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#I am also a dusty cat

televinita · 2 years

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2nd to last free Friday of the year (even the holidays will be full of obligations still, just not work-related ones), and I made it COUNT!

Drove the lovely 35-minute drive mostly down country roads / a rural highway (took a different route each way, for maximum prettiness) to go to my favorite day-trip town for...

A library sale

Antique shops (too many to count; at least 4 though)

Also antique shop cats (petting count: 4, and that was despite two of the regulars I specifically came to visit being out of sight/reach) (aka GUESS WHO FOUND A NEW SHOP WITH A CAT)

Walking along a pretty riverfront path for an hour

Sitting on a glider overlooking the river post-walk

And I collected Many a Treasure along the way! Unsure if I have willpower for photos but maybe I will do a post about it with words.

Now I’m waiting for sweet potato fries to bake while I decide what else to have for dinner

ahhhhhh WHAT A GOOD SIX-HOUR ADVENTURE DAY

(And the weather was great too -- high of just under 60 degrees, mostly cloudy with occasional bursts of sun, so I didn’t get too hot walking but also didn’t freeze while sitting.)

#almost all of the cats were FLUFFY and as a bonus: the super friendly one that normally feels sort of dusty #felt unusually sleek and soft and her fur was HEAVEN #i am literally trying to bottle joy to nourish me through the dark cold Hell Project weeks ahead #(don't worry I am also making a list of things to look forward to coming up so I don't entirely die. i just like being dramatic)#a day in the life of televinita

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 1 month

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Vaggie: "Okay ha ha, very funny. Who stole me and Charlie's laundry out of the dryer again- Angel Dust!"

Angel Dust: "Wasn' me."

Vaggie: "Are you wearing my fucking skirt!?"

Angel Dust: "Ooooh~ it's a FUCKIN' skirt, huh? This one kept special for when Charlie jumps ya?"

Vaggie: "Que te la pique un pollo- NO."

Angel Dust: "Aw c'mon toots, we all know you have one~"

Vaggie: "Give me back. My skirt. You. Ass."

Angel Dust: "Speakin' of... is it really still YOUR skirt, Vagina, if MY ass is the one lookin' so utterly fine and fabulous in it?"

Vaggie: "YOU DONT HAVE AN ASS, ANGEL DUST."

Angel Dust: "Yeah? Then what's this beautiful thang here, hmm?"

Vaggie: "I don't know because there's nothing there for you to even POINT at, twig twink!"

Husk: "HA!"

Angel Dust: "Ugh fiiine. Since you're being nice an' usin' my preferred pronouns-"

Vaggie: "Twig???"

Husk: "Twink."

Angel Dust: "-I'll hand over the girlfriend-fucking skirt. The delicius heat from the dryer's mostly gone now anyway. Jus' lemme grab something to throw on over it first..."

Vaggie: "Seriously? THAT'S why you took it?? Dryer heat?"

Angel Dust: "Next best thing to hot bath at the end of a day's hard work, baby! A day's VERY hard, throbbing, aching work-"

Vaggie: "I will throw this spear at you. I WILL ruin your stupid hair."

Husk: "Fucking do it."

Vaggie: "YOU shut up too. You're the one who taught him this in the first place, aren't you?"

Husk: "WHAT? I don't put on your fucking skirts!"

Angel Dust: "Wha' about her non-fucking ones?"

Husk & Vaggie: "Shut up."

Angel Dust: "Touché~ Protestin' too much, me thinks~”

Vaggie: "Husk- we all know you're the one waiting for the dryer to finish so you can drag the laundry onto the floor and sleep on it!"

Husk: "That's bullshit- you've got no proof-"

Angel Dust: "Cat hair, Mr. Whiskers."

Husk: "The fucking hotel has a cat!"

Vaggie: "That smells like a bar and also sheds feathers?"

Husk: "FUCK."

Angel Dust: "Don't break yourself up over it, kitten daddy- If you hadn't shown me the joys of laundry shopping, I'd never have known how GOOD I look in this jacket."

Vaggie: "???? You- IS THAT CHARLIE'S!?!?"

Angel Dust: "Goes good with the skirt, huh? If you two had a kid, they'd fucking SLAY."

Vaggie: "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING HER JACKET"

Angel Dust: "Look- she's the only one in this fancy prancy hotel that's got the same measurements as me, at least in the shoulder, hips, and torso department! The only one who's clothes don't smell like dead deer and dusty old radios, anyway!! I'm kinda low on options here, okay?"

Vaggie: "WHAT ABOUT THE OPTION OF DON'T StEAL OUR STUFF?? THAT'S LIKE, THE EASIEST FUCKING OPTION YOU COULD HAVE!"

Angel Dust: "Orrrrr, you two could adopt me as you gay lovechild and give me some fuckin' hand me downs. Or money."

Vaggie: “OUR WHAT!?”

Angel Dust: “Fuck it, give me money an’ I’ll buy my own clothes, mom.”

Vaggie: “I. Am. NOT-”

Charlie: “-hey guys! Has anyone seen my….”

Charlie: “…uh, Vaggie? Why is Angel Dust dressed like our gay lovechild?”

Angel Dust: “HA!”

Charlie: “And did he just call you ‘mom??’”

Vaggie: “I give up. Anyone needs me, I’ll be in the laundry room, shoving myself in the dryer on the hellfire setting.”

Husk: “You’ll have to fucking drag Niffty out first.”

Vaggie: “What.”

Charlie: “What?”

Angel Dust: “WHAT”

Husk: “She was crawling in head first when I left after waking up- uhh- after getting something.”

Angel Dust: (shrieking) “AN’ YOU LEFT HER THERE???”

Vaggie: “Oh shit-”

Charlie: “Vaggie- go! Fly!! Go go go now Now NOW- EMPLOYEE IN THE INDUSTRIAL CLEANING EQUIPMENT THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!”

- meanwhile, in the laundry room-

THUMP THUMP THUMP

THUMP…. Thump………… thump

Alastor: “…”

Alastor: (reaches over to knock on dryer door)

Alastor: “Having fun, dear?”

Niffty: (flopping limply half out of dryer) (battered) (scorched) (GRINNING) “Ow pain!”

Alastor: “Quite.”

Niffty: “Heheheh… heHEHEHEH.”

Niffty: (sets the dryer to max again) “More…. PAIN!!!” (shuts door from the inside) (grins from other side with her face pressed against the glass)

Alastor: “Fascinating.”

Thump…Thump. Thump. THUMP THUMPTHUMP-

Cherri Bomb: “…”

Cherri Bomb: “…Know what? You kids have fun. I’m just gonna go, like, break into someone’s house and murder them so I can use their washer and dryer. That’ll be less fucked up than….. whatever this is.” (hefts basket of bloody laundry and bombs) (waves over her shoulder while leaving) “Bye~”

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #angel dust hasbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie morningstar #alastor the radio demon #niffty hazbin hotel #cherri bomb hazbin hotel #incorrect quotes #silly nonsense #that feeling when your coworker leaves their own bloodstains on the inside of the dryer machine #so you need to wash it before anyone can do laundry again #(and before cherri bomb can try quick-drying stuff with explosives in the mean time)#(......again)

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buterccup · 1 year

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GEN Z READER IN TASK FORCE 141 HC

A/N: I saw a couple of these and I couldn't stop trying to find more, and I just love the concept of all these big men trying to understand the reader's humour but I also love how they try to watch over them even though they can easily take care of themselves. Also, do expect the codename to change if I make another one of these but if anyone has ideas please tell me. Anyways I hope this doesn't flop and please enjoy.

Warnings: Dark humour, Suicide jokes, simping, swearing, mentions of parents leaving the reader, basically gen z stuff, usual CoD violence

Character(s): Soap, Gaz, John, Ghost, Price x Gn! reader (And graves kinda-)

Codename: Daffodil

There is no thinking about it you are the youngest and probably the shortest in the task force.

When Laswell first told Price that he will have someone younger than he expected to join the task force he immediately said no, he wasn't going to babysit you.

Plus you looked way too young to be in the army

Little did he know, you got your codename for a reason.

But once Laswell said you were very strong and he could trust you to hold your own and that he had to, he didn't have much of a choice.

And as expected once Price and Laswell introduce you to the boys they were shocked too.

There was a literal child in front of them.

And Soap being Soap he let out a little chuckle earning a nudge and glare from Ghost and an "ahem" from Price

"This is Daffodil, your new rookie. And I warn you don't underestimate them just from their name. Treat them well."

At first you were very quiet and only spoke when spoken to, almost beating Ghost's stoic and quiet nature

To which the rest of 141 joked about quite a lot

but after a while, you started to open up to them which was a nice sign

But the boys did catch onto your humour pretty quickly which caused them to worry for your mental state.

You would start saying suicide jokes at 1 mile per second at every small inconvenience.

"If that happens again I'm going to jump in front of a car- I am going to hang myself- I cannot right now-"

"Kid...It's just paper work..."

"Exactly"

One time you and the group were going after a target and of the guys' men shot you in the arm. It wasn't as bad as you thought it would be but it still hurt.

While Soap and Gaz asked if you were okay you were completely hysterical at the moment. So much in fact that you shouted something so stupid before the guy met his inevitable end.

By Ghost too:D

Thanks Ghost<33

"Do you want this back???"

BLAM

"Oop, mans left quicker than my dad."

To say the least, your boys were concerned for you because of that

Even Ghost tried to check up on you every minute or two after they got the bullet out and patched you up.

You all eventually got the target in the end but your boys ended up forcing you to go get your wound checked since a, and I quote, "Crusty dusty" building wouldn't be the best place to pick out bullet fragments.

You came back with one of the doctor's pens because you liked it and claimed you finessed him when in reality he gave it to you because he noticed you staring and you were too scared to ask.

It was a LED cat paw pen

"Gaz what does finesse mean?"

"I don't really know..?"

"What do you mean you're supposed to know-"

One time you shouted slay during a mission once Ghost killed one of the targets.

To be honest, it did make him laugh but Price, on the other hand, didn't understand but he soon got what it meant. Kinda.

With that being said Gaz and sometimes Soap are the go-to when Price or Ghost don't understand what the hell you just said since they are the younger ones.

Which also means you got along better with them

And if they don't understand something they always try their best to find out and find more things you would laugh at.

Soap even goes that extra effort to make memes and send them to you.

But don't get me wrong you love spending time with Price and Ghost.

And speaking of memes you always end up making stupid gifs of Ghost and always end up sending them to the tf141 group chat that you made to annoy them most of the time or Ghost himself where you sometimes end up joke flirting with him

Mans is scrumdiliumcious if you did say so yourself

(Ahem basically the gif at the start of the hcs)

One time you called Ghost Mummy and Soap and Gaz wouldn't stop laughing while Price sighed at the little slip-up.

It wasn't a slip-up.

You defiantly burst into Price's office most of the time too when you have nothing to do.

Even though hearing Price drone on about his paperwork doesn't sound that fun it's nice to hear his voice.

And If you didn't have good parents or were absent most of your life he would never turn you away once he sees you at his door.

This also applies if you have good parents too

From the number of times he had to lecture you and your boys about how you can't have McDonald's after a mission and how it's bad for you is basically allowing him to adopt you.

Once you met Grave one thing kept popping into your mind.

Fix it Felix.

Which didn't really give you both a great start but he warmed up to you sooner or later.

And as much as an asshole he is most of the time he actually gets concerned when he hears one of your suicide jokes.

When he first heard one over coms he made sure to keep an eye on you every so often and even messaged you after the mission was over.

Don't get me wrong Graves is kinda...shitty but that doesn't make him that much of an asshole to not check up on a 'child' when they say something concerning.

And when all your boys are free and there is time you all have a movie night.

It's quite relaxing, it was nice to have these quiet moments with your boys considering your jobs.

Although one time it was getting really late and you all got through 2 movies and you almost looked like you were going to pass out so that's when papa Price came out.

"Papa, more movie."

"No the movie is over, we gotta go.."

"PAPA"

"Oh, Jesus Christ.." (💀)

"Me. Want. More. Movie."

"No Daffo-"

"YOU LIE"

"Kiddo the movie is-"

"Price what did you do-" (🧼)

Once you calmed down and Price realized what you said he cried internally.

Everything was okay in the end though and Gaz had that on camera so they can always look back and laugh at it.

Requests: Open

Part 2!

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sparrowrye · 2 months

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Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part 2

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies you also die. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes.

Part 2 summary: Escape is futile

Part Pilot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And the winner is Python!"

I turned my head from the bloody sight. I had brutally murdered an innocent fighter like myself. But I had to do it. It was my only chance out of here and they were far too mentally gone to even have a chance at a normal life.

I pushed myself up on one foot and limped to the gate. The crowd above roared my fighter name and bets were being collected. My master picked me up and looked down at my injured foot. Usually a head collar was strapped on to keep me from using magic against him, but he had recently gotten more comfortable without it.

I flicked my wrist behind his back. The sweat from my forehead jumped off and sliced through his throat. He dropped me and fell, clutching his throat. I scrambled to my feet and bolted around the cages containing my brothers and sisters in fighting. I ran past the unknowing guard at the gate and into the crowd.

I could taste the sweet taste of freedom beyond those fences. All I had to do was hide in the woods until dawn. It was easy. The crowd didn't know what was happening and people often tried to run out on a poor bet. No one would interfere.

Except one.

Rope wrapped around my throat and snapped my head backwards. The force slammed my back into the cold ground. I coughed violently as I pulled the rope loose. Spit fell out of my lips as I looked up. Standing on the other end of the rope was Striker, a Full mage who liked to terrify others with his illusionist demonic appearance.

He pulled on the rope and it tightened again. I slipped my hand under it and tried to dig my chin between my neck and it. He pulled even tighter, rougher, and pulled me forward, forcing me to fall on my stomach. I sent wind and dirt but he casted a shield of around himself.

I looked to the side and pretended to lift something. His glance was all I needed. I leaned forward and pulled the rope over my head. I barely made two steps before something caught my foot. I tried to pull that one off but the ropes kept coming. My neck, my shoulder, my wrist, and my knee. I flailed and threw every magic I could at his ropes. Yet it did nothing. A Slight hand was no match for a Full mage.

Henchmen appeared and pulled the ropes in different directions. It was mere seconds to have me completely immobile on the cold ground. Striker stepped inches from my face before kneeling down and grabbing my chin. He lifted the rope around my neck at the same time, painfully contorting my neck in what felt like a 90 degree angle.

"Looks like you're mine now, sweetheart," he purred, "'til the day you die." He let go of my head and my face slammed down into the pavement.

I jerked my head up from the pillow with a yelp. I found myself in an old, dusty room with sunlight streaming in from the window. I sat up and examined every inch of the room. How the hell did I get here?

I tried to think past the nightmare but was met with a mental block. Who's house was this? Why am I here? When did I change into a white gown? Who's bed is this?

I put my feet on the cold carpet and padded over to the window. I looked out at a wide open sea and a sheer cliff-face. That's when it connected. I had evaded the worse fighter master for five years and landed right in the claws of the Radio Demon.

A light knock came at the door. I dove into the corner and put my hand up, ready to cast at a moment's notice. But the person who entered wasn't the Radio Demon, but a different one. He resembled a combination of a cat and bird, his entire body covered in gray and white fur and his wings a gorgeous bright red. He had a black top hat sitting between his ears.

"You're awake," he said, "Good. Your clothes are in the wardrobe. Alastor wants to speak with you before he leaves so hurry up." He shut the door.

My neck hairs bristled at being told what to do. I didn't waste five years of freedom to be told what to do again solely because my soul happened to be bound to the worse Full mage of the century.

Yet there was nothing I could do.

I opened the wardrobe to find old dresses that looked like they were from the 1930s. Maybe the 40s or 50s? They were old, that much was obvious. Not my style, either.

Now he's dressing me.

I swallowed hard and picked a long skirt and button down. I locked myself in the bathroom, grateful that it had a lock, and quickly dressed. The sink had a bowl of water in it which told me this old house didn't have working pipes.

I gently splashed my eyes with the ice cold water to wake myself up. I found an old brush in one of the drawers and brushed out my messy hair. It had taken nearly three years to really understand how to take care of this hair. I had grown it out after escaping the rings to make myself more unnoticeable.

I let out a sigh. I closed my eyes and took a moment to ready myself for the next encounter with the mage. He couldn't kill me. He would kill himself in the process. If he tried to keep my in a cage like the others a little self harm should do the trick. I had options. I could handle this. I had handled worse. Right?

Outside the room wasn't much better off. The floorboards caved under my weight and spewed dust up in my face. I sneezed a few times on my way down, careful not to touch anything in case it disintegrated upon contact.

The staircase to the foyer was tight and narrow. I could clearly see the deep purple and dark brown accents of the house now. It didn't exactly look pretty. Though I couldn't imagine much thought was put into any part of this old house.

I turned at the last step to find my soulmate standing by the cold fire. He seemed to be looking at something before he spun to face me. His eyes looked me from head to toe and back again. My fingers tightened into a fist subconsciously.

"Mm, it'll do." I bristled at the comment but he crossed the living room in seconds to stand in front of me. I took a step back. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine."

"Come sit, I have much to tell you before I leave." He stepped to the side and gestured to the room. His other hand was behind his back holding his cane; the cane that made me feel like I was always being watched with the creepy little eye on it.

I looked up at his red eyes before forcing myself to walk into the room and sit on one of the hideous old chairs. He sat on the other one on the opposite side of the fireplace and crossed his legs elegantly. I crossed my ankles and put my hands in my lap. I hated dresses but I had watched enough women and explored the internet enough to know how to sit 'properly'. He seemed like the type to correct me on manners.

"I'll make this simple since I have places to be," he started, "My rules are very simple. Rule number one, you're not to leave the premises. You have until the tree-line before you're considered off this property. Rule number two, you can go anywhere in the house except for my room and office. They're beside each other on the second floor. Don't worry, they're locked so you can't mistake them for another room." His eyes narrowed a tad. "Rule number three, don't bother me. You can do anything you like, request nearly anything from Husker, but do not disturb me."

"May I ask a question?" I ventured. My head was tilted down a little and my eyes glared up at him.

"Yes you may." He laid his cane on his lap.

"If you want nothing to do with me, why the hell are you keeping me here?"

"Silly girl," he chuckled, "I told you last night. I need not worry about my soulmate dying in wasteful ring fights. If you die, I die. Not to mention, if people discovered we were connected you would undoubtedly find yourself against very powerful mages that could kill you in half a second." I gritted my teeth, unsure of how to respond. "And as I said last night, you should be grateful that I'm providing you with a safe haven."

"A safe haven that's about to collapse?" I remarked, looking around at the dusty boards and picking at the old ratted chair.

"Well," he laughed, "if you're bored you could always fix up the place."

"Can't you do that with your oh-so-powerful magic?"

"I have more important things to use my magic on. Besides, your Slight magic should be enough to fix up the things you need." I was about to argue when he abruptly stood up. "Well, I must be going now. I do hope I won't have to remind you of my rules. They are rather simple and easy to follow. Good day." He didn't bother to use the door, disappearing into the shadows and melting into the floor.

I stared at where he had disappeared for a long moment. My eyes then trailed around the room, examining its every inch. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Boards creaked and I looked over to see Husker appearing from the hallway. "I'm sorry to hear that you have a shitty soulmate," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic.

"I never believed in soulmates, really." I stood up to walk over to him. We looked roughly the same height until I got closer and discovered to be a few inches taller. "Is there a reason why you're...here? With him?"

"I'm under Alastor's service for an extended period of time," he answered, turning back down the hallway. I followed him through the narrow entryway and came to an old kitchen. "He told me I'm to fulfill most of your requests."

"Why do you listen to him?"

"For my own reasons," he growled, "I'm not about to let you run off, if that's what you're trying to get at. He can't kill you but he can kill me, and he will if I let you run off."

"Right." I quietly left the room to explore the rest of the house. Next to the kitchen was the dinning room. It was full of random old furniture that looked like someone had dumped the insides of a victorian home here. It circled back to the staircase and sitting room. On the other side of the sitting room was a library study. The books looked like they were nests for spiders, moths, and bookworms.

Upstairs had another sitting room but was mostly filled with old bedrooms and bathrooms. I quickly discovered which rooms belonged to Alastor. Directly across from 'my' bedroom were two locked doors side by side. So long as he came and went at early or late hours of the day, I could avoid him easy.

Escaping shouldn't be hard, though. A pang of guilt went through me as I thought of Husker having to deal with the repercussions. He was obviously a Full mage if he could conjure up a demonic illusion like that. Though what for while he was here, I'm not sure. Perhaps a scare tactic. I shook the thought from my head. I had killed people with my bare hands on the concept of "Me or them". This would be no different.

"Say," I found Husker drinking something in the kitchen, "could we fix the pipes so we can have running water?"

Husker shrugged. "Sure. You want to help?" The side glance his black eyes made me want to incline.

"Sure."

Outside had a cool, ocean breeze crossing the field. I instantly found the tree line Alastor spoke of. The first challenge of escaping would be crossing the field. There was nothing to hide behind or use for a shield. I had to buy time to cross the field and take shelter in the dense trees.

Husker went to the side of the house where an old well stood a few paces from it. He put his hands on the ground and seemed to search through the earth. A moment later he snapped his black eyes open and looked up at me.

"Clean out the well and dig further down until you reach water." He said as he pointed to the stoned circle. I stood on the side that put it between me and Husker. I had heard too many tales of people losing their life to a deep well.

Husker fixed the pipes underground and through the house while I fixed the source. I knew my next request to him was to allow me more clothes that fit my style. And more pants. I kept quiet until the brown water turned into pristine, clear running water from all the faucets.

I dried my hands on my dress in the kitchen and asked, "How did you know I had magic?"

"Alastor told me."

"Right."

"I've also seen you in the fight rings before."

"You what?" I bristled.

"Relax," he grabbed the same bottle from the counter, "I wasn't a master or anything. I was running the bets and gambling." That didn't make me feel any better. How could he just let them keep those fights going? His appearance gave me my answer.

So I changed the subject. "How would you suggest I ask you for different clothes? These aren't exactly right for me." I looked down at the elongated skirt.

He let out a sigh and pulled out a phone. My heart quickened. "Find what you're looking for and screenshot what you want. Then tell me your size."

"You know, that's not exactly how sizes for women work," I tried. "One size in one store could be very different than another."

"Then pick one store and tell me what sizes," he replied. My heart dropped and I took the phone from him.

****

I gave myself a week before my first escape attempt. I had to know Alastor's schedule and Husker's routine. I also need to ensure they weren't bracing for my first attempt. A week should be long enough, surely.

Alastor left in the mornings before or right at dawn and returned at some point well after dusk. Husker preferred to be in the living room or on the outside porch drinking alcohol. I guessed that he had some kind of magic that kept the effects of alcohol to a minimum so he could still keep an eye on me. I made it a habit to join him on the porch most of the time, reading the one book I could think of off the top of my head for him to get.

Alastor had made two more rules since my arrival. Well, one official rule and one implicit. The explicit one was no unsupervised internet access. No phone, no computer, nothing. I had no connection to the outside world.

