form a search party.” The creature gurgled and nudged your leg.

“But, Adam, we do need to talk…” His expression changed to one of confusion as you took a step back. “It’s important.”

“Oh?” He responded, following you as you took a seat on the edge of your bed. “What do you want to talk about? Should I be worried?” And his laugh was nervous--making your own anxiety that much worse.

“I don’t know.” Probably not the best answer to give him. “I mean…I don’t know how you will feel about this.”

Gods, if you could have any power in all the universes, invisibility would’ve been great. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at Adam as you feel his hand take yours. Tears started to well up in your eyes and suddenly you found yourself flooded with emotions. Damn hormones.

“Y/N, my love, what’s the matter? Don’t cry! Tell me what I must do!” Adam was cupping your face once more, searching your eyes for answers. “Have I done something wrong? If I have, please tell me and I will make amends. Please, say something, you’re scaring me.”

You shook your head and hiccuped. “You didn’t…you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m…” The deep breath you took was shaky, and you could only hope you didn’t look as gross as you sounded. “Adam, I’m pregnant.”

The silence that blanketed the room made you want to crawl over into a corner and die. This was it. Adam was going to get up and leave you and everything would fall apart. The Guardians would banish you from the team. From your family. Knowhere was exile you. You would have no one and nothing and Thanos might as well have snapped you for good.

“I’m going to be a father?”

The words snapped you back into reality. Through tears, you looked and saw Adam gazing at you with such glee and adoration it sort of caught you by surprise. You sniffed, wiping your face with your sleeve--nevermind how unattractive it must’ve looked, and nodded.

“Yeah.” You answered him softly. “You’re going to be a dad.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I never had a father.”

The corners of your mouth twitched into a small smile at his statement. “...I don’t remember my mom.”

“...Do you think I could be a good father?” Adam asked slowly, his gaze burning into yours. He sounded hopeful.

“Yeah.” You said with a smile. “I know you’d be a wonderful dad. There is not a doubt in my mind that says otherwise.” There was hesitation in your voice as you asked the next question. “Do you think I’d be a good mom?”

Adam chuckled warmly. “You already are to good, old Blurp right here.” Blurp trotted over and jumped into your lap, licking excitedly at your face. “See? Even he approves, and he is very particular too.”

“I can see that.” You laughed, carefully moving the dog onto the mattress. Sighing, you gazed into Adam’s eyes, getting lost in their golden pools. “Are you happy then? Are you…okay with this?”

Adam said nothing as he leaned forward and kissed you. You allowed your arms to wind around his neck as one of his arms hooked around your waist and pulled you close. Nothing sounded better than staying in that moment for all eternity. The warmth and gentleness of it all. You almost had to fight the urge to pull him back in when he stopped.

“I have never been more certain of something in my entire life.” Adam said with so much pride your heart swelled. “And I will love this child as I do you, Y/N. You are--well, now it is two of you I suppose, the most important things in my eternal life. I will do better than my best to be the very best! I swear it.”

You chuckled, sniffing as you beamed back at him. “That was quite the speech.”

“Was it what you wanted?” Adam inquired, wiping away at a stray tear that’d begun to slide down your cheek. “Are you okay? Perhaps I should’ve asked that first.”

Even though it would be months until you felt anything, you rested your hand on your stomach. You began to imagine the sensation, what little movements, kicks, flutters your baby would give you. Your baby. Adam’s baby. Gods, it sounded so surreal and yet, so right.

“Yeah.” You inhaled, your gaze deep as it met Adam’s. “I’ve never felt happier.”

XXX

“We need to tell them.”

Adam’s voice was soft as his hand gently rubbed your back from where he knelt beside you on the floor. Your head hung over the toilet as you tried to fight back the wave of nausea that stirred in your stomach. Morning sickness, more like ‘all day sickness’. It had been a week since you had broken the news to Adam--and technically Kraglin--about the baby. From the get go, he had wanted to tell the others but you had sworn him to secrecy. You still were avoiding sharing the unexpected pregnancy announcement with your brother. But now, with how violently ill your body had decided to start becoming, you weren’t really left with any options.

