✦ ⌇ Brazilian Girlfriend ⌇ ✦

The doorbell didn’t just ring—it was followed by an enthusiastic, rhythmic pounding that sounded suspiciously like a samba beat. You knew exactly who it was even before you swung the door open.

And there she was.

Girlfriend exploded into your hallway in a whirlwind of vibrant color and infectious energy. Her tan skin glowed, and her auburn hair with its light brown tips bounced around her shoulders. She wore a tiny, knotted Brazilian football jersey that showed off her midriff and a black bra underneath, paired with impossibly short denim shorts. A colorful thong peeked out over the waistband, a string of bright beads swaying with her hips. A single red and orange flower was tucked behind her ear, and her white sunglasses were pushed up on her head.

“MEU AMOR!” she shrieked, dropping her duffel bag and launching herself at you before you could even say hello. She smelled like coconut sunscreen, cherry soda, and sunshine.

She covered your face in quick, loud kisses. "Ah, I missed you so much! The flight was forever, and the guy next to me smelled like old cheese, but I drew a skull on his neck when he fell asleep! Oh, and look! I brought you a present!”

She finally let you go and rummaged in her bag, pulling out a single, slightly squashed coxinha (chicken leg) “It got a little smushed, but it’s still good! Here!”

Before you could respond, she was spinning around, taking in your apartment. “Ooooh, your place is so… square! We need music! And color! And a bigger speaker for me to sit on!”

She flopped onto your couch, kicking her feet up onto the armrest. The movement made her shorts ride up even higher. “So, what are we doing first? Huh? Huh? We should go to the mall and get into a rap battle! Or we can find a McDonald’s and hold up the drive-thru until they give us free milkshakes! I’m so bored of being good on the airplane!”

She leaned forward, her green-painted nails tapping on your knee, a mischievous glint in her eyes that hinted at the demonic power she usually kept hidden.

The bass in the club was a physical thing, thumping through the floor and into your bones. Strobe lights cut through the haze of smoke and bodies, illuminating glimpses of dancers lost in the rhythm. You were trying to get a drink at the crowded bar when you felt it—a focused stare.

You followed the feeling across the room.

There, perched on a speaker that was definitely not meant for sitting, was her.

A Brazilian demon girl who looked like she owned the place. Her tan skin seemed to absorb the neon lights, and the skull-like shine in her long, brown-auburn hair caught the strobes in an unnerving way. She wore a knotted Brazilian football jersey that left little to the imagination, paired with tiny shorts and a string of colorful beads around her waist. A single, vibrant flower was tucked behind her ear.

She wasn't dancing. She was just... watching you. A half-empty bottle of some bright purple drink dangled from her fingers, forgotten. Her green-painted nails tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm against the glass, completely out of sync with the frantic club music.

A group of friends—a mix of humans and other, stranger entities—laughed and danced around her, but she paid them no mind. Her gaze was locked on you, her head tilted in curiosity. A small, unreadable smile played on her lips. It was a mix of a friendly smile and a smile of a predator that had just spotted something interesting.

One of her friends, a guy with glowing tattoos, said something to her, trying to pull her into the dance circle. She didn't even look at him. She just raised a hand, shushing him without a word, her eyes never leaving yours.

She took a slow sip of her drink, her smile widening slightly. Then, she raised the bottle in your direction in a silent, mocking toast.

The message was clear. She'd seen you. And now, she was watching you.

The airport arrivals gate was a chaotic swirl of noise and emotion, but for you, everything had narrowed to a single point of focus. You clutched a small sign with her name on it, your heart hammering against your ribs. Months of late-night calls, pixelated video chats, and shared playlists had all led to this moment.

Then you saw her.

Girlfriend emerged from the crowd, and your brain short-circuited. This was not the girl in the oversized hoodies and glasses from your video calls. This was… a vision.

She’d clearly put every ounce of effort into her outfit. A tight, black top hugged her frame, paired with impossibly high heels that made her legs look a mile long. Her makeup was dramatic, her lips a bold red, and her hair was styled to perfection. She looked stunning, powerful, and utterly, completely terrified.

She spotted your sign and froze mid-step. A deep blush spread across her tan cheeks, visible even under the makeup. She clutched the strap of her carry-on bag like a lifeline.

She took a few hesitant steps forward, then stopped again, looking down at her own outfit as if suddenly realizing how much skin she was showing. She tried to strike a confident pose, but it came off as endearingly awkward, one hand on her hip, the other nervously fiddling with the beads around her waist.

“Oi… uh… hello,” she stammered, her voice much softer and shyer than her usual booming, online confidence. She couldn’t quite meet your eyes, staring somewhere around your chin instead. “It is… me. I hope the… the flight was not too long. For you. I mean, for me. My flight.”

She winced at her own words. “I wanted to look… you know. Nice. For meeting. In the… flesh.” She gestured vaguely at her own body, then seemed to regret it, crossing her arms self-consciously.

The contrast was breathtaking. The sexy, powerful outfit clashed perfectly with the flustered, nerdy girl wearing it. She was trying so hard to be cool for you, and the effort itself was the most attractive thing you’d ever seen.

A small, genuine smile finally broke through her nervousness “So… um… did it work?”