The implicit rule was my clothing style. Any 'modern' clothing that was even close to being considered immodest disappeared from my wardrobe the next day. This meant he was keeping a close eye on me despite his rules to keep as much distance between the two of us as possible. I had to be careful. I didn't know what type of magic he was using and if he could see me at any point.

But I was ready.

It was a blue evening, the setting sun hidden behind a raincloud. The rain hadn't quite reached us yet but the strong gusts were moving the clouds closer and closer. As much as I didn't want to escape on a rainy night, it was the best chance I had. Muddy conditions and rain made it difficult to see and operate in. For most people. Most likely for Full mages who were used to having everything handed to them on a plate thanks to their power.

Husker had just finished another one of his whiskey bottles and went inside for another. I whispered an apology as the door closed and I stood up from my chair. I used my magic to push against the wood from underneath so they didn't creak. I jumped the stairs and as soon as my feet hit the grass I ran.

I pushed wind against my back to help carry me across the field. My heart pounded in my ears as I reached the tree line and disappeared behind the closest large tree. I sank to the ground and peaked around the tree. I didn't see Husker yet.

I turned and ran further into the forest. The wind from the storm made it easy to maneuver through the dense forest. I had no idea where the closest town or city was but I needed to put as much distance between me and the house as possible.

There was no notion of time as I kept running. My legs burned and chest hurt but I didn't dare stop until I could barely stand. I pushed through the pain and veered off to the side, hoping they would search in the other direction. The rain had started and trees bent against the strong winds, pushing back as best they could. I took this as my cue to find a hiding spot until the storm cleared up.

I picked one of the trees and started pulling up the dirt and roots. I would dig myself a little burrow and wait out the storm. The wind pulled aggressively on my clothes and hair. It felt incredibly strong for a storm and it made my blood run cold. I frantically looked around in search of the bright red of Alastor's coat or Husker's wings. This wasn't natural wind. This was from magic. They were searching for me.

The trees practically uprooted themselves as the wind pushed against them, opening the forest floor to the sky for a moment. I briefly saw Husker's red wings in the sky before the trees cut my line of sight. I dove to the side before the trees opened again. I felt like a field mouse running from a coyote in the field grass.

Husker dropped through the canopy and locked eyes with me. He curled his claws inward and the tree branches reached for me. I pushed against them with wind and snaked through their reaches. I stayed as close to the ground as I possibly could. I needed someplace to defend, somewhere that he couldn't reach me. The forest was proving to be a horrible idea.

Wind and fire were my best friends as I evaded and burned the branches that grabbed at me. Husker went back to the skies and attempted to create a wall with the trees. A branch caught my foot and dragged me towards its trunk. I opened the earth near it and pulled its roots up. I used the storm and pushed the tree all the way down. I jumped into the ditch and pulled the roots back over me, partially covering me from the sky. Husker flapped overhead, arms crossed.

I dug into the earth and filled it up behind me. The further down I went the farther I was from the reach of the trees. Several times he tried to catch me with the roots but he couldn't see me anymore. I had broken his line of sight. That's how you defeat a Full mage, I realized. If the mage couldn't see you, then they didn't know what they were doing.

I picked a random direction and started tunneling again. I didn't get far, though, as I realized my great fault. I had filled most of the earth behind me and it cut off my airway. It was freezing this far down and I was lacking oxygen. I was suffocating. I was already sweating and exhausted but not I was truly fighting for my life.

Praying that they were digging after me in the original spot, I start tunneling back up. Going up was far easier than going down but I was already exhausted, physically, mentally, and magically. I had to take several stops, struggling to breathe.

After what felt like an hour, I reached tree roots. I grabbed hold of one and used the last of my magic strength to pull myself through the dirt. I clambered through the dirt and sucked in the fresh air. I frantically looked around, half expecting Husker to jump on me from behind. But he was nowhere in sight. The light rain had turned into a downpour but the tree I was under gave me enough shelter from it.

I looked around for several moment before collapsing against the trunk. I took deep breaths of the sweet fresh air and let the rain drops patter on my face. Had I done it? Were they digging after me or looking elsewhere for my tunnel exit? It didn't matter. I just needed a few minutes to recover.

"Well done."

My breathing caught in my throat. I looked up to see Alastor leaning against the tree staring down at me. His smile was still plastered on his face and the sarcasm was heavy. I scrambled to my feet and backed away from him.

"I must say I'm impressed that you managed to evade Husker but I'm sorely disappointed that you can't follow simple instructions." He was leaning forward enough this he was at my eye level and creeping towards me.

“I'm disappointed you thought I would just stay put like a pet," I returned with heavy breathing. I was so tired. I didn't know if I had the energy to run from him.

He chuckled at my retort. "I knew you would attempt to run. You watched my schedule. You knew I wouldn't be back until later. I know exactly how your mind works."

“Do you, now?" Using my peripherals, I willed the roots from the nearest tree to uproot and wrap around his legs, making sure not to touch him yet. "Then you'll know that a cornered animal fights back until they die." I snapped the roots tightly around him. He looked down and I ran. I was so tired but desperation kept my blood boiling in all my fights.

I used the strong wind and rode it into the sky. I threw myself as high as I could and looked around. It was nothing but trees. No town, no city, no house, absolutely no sign of humanity. I was in the middle of nowhere.

I dropped into the trees and hide among the branches, eyes desperately scanning the ground. I leaned back to sit on my heels but the strength in my arm had disappeared. I lost my grip on the branch and fell backwards, hitting branches on my way down.

I landed hard on my back and felt a crack run through my spine. I sucked in a gasp of air and stared up at the gray sky. I gripped at the wet grass and tried to pull my strength back in. Alastor appeared above me a moment later, smiling down at my paralyzed body. He knelt beside my head so his ugly yellow smile came closer to my face.

"This suites you," he said, "this desperation. You're trying so hard to escape no matter what it does or if it kills you." He pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Unfortunately for you, it matters to me because we share the same fate."

"Fuck you."

His smile lessened slightly. "I'll add another rule for you to follow." He grabbed my throat and hoisted me to my feet. His claws dug painfully into my skin until I could feel my blood soaking my shirt. He pushed me against a tree and leaned in close to my face. I pulled on his wrist and tried not to cough in his face. "Rule number five. Never speak to me in such a way again." He paused. "Words like that are unbefitting for a woman."

"You can..." I struggled to speak clearly, "you can...keep me here but...but I'm...but I will not play...play by your rules." My heart was racing as his grip tightened even more so. He dies if you die. He dies if you die. I repeated in my head.

He let go of me and I fell face first into the ground. I gasped and coughed up spit as I rubbed my throat. "Give it time." I saw his feet walk around to stand in front of me. "I can be very persuasive."

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #soulmates #soulmate au

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wmarximoff · 2 years

Text

(she will always be) a broken girl | w. maximoff

summary: life away from home is good, and you're studying at the college of your dreams; however, your new neighbor is loud, irritating and a person who doesn't respect boundaries. and, also, is your ex-girlfriend from high school, Wanda Maximoff.

warnings: lots of cursing, smoking, drinking, very brief mentions of smut, mentions of physical parental abuse, mentions of homophobia, angst, fluff.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 14k

A/N: and I'm back guys! I hope you guys like this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

There's a thump on the wall behind your head, followed closely by a strident, full-bodied laugh and yet another dry bump, like a deferred hammer blow to a wet rag.

And then an eager conversation that goes back and forth around your head, which turns into lively, intelligible buzzes when muffled by a thin wall, which gives way to another round of drunken giggling like two intoxicated hyenas, as if the competition on the other side of the plaster, pipes and bricks were who could laugh the most without losing their breath first.

You open your eyes, but maybe you just haven't closed them quite yet. Your eyeballs sting as if carpeted by a thin dusty layer of sand that crinkles behind your eyelids, crying out for the sleep that never came, staring up at the white ceiling lit by the bluish luminosity coming from a streetlight outside.

Rolling lethargically to one side in your sheets, half grunting as you do so, your actions are shrouded in a thick veil of torpor; your tired left fingers grope vaguely on the pale wood dresser set beside your bed, and it is after considerable effort all blindly made in the helplessness of your dark room that you finally find the frozen plastic of your phone, that is plugged into the charger socket.

The white glow burns your retinas for half a second when you press the side button with the cheek of your thumb and unlock the screen half a foot away from the tip of your nose. Large digitized thin numbers show the time of 01:19 am. And you wonder who’s the goddamn bastard who would be making so much noise at 1:19 am on a full Monday, as if they were going to demolish the damn wall above your head.

Or a late Tuesday morning, in fact, your drunken brain kind of thinks so. But whatever, nobody cares.

You just know that you need a good night's sleep, and that your muscles are crying out for the much-needed relaxation found in the soft sheets of your bed, something that in the last week has seemed so difficult to achieve even while still inside your own home, your own apartment.

Life was placid, peaceful even, calm in the most acute sense of the word until it found its so fateful epilogue at the beginning of the last week. With the beginning of the college semester came the moving of your new next door neighbor (on the left), from who you don't even know what their face looks like, but who you sure know likes to enjoy life as if every day is the last one. Your healthy sleep has sickened and died on this neighbor's doorstep, so it's likely that each day will indeed be your last as long as your door is next to them.

And it's even odd for you, because your routine has been pretty much the same since you left the bliss of the small Westview, New Jersey (population 6,685), your birthplace and home, to go to college in the big city as soon as you got your high school diploma by shaking the headmistress' hand, three years ago or so.

Your day consists of working in the morning at a coffeeshop that has accepted your meager résumé as a recent high-school graduate and pays just enough to keep you from freezing or starving to death, a handful of classes to pay attention to in the afternoon, and overnight, after a few more hours of work, feed Loki, your grumpy black cat, and study for some upcoming test after having dinner on cereal with milk or instant noodles and drinking a bottle of cheap beer just because you can.

Sleep and repeat, one day after another.

But then it came, as the prelude to the descents of your peacetime; the thunderous beats and the guttural laughs, the intoxicating reek of smoked cigarettes one after the other, and the loud tunes of some distorted heavy guitar in an alternative rock song, engaged in a melodic voice that moans pro-sex and anti-system obscenities (and that actually, you kind of agree with that part).

But that mysterious person behind the wall is like a specter, a ethereal ghost, a foreboding sign that comes to haunt only at night, to torment and keep you from laying your head to rest against your pillow. And you know things aren't quite right with you because yesterday you burned the skin of your own hand by falling asleep propped up on the machine in the process of brewing a big, double espresso for a mean-looking man in a suit.

It's when the sound starts (and gets louder, and gets even louder after that, almost in the form of a rant) that you decide it's enough – the wall swelling with the sounds coming from behind it. Something in you comes undone in a bust, like a pulled thread that snaps in half from the tension at both ends, and the sleepless nights of the last week simply become too much to bear.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me..."

With your right hand you pull your covers to the side, and your bare feet nearly trample a sleeping Loki who's lying beside your bed like a pillow you accidentally dropped, and then you stand up, stretching your legs.

The cat meows in obvious displeasure when being woken up, straining with his front paws, but you just poke him in the side with the tip of your big toe.

“Sorry buddy, but I really need some sleep and this asshole next door isn't helping much.”

Your knees are bare, and your shoulders are tense as you step out of your tiny room into the single hallway, even scrawnier than your own room, and you go to your door, jerk it open, and then, marching like a general, you take about six or seven steps to the left to the side door, where the alternate metal song leaks through its cracks.

You knock once with your bent right fist, moving your wrist joint back and forth, but there is no immediate response and you just want to break down that door like your neighbor wants to break down your wall. Nor is there an eventual answer, when your good manners compel you to expect non-existent cooperation from this noisy stranger.

And you let out a cavernous grunt, plotting a lapse of hot rage inside you, feeling the tips of your ears and the skin of your shoulders smolder like embers.

“C’mon, open the damn door! I know you’re there! You can literally hear the music all the way down the hall, what the hell!”

And annoyance starts bubbling up inside you like magma inside a volcano about to erupt, growing and expanding in size, and then you hit it a second time, and then a third time, and you're barely counting how many times you knock on that damn door until you threaten to knock again (the side of your hand hurts), but then the door opens and your hand hangs in midair, like you're holding the handle of an invisible lantern.

You don't even hesitate to regurgitate, still half asleep and definitely very pissed off, the stress evaporating from inside you.

“Look here,” you begin to wiggle with your chest full of air and your cheeks burning, reciting the speech that has been stuck in your throat for about five or six days, “I know you probably have no idea or don’t care, I don't know which of the two options and honestly I don't give a damn about what you think, but some people around here tend to wake up early–”

And you blink at the figure in the doorway, a young girl with long dark hair who looks to be around your age. And she blinks back at you. And whatever you were going to say next, but the words die and wither behind your tongue, drying up in your throat. And you crease with the flash of skin between your eyebrows, as if you were facing some macabre apparition like in a horror movie.

“Wanda…?” a thoughtless whisper comes out of you that, without an effort, you would never have found actually slipped out of your lips, and not from some other person standing in the hallway that you just didn't see was there.

And it's like an atomic bomb being dropped from the skies on top of a city, because you see her (really see her), gorgeous and tangible, standing in front of you like a memory of your past, and your sleeping, irritated brain beeps and stops when your stomach drops, because your skin tingles as awareness leans over you and you realize that your incognito neighbor is, actually, an old acquaintance from a time you'd rather forget.

A time that you left behind, that you buried six feet from the ground and veiled and moved on after the due period of mourning paid in honor of your adolescence.

And the infectious smile she carries around the contour of her peach lips, with an air of excited laughter referring to a funny story still fresh on her features, fades, withers, and sets to dust when a glint of identification as helpless as yours breaks amidst her emerald irises, adorned by a smoky black eyeliner – the heavy makeup that looks like it was applied a long time ago, hours and hours behind the clock.

The atomic bomb dropped on the city exploded.

“Y/N...” she whispers your name, trying to understand, scrunching up her dark brows, and something in you breaks, “What are you... what are you...?”

“Wanda?” a male voice calls from behind her shoulder, intertwined with the sound of loud rock and the sour scent of cigarette ash, “Who is it? It’s late.”

And such a voice, to your deepest misery, is recognizable to your ears as if it were part of a second nature cloistered within you, of course – you would never forget the light chest, the quiet contentment that carried you during your days of youth, when you were part of the school's literature reading group and the debate club. Her shy smile and his voice carried by his native Eastern European accent.

Your onetime girlfriend, and your former best friend, the immigrant neighbors who moved in next door to you during your freshman year of high school. And you remember kissing her open-mouthed in the backseat of their father's car (by that time she already tasted like cigarettes and tears) and drinking hot beer with him behind the local gas station.

“No fucking way, Y/N!”

Pietro Maximoff is the one who calls out your name, passing his twin sister and almost bumping into Wanda Maximoff's left shoulder, who is motionless like a marble statue, as if her soul has left the shell that is her beautiful, (but) empty body.

And wearing nothing but a plain skinny blouse and sporty shorts that do nothing to cover your bare thighs, you feel suddenly exposed in front of the pair of siblings who should have stayed far away, buried in your past along with all of Westview. You don't want them to see you.

You don't want her to see you.

“Dude, what are the chances of us finding you around here, huh? It's been a long time, what the hell! And we are neighbors again, just like before!” he kind of chuckles to himself at his own line, his accent already faded, “I mean, Wanda is your neighbor again. But hey, are you here for college? I remember you got that approval letter! NYU, right?”

“Yes, I...” you whisper, half babbling, blinking sleep and shock out of your lingering brain, “I... yeah...”

You look at him, who has now grown a beard around his chin and bleached his short hair to a platinum silver tone, once the owner of streaks in a profuse coffee-brown color like the pretty hue that adorns the long beams on her head (he seems to be more of a man's bearing than a boy's per se), and your troubled gaze migrates towards Wanda, who is the only one of the two Maximoff twins who truly comprehends the core of your dazed silence, matched by a remorseful look that she hides behind her hair as she turns her chin appallingly to the side – because she knows, you know, and he doesn't.

He never knew. Nobody ever knew. She made sure no one ever knew.

Just as no one ever knew you ran off with Pietro in the middle of the night to drink cheap beer and eat cheeseburgers behind the gas station, no one ever knew you kissed the taste of red-filtered cigarettes on Wanda's tongue in the back of their father's car.

ᗢ

“And why did she break up with you?”

It's Yelena Belova who asks you the very next morning, your coworker and classmate alike, a friend for life, as her elbows work back and forth with the wooden handle of the wet mop that slides across the linoleum flooring in one fluid, continuous action, because today is her day to mop the floor and only tomorrow is yours, according to the appointment on the calendar adjacent to the staff room wall at the back of the store.

The two of you wear polo shirts on your torsos and similar aprons tied around your waists, the pieces arranged in the same shades of black and green and, behind the glass counter, which in turn has an array of sweet and savory to go with a cup of coffee, you growl lamely, like a grizzly mad dog that doesn't want to let go of the tennis ball in its mouth.

It's still fifteen minutes (and counting) before the store opens to a new wave of morning clients, and you just don't want to talk about your ex-high school sweetheart so early in the morning, even after a long sip of fresh coffee. Not after seeing her before you, (still as stunning, as enchanting, still as detestable as she was almost three years ago), in a dreadful revelation that the noisy, irritating, maddening neighbor, all this time, was just Wanda; an ex-girlfriend behind the door who distanced you from her.

But Yelena looks at you with keen amber eyes that gleam with insistent curiosity, pushing you over the edge, and your cup of coffee with shots of warm milk suddenly looks more interesting than your blonde friend who mops the floor under her feet.

“Homophobic rich dad, 'it's not you, it's me', stuff like that,” you mutter grudgingly from behind your drink, before shrugging your shoulders as if in a bogus performance of indifference.

“I mean, at least that's what she told me. You know, by text message. Three damn days before our senior prom, when everything was ready for us to go together. Just a single text message of four, five lines, whatever.”

And you take another sip of coffee, which even though it's soft against the milk, now feels as bitter as a crumbling lump of earth against the face of your tongue.

“Ouch,” Yelena exclaims in a falsely offended tone that smacks of laughter, “What a bitch.”

“Don't even tell me,” you muss, not being able to mask the wrath still pulsing in your tone, staring at the dark plastic lid that covers your paper coffee cup, “Just one hell of a bitch.”

“But hey, strict rich dad and mean teenage daughter, huh? Such a cliché.” She still mops the floor as she talks.

“Yeah, I guess,” you take a sip of coffee, “Erik Lester, Lehnsherr, any shit like that, whatever. He's a businessman, does something involving magnets, I don't know. All I know is that he has, like, a lot of money.”

Yelena mutters in agreement even though she has no idea who this much-hated father figure is, silently indicating that she is setting the stage for the continuation of your speech.

“She only met him after her mother died when she and Pietro were about ten years old, when they had to leave Sokovia. And like, the guy is a real asshole, I won't deny it, and he and Wanda never had a good relationship from what she told me and from what I've seen and heard, either. Sometimes I could hear his screams through my bedroom window.”

And you remember her crying, so beautiful and so broken at such a young age, the makeup smeared around her eyeballs that glistened in stinging tears, a black thread of eyeliner trail running down her ever so sharp cheekbones her as she crept out in your bedroom window, into the comfort of your arms or into your fogged-up car, searching for cigarette smoke through the desert streets of the small town, during the nights lit by the neon of streetlights and headlights.

And then, in a rather bittersweet mental parallel, you realize that you could never sleep properly while in the presence of Wanda, who is a nocturnal animal, a source of red energy – like a dream that came to torment you, disappearing along with the first cracks of sun to rise in the morning.

“I always thought she did those things – the clothes, the music, the cigarettes – to piss him off. And she did, yeah. He was very pissed off about all these things. The two were always up in arms in that house. But if there was one thing she was afraid of, it was that he would find out she liked girls. She was terrified of coming out to him. So she didn't come out to anyone. She didn't… she never assumed me to anyone.”

You gird your lips in a straight line, ending the sentence in a den of resentment that weighs heavily on the tip of your tongue; both your forearms braced on the clear face of the counter's reinforced glass, the half-full coffee cup placed in the space between your wrists.

“I thought that because we were together for the entire senior year it was going to work out, you know, me and her.”

Yelena looks at you from behind the counter, and there's an air of pity that envelops her facial expression, but that you prefer to just ignore as you focus your gaze on the rings that line the length of your fingers. Wanda wears these too.

“That thing we had, even if it was just between the two of us, it all felt so… right. So natural. Like, we were going to graduate and leave, weren't we? There was no reason to give up like that. It was me and her. Just the two of us. But then... then came the time for the prom.”

You sigh, as in a vicious memory. For a minute your vision threatens to cloud with smothered tears, but you blink them back from your eyelashes.

“And she freaked out and ditched me. Went with that stupid Jarvis Stark guy, an English idiot, son of Erik's business partner or some shit like that. And, well, I left town after that. Moved on. And now here I am, making coffee for rude people who barely look me in the face and having to deal with you bothering me all morning.”

Your voice is teasing, wrapped in a mockery that befits the goofy grin that breaks at the corner of your lips, and the young blonde girl half-laughs at you, swinging her high ponytail to back of her head.

“And now she's your noisy neighbor. Call it romantic.” Yelena reminds you in a voice full of petulant innuendo in an irritating retort, raising her thick, dark brows to the middle of her forehead.

You grunt against the plastic lid of your coffee cup.

“Ugh, please don't remind me of that right now, I don't want to think about it anymore.”

You can almost feel the heavy, dark bags under your droopy eyes, the sleepless nights weighty on the bones of your spine – but the young blonde woman smirks, having stopped mopping the floor for a good few minutes now.

“I'm pretty sure that would make a great plot for a low-budget romcom, if you ask me. One of those twin actresses could play her in the movie. She kinda looks like them, doesn’t she?”

“Yelena!”

“But it's true!” your friend laughs at your earnest displeasure, “But hey, maybe you can sneak into her apartment for the night and make her make it up to you for the prom. Or those sleepless nights, if you know what I mean.”

You blink in lethargic action, looking towards her.

“I swear I'm going to spill coffee on the floor you just cleaned if you don't stop pissing me off, Belova.”

ᗢ

The empty, hard blue plastic laundry basket rests against the right side of your hip bone, slithering against the waistband of your baggy, light jeans as you descend step by step on the concrete stairs that lead toward the laundry room in the building, located on the underground floor of the condominium residence.

The weight of the tiring day of flawed sleep still weighs on the muscles of your back, but you know the neighbors will nag like macaws if your laundry spends another day that takes possession of the washing machine again.

But it's late at night, past ten o'clock, so there's no one to be found in front of the sextet of washing machines that are still side by side against a white wall, like cars parked in a large parking lot. Your sneakers bounce against the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor as your left index finger presses the face of the switch, turning on a half-eerie, icy white light that flashes once and then stops right above your head.

You move without circumlocution, nonchalantly, walking toward the middle machine, and open the circular hatch to take out your now-clean, though damp, clothes.