“Maybe we can just wait until they’re born.” You mumbled weakly, the bitter taste of bile coating the inside of your mouth. “Spring it on them then.”

“I don’t think that would be the best idea--or even possible.” Adam responded, frowning softly when you waved away at the glass of water he tried to coax in your hand. “They’re starting to worry about how sick you’ve been. And you already told Kraglin.”

“That wasn’t in my original plans.” You answered somewhat defensively. “Besides, there’s a big difference between him and Peter knowing. The others I’m not as worried about. I’m his little sister, but he forgets I’m not so little anymore. Like a lot.” Your stomach gurgled and you heaved a big sigh. “I can take care of my damn self.”

“I know.” And the palm of his hand began to knead between your shoulder blades. “But the sooner we get it over with, the better you will feel about it. And you aren’t alone in this. I’m right with you. We’ll tell them together and it will go over well, I promise.”

XXX

The last time you saw a look like the one Peter was giving you now was when you accidentally dropped his Walkman as a kid and it fell between the grates of Yondu’s ship. How he managed to get it back out before it slipped to its eternal demise, you were unsure--or cared. But this look was not about any sort of music box. Oh no, this was something much greater.

“...You’re pregnant?” Peter asked slowly, eyes flashing from you to Adam. “As in having a baby? Together?”

“Yes, I am.” Before anyone could speak up, you quickly added. “And we’re happy too. Really happy.” Adam’s arm found its way around your waist offering a sense of comfort that you needed. “And since we’re family, we were hoping that maybe you all would feel the same way.”

The silence was killing you. The way they were all watching, Peter especially, you almost wanted to curl up into a ball and beg Adam to fly you back to your room. Try again on another day. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around, followed by a squeal.

“I am VERY happy for you!” Mantis gushed, beaming at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Adam nervously watching, probably concerned with how tight she was hugging you. “Oh this is such good news!”

Drax broke into one of his deep fits of laughter. “Quill! That means your sister had sex!” Of all the anti-social things he could’ve said, he had to go with that one. How wonderfully mortifying. “But I am also happy for you!”

One of Groot’s branches reached out and touched your stomach. “I am Groot.” Or, as you had grown to understand. “I like babies.”

Nebula gave you a rare smile from where she stood beside Rocket. She had come so far since you first met her those many years back. Gone from enemy to a true member of the Guardians. The late Gamora, your Gamora, would’ve been proud to see what she had become.

“Congratulations,” Nebula said with a nod.

“I agree with the others!” The canine yipped, her tail wildly wagging when she trotted over to you. “I will protect the baby like a good dog!” She licked your hand leaving you secretly grateful she didn’t try to jump up. “This is good news!”

Rocket, who had been at Peter’s side, made his way over. “Yeah, yeah, what they all said.” He said with a half smile, arms folded. “Guess we better get one of those sign things to hang on the ship that says Baby On Board or something.”

“So no one else sees a problem with this?!”

Peter’s voice popped you out of that blissful bubble you had found yourself in. Everyone was looking at him now, the good mood immediately snuffed out. Your stomach began to churn, only this time, it wasn’t from the pregnancy symptoms.

“We just got our team back together and everything was fine! Now you had to go along and get pregnant!” He jabbed a finger in your direction. “I dunno, did you not consider how this might impact the rest of us?!”

Where the hell was this coming from? “You know, just a ‘Wow, congratulations, Y/N’ would have easily sufficed!” You were fuming. Of course you knew he would be a dick when you needed him most. “This was a surprise to us! I’m sorry I didn’t take you into consideration!”

“You know you can’t come on any missions, right, Y/N?” His eyes then landed on Adam, his new target. “You know she is basically out of commission. She’s a risk! Now we’re down a teammate!”