But along with your clothes, you notice, with a curious and uncertain look, that there seem to be other pants and shirts that don't actually make up your wardrobe – in a way, such pieces don't even match your personal style, and you certainly don't remember putting them there in the first place.

Just take a single pair of tall black cotton socks between your fingers and something catches your eye, like a candle burning in the dark. Your eyebrows crease in the middle of your forehead, like a big question mark.

And, with the tips of your curious left fingers, you make your way to the hollow interior of the large domestic appliance to pull out, from inside, a thin red lace panties like the petals of a rose that is certainly not yours, hovering with the tiny piece in front of your eyes in midair – but you soon know whose it is when you realize that you already know that lingerie, the identification hovers like a crimson fog in front of your brain.

“For fuck’s sake...”

It's a beautiful piece that you bring close to your face to check, a cotton adorned with well-crafted details in the fabric and that, in the past, would be nothing more than purely sexy, which would incite libidinous feelings that would spark into the your chest and between your legs; but something in you inflates, bursts and goes flying, because you know whose alabaster thighs are from which you yourself have already taken those same panties, only to head towards the center wet with liquids of pleasure.

And you squeeze the damn red lace between your fingers, in a fist shape, like you're choking a chicken's skinny neck. A gust of hot air is expelled between your nostrils like steam coming out of a factory chimney.

So you turn on your heels and march toward the stairs, your cheeks burning in a snarling amalgamation of smoldering shame and volcanic rage, and six flights are a blur that burns your calf muscle as you walk hard to the second floor of the building, crossing the empty hallway in evenly spaced footsteps, like a guided missile aimed at the door next to yours on the left.

The shiny metal of the numerals “1” and “9” attached to the center of the oak wooden door is what most attracts your solicitous attention when your closed fist knocks just above the handle; the round piece, large and gold, like a Christmas ornament the size of an apple or a clenched fist, you still holding the red garment in the palm of your hand placed to the side of your hip encased in the waistband of your jeans.

When footsteps are heard inside and Wanda comes to open the door, this time with her pretty face cleansed back to its natural state, devoid of the characteristic heavy makeup she usually puts on, it doesn't surprise you at all that she has a lit cigarette tucked between the fingers of her right hand, which has fingernails lacquered with a sober black polish that has peeled off the neatly cut and sanded ends.

“Y/N, what do you– do you have any idea what time it is, damn it?! It’s almost midnight!”

“What time is it? What time is it?! Look who's talking, for God's sake!”

When you brandish it with your hand, the underwear wobbles and it's only then that you remember that you still have it in your possession, and that seems to be able to irritate you even more.

“And is this yours by any chance?!” Holding the thin red strap just pressed between the tips of your forefinger and thumb, you lift the panties up to her face.

There's a curiously surprised frown in a flash of white skin between her dark brows, a light of disagreement circling the jade green of Wanda's eyes as they gaze at the underwear presented to her by you.

“What– what do you think you're doing with my panties, you creep?!” The accusatory tone in her voice, curled in thick cigarette smoke, is enough to pop a nerve in your neck.

“Creep?!” you whimper in thunderous rage, “I’m the goddamn creep?! You’re the one who put your underwear to wash with my clothes, you’re the creep in this whole situation! You creep!”

“What–?” Wanda looks at you like you're just insane, going into a snarky defensive pose, “I–I didn't do that!”

“Oh, of course,” your voice drips with angry sarcasm, “Your lingerie just decided to come out of the other washing machine and into the one I'm using. Seriously, Wanda, you've been better at lying before, I swear–”

“Look Y/N, I may have been confused, but I just moved here–”

“I don't,” your voice rises to match hers, ending whatever now-finished excuse that would come out of Wanda's mouth, “I don't wanna fucking know. I don’t care! Just– just take this and please don't bother me anymore!”

And there's barely a window that takes in the time it takes for the young woman with the jade eyes to plan with her brain an answer so her mouth can modulate it to you, because you crumple the red garment against her chest hidden inward the worn material of a loose-fitting band shirt that had faded to a tawny gray (that she had once sworn it was black), before turning around and, without giving her undue satisfaction, you head back toward the stairs that lead to the lower floor.

But you're barely ten or fifteen paces away from her door before Wanda's voice echoes across the hall, reverberating through the walls into your eardrums, through your muscles and your bones.

“Very mature, you asshole! How fucking old are you, five?!”

And you're just done dealing with her shit.

“Fuck you!” you bark like a shot in a game of table tennis and, without looking back, lift your elbow to your ribs, holding up the middle finger of your right hand for Wanda to see and take offense.

A shocked gasp comes from afar, but before she can even respond to you in a burst of rather naughty insults, there's the click of another door that opens at the end of the hall, and a third surly neighbor appears in a guttural rage as he engages in an unseemly bickering with Wanda ("It's late, shut the fuck up!" and "Go mind your own fucking business!" is the least that reaches your ears) while you, in full of silence and without giving much thought to the exchange of sharp curses between the young girl and an old gray-haired man from apartment sixteen, just turns the corner and walks down the stairs, trotting back to the laundry room.

Your right foot in your white sneaker taps arrhythmic to a distressed beat on the checkered linoleum floor, as you wait for the dryer to drying your clothes, your unflinching gaze staring at the silver device as it emits a round hum, your forearms interlaced down your chest, pressed against your rib cage, your shoulders stiffening in a recurring muscular tension from the episode of anger still fresh in your body.

When carefree footsteps echoes down the stairs, you don't stare toward the door of the laundry room because you only know who's approaching when the uncompromising scent of tobacco, smoke and strawberry moisturizer catches your nostrils, prompting a fearless grunt and an avid eye roll on your part.

Wanda carries a red plastic laundry basket with her, and doesn't exchange a word with you as she takes her clean clothes from the washing machine you've just used.

“It was a mistake, you know.”

For a moment, you think she's talking about your relationship. After all, it makes sense to imagine that this assumption is correct; your relationship with her was indeed a mistake, you know and imagine that she thinks so too. But her voice comes in a few seconds within the silence interspersed between the groans of the dryer machine, and she seems even half embarrassed as she doesn’t look directly at you, prickled into an almost intelligible thread.

You remain in terse silence as she gives it another try.

“It was an accident Y/N, that's all.”

But there's not a single answer that comes from you, and you don't even fix your proud gaze on Wanda, even though, with your nerves already chilled and your head clear away from the drowning fog of anger that seemed to have caught you in blind rage, you have realized that you have been quite unnecessarily rude to your new neighbor, your old lover.

“What do you want me to say, huh?” she claims your gaze, staring sideways at your profile, “That I'm sorry? Even by a stupid accident? All right, look, I apologize. I’m sorry. Now can you at least look at me, Y/N?”

But no, you don't look at her. And her shoulders sag in a sure sign of defeat.

When the machine finally dries your clean garments that smell sweetly of a softener pleasing to the senses, you pick them up, fold them, and place them in your blue hamper without uttering a word to make your actions light. And, walking behind Wanda carrying the basket on your hip, nonchalantly as if the girl in the cherry-red denim shorts were just an intangible ghost, you leave the laundry room—her gaze burns into the sore muscles of your back as you do.

ᗢ

Your nights are spent listening to loud music and smelling of toasted tobacco, and it's been a while since you've been able to watch TV anymore because of the loud noise from the neighbor next door. Maybe she's playing a tantrum, maybe she has no idea how life works in an apartment complex. But even Loki is more skittish by the lack of sleep that prompts his already grumpy nature.

The long scratch mark that grows angry red on your right forearm, towards the inside of your elbow, says a lot about how you and your cat have been having a rather toxic relationship on the feline’s part.

The early afternoon is engulfed by a partially warm climate, with a mild temperature, but even so, you chose to grab a sweater from your hanger, just before leaving the house early enough not to run into Wanda in the hallway, as had happened on a few unfortunate occasions since then – once when you went to meet a Thai food delivery boy and she was taking out the trash, and another time when you were leaving for work and she was arriving from whatever she'd spent the night before, looking a little woozy as she tried (and failed) to unlock her apartment door.

Carrying your backpack on your shoulders, your elbows tucked into your ribs and both your hands raised, squeezing the outline of your fingers adorned by a handful of silver rings through the dark straps. You walk in measure with Yelena's footsteps, who treads to your right, dressed in a stylish yellow flannel coat crisscrossed with gray and white stripes, and Kate Bishop, the tall girl with dark hair tied back from the of her head, who comes close to your left shoulder – the three of you heading towards the classroom befitting your third period Wednesday schedule.

“Man, I can't believe Nat actually became a cop,” is what Kate says in an indignant tone, addressed to Yelena.

“I mean, like, she's your sister, you know? And you’re so– so, so politically engaged! Besides, you are Russians, you should know about these things! Isn't your dad like, an anti-cops die-hard communist or something?”

“That literally says absolutely nothing,” Yelena answers her crookedly, wrinkling the skin on her nose, “Your mom is a goddamn CEO and yet you don't see me charging you about all the capitalist shit she does in her office.”

“But is different!” Kate exclaims back, almost offended, “My mom isn't like, that Howard Stark guy or something. She's just—”

“Rich,” spits the blonde girl, “She’s rich. She’s filthy rich. So yeah, she's kinda like him.”

“It’s different!”

“It's no different, Kate, I'm sorry,” you finally say to the girl in the purple blouse and ripped gray jeans, who just grunts in a pained, giving up response.

But it's when you turn the corner of a hallway that Kate turns to you with a certain air of curiosity that hovers over her actions.

“But hey Y/N,” she calls your name, and you turn your head towards her deep-brown eyes, “Is it true?”

“What exactly is true, Kate?” you blink in confusion towards her.

“That a crazy ex of yours moved in next door to you.”

One of your eyebrows rises in dubious ambiguity. You don't remember saying anything to Kate concerning Wanda, nor your disastrous relationship with the said Sokovian girl.

“How...?” but your train of thought soon traces towards Yelena, your confidant who lately is so close to Kate, who is also unnaturally quiet beside you, “Wait, did you tell her, Yelena?!”

“W-what? Sooner or later she would find out about it!” as the blonde girl shrugs her shoulders into the fabric of her yellow coat, you let a disgruntled grunt escape your lips.

Great, you allow yourself to think in an exhausted mindset, that's just great. What you most needed now is for people to know about your intimate life.

Not that the young Bishop heiress isn't a dear friend of yours, but it just so happens that you've only met her a few months ago, and it's not customary for you to open your heart to someone you're not so close to – for example, Yelena herself, who you've known for almost two years only became a close figure of your in the last eight months or so spent in each other’s company.

“I mean, everybody kinda knows that now...”

Kate says in a tiny voice, but it's not low enough to go unnoticed by your hearing or, for that matter, even by Yelena's ears, who scolds the other girl, exasperating a loud “Dude!” that echoes through the entire hall.

Your hands certainly yearn to strangle your friend in the coat who walks close to your right shoulder, to squeeze her neck which is adorned by thin and stylish chains in a good taste for fashion, but your fingers are content to just hold on enfolding the backpack straps that circle your shoulders, as your chin turns toward Yelena.

“Who else did you tell it to, huh?” but when the silence is lasting, your patience that is already running short insists on pressing the girl with the white backpack, “Who else knows about it, Yelena?”

“Well,” she starts, a little embarrassed, a little hesitant.

“Like, first of all, in my defense, it's not my fault you're an antisocial weirdo who doesn't go out to drink with us! But you know how it is, we went out with Natasha and Peter and Kamala this weekend and we went to this Irish pub that I keep saying you'll like, and I may or may not have had a shot or two more than the usual and, well... they started asking about you, well... and shit happens.”

“Shit happens,” you repeat in a half-tired, half-incredulous tone of voice, “Shit happens, sure.”

“Sure,” she repeats, before quickly adding a few more names to the list, “I mean, that Quill guy from the football team showed up with his girlfriend too, and Carol arrived later with Maria and Darcy, and then one of them called Jane and Brunnhilde, and then—”

“Ugh, okay, I get it, please don't continue,” you grunt, squeezing your eyelids together in pain, suddenly feeling several eyes turning to you as you cross the hall on a walk of shame, “Everyone knows.”

“Yeah, kinda everyone knows, yeah,” Yelena's tone is soaked in contrite agreement, and she shrugs her shoulders that carry the straps of her white backpack, “Sorry, dude.”

“No, it's okay,” you force plastic optimism out of your mouth, imagining that if you say it out loud the words will come true, “Everything's perfectly fine.”

Over their shoulders, Kate and Yelena exchange a worried glance.

But a few minutes pass after such a conversation had passed through the halls of the university with the other two girls dressed in the yellow coat and the purple jacket, and you can barely get your brain to focus on the mental activity of understanding the words uttered by Ms. Harkness's mouth, who dramatically cries out to the entire class of thirty or forty students as she gestures in a Shakespearean manner with her hands, waving her thick, long brown hair back and forth as she does – she was always a dramatic type, despite her genuine sympathy for students of her liking.

And even later that day is when you find yourself in the cafeteria's bathroom, rinsing the soap foam that lathers your palms under running tap water, when the door of a booth on your right opens, and you hadn't even realized there was anyone else there but yourself.

And your rib bones feel like they want to rip through the tissue in your lungs as you look up from the sink, only to realize that the figure in the open red sweatshirt and black miniskirt is Wanda, heading for a sink next to the left to the one you use to then squeak the record between her fingers and start the action of washing her own hands of matte black enamel nails.

You just want to blink and realize that it's an illusion, a mirage, a product of your twisted mind that hasn't been sleeping well and that you're certainly thinking too much about her, who is now your neighbor.

But she doesn't go away even as your eyelids open and close, once, twice, three times, and a hot, tangled thread rises from the muscle of your shoulders to the outline of your neck, crisscrossing your cheekbones and the tips of your ears.

The prickly anger that bristles your skin is like a hard, prickly grip around your throat, and a lump of flesh and gall weaves inside your larynx. The tips of your clipped nails scratch the palm of your left hand a little harder than necessary; the girl standing next to you is like a spark, and you are like a haystack.

And the ember burns loudly, almost even emanating smoke from the top of your head, as the melodiously unassuming voice in her usual low pitch echoes through the floor and the tiled walls.

“There's been word out there that your crazy ex moved in next door to you, did you know?” says Wanda, still looking at her wet, soapy hands.

You try to bite the words before they come out, but it's inevitable that you'll respond in the same tone.

“And what are you even doing here to begin with, huh? Have you become a stalker or something? That's kinda sad, even for you.”

And she half-laughs, which causes the blood in your body to leak to your head, but also to other rather unwanted locations in your lower organs.

“People have the right to study at this university. It's not all about you, Y/N,” you rub your hands together harder, “I mean, unless it's about your crazy ex. Then I think it's about you like, for real.”

And your tongue is quicker to rise to the roof of your mouth than your brain is to censor whatever it is you're about to regurgitate in the form of an insult, when the quick response comes in a reactionary backhand to the girl with the jacket of a deep shade of red like wine.

“Well, those rumors aren't even true. Because, you know, to have a crazy ex-girlfriend I would need to have had an official, public relationship, and as far as I can remember, I've never had that with anyone,” your saliva is bitter between your teeth, “So I don't think I need to worry about these rumors. It’s just gossip that everyone will eventually forget, anyways.”

You turn off the faucet on your use and Wanda does the same to hers, but neither of you moves to dry your hands or even head out of the bathroom. She looks at you instead, but you only find your own exhausted eyes in your reflection in front of the mirror placed on the wall in front of you.

“So you didn't have anyone,” Wanda says, her emerald irises fixedly contouring your jawbone, “After me.”

The thread of anger stretches from your stomach to your heart, and you still don't look at her as your curled fingers grip the oval edges of the white porcelain sink. She doesn't deserve satisfaction from you; after all, if you were never officially a couple, if there was never a title before the promise, it's all her fault, it fell on her, it starts and ends with her.

“That's literally none of your business,” you mutter under your breath, but you kind of hesitate a bit as she takes a step toward you in her biker boots that wrap around her ankles clad in a pair of black high tights.

“You didn't have anyone after me. Besides me. Did you, Y/N?”

And you turn your nose towards her, only to find a pair of verdant irises that lie dark as moss, a kind of possession that weaves through the abyssal dark puddles that are her dilated pupils, and the black smoky eyeshadow makes her retinas glow like two gemstones reflected by a beam of light in a darkened room.

Wanda is like a black hole that draws you into a dangerous magnetism, engulfing you like a supernova explosion.

And something primal inside of you kind of likes that, kind of craves for it, for her monopoly over you, for the exclusivity that's been maintained since the last time you two saw each other, three years ago, back in your hometown. Secretly you wonder if she hasn't had anyone else after you either, and you kind of hope the answer is a big fat no.

After all, if you're still hers, she's still yours too.

“Has anyone else ever touched you like I did?”

You swallow hard, the inside of your throat hardening when as close to her as you are, your shoulders deflating a little into your dark sweatshirt as the scent of strawberry moisturizer and toasted tobacco clogs up your nostrils, spilling Wanda's red into your bloodstream. She looks like an animal ready to devour you and you're not sure if you're going to let her do it or not, but you tend to think that yes, you will.

“Has anyone else licked you on the corner of your mouth before actually kissing you, because they know it turns you on?”

You swallow the still air in your throat.

“Did anyone else run their hands down the sides of your neck before holding your hair?”

She takes a step toward you, and you take another step back.

“Has anyone else,” her voice is a low, dangerous whisper, “Bitten the side of your rib before they went down on you? With their tongue slow and soft at first and accelerating as your moans get more desperate when you ask for more?”

You want to kiss her. Your hands tingle to cup the sides of her jaw and pull her face down so your lips meet in midair, and she kisses you the way she knows you like. As you've done before, as she once wanted. But then you remember why you hate her as much as you want to kiss her, and it's like a reality check. And a new gust of angry air ignites inside your chest.

“It's none of your business, Wanda,” you finally say through gritted teeth, steadying the bridge that connects your intense gazes. You are annoyed and turned on, and you just know that she will always be your undoing.

“And I don't owe you any fucking satisfaction. I don't need to remind you that it was you who broke up with me via texts, do I? You're the one who dumped me, not the other way around. I don't owe you shit.”

A guilty hesitation crosses her gaze, which taking slashes of blame, quickly turns away from you to stare at the sink pipe on the right side of your hip; Wanda seems to shrink a little, wilting, squeezing the folds of her ringed fingers through the single strap of the crossbody bag that spills down her torso.

“That’s not true, Y/N, I… I– I didn’t…” she muss, in a low voice soaked in massive regret, stepping back a step, “It’s not like that, you just… you don't… you don’t understand–”

“I don't understand what, huh, Wanda? I don’t understand what?!"

Your voice rises an octave, and something stuck inside you for the past two years, like a bottle of champagne that pops a cork, just starts to flow, pouring out of your chest in a loud, painful confession and just so, so purely angry.

“That you got tired of playing with my feelings and decided to finally be the perfect little girl your father wanted you to be? That you decided to pose as a straight girl for one night, hanging on that jerk Jarvis' arm to be the perfect couple with a bright future after graduation? That all our plans, our confessions, our dreams were nothing but a hobby for you, a toy to play until you got sick of me and threw me away when you just felt like it?”

She looks on the verge of tears, her waterline glistening in crystalline pools of liquid embarrassment and her bottom lip threatening to quiver, and you barely notice when hot strands of bottled up feelings begin to leak down your cheeks, dripping towards the contour of your chin.

“Because if that's what I don't understand, then yeah, I really don't. I don't understand how you had the courage to be so coward to hurt me and break my heart in that mean way, when the only thing I ever did for you was take you in, Wanda! I took care of you! I listened to you, I dedicated myself to you, I gave you my heart, I fucking loved you! And that's how you repaid me, because you're a walking fucking problem and nothing will ever, ever satisfy you!"

And there's a sharp, deafening silence that follows after that, rumbling in your eardrums. And a veil of reality falls both over you and her; after all, whether indirectly or not, at no time had you confessed to Wanda that in a way, even with the immaturity worthy of late adolescence, you loved her as much as was possible at that time.

She looks hurt by your words, her eyes a gloomy, sad green, her hands tightening on the strap of her bag. And even if you've spent three long years believing that you really wanted to harm her, once you've done it, you don't feel the way you should. It's not satisfactory at all, because it hurts you too. It hurts so, so much.

“Y/N...” she whispers, but there's nothing more to say after that, so your name just hangs and dies in the air around her.

You pant, inflating and deflating heavily with your chest as if you've just run the course of a long marathon. And she looks at you like a shy child who's done something stupid, and it only takes one blink for a drop of black makeup to run down her pale, sharp cheekbones, the green of the irises now as bright as the grass in the spring pastures or in Botticellian paintings.

Her tearful face should feel like your masterpiece, not your leading lament.

“Wanda, I…” you whisper, wanting to say something you don't know, wanting to undo what you've already done, “I... I didn't mean..."

She seems to take a gulp of air to part her peachy lips and start a whole new sentence when the bathroom entrance door opens and an agitated group of chatty girls enters, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere established between you and Wanda. You look at her who doesn't look at you.

With the back of your hand, you quickly sweep the tears away from your own cheeks. And, picking up your backpack that is on the floor, placed next to the sink, you brush past Wanda and head towards the door without saying another word to the young lady in the red sweatshirt, who looks just as broken as you do.

All you have to do is turn one corner to the thick tears begin to pour down the warm skin of your face.

ᗢ

The movement of warm-weather morning firstfruits is a little slow, even still, with the occasional businessperson in a suit or tired student stopping by to enter the store before the clock strikes nine in the morning, to resort to the necessary high doses of caffeine and only then can start their day with a temporary and bogus simulation of a burst of energy.

And it's when Yelena says something about needing to use the restroom, when there's no customer to attend to or even a soul sitting at the tables just to use the free WiFi, that you decide that checking a few emails in your phone's inbox will do no harm to your start of the day.

After all, you've already scrubbed the damn mop on the floor so much that the linoleum now looks like a mirror under your feet, and you've changed three times the napkins that didn't really need to be discarded and changed.

And you know well that you did, though, to take your mind away from the memory of the night before; of the loud, heavy music blasting through the dividing wall of your room with Wanda's, in a failed attempt to stifle the sobbing cry of the neighbor apartment, who kept your brain alert throughout the night, until tiredness won over by the fatigue of your muscles (or maybe her muscles first), allowing the both of you, so close and yet so far away, to fall asleep together, at the same time, each thinking of the other as you lost consciousness.

A few minutes pass, however, before the distinctive tinkling of the small bell above the front door engulfs your attention away from your cellphone screen, and your rehearsed speech of welcome comes almost as an involuntary response that fills your mouth, before the most genuine of smiles slip through the pulp of your lips as braided ginger hair comes into your field of view, clasped in a heavy, handsome leather jacket.

“Nat, hi!” you greet her, Yelena's older sister, and she smirks as she walks toward you from across the counter.

You always liked her and she always liked you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Natasha looks around as if scanning the area, before turning her piercing green gaze back to your face, never missing the tiny smile on her full lips, hands shoved in the back pockets of the dark jeans that she wears around her toned legs.

“Yelena left you here to deal with those grumpy people all alone, huh? That suck. Guess I'm gonna have to rap her knuckles for a change.”

“Nah, it’s okay. She went to the restroom,” you smile, “I guess.”

“You guess, huh?” Natasha raises an orange brow, “Well, it must have been. She was never good at holding her bladder, you know? I mean, seriously, there was this time when we were kids back in Ohio where she was playing on the slide and then my mom—”

“Hey, don't you even dare to start it!” Yelena's voice comes from the back in a protesting exclamation, before the young blonde girl appears, tying her leaf-green apron around her waist.

“And may I know what you're doing here, huh? Don't you have, like, cop stuff to do around, officer? There must be some kitten stuck in a tree in Central Park or some sucker in a manhole in need of help.”

“I think this is a fire department thing,” you comment, and in return Yelena blinks in disbelief in your direction.

And the older sister lets out a lame giggle through her nose, expelling a gust of warm air through her nostrils.

“I was passing by and I decided to come around just to annoy you, 'Lena” says Natasha, half-laughing, prompting a roll of the eyes on the part of the youngest sister, “But I'll take the opportunity to ask Y/N to make me an espresso. You know, her coffee is really good.”

And when Natasha's voluptuous gaze falls on you, the corner of her lips twitching a little, there's a pang that nudges your stomach and makes your lungs inflate and deflate with warm air evaporating off your skin.

Natasha is a few years older than you (and therefore also more experienced), and you are well aware that she is a very stunning woman, who is constantly enveloped in a simple aura of sensuality, which spontaneous flirtation seems to be like a second nature to her. And it feels good, it's really warming to know that someone like her looks at someone like you in such a way. Even if, deep down, your brain is aware that your heart doesn't beat for her, and never will.

“For God's sake Natasha, the coffee is made by a damn machine, literally every time it's the same thing,” Yelena mutters crookedly under her grumpy breath, “Just get a room, damn it, this is a public place.”

“Come on, 'Lena, you don't need to be jealous,” and you know it's now nothing more than a sibling bickering, a healthy petulance that ends up trapping you in the middle of the situation that leans towards comic, “You're the lucky one who has to see Y/N every day, not me.”

And you take it easy, barely able to suppress a round of giggles when Yelena looks like she wants to jump over the counter and kick her sister in the face.

“Listen, get the hell out of here, go away! Go! Go! Go! You're not getting no fucking coffee anymore—!”

But the entrance bell jingles a second time as the glass door opens and someone enters the establishment.

And the second time is worse than the first, because all you need to do is glance over Natasha's left shoulder and a pair of emerald eyes other than the rookie cop's eyes connect with yours, like a knot tied in mid-air, two magnets that attract and repel each other. The soft smile plastered on your lips begins to fade and then disappears into a dry line and a wisp of skin between your brows.

And you just can't believe it's Wanda who's there, like an obsessive spirit or even an obsessed stalker, even though your apartment is just a block away from the coffeeshop, even though there's a cozy bookstore across the street and, if you hadn't paid so much attention to Natasha, you would have noticed the blood-red dress, so delicate against the imposing black jacket; the clothes dressed in the familiar silhouette that had entered the store on the sidewalk opposite your work environment.

“Such a psycho…” Yelena muss for only Natasha to hear, but you do the same and believe Wanda does too, because she looks hesitant as she gazes at your uniformed friend, standing beside you behind the counter.

You blink, and so does Wanda, still standing in the doorway.

The atmosphere that sets in is palpable, and the two sisters, then aware of your unfortunate situation with your neighbor-ex-girlfriend-not-really-a-girlfriend, exchange looks that only two people with a connection like theirs can exchange.

And then, you turn your stiff shoulders toward the coffee machine, stepping away from the compact glass counter, “I–I'll make your espresso, Nat.”

The clatter of the machine seems to be deafening when the silence is thick and even the sound of a penny falling to the floor would echo through the entire store, and the sudden sour smell of coffee sends your stomach into a wave of nausea you don't quite know where it's coming from, but it's here to stay and, in such a way, you feel like you want to cry.

The acerbic regret of harming her still eats you into your muscles and your bones.

Fitting the lid on the tall clear plastic glass, you place the drink across the face of the counter, in front of Natasha, who gives you a complacent look, in a green so different from the green that stares at you from behind her.

“Here it is,” you say in a rather mechanical voice.

Natasha takes her wallet from the back pocket of her tight dark jeans and places a bill that exceeds the stipulated amount next to the glass, holding you back with her hand when you get her the change. Everything is very vague, and the cozy, playful aura that once enveloped the three of you left the store as soon as Wanda opened that door.

“See you later, sis,” Natasha says to Yelena, who stares at Wanda like an angry guard dog, before turning back to you, “And you… take care, honey.”

There's a deliberately deferred squeeze of the red-haired woman's hand by the delineation of your own fingers caged in rings, and even as Natasha turns onto her back, her single long red braid slipping between her shoulder blades hidden inside her leather jacket, pouring along her spine, you know she shoots a hard look at Wanda, who flinches as she passes close to her shoulder – even though the two of them have never touched, it’s as if Natasha has bumped her shoulder against Wanda’s.

The temperature seems to drop, and the Sokovian girl takes a step forward, toward the counter – her dark hair looks beautiful even in a messy bun on top of her head, and you really have to hold back before uttering that compliment out loud. She doesn't seem to be sleeping well, and even layers of dark makeup can't hide the bags under her tired eyes. You thought it would bring you some kind of comfort, but really you just want to hug her.

"Can I help you?" Yelena is the one who takes the initiative, even if her hard tone doesn't at all befit the implications of her rehearsed store clerk phrase.

"I..." Wanda starts, opens her mouth, closes it for a second and then opens it again, "I was going to order an iced tea, but now I... I... Y/N," she then looks at you, “Can I talk to you? Please."

No, you want to say, not at all. I'm ashamed that I said those things to you. But Wanda's gaze is as intense as Yelena's. And you let out a lame sigh, squinting in disbelief towards your own thoughtless actions, before turning to your coworker who is next to your left shoulder.

Fuck it.

“I'm gonna… I'm gonna take a break,” you announce, before returning your gaze to Wanda, who seems to hide gratification beneath the hesitation in her eyes.

Yelena, on the other hand, seems pretty discredited with your words.

“Dude, it's like eight-thirty in the morning,” she reminds you, “And you're going to spend your break time with… this?”

The tone is displeased as she looks at your ex high school sweetheart, who then just looks away. You just shake your head in embarrassment.

“Yelena, please, just… please,” you look nonsensically tired at the young blonde in uniform, “Not now.”

And Yelena looks like she wants to say something, but she stops before she does, because looking from you to Wanda, two restless spirits, two broken bodies, she understands. Something about her understands, even if she doesn't like what she understands. And she shakes her head, following your figure that goes around the counter after untying your apron and, shadowing Wanda closely, just leaves the store behind you.

The bell jingles up from the door.

ᗢ

Leaning against the brick wall of the alley beside the cafeteria, a cigarette smoldering in its blazing tip, breathing in puffs of smoke, Wanda stares silently at her own feet—her faux-leather boots dark, tall, and worn. You, leaning against the damp wall opposite the one she leans in, watch her and look away every time she tries to engage her eyes with yours. It's like a game where whoever speaks first loses, and you and Wanda are just too competitive to let go.

You know there's no need to wonder why Wanda's sudden arrival has upset you so much, still a little remorseful for your explosive outburst in the university restroom as you are; but even as displeased as you claim to be to yourself, you also feel, in a way, happy and exultant, a comfortable lull warming the inside of your chest that you kind of really try to fight against, but it's a losing battle and you know it.

And, as engrossed in your own head as you are, you don't even notice the red specter that, like the devil himself, looks your way as if she might rip your soul out of your chest, the strawberry scent wafting through the alley with cigarettes that only Wanda Maximoff can squander.

With your hands tucked into the back pockets of your dark jeans, you just say nothing towards her.

“Do you... want a cigarette?”

Her voice catches your attention, but for a few seconds, you find yourself bereft of words that are capable of responding to it. When you lift your chin to look at her, though, both of your dark gazes are linked together in a single train of thought, Wanda too hesitant, you too uncertain.

She, with dark makeup, has the nicotine stick between the pulps of her profuse lips, and you watch her through the whole process that unfolds through her smoking the cigarette; you notice when her mouth is parted to receive the smoke, revealing flashes of white, opalescent teeth, and you also notice how a thin bed of glossy gloss ends up smearing the yellow filter, like a midnight kiss exchanged before imminent death.

Wanda blinks playfully at you, still waiting for an answer, her lepidopteran eyelashes fluttering in mascara, before leaning her head toward your gaze. Her sudden proximity shooting lightning bolts to your stomach, because now the alley seems so tight and her soft skin feels so touchable.

You stare at her for a few seconds, pupils dilated in a vortex of darkness, before shaking your head as you move your neck from side to side.

The thick smoke leaves Wanda's peach lips not long after you do. And then you remember doing it with her, cigarette after cigarette, between kisses and touches, the moans engulfed by dawn in the dark corners of Westview, where no prying eye could have realized that you loved Wanda Maximoff.

“No, thanks,” you raise your right hand hesitantly, “I stopped a while ago. I was starting to run out of breath to just walk up the stairs.”

You think she knows that you only started, years ago, because of her, in order to impress her, to be able to approach her the night you visited her house because of Pietro and, not knowing how to properly initiate a conversation with a pretty girl, you asked for a cigarette because you once saw her smoking behind the bleachers; she knows you never liked the taste and that you coughed more than you held the noxious smoke into your lungs and lied that you liked it, prompting an avid wave of laughter from her.

Then she shrugs, resolving to herself that she won't press the point. For a few minutes, present is the silence erected between you like a massive wall. Wanda puff on her cigarette, and after that, you sigh.

“You wouldn't order iced tea,” you say in a neutralized voice, “You've seen me in uniform before, in the hallway. You know I work there.”

And she kind of laughs, unsurprised, through thick cigarette smoke.

"Well, I do. But I really want an iced tea, just so you know,” there's an air of good humor in her speech, even as her icy eyes gaze at the floor between her boots.

The silence descends again for half a second, until it's pierced once more by you.

“I'm sorry, by the way,” is a semi-whisper that crosses the alley, “For the things I said to you in the bathroom that day. Or the things people are saying around about you. It's been a while since all that shit happened and it's not… it's not fair that you're being held accountable for this teenage bullshit. Breakups... breakups happen, I guess. You weren't obligated to stay with me.”

She looks at you, her eyes glowing the color of guilt-ridden jade.

“But I didn't have to break up with you in such a shitty way, also,” and then, a sigh comes in a cage of smoke, “I… I think I deserve some of your treatment. I'm the one who should apologize. It was stupid of me, it wasn’t… it wasn't right what I did to you, Y/N.”

You compress your lips into a line because you know it's true, but you don't want to start a new intrigue right after finishing another one.

“Well, you could have done it any number of ways that would have been better, in fact,” you shrug, “But we were seventeen, Wanda. I was an idiot, you were an idiot. And I understand it was hard for you, you know… with Erik, and stuff.”

The mention of her father's name seems to make her shift uncomfortably in her clothes, the dark jacket that covers the short dress of reddish fabric seeming abruptly cramped and exposed as she seems to shrink in on herself, lifting the walls that have kept you away. And then she smokes, closing her eyes, like she used to when he made her cry.

You see the smoke coming in and out of her pearly mouth, and you feel kind of nostalgic to see her like this, so vulnerable and transparent, feeling everything but saying nothing.

“Yeah, it was really hard,” there's an eerie tone that creeps into her voice, the moss green of her gaze seeming to carry a baleful hue, “But it wasn't fair that I just threw all that shit at your back every time that I was sad. But… that's in the past, right? It's no longer a problem I have to deal with, let alone you."

And she doesn't seem to want to talk about it anymore, so you don't bring it up again. A car passes on the street and a dog barks at a bicycle rider. When the cigarette she smokes finally runs out, she stubs out the butt against the brick wall and lets a limp sigh escape her nose.

“I think I'll go home now… I don't want to take your break time anymore,” and she smiles, albeit minimally, “Your tired face on me is starting to make me feel guilty.”

“Does that mean you're going to stop listening to Deftones all night long? Because that’s kinda depressing,” the air of laughter doesn't escape you, and she shyly lets the smile grow on the contour of her lips.

“Well… at first it wasn't on purpose, but then I just kind of kept doing it to get your attention,” she scrunches with the skin of her nose, “On second thought, it wasn't my best idea. Sorry about that. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Fine,” you smile small, even if that still won't make your morning tiredness go away entirely, “I'll charge you more for your iced tea and then we'll call it even, Maximoff.”

“Are you still going to get me an iced tea?” Wanda looks in your direction and, a little awkwardly, you nod.

“You want one, don't you?” you look at her, “Still like black tea with lemonade?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “Yeah, I do.”

ᗢ

The taut muscular tension radiating from the top of your spine fades along with the heavy bags of skin under your eyes, and the days gone by become bearable, even pleasant, as the weeks that follow as a result of the conversation and the apologies exchanged between you and Wanda.

In part, of course, you suppose your light mood is related to the fact that there is no longer a sound of drums and guitars that seems to want to breach your bedroom wall, once sleep is invited back to inhabit your bedding, cradling you in a necessary embrace that is only undone again when Loki bites your foot because he's hungry in the middle of the night. As if the recurring spark igniting within your filled chest could even be overlooked, anyway.

You then have the luxury of unconcernedly greeting Wanda with an exchange of affable smiles for the expected times you bump into each other in the hallway of the apartment complex you live in or the campus of the university where you both study, and now and then she goes to the coffeeshop where you work during her free time in the afternoons, carrying with her some excuse to buy an iced black tea with lemonade to sip along a classic book you know she likes to read.

“Hey sucker, you're drooling. Stop looking before I report you for public nuisance.”

Yelena mutters beside you as you find yourself staring at the girl in the black miniskirt sitting so charmingly at the table in front of the cashier, who then looks at you in a splash of emerald-green irises over the top of the hardcover book, allowing herself to hide a slight smile behind the full pages.

The skin on your cheeks and the tips of your ears glows in deep pinks when you tell your co-worker to “shut the fuck up”, because you just know there's no way to look away from Wanda's pale, exposed thighs that are draped over each other down the table – her kneecaps slightly turned toward you, almost as if purposefully put in that position just for you to look at.

One night when you came in from yet another extra shift at work, Wanda was having a hard time getting the key in her door while she had bags slung all over her forearm extensions, and you immediately helped her carry the groceries into her house, being then rewarded with a can of cherry Coke (her preferred drink), and a small peck ghosted on your left cheek that felt like an electrical charge against your epidermis, stirring something up inside you.

You exchanged your phone numbers later when you asked her to feed Loki for another extra shift and gave her your spare apartment key to do so.

Yelena, of course, made fun of you for grinning so kindheartedly when the notification came in for a photo of Wanda holding Loki against her lap like a grumpy little baby, but you just didn't bother to care about your best friend's continuous teasing that went on until late of the night. The following afternoon, Wanda sat with her tray on the table with you, the Belova girl and Kate during your lunch period at the cafeteria.

“Oh yeah, Y/N was part of the debate club when we were in high school,” she says with her cheek resting on her open right palm, prompting a good-natured eye roll on your part, “It was cute.”

“I bet it was, indeed,” Yelena replies, in a voice filled with hints of mockery, her mouth full of chewed apple, “So cute, little Y/N!”

“Dude, just shut up,” you grumble awkwardly from behind your glass of orange juice.

“I bet you guys were a really cute couple though,” but when Kate says that, drinking from the straw of her grape juice box, the atmosphere around the table is a little weird.

You and Wanda look at each other, and it even amazes you when you see that she can't help but express a reserved smile that goes far back, back to her adolescence.

The succeeding weekend, when Pietro came to the big city to visit his sister, he didn't accept less than a drunken company in your presence, which, according to him, would bring back the flame of the good old days; and it was late into the night, when the young boy in the bluish blouse (the brown roots of his hair sampled in the strain of dyed gray locks, cut short) pointed an accusing drunken left finger that trekked from you to Wanda and from Wanda to you.

“You know, it's a shame you two never dated back in high school,” he grumbles, before tucking the neck of his beer bottle between his parched lips, “I always thought you guys were, like, super alike. And Wanda kept saying she thought you were super hot, Y/N, seriously, it was super annoying!”

There's an incredulous grunt on the part of the twin girl with the creased brow and gauchely twisted mouth, who's sitting opposite her brother's, as she spits the cigarette smoke out of her nostrils instead of down to her lungs, tapping the ashes into a hard ruby-color metal ashtray placed in the center of the coffee table in front of you, amidst a heap of several empty beer bottles and leftover bread, hamburger and fries, the junk food now all cold and withered.

“Shut up, Pietro!”

Her voice is loud as the shyness that rises red across her pale cheeks, making her look younger and more innocent behind the dark makeup and lank hair. And you, sitting like a physical barrier founded between the pair of siblings, just take a sip of your own cold beer, sinking your body a little deeper into the dark linen sofa that smells like Wanda.

“Come on, Wanda, you’re always nagging that you're gonna die alone or whatever that emo shit you keep saying, so date Y/N instead! She's a great catch!”

“Pietro, I swear to God that I actually will fucking murder you.”

She looks like she's going to explode. It's almost funny in a certain way, but you don't allow yourself to laugh, so you just drink more and more of your beer.

“Y/N,” he moves to you in a drawl and, in a silence that connects your mouth to the mouth of the bottle, your hooded gaze turns to the boy’s piercing blue eyes, “Date Wanda. C’mon, date her! I know your type, I know you have a taste for edgy girls–”

“Seriously, just shut the fuck up!” thunders the younger sister, who is promptly snubbed by the older brother.

“Don't act like it's not true, Wanda! Back home it was always “oh, but Y/N is so pretty”, “Y/N is so cool”, “Y/N's sneakers are stylish”, “Y/N eyes are so–”

But before Pietro can continue in a monologue about his sister and how much she always noticed you, his speech is interrupted by a pillow of reddish fabric that flies close to the tip of your nose only to then crash into his forehead, causing him to spill beer all over his shorts.

But it's a few days later, maybe another weekend or the start of another Monday, that Wanda's wide television, which flashed on her screen an old black-and-white American sitcom that you know is to her taste (who appreciates classic literature and old series, nostalgic for a time when she never lived, something she says came from her mother) is the only thing that clutters the apartment like some source of light or sound, which meet the two of you, both of you snuggled up on her dark beer-stained couch.

You don't have anything to say to each other, but even so, the atmosphere is comfortable and domestic because Wanda, with a sudden abundance of coziness surging into her bubbling core, has her head exhaling the scents of freshly washed hair reclining on your shoulder, your arm in outline of her body pulling her close to your right side, chuckling along with her in innocent humor when some goofy character trips over a piece of furniture or a banana peel.

On the coffee table are a couple of cans of Cherry Coke and an empty red ashtray. You don't know when you two ended up like this, but there's no complaint on your part, and certainly not hers either.

When an alacrity chuckle escapes through the parted crack of her lips, her scalp approaches the underside of your nose and you feel the sweet aroma of strawberry shampoo, which is enveloped in a full-bodied cigarette smell that causes a wave of nostalgic clamor disperses through your bloodstream.

And she knows you like it, because her fingers curl against the hem of the blouse you're wearing on your hunched body on the couch, nails tinted in a sober black nail polish deferring a continuous, circular caress against your lower belly, close to your belly button, dangerously close to the zip of your pants.

“Y/N,” she calls out to you, in a low voice that comes with a background of laughter from an old-time television audience, “Did you really love me back then?”

You look at Wanda, whose head has slipped to fall to your chest, in the warm embrace in which you have captured her. She looks up, now bare of her makeup, in a modest shade of green that shines in the black-and-white lighting that radiates from the television. And in that bonded midair, with the sting of her gaze burning into your irises, you move your chin up and down, never dissolving the bond that you've built.

“Yes,” is a sigh, “Yes, there was a time when… when I loved you. When I really loved you.”

You say, as if you still don't love her. As if you wouldn't be able to break your own bones only to have her there again, lying in the comfort of your arms that salute so much for the outline of the warmth of her body glistening the red color against your bristling chest.

Wanda, for her part, stops with the deferred caress against your lower stomach, shifting her watchful gaze toward the glowing television screen.

“I loved you too, you know,” her body moves closer to yours, “I really loved you back then.”

"Then… why?" your speech can't help but emulate the reactionary question, which comes like thunder, hitting the back of your throat, "If you loved me, then why...?"

Her muscles, even beneath the rock band shirt she wears and the black miniskirt that adorns her hips, strain against you. She knows it's about the prom night, about the abandonment. Your tone isn't furious, but rather, just infested with a genuine curiosity that turns out to have a background in faded hurt.

“Those people,” she mutters between ragged breaths, “The rumors… he would have known. Erik, he… he would have known.”

“We were going to get out of that town, Wanda,” your voice is low against the top of her ear, “I had nothing else to worry about. I didn't care if any of those bastards were going to judge us—”

“It's not about the judgment, Y/N,” she interrupts you, her voice a whisper, after an empty, unfunny chuckle, “Fuck, I couldn't care less if someone was going to judge us. It's not like no one ever judged me for the trouble I got myself into or the shit I did back then, anyways."

And yes, she has a point. If there was anyone at Westview High who would be regarded as the black sheep, a hopeless cause, it would indeed be a young Wanda Maximoff. And then, your frown creases across your forehead. You don't know where she's going with this information that is nothing short of new to you, but you are willing to listen.

“It's just… I told Erik about you. Well, about you and me. On prom day,” your stomach drops as your grip increases the deferred pressure on her left bicep, through the cotton of her shirt, “And then that idiot hit me.”

Her laughter is not matched by yours. A sudden fury that takes over your bones makes you want to punch Erike Lehnsherr in his damn jaw. Wanda has always been the keeper of a sour humor, drinking from sources of cynicism, but this time you weren't able to escort her into a bittersweet joke.

“And I found out that stupid Pietro opened his big mouth and talked about your acceptance letter from NYU,” your gaze falls to the top of her dark-haired head, “And it turns out he had an influential acquaintance inside there. Do you know Professor Charles Xavier?”

“The bald guy who’s always wearing that ugly suit?” you ask, and Wanda nods, between another chuckle. The barely perceptible flicker falling over it indicates an onset of suppressed crying you've seen before.

“Erik, he,” she sniffles, “He said he was going to end your life. And I always knew, I– you wanted so badly to get out of that town, Y/N. You spent that last year studying so hard, you worked so hard for that damn letter… I couldn't let him get away with it, with everything you've worked so hard to achieve. It was your dream, I couldn't, I—”

She gasps against your shirt, in a greedy wave of painful sobs that feel like they want to shatter the bones in her shoulders. And you hold her when she cries, when she breaks down into tears that seem incessant, just like you did before, in your bed at night or in the cold of dawn inside your archaic old car given to you by your father. Even if you also wanted to burst into a painful cry. Even if you want to apologize for all the harm you've caused her in retaliation produced by the bastard who fathered her.