“Peter, leave him alone!” You snapped, moving protectively in front of Adam. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh, really, he didn’t now?” Shit, you led him right into that. “Did you forget that whole thing when Goldilocks over there busted through our home and almost killed Rocket, not to mention trying to take the rest of us out with him?!”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Pete.” Rocket cut in with a frown. “You’ve said it yourself before, and it’s clear that Adam has. I’ve forgiven him, why haven’t you?”

You weren’t sure if Rocket’s words struck a chord with Peter or not. In reality, you really could’ve cared less at that point. Tears of frustration and sadness had already begun to well up in your eyes, you didn’t want to give him the courtesy of seeing.

“Thanks, everyone.” You said, stare fixed on the ground. “Your support means a lot.”

Adam’s hand caught your wrist as you started walking away from the group. “Y/N?”

“I’m fine.” You told him, pulling your hand out of his grasp. “I just need some space. I’ll meet you back in the room. I love you.” And you made sure that you said the last part loud enough for Peter to hear.

XXX

You had practically built yourself a nest out of pillows and blankets on the top of your bed. Adam’s pillow was stained with your tears because you had chosen it to be the one you cried into. He smelled nice. Honestly, your fight with Peter could’ve gone a hell of a lot worse. You could think of several things you might’ve spat out at him that would’ve hit him hard and good. There was enough that you didn’t need to add onto.

Suddenly, you heard a knock on your bedroom door--which was odd considering Adam always chose to waltz in without first announcing himself. Whatever, it had been a weird day as it was. Who were you to dictate how your partner came and went?

“Adam, the door isn’t locked. Just come in.”

But the person who opened the door wasn’t Adam. Peter. You watched quietly as your brother made his way over to your bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. After the fallout, why exactly had he decided to show up? Was he going to give you another earful?

“Before mom died, she made me promise that I would always protect you. Even before that, I felt like I always needed to because it was just the three of us. Well, four if you wanted to include grandpa, but three.”

You chose not to respond, deciding to see where he was going with this.

“You may be grown, Y/N, but you will always be my little sister.” Peter said, his voice no longer harsh as it had been. “But that isn’t an excuse to lash out when you get into a relationship or, well, get pregnant. You’re tough. Quills have to be. And if you love Adam and this is what you want, you have my full support.” From his spot, he smiled at you. “Besides, I think I’d make a pretty damn good uncle.”

Finally, you looked up to meet his gaze. “That was a dick move you pulled back there.”

Peter sighed. “I know, I’m really sorry about that.”

“And you owe Adam an apology for trying to make him feel like shit.” He watched you, probably trying to figure out your next words. Inhaling, you continued on. “But I forgive you. I know you mean well, but I can take care of myself. Adam is a really great guy and he has changed. I really want you two to get along, especially with this baby coming. I need my big brother. I need you.”

“Y/N, you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.” He replied, lightly throwing one of your pillows in your direction. You dodged it with a smile. “Call it a talent.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you beamed the pillow straight back. “You’re such a dork.” The imense amount of relief you felt now was so welcoming. “This baby will be lucky to have you as an uncle. I wish Yondu was here.” Though, you weren’t quite sure how your adoptive father of sorts would feel about a baby. “...I wish mom was too.”

Peter moved and pulled you into a hug--one that you didn’t realize you needed so badly. “Me too.” He admitted with a sigh. “She’d be so excited. She was the best mom, and I know she’d make an even better grandma. And I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be just as great at it as she was.”

You gave Peter a watery smile, only this time your tears were happy. “You think so?”

He chuckled. “When have I ever lied to you?” And you couldn’t help but think back to Kraglin at that.

You rested your hand on your stomach, something you had a gut feeling would become more natural as time went on. Your mind wandered to the little life inside of you. What would they look like? Adam? You? Growing something inside of you that was the product of your shared love. Even though you had only known about this baby for such a short amount of time, they were already so adored. A smile crossed your face at it all. The new chapter in your life, his life, everyone’s that had only just begun.

#Adam Warlock #Adam Warlock x Reader #Reader x Adam Warlock #gotg vol 3 #Adam Warlock Imagine #Guardians of the Galaxy #Aydith Warlock

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