And you see her as you saw her before; just a broken girl in the world, the daughter of someone who didn't deserve to have her in his life.

“I–I just miss my mom so much,” she cries against your chest, sounding so young, so innocent, and so shattered.

You hold her until she sheds all her tears, when the crying subsides, and she begins to wheeze loudly in weary sleep against your chest. It's only then that you allow yourself to cry silently against her hair which, even after so many cigarettes smoked, still manages to smell so good. And you cry for what you did and what you didn't do either.

The bright sun of the pale of the next dawn comes to shine in the middle of the celestial field, somewhat immodic during that particular warm day, in the middle of a sultry and sunny climate.

The wide-open window causes golden slivers of sunlight to warm the top of your cheek, and when your brain finally wakes up, blinking the sleep out of your eyelashes, you feel along with the morning a look burning on your face. And when your eyelids open, it's to reveal Wanda's slightly puffy face in front of you; her eyes half red and puffy from the crying that had put her to sleep, her chin balanced on your chest.

She's lying on top of you, her legs tucked between yours.

“You woke up,” she whispers, like a little child. You smile, still lethargic from the recent sleep in your system.

“I woke up, indeed.”

“Are you okay?” Her tone is curious, full of meaning. A gust of warm air blows between your nostrils, close to her nose that almost touches yours.

"I am. Yes, I am. Are you? What time is it?”

“Early. And yes, I am,” and then, her gaze drops to the line of your lips, “I'm sorry, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Something burns inside you.

“I really want to kiss you now too, Wanda.”

And then Wanda dives toward you, grabbing the sides of your face between her warm hands. And you then reach forward and take her, pressing the commission of your lips against the contoured sleepy-cherry-flavored mouth that could belong to none other than the girl who always had your heart, who moved her body hers against yours. You just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, comfortable in your grip.

A slow kiss, half snooty and sloppy, dissolves, but you hold the air inside your lungs and search for more of her, the red inside her mouth, armed with a soft red nostalgic familiarity contouring your bodies through your lips, being eagerly reciprocated by an affectionate Wanda. Your lips were moved carefully, following an invisible line that dictated you not so reckless actions like a rehearsed act.

The fervent kiss becomes a pacified kiss, and the pacified kiss becomes little kisses that soon fade into serene peace. You feel a forehead press against yours.

Soon, a sly pink tongue slips back into your mouth in search of what is hers, expert and needy. And then, a robust and powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the curve of your jaw, asks you to open your eyes – and Wanda stands before you like a creature out of a dream, Wanda usurps your senses, Wanda pulses inside your veins and on your tongue.

“You're perfect, Wanda,” you whisper hot against the pulp of her swollen lips, “You're just perfect.”

“I love you,” she says in return, and hot tears again adorn her eyeballs, “I fucking love you, Y/N.”

You want to explode, explode in love. Your forehead presses against hers, and she caresses the cheek of her thumb against the top of her cheekbone.

“I love you too Wanda,” you smile, “I love you too.”

She is no longer your noisy neighbor after this.

2K notes · View notes

soundspeachytome · 5 months

Text

dusty and fraulein (shohei ohtani au)

summary: your asshole cat falls in love with your new next-door neighbor and takes shelter in his front porch while displacing his poor dog, dusty, and a whole lot of chaos in between ensues.

tropes: enemies to lovers, next door neighbor dynamics, dog parent x cat parent, fake dating, small town romance, pure, pure fluff and romance only.

word count: 11.2k

this is far from my original writing style but i hope you have fun reading as much as i had writing this! (if there are any inconsistencies, sorry in advance!)

other notes: i had patterned the two characters loosely after lorelai and luke and stars hollow as the town. *swoon!*

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

=================================

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You squint through the harsh back light of your phone and see the time: 8:47 AM. It is barely brunch and you hear loud music and conversation from outside your bedroom window. You pull the covers over your head and try to go back to sleep but the sound of a hammer being pounded on wood disrupts your journey back to dreamland.

It also doesn’t help that your head also feels like someone is drilling it into concrete. For a split second, you wonder why you even let that much alcohol enter your system on a Friday night, and why no one stopped you when you were such a lightweight. You try to remember the events from the night before and then it hits you: you caught your boyfriend–now ex!--sexting with an intern at his office through the messages on his phone. You were not the type to scour through your boyfriends’ phones but it was supposed to be dinner date night with pasta and Sauvignon Blanc when Jack’s phone lit up from the kitchen counter. You were busy preparing cutlery when the phone dinged again. You thought it was important from work and since you had been very open and comfortable with each after a year of dating, taking a peek would not hurt.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

Jack, despite being a successful finance analyst, the smart, bookish type, the one who can compute numbers in his head in about 5 seconds or less, apparently was not smart enough to keep his notifications hidden or at least try and cover them up like a serial cheater would. Not that you wanted him hiding anything from you, but at that moment, seeing the thirst traps and the disgusting follow-up sexts from his notifications bar were enough for you to hurl his precious PS5 from the fifth floor of his apartment building and leave the crime scene with the wine and pasta in tow.

You don’t know what happened after because you left while he was still in the shower, his apartment thrashed, with a note which you left that says, “For the record, I faked all my orgasms during our sexy time. Veronica ❤️ seems to love your *mini* performance though! PS. If you’re looking for your PS5, try looking down from the balcony, asshole.”

Love is a lie, you scoffed. You let the remnants of last night’s hurt consume you for a little bit more and cry under the covers. You cried until your eyes tired, until the weight of your head felt heavier than a bowling ball. You thought about staying in bed for a few more minutes when a boisterous laughter interrupted your thoughts. The laugh was followed by incomprehensible sentences. The voice came from a man probably in his late twenties, deep, jovial and friendly. You couldn’t make out the words from this distance but he sounded like he was giving instructions, volume fading in and out every now and then. Then more manly laughter. You didn’t know why but this person had a distinct laugh that you found very pleasant. You wonder somberly if you could laugh like that again.

You jolted upright and went for the door. You will definitely be happy again soon but first, coffee.

The best hangover fix is a steaming cup of coffee with a plate of bacon and pancakes. You poured yourself a hot mug of coffee and suddenly felt unstoppable, like you’re actually happy, at least temporarily. The pounding in your head has subsided but the drilling from nextdoor hasn’t. You must have new neighbors, the way you’re seeing movers coming in and out of the moving truck parked outside. You tried to catch a glimpse of this neighbor causing all the ruckus but were unsuccessful as the trees lined beside your porch were covering your line of vision. From behind you, you felt your cat, Fraulein, bump her head on your ankles, purring audibly.

“Looks like the new neighbors woke you up too, huh?” She yawned and continued looking up at you.

Fraulein, a female American shorthair of three years, stood around nine pounds with her stocky legs and long, proportioned tail. Her fur was a thick orange coat with faint white stripes covering most of her body. She was nameless when you picked her up from the animal shelter. She was barely five months old at that time and despite being smaller than the other cats, she had snuggled up to you when you reached for a pet. When you scratched her head and heard her purr loudly, you knew right then and there that she was the one for you. She was the friendliest, clingiest and most loveable thing you have in your life, and despite her “orange cat personality” as most people had dubbed, you wouldn’t replace her with anything in the world, not even for your hound dog-looking ex, Jack.

She did a big stretch as you picked her up while you stood idly by the window. As you stared outside, Fraulein’s purring sending you in a trance, you suddenly notice a pair of eyes looking up at you from the front lawn. Those eyes should not be there, and more importantly, the pair of eyes belonged to a dog standing just mere inches from your flowering shrubs, tail wagging. If this dog takes another step, they could ruin the gardenias you’ve been trying to grow.

You step outside and try to shoo the dog away when it suddenly jumps and barks.

“Hey! Get away from my garden!” You try to stay calm as the dog continues to bark and come playfully near the shrubs. Your heart sinks when his paw accidentally steps on the stems of your peonies. You’ve been meaning to pluck them this week so you can replace the wilted ones from your vase.

“Oh my god… Please go away! Shoo!” You desperately waved the dog away but it continued to jump excitedly and roll around, probably thinking you were out there to play. Fraulein, who was still in your arms the entire time, started getting restless and was hissing at the dog’s direction, her untucked claws boring into your skin. That’s when you saw a man, probably over six feet tall, rushing towards the dog. He had thick black hair and the widest shoulders you’ve ever seen.

“Oh my god, Dusty! What are you doing here…” He put a leash on the dog, whose name was probably Dusty, as you have heard, and carried him with one arm.

“I’m so so sorry! I was inside the house and I didn’t realize Dusty escaped from his leash.” His big brown eyes complemented well against his slightly tanned skin. With your obvious height difference, you had to look up at him from a distance without hurting your neck.

“He almost ruined my flowers,” You started to say, eyes still locked in his. If you hadn’t forced yourself to look towards your garden, you would have been sucked into his creamy brown orbs.

You assessed the garden from the mini scuffle. There was a bit of overturned soil from some of the shrubs, especially from the peonies getting the most damage. The stems have been slightly bent, almost breaking from where it stood.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sosososorry! I didn’t mean to–I mean, Dusty’s still young, he’s very playful and…”

“I was planning on cutting them this week, anyway. Your dog has to stay away from my garden, though.” I pointed at the lopsided peonies, almost looking like they have their hands up in the air, waving sideways.

He looked so apologetic that he almost looked like it was his fault. He tightened his grip on his dog, Dusty, who looked so small and well-behaved being cradled by a big-bodied man. Meanwhile, Fraulein has not relaxed one bit after that quick garden mess and had her claws out, clinging to my threadbare sweater.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll keep a tight leash on her. I’m Shohei Ohtani, by the way. We just moved next door, so I guess we’re neighbors now. I’d offer my hand right now, but I’m afraid Dusty would jump out of my grip. ”

Now that you are able to look at his face carefully, you realize that he was fairly handsome. Correctly proportioned face, dreamy brown eyes, and a smile that invited first love butterflies kind of vibe. He was also tall and definitely bulky over that black long-sleeved sweater that was folded up to his elbows. You could tell he dedicates a good amount of time to his body.

“So that explains all this noise so early in the morning.” You say with an almost sarcastic tone of voice. You didn’t mean it and you were willing to forgive them for the morning ruckus but the garden mishap and the mini-heart attack you had for your plants had somehow added to the list of how-to-piss-your-neighbor-on-the-first-day. And you’re really bad at moving past your first impressions of other people.

“Are all cat people always this cranky in the morning?” He commented cheekily, displaying a playful expression in his eyes. This man named Shohei is trying to get to you and it’s definitely working. For a first conversation, it surely is getting on your nerves to be read so openly, and in your own premises, at that.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just an observation. Cat people seemed to be more emotionally charged than dog people.” He said matter-of-factly and continued to smile. He’s handsome but he’s also starting to be annoying as hell. What does he mean by that? Does he want to show off that dog people are better than cat people?

“Well. If we’re going to talk about stereotypes here then I must say dog people are careless people-pleasers who hogs the attention and only cares about being liked and do not give a rat’s ass on taking up other people’s space and boundaries. I’d also offer to shake my hand but I’m afraid my cat right here might scratch your dog’s face for ruining our morning.” You stared hard at him and slowly backed away, returning to your porch steps.

“Nice to meet you, too, I guess! I would suggest chamomile tea and tone down on coffee!” He waved cheerfully, as he exited the lawn and walked towards his home. You turned your heel and slammed the door shut loud enough for him to hear. Fraulein jumped out of your grip and mewed almost as angrily. She darted toward the kitchen and went out of sight.

“What a weirdo… If Fraulein doesn’t like him then I don’t have to like him, too.” You muttered to yourself and moved to the bathroom to take a shower.

You spent your afternoon in the garden, watering and cutting the flowers in full bloom. You wore your oldest t-shirts with a print that says “I Wet My Plants” under your pink square overalls and a sun hat to protect you from the sun. You were listening to your beloved Birdy mix on your headphones as you tended the prettiest flowers in your garden, muting the noise of the world.

I know I was stupid to let what we had go to waste

Why does everything I love always get taken away?

Ghost in the wind calling you to take me home

Ghost in the wind crying, where do I belong?

Can anyone hear me now?

“Can you hear me, Y/N?”

“Agh!”

You almost jumped out of your skin when a hand touched you lightly in the arm. It was Patrick Sandoval, your high school best friend, and sometimes main supplier of Fraulein’s flea medicine. You forgot that he was visiting today.

“Whoa! Extra jumpy today?” he smiled his Colgate-white smile and cocked his head to the side. “Coffee overload, again?”

Suddenly you remembered what your new neighbor had said during your first encounter this morning. Naturally cranky… Tone down on the coffee… He had no idea to be assuming things like that, not when you had just literally met.

“Jack cheated on me and I was hungover, okay?” You grit your teeth through the mention of your ex. Like the stench of his name made the bile climb up your throat. “I decimated his PS5 into tiny cracked pieces.”

“Oh, shit, man.. I’m proud of you.” He put you in a half-embrace and patted your head. “Do you need me to break his legs for you?”

You giggled, arm still locked around his waist. “No, but I took one of his expensive wines so that evens that out for me, I think. I don’t care.”

Patrick looks at you and wonders if he arrived too late today. He notices the dark bags under your eyes and your puffy face, probably a result of crying all night. He wondered if you had been crying all morning, too. He couldn’t help but lean in and give you a full, bear hug.

“Just let me know if you need us to file a restraining order, babygirl.” You snorted and buried your face under his embrace, thankful for the assurance. Patrick has always been your rock since high school. When your first boyfriend ditched you in prom, Patrick was there to rescue you when he wasn’t initially supposed to go; you ended the night with stomachs full of pizza, sparkling soda and belly laughter.

You and Patrick had been for each other’s rarest moments throughout adulthood: gushing about your first times, your first heartbreaks, getting into college, graduation… you even wondered if both of you are just teetering from the sidelines, waiting for each other to do the first move. You always brush the thought away because to do that means risking your friendship with him. You don’t want to lose him, not even as a friend.

“By the way, I’m just here to drop these medicines for dear ol’ Frau that you asked.” He lifted a paper bag with a cute animal picture and his pet shop name printed across it. Paw and Order.

“Thanks, Patrick. I could’ve picked them up if you called.” Patrick has been the sole pet doctor in town which contributed solely to his success. Seeing how much people nowadays prefer taking pets instead of bearing children, he took the opportunity to put up his own pet shop and clinic; you and Fraulein have been number one customers ever since.

“It’s my pleasure, milady.” He did an elegant bow, to which I returned a curtsy, and giggled. “I’m also here to let you know that I’ll be on a business trip for two weeks. So this will be sort of my goodbye.”

“What kind of business trip takes two weeks long?” You don’t really want him to leave, especially with the holidays approaching, you had planned to spend it all with him.

“The kind where your father wants you to venture to a new business spot and spend the holidays with him and his new family.” He shrugged and looked at you, hoping you’d stop him from the impending family mess he’s about to go to, but you only scrunched your nose.

“That sucks, man. You’ll miss all the fruitcakes.”

“I know, dude.” He pouted. “How are Frau's fleas, by the way? Did the medicine work last time?”

“Sure did, she’s better now. Speaking of which, where is that old hag?” You haven’t seen her since early morning’s commotion. The last time you saw her she was napping by the window of your bedroom.

“Just call me if you notice anything weird. The medicines should be enough while I’m gone.”

“Leaving already?”

“First thing in the morning, bub.” He said. “I’ll miss you.”

“Frau and I will miss you, too!” And the two of you embraced in another warm hug. When you both pulled back, he helped you pick up the basket of freshly bloomed flowers you had collected for the day and went back inside the house. You had given him the extra jar of lemon iced tea you’ve been saving for a particularly warm day like this.

~~~

It’s been a whole day that you haven’t seen Fraulein. She usually wanders off hours in a day but she always returns by dinner time. You were starting to worry as the sky slowly turned pitch black. The lampposts turn on, illuminating the streets. You turn the porch lights on, too, and leave her bowl of food and water by the doorstep, in case she decides to come home late into the night.

~~~~

You wake up to a high-pitched yowling outside. You’re not exactly sure where but you know that sound from anywhere. You bolted down the stairs with your sleeping robe undone and ran towards the lawn. You can’t see anything until you hear it again.

“Nyreooow!”

Soon, a dog howls and you run towards Shohei Ohtani’s house.

You see Fraulein perched on top of Shohei’s porch, her entire back arched defensively, ears twitching backwards. She was hissing at Dusty, who was whimpering loudly below the porch steps and looking terrified. In your panic, you run to the lawn to pick Fraulein up.

“Fraulein! What are you doing here?”

Dusty continued to bark loudly, trying to come near the door where Fraulein stood. She hissed menacingly at him.

At that exact moment, Shohei Ohtani emerged from the front door, yawning and trying to get sleep out of his eyes.

“Whazhapeninhere?” He yawned, looking clearly disoriented from suddenly waking up.

“Your dog is trying to attack my cat!” I yelled, trying to go near Fraulein but stepped back as Dusty blocked your way.

Shohei popped awake as soon as he heard Fraulein hiss at Dusty once more; Fraulein arched her back more and raised her claws in defense.

“Whoa, hey!” Shohei ran up to Dusty and cradled him in his arms like a baby. Poor dog was shaking and whimpering.

“Are you sure it’s not your cat trying to attack my baby?” He raised his voice. He was standing a few feet away from you and looked you up and down, noticing your loose sleeping robe and looking away.

“Poor baby getting scared by a cat,” He cooed silently, helping Dusty relax.

You walked up the porch when Fraulein hissed and scratched your arms when you picked her up. She wriggled from your grasp but conceded defeat when you scruffed her by the neck, immobilizing her.

“I don’t know what’s happening here, but please stay away from my cat.” You looked at both Shohei and Dusty sternly. He noticed the scratches on your hands.

“You’re bleeding.” He started.

You looked down on your hands and saw visible red scratch marks. They started from the middle of your arm all the way to the back of your hand.

“I’m fine.” You huffed, trying to walk away as fast as possible. You don’t know what time it was, but it could easily be past midnight.

“No, wait. Please, I have antiseptic soap inside…” He rushed towards the house, when he looked back and saw you frozen on the steps, he beckoned you and disappeared inside. “Come on.”

You stood there for a moment and contemplated if you should follow Shohei inside. You barely know the guy and every encounter you’ve had with him always ended in a screaming match or a passive-aggressive exchange. He might even be an ax murderer for all you know. A very handsome one, at that.

“Frau, if something happens to me, please know that I love you.” You held her near your face. “Third drawer by the sink is where I kept all your catnip”. You whispered to her ear and walked towards Shohei Ohtani’s home.

~~~

Shohei Ohtani’s home was, first of all, very clean. It did not reek of anything a dog owner normally would smell like. It had the occasional puppy toys around the living room, but much to your surprise, it was spotless. It also smelled like sweet rose and laundry detergent. You also discovered that just like you, he lives alone.

Shohei had put Dusty inside a retractable gate to keep him safe from Fraulein as you put her down on the floor. He busied himself looking for his first aid kit. You don’t notice any other pictures on display except him and Dusty and one with his complete family on the refrigerator door.

His tall frame reappears and he pulls you towards the kitchen sink. You soak your arms under the water and he hands you the antiseptic soap.

“Thanks,” You mumbled. He never left your side and waited until you finished rinsing off, then took your arm and put cream on the scratch marks. He was standing unbelievably close, you could almost see his long eyelashes as he had his head down, concentrating on his self-appointed task.

He also had his other hand holding you tight, as if to make sure you won’t run off suddenly.

“I have these at home, you know.” You trained your eyes on his fingers dabbing cream. Don’t look at his arm veins, Y/N. Don’t look at them. Don’t look. Don’t.

“Oh, gee. Why didn’t I think of that?” He mused to which you rolled your eyes. Once again, the magic had worn off.

“Do you really have to sound sarcastic all the time?”

“C’mon, lighten up. Besides, it happened on my property so I feel partially responsible–even if it was your cat’s fault.” He shrugged.

You coughed at his accusation. “Fraulein does not instigate fights. She is well-mannered and prim all the time, thank you very much.” You pulled your cream-covered arm away from him. Just then, you notice Fraulein bumping her head on Shohei’s legs, mewling softly.

“How would you then explain the fact where your cat steals Dusty’s bed from the front porch?” He said, crossing his arm, Fraulein on the other hand, was still headbutting Shohei on the legs.

“Oh, she did not.” You retorted. Why would she steal someone’s fray-looking bed when she has her beautiful beige 2-condo tree tower with a capsule nest and dangling balls and a charming basket-weave style oval bed at home? It didn’t make sense. “She only sleeps in the beds I bought her.”

Shohei gives you a funny look and fishes his phone from his pocket. “Well, you’re in for quite a shock, I guess.”

He shoves the phone to you after tinkering with it for a while. “That’s your cat at 30:56 right?”

You look closely, a bit disoriented at what he was trying to show you. CCTV recorded footage of his porch outside where his dog, Dusty, was sitting in his dog bed, playing with his puppy chew ball, when suddenly, you saw Fraulein enter the frame from the left.

“It doesn’t show anything.” You impatiently looked on, disbelief and denial dripping from you.

“Oh just you wait.”

Fraulein was moving slowly, watching Dusty and his toy. A few minutes pass by, the video captures Shohei exiting the front door and Dusty follows him playfully, at which, the dog bed was obviously vacated, and Fraulein took the opportunity to lay on it.

Shohei cops the phone away and crosses his arms across his chest. “The court finds the defendant guilty.”

It took you a moment but gasped dramatically at the realization. “Was she here the entire day yesterday? Napping on your dog’s bed?” You looked at Fraulein with sheer disapproval. “Fraulein von Hammersmark, that is not how female felines behave.”

Shohei stifled a laugh. He was leaning over his stomach and ears red. “Relax. I don’t mind at all. I think Dusty does, though.” He picks up Fraulein calmly and gives her scratches on her head. Fraulein purrs loudly.

“She has been napping here all day since morning and seems to enjoy watching her new neighbor work out in the front lawn.”

You grimaced, making sure you showed him your disgust. “Ew, weird flex but okay.”

Dusty whimpers as he looks at the scene from outside his gate. You walk over and give him a light pat on the head. “Dusty, blink once if you need help.”

“Oh, please.” He giggles. “I’m not the weird one for naming my cat Fraulein von Hammersomething.” Shohei returns Fraulein to you, your arms touching, his head closer to yours momentarily.

“Y/N. I wonder what the weather is on your side. You want to wear something warmer than that?” He pointed at your loose sleeping gown, your legs showing a little bit of your thigh. A little more movement and the knots would dangerously slip out of your waist and reveal your lingerie.

“Pervert.” You instinctively covered your chest and ran back home, arms carrying Fraulein and the weight of shame for being almost half-naked inside a strange man’s house.

~~~~

The next few days after that incident were spent with writing articles for an obscure lifestyle website and your part-time work at the bookstore in town, Novel Nook. You ride a 30 minute bus ride to the town square everyday for work and wait 15 minutes in line to grab a cup of coffee from the coffee shop beside it. It doesn’t feel like work at all because you are always surrounded by the books that you love. It took you a long time to realize that working 9-5 in an office cubicle with ugly fluorescent lighting was deteriorating your mental headspace and when your mom passed, you jumped the gun and submitted your intent to resign.

You removed all the baggage you kept from the city and only brought the ones that mattered to you: your cat, your big books, some pretty clothes you never wore in the city but are wearing freely and confidently now, and your memories of your mom. You flew seven thousand miles back home to the place you were meant to be all this time, and you couldn’t be happier and more content.

You were walking sluggishly back home from a tiring day at work at Novel Nook where two teenagers fought for the last copy of The Hurricane Wars and it took all your energy to de-escalate before they could start pulling each other’s hair. You can’t wait to kick your boots back, hug Fraulein and maybe continue reading a book.

Your house is on the opposite side of the bus stop so you always (almost begrudgingly) have to pass by Shohei’s house every time. Sometimes it would be quiet with Dusty playing alone on the porch, or Shohei having a barbecue and would always cheerfully waving at you while you just give him a brief nod. Recently, you’ve grown accustomed to seeing Fraulein hanging out in his place more often than you have imagined. She’s like a teenage girl rebelling against her overbearing mother, hanging out with the wrong crowd. After that incident with Dusty, she has claimed dominance on his bed, Shohei had no choice but to buy a new one for his poor dog, while Fraulein smugly walks around in her new territory.

You had developed some sort of weird neighbor-dynamic with Shohei after that. On days Fraulein had to take her medicine shots that Patrick had given you, you’d walk towards his house and pick her up like some sort of pet daycare. Shohei likes to call it “daddy daycare” as if you’re two divorced parents and he is the cool dad that all the kids love hanging with while you’re the uptight, overbearing mother with full custody and all, that the kids hate.

“Fraulein, your mom’s here.” Shohei said one day, looking up from his laptop which was perched on the table he had set up on his porch, sitting adjacent to Fraulein. Dusty was chewing on his toy, as usual, and perked up a welcome upon seeing you.

Fraulein stands and stretches her back and sits back again resting on Shohei’s foot, to which Shohei smirks almost smugly. “She loves her dad more, it seems.”

You roll your eyes and pick up Fraulein. “Stop calling yourself her dad before I burn your house down.”

“Ooh, an arsonist for a neighbor. That’s so sexy, Y/N.” He looked you up and down and wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re too cute to go to jail, though. How about going out with me instead?”

“Piss off. C’mon, Fraulein, time for medicine.” You turned and walked back to your home, trying to keep a straight face at the being called cute with Shohei. You’re too cute. You made the mistake of looking back as you turned to your corner and saw Shohei grinning at you.

This day would be no different as you passed by Shohei’s house today and saw Fraulein napping at the exact same place on his porch. He was working out doing ab crunches on the ground. You decided today, you wouldn’t dare to go on another episode of sarcasm battle with Shohei and go straight home. He was wearing workout clothes of course, with his gym shorts and sleeveless shirt, for all the temptations in the world, this one, you had proudly resisted and warded off like the devil.

You found Dusty on your lawn, sitting by the patch of grass far from your flowers, thankfully, and staring far ahead into the direction of your home. You patted him and tried to get his attention. Ever since being displaced by Fraulein, he had been giving you frequent visits and play in your yard and you’d give him treats from your secret stash.

“Hey, bud. Were you waiting for me?” He ignored you and continued to look on.

By the door, you can see a tall black figure standing, unmoving. It was a man in a black suit with hands in his pockets. When he turns around, you see a familiar face.

“No,” You whispered. Jack smiles at you and waves, as if nothing had happened almost a month ago. As if he was just returning from a business trip. Like cheating on you was nothing.

You started panicking and heaving heavily. Dusty senses your fear and barks at Jack when he slowly walks over to you.

Dusty continued to growl and bark at Jack while you tried to move backward, feet heavy like lead.

“Stop, don’t come near me, Jack.” you struggled.

“Y/N, I’m here to apologize, for whatever happened, for whatever it made you feel.” He was still slowly walking towards you, eyeing Dusty carefully.

“We have nothing to talk about anymore, Jack. It’s over, in case you forgot.”

“I said come here, you bitch.” He growled.

At this point, you only realized you were shaking terribly when a hand wrapped on your shoulder, calming you down.

“Are you okay?” It was Shohei’s voice and you have never felt so relieved to hear his voice. You weakly put your arm around his waist and leaned on him. You were still shaking badly, from the exhaustion, or the fear, you couldn’t tell.

“Is everything okay?” Shohei acknowledges Jack who stopped at around five feet from where you were.

“We were just discussing something… private.” Jack shifts his eyes between you and Shohei, who was sizing him up and down. Between Shohei, who stood over six feet tall, bulky, and ripped, and Jack, just around five foot nine, body somewhat lean and lanky, Jack didn’t stand a chance.

Realizing this, you found more comfort and confidence in your plan. You looked up to see Shohei still trying to converse with Jack while keeping a firm arm around you.

“Shohei.” He looked at you cautiously and tightened his grip on your shoulder.

Please promise me that you won’t get mad at what I’m about to do.

“What is it, Y/N? Who is this guy?” he said.

“He’s my ex who I want nothing to do with.” He straightened his back but you pulled him by the neck so you could whisper in his ear.

“I’m so sorry, Shohei.”

“I’m not sure I understand–” He tilted his head in confusion. Jack starts moving forward again, looking almost pissed by just looking at you and Shohei.

With Shohei still leaning forward, you desperately grabbed his cheeks and pecked him square on the lips.

Shock induces both Shohei’s and Jack’s faces when you pull back, eyes focused on Jack and hoping to God he’d get the message. Wild red alarms blared and rang loudly in your head, you just kissed Shohei, your hot and annoying neighbor! You just kissed him! You ignored this and focused on the problem at hand.

“He’s my boyfriend, Jack. Please leave now–”

Shohei recovers from his shock and kisses you back in bigger, wider and longer strokes of his tongue. The tremors in your body shook harder and you felt your limbs melt into a puddle of water. Shohei’s big warm hands were there to catch you as your knees unbuckled.

You kissed back and forgot everything that was happening in the background. Dusty barking, Jack’s shell-shocked face, the vehicles passing by the street witnessing your spectacle. You ignored all of this and focused on the way Shohei holds on to your body from your neck, to your back until it rests to the back of your waist, gripping tight, his firm and taut body pressing hard onto you, and his lips sliding over yours so smoothly, stimulating all the senses in your tongue and mouth.

You don’t know how many seconds passed when you stayed inside that bubble but when you both pulled back for air, Jack was no longer there and Dusty had stopped barking. Instead, he just sat quietly on the ground, waiting for you to finish.

You stared at Shohei and you stared back at him. Your hand was still on his neck, half-gripping the nape. You slowly let go and pull away. It’s always after the sin that you feel the shame and guilt.

He doesn’t let go and instead takes you by the shoulder. “Come inside first and we’ll talk.”

You nod wordlessly and follow his lead. You couldn’t walk properly anyway, so you didn’t want to fight back. Your knees felt like jelly and your brain full of fog. That was hot, you thought, but also very wrong.

You sat at Shohei’s dining table chugging a glass of water. By the time you finished, he sat there in front of you and continued looking at you intensely.

In your post-kiss and post-Jack clarity, you’re now too embarrassed to admit the way you handled that situation. But Shohei, being Shohei, seemed unfazed. For the most part, he found it amusing to be part of your ex-boyfriend escape plan, of all the people.

“A man never listens to a no,” You were too focused on the rim of the glass. You want to look anywhere but Shohei’s mouth. “And I was desperate for him to get away… so I did.. That.”

“Y/N, you were trembling out there. What exactly has he done to you?” He removed the glass from your grip and made you focus on him.

“He… I… He’s an asshole when he gets angry. And I was just scared I wouldn't be able to refuse him. I don’t want him anymore.”

“For someone as arrogant and snappish as you, that’s pretty hard to believe.” You rolled your eyes at him and smirked, lips looking luscious and fuller than the last time.

“Look, I was probably having a panic attack back there, and I’m okay now, see?” You spread your arms widely, faking a smile at him. You’d like this conversation to end so you could run back to your house and ram your head to the wall. The more you stay in Shohei’s presence, the more embarrassed you feel about wanting and enjoying that kiss. You did. You do. And you want more.

“I wanted an easy way out, you happened to be there and I grabbed the moment.” You rambled on. “And that kiss, it was just a one-time thing.”

“A one-time thing?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, it was a mistake. We don’t even like each other to kiss, so we can forget about it.”

“Is that right?” His lips curled into a smirk.

“Yes, tomorrow, we act like it never happened, okay?” You stood up and started collecting yourself. You hang by the door and look back, Shohei had his arms crossed against his chest, staring at you.

“I don’t know, Y/N. That seems pretty unforgettable to me.”

~~~~~

The following morning, you woke up early to visit the farmer's market to replenish your cupboard. You wore black tights over your long beige dress and a gray cardigan. You put your hair down in loose waves today and replaced your contacts with your old prescription eyeglasses.

Sprawled in front of you were tents and tables of farmers and sellers of freshly harvested fruits and vegetables to your heart’s content. Almost everyone you knew from town was there on a bright day like this. You said your hellos and some, who were avid customers of Novel Nook, asked about the new book releases. Since it is a fairly small town, it is inevitable to spot the ones that you direly wanted to avoid. For example, your ex-boyfriend Jack.

He was standing one tent away and seemed to just idly window-shopping. You put your head down and try not to meet his gaze or look at his direction as you busy yourself looking through a good bunch of tomatoes.

“Hey, Y/N.” You put your guard down and suddenly he is in front of you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to… buy some tomatoes?” He sneered, holding a tomato in his hand. “I don’t see your boyfriend around.”

“I…He’s… Can you please stop following me?” Cold sweat ran through your spine as he noticed you fumble, noticing your lie.

“Lest you forget, I live here, too.”

“Not in this side of town, you don’t.” You walked away with the bag of tomatoes you purchased. You moved quickly and avoided the throng of people that was starting to build up.

“I just want us to talk… Y/N. You didn’t give me a chance to explain yesterday.” He continued to follow you, hands behind his back. He was obviously not there to buy tomatoes.

“I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave me alone or I’ll call the police.” You looked at him sternly, hand gripping tightly on the basket you were holding. One false move and you just might smash his head with a whole pineapple.

“No boyfriend to come save you now?” Jack chuckled.

“There you are.” A familiar voice sprung up from behind, and a hand snaked around your waist. Shohei was suddenly beside you, holding on to his own basket of shopping bags. “I was looking all over for you. Look, I got you blueberries for the cake you were planning to bake. ”

Shohei pinched your sides and smiled, nodding at you to play along with his little act. You forced a wide smile and said, “Wow, yes. You remembered, love? Thank you.”

You both turned to Jack who had a repulsed expression on his face. He coughed up and tried to get back his composure, but it was too late as both of you were already walking away. Shohei did not let go of you even until you turned a corner. You couldn’t care less about shopping anymore as you worried about running into Jack again.

“It looks like your ex is adamant on following you around.” He whispered to your ear, looking back and seeing Jack following far behind. “Care to give him a show, love?”

You widen your eyes as you realized what was about to happen.

He moves his head closer to yours and locks you in a wet kiss. He pushed deeper into the kiss when you unconsciously opened your mouth and let him in, mouth and tongue. The smell of clean detergent mixed with a little bit of vanilla filled your lungs, slapping you drunk. The second kiss was just as good as the first.

Shohei suddenly pulls back from the kiss and offers his hand, and continues walking along like he hadn’t sucked the air out of your body.

For a few more tents, you and Shohei walked around hand in hand in the cold morning, picking fruits and vegetables like your typical neighborhood couple. Many onlookers saw the two of you eating from the free taste section, or arguing about the right vegetable size to buy, or just happily chatting with his hand not letting you go.

“Shohei, I think Jack’s no longer around.” You motion for him to let go of your hand.

“Aw, I thought we weren’t acting anymore, the way you were kissing me back there.” He smirks and lets go of your hand, missing his warmth already.

“I’m only letting your hand go because you look like you’re going to topple over with how heavy this basket is.” He took your groceries from you and led the way. Since you’re practically almost living together, you have no choice but to walk with him awkwardly.

“Thank you, Shohei.” You said quietly, walking feebly behind him.

“Didn’t catch that, love. What–” He wheels around and stops himself after realizing what he said, the tips of his ears turning red. You tried to keep a straight face but failed as both of you got caught in the moment.

“Don’t get used to it.” You giggled and skipped your steps, leaving him to carry all the shopping bags he refused to let you carry.

~~~

You were slowly settling down for the night with a movie on and a bowl of buttered popcorn when you heard a faint knock on the door.

Shohei was standing outside with his hands in the pockets of his checkered pajama pants. On his feet seems to be a brand new pet backpack carrier.

“Special delivery for one order of queen of meowtown, clingy and fuzzball Fraulein!” He beamed and pointed at the carrier. Fraulein was sitting relaxedly inside.

“Don’t be shocked or anything but I accidentally bought two of these.” He pointed at the carrier. “I-I thought you’d like to have one for Fraulein. You don’t have to accept it i-if you…”

You smiled as he stammered on. “This looks really cute, I love it.”

Shohei smiled widely and helped push the carrier to your living room. “Then I'll give this as a gift!”

“It would be improper to receive a gift like this...”

“I refuse to accept no, Y/N. Take it please.”

You wanted to mull over it, let it marinate in your head and see what happens but ever since the first two kisses you shared with him, Shohei has been… extra friendly recently. And you were not that kind of “friend”. Whenever you pass his house, he’d go out of his way and talk to you before you walk away. Asking you questions if you’re on the way to the farmer's market, or if you’re on your way to work, if you want to join him for a run. He’s been attentive and you’re not sure what exactly this dynamic has evolved into. You feel uncomfortable about the attention you’re receiving but at the same time, you feel it in your chest and in your stomach and at the tips of your fingers. The fluttering. The tremors and the shakiness of breaths. It’s always there when he’s there.

“Okay, fine. I’ll take it. But no more other gifts, okay!” You opened the carrier to let Fraulein out who walked idly away and climbed into her tree tower.

Shohei smiled, nodding. He was about to leave the door when you pulled the sleeve of his shirt.

“Wait. Um.”

He stepped back and looked inquiringly. You held up a photo from your phone to his face: it was you and Shohei on the day you went to the farmer’s market, holding hands while looking at freshly picked flowers. Shohei’s eyes squinted with laughter, looking intently at you while you were captured trying to explain something trivial. It was quite a beautiful shot sent to you by a cousin who was good at photography. More than that, if you were a stranger looking at a random photo like this, you’d think you were happily in love, and the thought made your chest flutter.

“It’s quite a small town so it didn’t come as a shock to me when people started noticing whatever this was.” Shohei was still looking at the photo, a small smile drawn on his lips.

“My mom’s side of the family is setting up a brunch this weekend. I usually bring Patrick to this but they wanted to meet you so…” You trailed.

You coughed and took the phone away. “It’s just a small group of people. And we can always say we broke up after three months or something.”

He cocked his head, looking confused. “Are we still doing the pretending thing with your family?”

“Yeah, I mean. We don’t like each other like that, right? We can just say it didn’t work out after three or four months. They usually move on pretty quickly from the guys I date.”

“Let me get this straight, Y/N.” He said slowly, the Adam’s apple on his throat went up and down as he swallowed. “You want to introduce me to your family as your fake boyfriend on your family brunch.”

You affirmed. “Yes.”

“And we’re going to cook up a reason to break up.”

“Yes.”

“And you said we don’t really like each other that much.”

“Not one bit”

“When we already had two kisses.”

“Yeah.”

“And went on a date in the farmer’s market walking around while holding hands. We kissed twice.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“It was to me.” He muttered.

“It was because you were helping me with Jack, remember?”

Shohei sighed exasperatedly, his mood darkened. “Pssh, yeah, whatever. Text me the details. G’night.” He scooted to leave and just like that you were left all alone in a confused daze in your living room.

~~~

You spent too much time tossing and turning on your bed that night. The voices in your head and the whispers in your heart having an ongoing debate about what had happened a few hours before.

Shohei was extremely happy, almost beaming like a kid when he brought you his gift but his expression changed after you had the conversation about your family brunch. Maybe you can sit it out this year and make up an excuse that both you and Shohei couldn’t attend? Seasonal allergies? Car getting mauled? Someone’s pet dying? Gods, no. You internally smack yourself for even being near to the thought of either your pets dying, not when they’re the closest thing you have as your best friend and family. You believe Shohei believes that, too.

And why would Shohei become upset when you proposed the idea of a fake relationship with your family? You started this whole mess and it’s slowly getting out of hand, you want to nip it in the bud so it won’t have to hurt that much later on. It was just a one-time thing, an escape plan until Jack gets out of your hair, then both of you can live as freely as you had before.

Besides, Shohei doesn’t like you to be that upset. Does he? He’s just a neighbor who likes joking around and annoying you whenever he gets the chance. He also just so happens to be a neighbor that Fraulein spends a lot of time on, he’s just someone to you until recently.

You touch your fingers on your lips. That kiss shouldn’t mean anything to you because maybe Shohei doesn’t think about it that much either. He’s probably had a good number of girls that he’s kissed with that mouth. Given how good those kisses were, his expertise was undeniably top notch. You’ve never had anything like that before. A kiss that makes your insides tremble with need, almost fairytale like. Something close to what Mia Thermopolis had fantasized before her royal engagement with Nick Devereaux, a kiss that makes your leg pop. That’s what it was. A leg-popping, heart-fluttering, soul-defining kind of a kiss that you’ll ask for more.

But as much as you want this all for yourself like the next person, you just had your heart broken by Jack. Jack who had promised you the moon and the stars, and a beautiful, dreamy, family with your pets. He had you swooning and dreaming about forever. It was all perfect until that fateful date and the cheating. It hurts to realize that no matter how much you love and do better for a person, they will always look for ways to look at other people. The idea of getting into a relationship right away after what happened with Jack is preposterous at this point. The trust and self-confidence Jack broke is something you want to piece together yourself first. Even if it meant being alone for a couple of months, or years. Who knows.

You tossed to your side once again, feeling the sleep finally get to you. You dozed off soaking under the thoughts of kittens and kissing a tall man with contagious laughter.

~~~~

Shohei was filling Fraulein’s food and water bowl dutifully as you had asked, waiting for you to finish preparing for the family brunch in the living room. He had finally succumbed and agreed to go with you as your fake boyfriend, despite his initial feelings towards the arrangement. He still doesn’t understand what was going through your head but he nevertheless had stopped bringing it up. He realized that the more he asked, the more you pushed back and retreated into the dark. He decided that he’d wait for you to soften up. You always do.

And that’s how the two of you went back to being friendly with each other.

He was sitting on your living room couch with Fraulein, brushing her fur with his fingers. Just another territory she had claimed: Shohei’s lap.

“Shohei, help please!” You ran down the stairs, all dolled up. You put your hair down again, this time, you kept it naturally soft and straight. You also donned a yellow sundress that hugged your body, showing off your natural curves. The hems of the skirt go loose from the thighs down.

“Can you help me zip this up, please?” You said so casually. When you turned around and showed Shohei your bare, unzipped back, he swallowed hard.

He held your waist lightly and zipped your back slowly, as if taking his time to gape at the bareness of your skin exposed for him. When his breath touched your neck, you felt goosebumps pop.

“Let’s go.” You smiled too widely for him, trying to act like the oxygen in your house has not depleted.

Shohei was a hit with your cousins during brunch. Turns out that all of them share the same interests in baseball and baseball teams. They were passionately chatting on one side of the garden area while you helped your Aunt Olivia set up the table.

“He’s quite the personality, Y/N.” She mused.

“Wherever did you find a man like that, Y/N?” Your cousin Evelyn commented, staring back. “Woot, what a view.”

You smiled and looked at Shohei socializing with your family. The moment the two of you entered Aunt Olivia’s home, everyone stared in awe. After introductions were made, Shohei made connections pretty quickly with his bubbly personality. You can also hear his occasional booming laughter from their group.

You were on your way to the kitchen when a hand on your waist suddenly pulled you from behind. Shohei led you to the empty pantry and pushed you back to the wall, his hands up on the wall and caging you.

“Hi?”

“Hi.” He looked deep into your eyes, like he was looking for something. “Anyplace in this house, we are pretending, yes?”

“Yes, the moment we stepped out of the car. We are boyfriend and girlfriend.” You confirmed.

“Even here?” His lips shadowed lightly on yours, nose grazing yours.

“Uhm. Yes.” You breathed and that would be your last breath for a while as Shohei kissed you full on the mouth.

He kissed you frantically, with need and fervor. You put your hands over his shoulders and his hands reached the back of your leg, putting it over his waist. You stifled a moan as he bit your neck and peppered your chest with small kisses. You can’t help but push your hips forward and roll it against his.

You broke apart like a deer in headlights when you heard footsteps nearby. You pushed Shohei and straightened your clothes. You wiped Shohei’s lipstick-stained mouth and ran away as fast as you could. Shohei, who was as kiss-hungry and love drunk as you were, could only smirk at your retreating form.

During brunch, you sat with Aunt Olivia on your right and Shohei, by default, on your left side. You were trying to make conversation about the current weather news report while eating your plate of mashed potatoes, all while trying to avoid any contact with Shohei.

He noticed you have been avoidant after the hot makeout session in the pantry. He put a hand on your thigh under the table, pinching it with reassurance.

“Are we good, Y/N?”

You nodded wordlessly and smiled at him. Something about the way Shohei’s attentiveness always hits you to your core. You’ve never felt this so cared for before that it’s almost bewitching.

The party started getting up and divided: your aunts and uncles dancing happily on one side, your cousins taking selfies on the other. Meanwhile you and Shohei were left sitting comfortably by the dining table, enjoying the sweet ambiance of everyone around you.

You held his arm gingerly, almost seductively when you felt his hard muscles from his shirt. A few moments ago, you had almost stripped him naked in the pantry with all of your aunt’s condiments as your audience.

“Why are you so toned? What are you working out for?” You said jokingly, pressing on his biceps in amazement.

“I’m preparing for the next man who tries to steal you.” He leaned in and whispered in your ear. You giggled.

“No one can take me away from you!” You whispered back, resting your head on his shoulder. You were on your third glass of wine and it isn’t noon yet. You feel tipsy and giggly in the comfort of Shohei’s strong arms.

“And this is a toast to our new couple, Y/N and Shohei, may this relationship be longer than the last one.” Uncle Ben bellowed, attracting laughter from the rest of the family. They clinked their glasses and toasted for the nth time today.

You raised your own glass and sipped your wine.

“Don’t mind them, they’re always like that when I bring a guy to brunch.”

He caressed your thigh and wanted to push the button. “Which guys?”

“Hm? Oh just Jack and Patrick. Although Patrick doesn’t count, because he’s my bestie.” Shohei looked at you and wondered who Patrick may be. He felt a bubbling feeling at the pit of his stomach. Is he jealous? Angry? That he wasn’t the first person you introduced to your family. He shrugged it off. This is just all an act, anyway. Get your shit together, man.

“This may be my favorite brunch ever.” You concluded, finishing the last few drops of your wine. Shohei stole the glass from your hand and replaced it with his.

“The weather is perfect, the food is great, all of my mom’s family is here. And I don’t feel alone… thanks to you.” You traced circles on the back of Shohei’s palm with your thumb.

“Why don’t we end this with a bang, Y/N?”

Shohei’s smile invites you to a peck on the lips. He held the back of your head and gently kissed you deeply, slowly this time. You don’t resist and he doesn’t let go. You hear cheers from the background as you kiss softly. Shohei kisses you for the last time today with the hopes that it removes the uncertainty in your mind. That when he kisses you better this time, it would change your mind. He prays to all the gods that would listen.

You melt into the moment and hope it never ceases, because you go back to normal after it ends. After today, you and Shohei will be two separate people once again. And that hurts the deeper parts of you without you realizing it.

~~~~

Shohei escorted you back home after the brunch. You rode in complete silence all the way. You really really didn’t want it to end but you also didn’t want to drag Shohei into a life that you’re not a hundred percent sure of yet.

“Thank you for the ride.” You hung back at the entrance and Shohei waited, hoping you’d say something more. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He sighed. “Wait, Y/N. Is that it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we just gonna go back to the way it was now that you’re done pretending?” He said almost angrily.

��Well, that’s the plan, isn’t it?”

“That’s your plan. I don’t want this to end. Did you ever wonder why I had agreed to it without asking anything in return? Because I didn’t need to pretend at all. It was all real to me.”

You stood there dumbfounded at the sudden outburst of confession from him. You thought Shohei would be more than willing to go back to his old, uninvolved life with you. But he was right. You never once stopped to think why he was more than willing to help you get away from Jack, or to help you lie in front of your family.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking properly when I asked you this…” You blink back tears forming.

Shohei walks up to you and rests his hands on your shoulders. “I don’t want this to end. Do you?”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for all of this, Shohei.” You squeaked, finally finding your voice.

“You’re the most attentive, thoughtful, and sincerest man I’ve ever been blessed to meet. Even I get breathless thinking how lucky I’d be if I let you in…

“This whole fake dating thing was a mess. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my problems.”

“Y/N. Please don’t shut me out. Let me in, I’d go to the trouble of warding off your ex-boyfriend if I need to. I’ll be here for whatever.” Shohei begged. You shook your head firmly.

“I’m not ready yet, Shohei. I loved every moment I have spent with you, but I need to be with myself for now.”

Shohei dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back, his eyes glistening with tears.

“See you around, then.”

You watched him walk away until he disappeared into his home. You closed your door and plopped down on the floor. The tears that you were holding back came gushing out, and finally you were bawling. You didn’t cry this hard when Jack cheated on you but when you saw Shohei walking away because of your own doing, you felt like your world had collapsed. You wept until there were no tears left to cry, until the only pain you have left to bear was the hollowness of what Shohei left. You crawled into a ball by the door, clothes unchanged, makeup running down your face. Fraulein snuggles up to you minutes after, sharing her warmth.

Looks like it's just you and me again, Fraulein.

In the next couple of weeks, you would rise early to tend to your plants, volunteer additional hours in Novel Nook so you could get home later than usual, and avoid the farmer’s market. You added wearing a baseball cap or large hats as a new fashion ensemble to steer away from eye contact at the risk of bumping into Shohei. The thing is, your efforts to avoid him were reduced to nil as you bumped into him everywhere you went. When you throw out the trash as early as five o'clock in the morning, he’d be there, warming up or jogging on your path. When you went to the farmer's market later than usual, he was also there doing after-rush hour shopping. Even administering Fraulein’s medicine time was an arduous task seeing that she still hangs around Shohei’s porch, not understanding your human conflict and emotions towards each other.

There are days when you feel better and the sun is shining, but there are also moments when you catch yourself at the brink of a breakdown. It takes a while for the loneliness to settle in like an unwanted guest, creeping over your shoulder, sometimes hugging you at night. It wasn’t this hard before you met Shohei, so how was it different now?

“All good, Y/N?” You lost your train of thought at the voice of Aunt Olivia. You couldn’t bear the loneliness and the quiet of your home that you packed your stuff and stayed for a week’s worth of vacation. She joined you in the indoor kitchen table, where you were having your mid-afternoon coffee.

“Boy problems?” she suggested. One look from you and she already knew.

“Aunt Liv, how do you know if you’re ready to love again?” You said after a moment of silence.

“You don’t.” She smiled and cupped your hands. “You fuck around then find out.”

She chuckled to herself. “You remind me so much of your mom. She was always scared of trivial matters, like falling in love.

“But when she had a good taste in it, she never looked back.”

Aunt Liv has always been fond of her little sister. Your mom. And hearing these words from her, reminiscent of how she had been when she was your age, twinged at your heart a little bit.

“I’m not the one who’d pry on your relationships, Y/N. But he’s a keeper, that boy. I thought he was joking at first, but he seems to be serious about it.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “What do you mean by that?”

“He said something when I got him alone that day. He’d said, you were tougher than a potato under hot water. But he’s willing to wait for you to soften up no matter how hot it gets.”

Leave it to Shohei to drop potato metaphors to your relatives on their first meeting.

“When a man like that comes around, I won’t ever let him go. You’re lucky if you ever meet the same kind of man twice.”

You pondered on about Aunt Liv’s advice for the rest of the day; by nighttime, you felt an epiphany dawn upon you. The next day, you packed up and went home earlier than you had planned.

“Go get him, bubba.” Aunt Liv wished you luck. You’ll need all the luck you can get and hope it wasn’t too late.

It took you approximately an hour to get home by taxi, the car zigzagging across the street.

You don’t know why you were rushing. He wasn’t going anywhere, not to your knowledge. He will always be right where you left him but something inside you was telling you that a second more that you’re away from home, and you’d lose him.

You were trying to catch your breath as you ran on your side of the street when you bumped into Shohei leaving your front lawn, a pail and shovel over his shoulders.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” He was covered in dirt from the knee up, his white shirt sticking to his body and full of sweat. He looked a little shocked and panicked at being caught mid-exit from your garden.

“I should ask you the same question. What were you doing in my lawn?” You tried to take a peek but Shohei covered your path with his wide body. “Did you bury a body there?”

“I think that’s a good idea for your fertilizer, Y/N!” He seemed a little agitated and making offbeat jokes to distract you.

“Step away. What did you do to my garden?” You pushed him with all the adrenaline coursing through you and jogged towards your front lawn, expecting a murder crime scene or worse, a decaying garden.

Instead, you saw hundreds of tulips in different shades and colors spread all throughout your garden. Purple and yellow tulips lined up the path towards your home. Red and pink tulips danced in the background, swaying every time a soft breeze brushed through.

“You’re not supposed to see it yet. I thought you’d be back tomorrow night.” Shohei said, rubbing the nape of his head, embarrassed at being caught.

“You remembered when I said… At the farmer’s market…” You stammered.

“Yes, you went on and on about how much you love tulips.” You suddenly remembered the photo before the brunch party. How Shohei was looking fondly at you as he listened to you rambling on about something trivial. It wasn’t trivial to him because it was important to you. And he remembered.

You turned around and faced him. You held out a hand and wiped a bit of sweat off of his face. “Did you do all of this… on your own?”

He nodded shyly. “That’s not all, though.” He whistled and called Dusty.

“You’re the most stubborn and one hell of a fiery woman. But you’re also the sweetest, softest, clingiest woman I’ve lucked out on. You’re so beautiful sometimes it hurts. After that second kiss, I knew right away that I’d have to fight tooth and nail for you to keep needing and wanting me."

Dusty bursted out of Shohei’s garden stringing along a reluctant Fraulein scruffed by the neck. Both of them were wearing cute red bow ties on their neck each laced with individual messages.

You pulled Dusty’s message and read, “I want to call you “mom” so will you be my dad’s girlfriend?

You squealed in delight as you unraveled the next message pinned on Fraulein’s bow tie: “I loved him first but can you keep him forever?”

You swooned and laughed at the corniness and the teeth-rotting sweetness. You can’t help but jump into Shohei’s arms and give him a big hug despite all the sweat and grime on his body.

“Ew, you got all your sweat on me.” You playfully joked at the parting.

“Hmm, you have no choice but to shower with me now.” He lifted you by the waist and carried you on top of his shoulders, both of you laughing and shrieking like newly weds on honeymoon, Dusty and Fraulein at your tails.

.This place, this scene, and this warmth spreading through your chest up to your fingertips, all of it and the familiarity of it, you realized, is the only thing you need to live a lifetime of love and happiness. You were wondering where it was all this time and you understand now that it had been right beside you all along.

#shohei ohtani au #shohei ohtani imagines #shohei ohtani pov #shohei ohtani fluff #it's giving autumn girl red taylor's version color grading

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hlficlibrary · 8 months

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HL Fic Library 😎🤓 Popular Louis/Nerd Harry Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

😎 This Offer Stands Forever by Tomlinsontoes / @pianolouis {M, 78k}

Harry is who high school kids would define as a nerd, he loved going to class and studying, he was just good at school work and saw nothing wrong with liking it. He signs up to tutor students at the middle school down the road where he ends up helping Lottie Tomlinson, younger sister to the ever popular and gorgeous Louis Tomlinson who is also a senior and in a few classes of Harry's. Harry might have a crush on him and not so sure how to act around Louis but hopes he can get close to the other boy and learn everything about him.

🤓 Want You More Than A by TheCellarDoor / @donotdialnine {M, 77k}

Falling in love with your step-brother’s best friend is a disaster enough. When he happens to be the boy everyone loves and you’re a nerd who wears sweater vests and cries during rom-coms, it takes it to a whole new level.

😎 I hear you calling in the dead of night by Thelonelycoast {M, 72k}

No one really notices Marcel Styles. In fact, Marcel’s so invisible that if his teachers don’t call on him in lessons - and they rarely do - Marcel can go whole days without speaking to anyone other than his mum, his sister, Gemma, his cat, Dusty and the school librarian, Alma. And if he just so happens to have a tiny, miniscule crush on the footie captain, Louis Tomlinson, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. Until Louis notices him back...

🤓 Webs of lies by Hazzaslittle28 {E, 35k}

"Truth or Dare?" The question was delivered with a nasty smirk from Drake's side,

"Who do you think I am? Of course Dare." Louis scoffs before leaning back and adjusting his skirt,

"Very well than. Your dare is to play Styles for two months until the dance." Louis frowns at the odd dare,

"Why would you- you know what? Okay I accept it. Louis Tomlinson never looses a dare." He smirks sultrily before plucking the cigarette from Drake's mouth and taking a drag out of it.

"Let's see then."

Or The au in which The popular is given a dare to date the nerd, hearts will be broken, words will loose their meaning and tears would be shed.

😎 The Library Universe (series) by @allwaswell16 {E, 33k}

Harry Styles has a great life. He’s a children’s librarian at the New York Public Library, he’s got wonderful friends, and he loves cooking, green tea, yoga, and his collection of bow ties. He doesn’t mind that his life seems a little structured, maybe even a little boring. But when Louis Tomlinson joins the library staff as the new Installation Coordinator, things become a lot less predictable. Louis gets under his skin right from the start, bossing Harry around, making noise during story time, and eating the last cupcake in the staff lounge. Louis may be almost offensively attractive, but Harry will not be succumbing to Louis Tomlinson’s charms, even if the rest of the library staff have.

🤓 Supposed to Be by kikikryslee / @flamboyantommo {M, 26k}

“I’m making a movie for a film competition, and I want you to be in it,” Harry told Louis. “I think you would be a great leading actor in it.” “Why?” “Because it’s you. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know all about the amazing Louis Tomlinson? It would be a great movie.” “You don’t have some weird crush or, like, secret obsession with me, do you?” Louis asked. Harry bit his tongue so he didn’t say “Ew, I have standards.” He didn’t think that would go over well. Of course, that was assuming Louis understood what that meant.

Or, the Geek Charming AU where Harry's a film geek, Louis' a popular jock, and they both need each other to get what they want.

😎 He Was a Different League (When I Was Nothing Much) by @afangirlfantasy {NR, 21k}

Sick of being alone, Marcel is forced (by Niall) to join an online dating app. The idea is well and all, except for the inconvenient fact that he hasn’t moved on from his childhood sweetheart - Louis. If only Marcel could learn to let go, he might actually be able to love again.

Or, an AU where finding that 'someone new' actually leads to finding that 'someone old,' and Marcel is painfully oblivious.

🤓 taken by lust’s strange inhumanity by CuckooTrooke / @larrydoinglaundry {E, 20k}

One of the reasons Harry said 'yes' in the first place was because he believed Louis Tomlinson, the campus’ most notorious “bad boy”, would be here.

And much to Harry's triumph and dismay, Louis is here but the last time Harry got a glimpse of him, he had a pretty omega wrapped around him, clinging onto the flaps of his leather jacket while nosing his scent glands.

Maybe that’s just the story of Harry's life; always infatuated with the wrong people.

OR The one with all the jealous snarling, awkward first kisses and one unforgettable night.

😎 Won't Keep You My (Dirty Little) Secret by @lovelykits {E, 16k}

“I got asked out today,” Louis comments. “Okay,” Harry shifts. “Did you hear me? I said I got asked out.” "You always get asked out.” “Yeah well this time they didn’t believe I had a boyfriend!”

Or Louis and Harry have been together since the end of last year and somehow no one knows about it.

🤓 Kings by dolce_piccante / @haydolce {T, 13k}

Marcel receives an invitation to his ten year high school reunion, which brings up some painful memories of his youth. His lifelong best friend and roommate, Louis, is as supportive and kind as ever, but Marcel still has hesitations. Louis was Prom King. Marcel...was not.

Will Marcel make the reunion a night to remember with his former classmate, Zayn, who is newly wealthy, handsome, and reveals his childhood crush on Marcel? Or will Louis finally realize what everyone else has known all along?

😎 blinded me with sweater vests by veterization {T, 13k}

Marcel really is the geekiest person Louis has ever seen with that gelled hair and that horrendous sweater vest, so it sucks that Louis really, really wants to get to know him.

🤓 A Real Work of Art by @lululawrence {NR, 11k}

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

😎 your heart is glowing (and i'm crashing into you) by orphan_account {T, 11k}

If this were a fairytale, maybe even a Young Adult novel or a chick flick, this would be the moment where Louis would stare right into his soul and whisper, “You. It’s you, Harry,” before pulling him in for a kiss right there and then in the middle of the sidewalk. They’d confess their never-ending love for each other then hold hands for the rest of the walk home, and then they’d go to uni together and become the ultimate power couple of their campus. They’d start a family together a few years after they graduate, find a large house somewhere nice and preferably warm, get two pet dogs and five cats, and then adopt enough children to start a football team. If only men could get pregnant as well, Harry thinks wistfully. He’d love to carry Louis’ babies given the chance.

But. This isn’t a fairytale, nor is it a movie based off the latest YA bestseller. This is real life.

(harry is in love with love, volunteers to hand out valentine gifts for a week, and somehow becomes the football captain's secret admirer.)

🤓 I could give you what you deserve. by larryaresoulmates {E, 8k}

Louis is popular, Harry is his super nerdy tutor. Louis is the only one who's actually nice to Harry despite his nerdiness. Harry has a giant crush on Louis, but Louis has a boyfriend, who bullies Harry behind Louis' back.

😎 Convalescent Boy (with a Heart of Gold) by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {T, 7k}

Just as the professor beginning to mess with his powerpoint, the door at the back of the balcony creaks open and Marcel looks back to notice Louis Tomlinson, The Louis Tomlinson, slip in and take a seat in the very back.

Marcel is starting to feel like his life is a comedy. Only yesterday was Louis Tomlinson on his floor at the library. Now he’s in his seminar. What is happening?

“Hey Mars,” Nick says, not particularly quietly as he leans over. “Isn’t that your crush?”

Marcel smacks him.

Or, the one where Marcel is a nerd who loves to learn but loves to go to theatre productions even more, and may or may not have a long time crush on the lead in most of the plays, Louis Tomlinson. The same Louis Tomlinson who seems to be appearing wherever Marcel is. Funny, that.

🤓 Seems You Cannot Be Replaced by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird {M, 5k}

Harry and the popular boy in school, Louis Tomlinson, share a tension-filled night together when they're young. Fifteen years later they see each other again.

😎 it's kinda hot in here by ballsdeepinjesus {E, 3k}

“Is that a moth on your stomach?”

or nerdy harry is hiding some stuff under his dorky clothes and louis fucks him in a locker room

🤓 Lucky by @friendofhayley {E, 4k}

When Harry had moved from London to New Jersey he had been prepared for bad spray tans and Regina George. He hadn't been prepared to meet the best thing to ever happen to him.

If only he hadn't worn an ugly brown vest covered in cat pee when he met him.

😎 No Matter What They Say by ivorydreams {M, 3k}

It's not that Harry and Louis are hiding the fact that they're in a relationship. It's not them being ashamed of each other.

People just never noticed.

Or the one where no one knows Harry Styles, the 'nerd', and Louis Tomlinson, 'mr. popular football captain', are in a romantic relationship.

🤓 ❤ For Effort by @fallinglikethis {G, 2k}

When Harry Styles lets his team down during gym class, resulting everyone having to run laps, he expects the worst. But the backlash never comes.

Harry's crush, Louis Tomlinson, may or may not have something to do with that.

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reidsbookclub · 10 months

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comfort fic for spencer reid x badass!reader watching one of those ASPCA-like commercials and spencer looks over and reader is BAWLING and he is so confused and yet wants to comfort r. maybe he promises to take her to the shelter the next day or something 👀? thank you <3

2 + 1 = 4?

AN: I’m sorry if this feels rushed. Also yes I know theoretically it’s virtually impossible for it to be the same cat but work with me here please I tried to make the timeline work since this is S1- S2 Spencer

Spencer was in awe of the sight before him here she was crying her eyes out, one would think something terrible and life threatening had happened but no, it was a commercial. Here she was, the person who Spencer had seen just a night earlier take down an unsub all by herself , crying her eyes out because the local shelter would be closing.

“Sunshine? Sunshine someone will adopt them it’s going to be ok” he said in a low whisper trying to calm her down

“But—but what if they don’t? What’s going to happen to them Spence? Will they be homeless—or worse?” She replied in between sobs.

“Ok what if instead of sleeping in tomorrow we wake up early and I’ll take you to the shelter. We can adopt one together—we we have been talking about expanding our little family after all” he said blushing to which looming up at him with excitement in her eyes she responded “now let’s go right now”

Spencer was amused at her child-like excitement “sunshine we can’t it’s 3:30 am” he said giggling.

•

She was the first to wake up, making sure to be ready by the time a half-asleep Spencer finished his coffee.

The ride to the shelter consisted of an excited Y/N screaming Taylor Swift and an wonderstruck Spencer taking in the view from the passenger side.

“I think we should get a puppy” she said, “a big fluffy one with a brown patch in his eye”

“That’s specific” Spencer muttered, and continued looking at our the widow, “ I was thinking more in the likes of a caramel colored bunny”

“But babe,” she replied, “bunny would be too much to take care of”

“And a puppy won’t?” He said chuckling.

They spent the whole 45 min drive talking about what animal they would adopt.

Once inside the shelter they passed a an African Grey parrot called Buckley, he used to belong to an elderly couple and would scream “spank me!” Every time someone passed. Spencer couldn’t help but be startled at the parrot shaking his head immediately.

As they approached the dog kennels Spencer could tell she was begins to feel discouraged not finding a pet that she felt connected to. It all changed when they stopped at the last kennel she saw a white and light grey fur Ragdoll cat. “Can we please see this one?” She asked the shelter volunteer.

They were both amazed at how the cat, whose name they learned was Dusty, walked right up to them and began asking for head and tummy scratches. “What’s her story?” Spencer looked up towards the volunteer. Who answer in a whisper, almost as if he didn’t want Dusty to hear and be reminded of it, “Dusty was abandoned two blocks away from here, she hadn’t eaten anything in a while it seemed like due to how skinny she was. But she never lost her friendly personality”

Spencer looked from the volunteer towards y/n and knew just by the look in her eyes that Dusty would be coming home with them. “Spence, babe I want her. Let’s take her home with us.”

“How soon can we take her?” Spencer asked the volunteer who scratched the back of his neck nervously, “well you see I don’t think you’ll want her..maybe how about…” but as he was looking for another cat to show them Spencer asked, “why not her”

“Well she got attached to another cat we have here at the shelter, a Chartreux, we wouldn’t want them separated but we also won’t pressure you to take both since the Chartreux, has been through a rough time. He is actually nameless at the moment which is sad because he’s a senior cat but his previous owner was brutal so much so he is blind in one eye.”

“Can we see him?” Spencer asked.

“Sure, he’s being checked by the shelter’s vet as we speak follow me”

The minute they saw the second cat from the window Spencer and Y/N knew that he would be going home with them and without looking at Y/N for confirmation he spoke loudly, “we’ll take them. Both of them.”

“Let me go tell the vet then”

As they were waiting Spencer couldn’t help but feel drawn to the Chartreux cat he hadn’t taken his eyes off

“You ok Spence? You seem spaced out babe.”

“He reminds me of Reginald”

“Who?”

A spaced out Spencer replied in a sad and nostalgic manner “He was my mom’s cat. She had him since he was a kitten, I was 8-9. I would call him Reggie, he was exactly like this cat but he wasn’t blind in one eye. I used to take care of him when my mom was first institutionalized. During my first year of college my roommate left the door open and Reginald left, he never came back.”

“Spence?” She asked, “was Reggie microchipped?”

“I don’t know”

“Excuse me?” Y/N said knocking on the window that overlooked the vets clinic station

“Yes?”

“Is either cat microchipped? We just don’t want any trouble if they are”

“Dusty isn’t but Im not sure about this one he’s been here since before I was working at this shelter, let me see” the vet replied.

“I’m sorry it looks like this cat is microchipped it belongs to a Diana Reid from Las V…”

“Las Vegas, Nevada address 42 Wallaby Way Apt 13B—she’s my mom. OMG Reggie is alive” Spencer interrupted. “I lost him my freshman year of college and he’s here in DC. How? Oh Reggie!”

The drive home consisted of Spencer telling Reginald everything he had lived through and for a split second she could see specks of child-like happiness in Spencer and with a job like theirs, that was the same as if she had won the lottery.

That night their bed felt smaller with two cats sound asleep by the end of the bed, using their feet as pillows but for the first time in the year they’d been together Spencer’s cold feet pressed on top of hers weren’t and issue.

•

Taglist

#spencer reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #I hope anon sees this #not my best work but it did have me tearing up sooo

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in-memoriam-tgwk · 4 months

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Amberfuzz is not the type of cat to cry. Or smile. Or… Well, any sort of emoting, really. She’s been this way since kithood; when her father stood shaking over the frozen frail body of her littermate, she sat by his side and observed his grief in silence. Catching her first prey only brought a calm reverence over her face as she quietly thanked her teacher for her exuberant praise. When Glowstar appointed her as his second-in-command, she was truly honored to be considered! But she didn’t jump around like an excitable fawn. It’s simply isn’t her nature.

Meeting Shinefreckle was like getting caught in a flash rainstorm. It left Amberfuzz befuddled and uncomfortable, and soaked to the bone. It made her irritable and snappy, and wishing for better days.

But it was also eye-opening for Amberfuzz. The older molly was everything she isn’t. Shinefreckle was bubbly, and naive, and she felt everything at an eleven. She’d squeal at the sight of lady bugs, she’d weep during the sad tales Heatherdash would regail over the evening meal, she’d loudly berate the apprentices for grabbing moss littered with pine needles. She was a whirlwind of sunlight and storms and she could grab attention without having to lift a paw.

Amberfuzz hated her for it, just as much as she envied her for it.

She never expected to get close to Shinefreckle, but it wasn’t long before they were sharing meals and sharing tongues on the regular. Shinefreckle was good at conversation in ways that Amberfuzz lacked; she could chitter on about the littlest things, investing in mostly one-sided conversations and pausing every so often for Amberfuzz to offer commentary. When Amberfuzz’s turn came to speak, she’d sit and listen with full attention, nodding when needed, gasping and smiling and giggling like anything she said was the single best thing Shinefreckle had heard all day.

She’d never admit it, but Amberfuzz preened under the attention. She’d even started smiling more, much to the confusion of the other Colony cats.

Losing Cliffclaw destroyed Shinefreckle, in more ways than could be seen. Eating was no longer a priority. She grew thin and unsteady as her frame became more bone than muscle. She couldn’t leave camp without an escort, and she rarely left at all at that point. When bathing took too much energy, her fur grew matted and dirty. Eventually Amberfuzz set about doing it all for her; she’d force her to nibble on her prey, she’d take her on small walks along the cliffs, she’d pick the tangled twigs from her fur. Despite her best efforts, however, Shinefreckle looked worse and worse as the days rolled on.

And then, Shinefreckle developed a cough. It was manageable at first, but despite a moon of treatment she just couldn’t seem to get better. She eventually had to be carried to the medicine den.

Amberfuzz doesn’t cry, but her eyes stung as her ears tuned into the rasp of her friend’s breathing, the only sound in a dusty room. Her own air hitched in her lungs— and what a foreign feeling to her— as the stench of sickness flooded her senses. Her nose burned as she tucked her face into Shinefreckle’s neck, pressing close enough to feel her heartbeat lightly tap in a withered rhythm.

She doesn’t cry. She never cries. She will not cry—

“Fuzzy…?”

Shinefreckle’s voice rattled where it caught on her cough, her head raising just enough for Amberfuzz to see her tired eyes. They crinkled at the corners from a weak smile.

“I’m here, Shinefreckle. You’re in the medicine den.”

Shinefreckle’s gaze flitted about before coming back to rest on the other. “It seems I am,” she croaks.

“Don’t move too much,” Amberfuzz said, and pressed a paw to her flank. “Heatherdash says you’re very sick. You need to rest, to get your strength up.”

She expected Shinefreckle to scoff, or to whine, or to make a fuss like she usually would. Instead, the molly’s eyes drifted to the side, like her thoughts were leading her somewhere else entirely. It took quite some time for her to float back.

“I’m tired, Fuzzy. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Amberfuzz frowned at her. “Don’t say that. You’ll see, you just need a few days of proper rest. You’ll be well in no time—“

Shinefreckle shook her head, and her body shuddered through a series of coughs. “N-No. I won’t be.”

“Shinefreckle.”

“But it’s okay,” Shinefreckle said, and bumped her head gently against Amberfuzz’s temple. “It’s alright, Fuzzy. Just sit with me a moment. Can we please sit together?”

She smiled a soft smile, the kind that a mother would use to ease her wailing kit. It filled Amberfuzz with a sadness she couldn’t describe, one that she could only feel her way through, hanging heavy and wet in her chest. She flexed her jaw, scowling through the tears that dampened her cheeks. “Okay,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “Okay.”

She held Shinefreckle until her rattling chest finally stilled, until her eyes fluttered shut, until the first streaks of dawn tickled at the medicine den’s entrance. She held her on her final descent down the cliff, refusing anyone who offered to help carry the load. She only let go when it was time to lay Shinefreckle on her bed of rosemary, right next to Cliffclaw’s grave. Only then did Amberfuzz let go.

Amberfuzz doesn’t cry. But the buzz of a lady bug’s wing is sure to stop her in her tracks. She talks more to the rest of the Colony, and even shares stories of her own in the evening time. And if you’re lucky, on the right kind of day, her stone face will crack at its edges in a smile.

#tw ed mention #cw animal death #tw mental health #tgwk lore #clangen art #clangen #warrior cats #I PROMISE one of these times it will be happy writing! but i had two deaths close together ༼ ༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ༽ rip my girl shinefreckle #i will miss you but not your design holy shit #oh and if there are tags for triggers yall would prefer please let me know!

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kiwiraccoon · 6 months

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Behind you Pt. 2

San x reader Description: she had to go back, it wasn’t enough to only see him once and be pulled away by her best friend. She needed more, and she was going to get it. He wouldn’t wait anymore for her, and she wouldn’t allow him to spend any more time alone there.

Word Count: 1485

Notes: first person POV, y/n, use of nicknames “honey” “dear”, supernatural talk, honestly just fluff and wholesome

part 1 | part 2

“Where are you?” My best friend says over the phone as I walk through the forest again, not being able to understand how I even left the first time.

“The forest.” Is all I respond before hanging up the phone not wanting to hear her complaints and worries over me when she knows I won’t listen. One day away was too long, I have to know him.

She shouldn’t have pulled me away from him that day and dragged me back home, she shouldn’t have but she did. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, all that we shared was a longing look that made my heart crack. Why were we so connected without ever meeting before? That’s what I need to find out.

Walking up the porch I listen to the moans of the old wooden boards bend at my weight, enjoying the idea that I had come up with last night. I own this building now, it was passed down after my parents death meaning I could do whatever I wanted to it. I never realized the empire my family had created over the multiple centuries, but seeing this massive building falling apart makes me wonder if my parents even knew.

The door creaks open allowing the rays of sunlight peeking through the trees to illuminate the space of the foyer I had memorized. The build layout was imprinted in my brain the second I got home and pulled down the massive box from the attic. I had hoped to find information about the man I so easily recognized subconsciously, instead I found newspapers and photographs along with more information about the building. Nothing about him.

“Dear? Is that you?” He calls from further in the building and the sound of his voice sends euphoria running through my veins, making my body feel like it could purr like a content cat with its owner.

I smile as I walk into the spacious room that screams lobby and bar at the same time. “Hi honey, it’s me.” I call out hoping to find him through his voice, but I don’t have to look much further. Arms slip around my waist and pull me into a firm back filling my body with comfort and peace but also excitement and adrenaline. The clashing emotions cause my heart to race in anticipation for what will happen between us now that no one can pull us apart.

“You’re alone?” He asks, setting his chin against my shoulder, also embracing the sweet moment between us. Our bodies feel like they were meant for each other as neither of us have to bend in an awkward position for the other to reach.

I release a content sigh, “I am.” My response is almost a whisper, I don’t want to ruin such a peaceful moment with a loud voice that will echo in the dusty room.

“Thank god, I thought I would have to play tug of war with you this time.” He chuckles, his arms instinctively pull me closer as if afraid I would be ripped away again.

My own laugh bubbles within my throat while I place my arms over his and squeeze the noticeable muscles in his forearms. “Not this time, not ever.”

He pulls away and comes to stand in front of me moving his hands to rest on my shoulders while he looks deeply in my eyes. This time his smile isn’t as sinister, the look reminds me of undying love for a lover. Something I have only ever dreamed about receiving. “Ever?”

I smile affectionately, “ever. I’ve decided, last night, to sell my house and move in here. Rebuild the place and bring it back to life.”

Without a second to breathe he lifts me in his arms and spins me around eliciting a joyful laugh from my lungs to match his happy smile and firm grip. “Dear, you don’t know how happy that makes me.”

“I do have some questions first.” At my words he carries me over to one of the covered sofas, removing the dusty sheet, before setting me down in a soft way as if I were a porcelain doll. He sits not too far away, but leaves enough distance between us to allow the conversation to remain serious.

“Ask away, Dear, I will answer to the best of my ability.” His response screams comfort, making my body relax into the surprisingly soft fabric below me. His one hand reaches out to grasp my own, I squeeze his hand in understanding. We both have a need for physical touch between us.

“Who are you exactly?” I ask the one question that has been on my mind for over 24 hours.

“My name is San.” He answers simply also sending a small smile along with his words.

“Well I’m y/n, but what I mean,” I sigh trying to think of my words, he squeezes my hand to ground me. “I guess what I mean is, why are you here, and what is this,” I pause once again, “connection we have?”

He chuckles at my antics, “I’ve been here for years, keeping the place from deteriorating completely. Our connection, it has to do with our families. Your family being witches, in simple terms, and mine being well created by witches. My family was created to protect your family, whether that be through friendship or more. We are the first to have a stronger than friendship connection.”

“Wow.” I breathe out taking in all the information before thinking about his words carefully. “Witches?”

“In a sense, your mother was a green witch, but your family is a line of hereditary witches. There is one witch per generation, though your grandmother and mother only had one child, a daughter. Your grandmother was a cosmic witch, I’m sure you learned a lot about astrology through her while growing up.” I nod along to his words, now understanding my grandma’s obsession with the stars and my moms constant worry for plants and all things related to the outdoors. My mom never allowed me to go to the doctor, she constantly used natural remedies for my injuries and illnesses. I still use them even though she is gone, now her book of rituals and spells makes sense. I just thought the recipes were funky and fun for me as a child, but now I know.

“What about me?” I ask, hoping he might help me understand what kind of witch I could be.

“That’s for you to decide, Dear. Though I guess you could figure it out through your interests.”

“The paranormal.” I answer quickly, not letting him start to ramble off ideas when I already know.

“A hedge witch then. I could help you in research and finding your way.” He says squeezing my hand even more, allowing his consideration and care seep through my skin.

My jaw drops in awe, I never knew why I was so obsessed with the paranormal, but now everything makes sense. My life was decided for me at birth, but I’ve never felt more like myself. “Wow.” We both chuckle together. “I’ve read enough books to know that, I guess, this means we are mates of some sort.”

“Of some sort.” He affirms.

“Our souls know each other, I can feel it.” I say, noticing the pull from within my being to him as the information sinks in. It feels as if my knowledge is growing more than what I am being told.

He smiles an excited smile and nods enthusiastically, “Dear, your third eye is awakening!”

My eyes bulge at the words and my free hand instinctively rushes to the center of my forehead to feel for an eye, this causes the god-like man in front of me to laugh. “No, not a real eye.” He laughs again and this time I laugh with him. “It’s within you, oh this is so exciting!” He starts to happily bounce in his seat, infecting me with his happiness at the same time.

“Honey, tell me more.” I insist now sitting sideways on the sofa to give him my full attention as he tells me everything. About his family, who they were, how their relationship was to my family, and about himself. His likes, dislikes, interests, hobbies, favorite things and places, and even how he has spent his time waiting for me. He also tells me about the building, what he knows from his family, what he has found, and then takes me on tour.

We now stand in what would become our part of the building, a home within the building that provides everything an entire family might need. Multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, a medium sized kitchen, a decently sized living space, and one beautiful master suite. “Honey, would you help me move everything here?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Let’s make this place feel like home, Dear.”

#Ateez #Ateez x reader #Choi san #Choi San x reader #San x reader #San imagine #Choi San imagines #Ateez fic #Ateez fanfic #San fic #San fanfic #Ateez imagines

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columbiastapshoes · 2 months

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headcanons part 3‼️‼️ crazy‼️

hey guys it’s me the person with the regular posting schedule and normal amount of thoughts about this movie! woo hoo! this one is a bit shorter, my sk8 hyperfixation has been completely taking over my brain LMAO but without further ado here u go!

-columbia has a stuffed animal that she is extremely emotionally bonded to. i’d like to think it’s a rabbit with big floppy ears and it’s made out of that kind of rough towel-like texture ykwim?? but anyways she’s had it since she was little and it’s so dirty and has no stuffing in its neck anymore but she refuses to fix or clean it and just carries it around everywhere

-magenta fucking loves earth candy. homegirl is trying to keep up the “i hate this planet it has no redeeming qualities” act but as soon as someone walks into the room with gummy bears she goes absolutely feral

-frank is scared of cats. yes, i know he has the mannerisms of a cat and that is why it’s funnier to me that when he sees a cat he will just leave the room. but also he’s not like an “AAAAAAHHHH A CAAAT THATS SO SCAARRRYYY” person like he’s trying to be subtle about it and won’t admit to being scared but it doesn’t fool anyone

-brad LOVES 50s love songs and also jazz of all kinds. stole this bit from a fanfic but his nickname for frank is sinatra :3 but anyways he’s always playing an ella fitzgerald or doris day vinyl and humming along to the melody while he reads or does other stuff

-frank either wakes up at 5 am or 2 pm. no in between.

-is columbia a dancer? yes. does she use those skills when she’s just dancing to music by herself? absolutely not. she bounces to the beat like a toddler. i love her.

-frank again :3 that bitch absolutely has pierced ears, belly button, and tongue. the movie isn’t canon and i know what i’m talking about <3

-magenta is goth most of the time but when it gets really hot and she cannot survive in all black she gives up and goes whimsigoth with purples and dusty pinks and browns <3

-rip columbia u would have loved electro swing

-ever wondered how riff got that hunch in his back? i have the answer! when he and magenta were little he tried to cut her hair while she was sleeping and she judo flipped him and it just never healed properly

-i could have sworn i posted this one before but i can’t find it? so im just gonna say it now- after the movie events (in my brain no one dies and brad and janet unofficially move in let me have this) janet is trying so hard to be supportive of everybody and im picturing her and magenta as that customwoodburning clip that’s like “are you a les-bin?” “yes ma’am i am” “AWESOME‼️‼️‼️ 🔥🔥🔥”

-magenta is a witch and has an altar in her room, the first time brad went in there he accidentally bumped into it and was scared that the spirits were gonna be mad and kill him and magenta was jokingly like “yeah. ur dead” and he was like “oh no D:” and she had to clarify it was a joke

-frank reads erotic novels at the dinner table and comments on them out loud 🫶

-columbias favorite animal is a jellyfish. i have no reasoning but nell campbell indirectly talked to me and i have been hyperfixated on this movie for over 2 years so u can trust me on this one

#rocky horror picture show #rocky horror #rhps #rocky horror au #frank n furter #brad majors #magenta rhps #columbia rhps #rocky horror show #janet weiss

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bunni-writing-desk · 8 months

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Can I request a Patrick Stump x Reader where the reader wants to learn how to play drums? Patrick notices them struggling and wants to help. Make it fluffy and flirty? THANK YOU!

ooooo thank you so much for this request I love it! (also sorry is Patrick is a little off I couldn't figure out how to write him as flirty for the life of me)

Learning Drums

Patrick Stump x gn!reader

tags: no major warnings, fluffy silly, established relationship, light flirting from Patrick kinda, could be any era, reminded me of that one time Patrick played the drums for MCR

The dusty basement in your house held so much stuff, things from Patrick and things from you, so it was no wonder you had found one of your boyfriend's old drum kits. A pair of drumsticks sat atop the seat, obviously left there for a while since a layer of dust covered them. A thought crossed your mind, questioning why this one was in the basement when Patrick had another perfectly fine kit upstairs in his practice room. You shrugged it off though, it might be something sentimental or there just in case his current one breaks.

The more you stared at it the more you thought about it, when you were younger you had always wanted to learn the drums but the kits were always far too expensive for you. The want to learn the instrument had died after the years, and you had been satisfied listening to Patrick play them instead, but now you had a moment to learn on your own.

So you brushed the dust off the seat and grabbed the drumsticks, holding them above one of the drums. Suddenly and quickly you hit the drum, nearly letting go of the drumstick because of the force. You gasped and looked at the thin plastic on the top to make sure you hadn't dented it, luckily it looked completely fine.

Something you hadn't expected was for Patrick to hear you all the way upstairs in the living room. The sound of the basement door creaking open startled you, making you jump in your seat slightly. "Y/n? What are you doing?" You could see that your boyfriend was squinting, trying to see where you were in the dim basement.

"Just... trying to play the drums?" You posed your sentence as more of a question, now second guessing yourself as to why you did this. Patrick stared into the darkness for a few seconds before audible sighing and chuckling. He flipped on the light and made his way down the stairs, walking over to the front of the dusty drum kit that you were sitting at.

"Did you want help?" The grin on his face compared to the Cheshire cat, smug and self-assured. Just that by itself made you flustered, stumbling over your words as you tried to respond.

"Uhm- Yeah, I- I was gonna figure it out by my - uh- by myself but yknow- I could always use the uhm help?" Your face went warm as Patrick giggled at your reaction. He motioned for you to get up and stand to the side, instead of taking your place on the seat.

"Come're" He pulled one of the drumsticks from your grip and held your hand. He quickly pulled you down onto his lap, almost startling you. "You were just using too much downward force with too light a grip, makes it sound strange." Patrick put the drumsticks back in you hand but continued to hold your wrists.

He lead your hand down to the mid tom drum and hit it once, making a much better sound than the first time you tried. "See? You just needed a little help huh, babe" You could feel the heat on your cheeks from the embarrassment flare up again.

"Shut it, 'Trick" You mumbled through your teeth, trying to prevent him from hearing just how flustered you were. You slammed your foot down on the pedal, hitting the bass drum loudly.

Patrick only laughed and wrapped his arms around your torso. "Woah there tiger, don't get ahead of yourself!"

"Teach me then!" You managed out through laughter.

"I am!"

#patrick stump x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fob fanfic #x reader fanfiction #patrick stump #fluffy #fluff #fluff fanfic #drabble #fanfic drabble

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bonefall · 7 months

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Oh, clanmew day! I translated the names of a few of my ClanGen cats that I'm fond of a while back :)

Boragestar - Palfshaipmashai (Borage is apparently also known as "starflower", so I translated it as palifuh-shai-ponma, purple-star-flower. "Shai" might be a bit too holy for the ordinary plant, but in this case it felt like it fit as I was doing a bloodline challenge and Borage was the daughter of the previous leader, and thus of a holy bloodline. Poor girl had to take over leadership of a rather brutal clan after her tyrant of a mother unexpectedly lost all her lives. she does not have the harsh temperament expected of her and things have not gotten better for her)

Chivenose - Palfpeskrchoop (I went for a physical description of Chive for my translation; palifuh-peske-kiyyr, purple clustered-flowers grass. She was Boragestar's sister, who was taken by twolegs early on in their apprenticeship. She didn't find her way back until a full year from when she was taken, she was pretty surprised to find her mother and brother Eaglepaw both dead and Borage in a leadership position she didn't want. I had no idea they were both named after plants with purple flowers until I went to make translations, it's such a cute coincidence and I'm so glad I found that out)

Dustystripe - Fesgrryrrseek (I translated "Dusty" as "fes-grryrr", "dust-contains". More interesting is her (retroactively created gjkfgbjkdsf) dishonor title! She's a healer, but she had a litter of kits. She was lucky that Boragestar was in charge and also her friend, she managed to convince the clan to let her, her mate, and her kits remain, but Dusty got a dishonor title (probably from her former mentor Bluescar/Lubroyach, Borage's other parent, who was not very fond of her or Borage in general). The title was "Mwssepaseek" (poison-soil longstripe), translated as something like "Taintedstripe", trying to evoke a strip of earth that poisons whatever grows in it. Not only has she "poisoned" her own link to StarClan with her actions, her kits will be "poisoned" as well.)

Bellspeck - Rriirriulfbwoo (Bell - rrirri (mimicking the sound of a collar-bell) - small objects that make soft, high-pitched ringing sounds when moved. Technically not Clanmew but a loanword from Townmew or some equivalent as Bellspeck's mother was a former kittypet. Speck - Ulfbwoo - ulfaf-eeb-woowoo - single-strand-of-fur small spotting-pattern, single small spot. This one feels a bit scuffed but I couldn't figure out anything better lol)

Molefleck - Bosgoeebkark (I decided to lean into the definition of "fleck" as "very small bit of some material" instead of just "small marking(s)" since just "speck" was bad enough without having to make it distinct from marking-fleck. Pretty simple, just "eeb-kark". Her nickname was Bosgee :)

I am planning to do a scent expansion along with this BIG entry I'm going to be doing on "How Scent Works," including a ton of unique Clanmew words for various, important scents. So I'll give you two interesting smells that might work VERY nicely for Dustystripe if you'd like;

The dusty, stale smell of a long-abandoned burrow = Moese SPECIFICALLY one you can immediately tell has not been lived-in for a while. Any other scent in this burrow is muted and negligible, possibly only something you can pick up with your jacobson's organ (Fech, in Clanmew). Similar to the "dusty" smell of an attic.

Hot, dry scent of flammable kindle = Ksek ESPECIALLY important in WindClan, because if the gorse starts to smell like this, the conditions are very dangerous. Very dusty, dry brush would smell like this.

Moese could make a super interesting with that dishonor title in mind; the idea that she's gone back to being an abandoned (but safe) burrow, having moved on from her old mistakes.

And up next, chives! I'm gonna give you ALL OF THE ONIONS while we're at it!

All four of these plants are deadly to Clan cats. They're used universally as bad-insect repellents and good-insect pollinates, but just like mint, they have a serious reputation as being poison.

Some cats will also use them to hide their own scent, especially Rebels. Deerfoot was the pioneer of using garlic to mask the scent of himself and his cats as they sabotaged TigerClan from within.

This lead to there being a generic name for these plants; Aupeqi. From a contraction of Deerfoot's Essence (Augpwaio en Qim). This was something he picked up from Lizardstripe, who initially came up with it to hide that she'd been hanging out with cats of other Clans.

Ramsons (Allium ursinum) = Ssufpon Full, distinctive white flowers that grow in big, bursting clusters. A patch of ramsons can easily hide a patrol's worth of cats. Comes from scentmark + flower.

Angled Onion/Three-Cornered Leek (Allium triquetrum) = Oosk A delicate, drooping bell flower similar to a snowdrop, but much stinkier, especially when crushed. Comes from Bell + White. NOTE: this plant has many names, I've included leek and onion so you can choose to translate it at your discretion!

Wild Garlic (Allium vineale) = Fafhoo Comes from Fur + Clock, "clock" as in the mature, seedy, fluffy ball stage of a dandelion. Turns into a bizarre, smelly disco ball thing and ABSOLUTELY REEKS. Tends to poke through the leaf litter of a forest in "scrags" rather than "patches" like ramsons.

Chive (Allium schoenoprasum) = Sifaw Comes from Friend + Solitary Bee. A favorite of bees, but a repellent of other insects, with pretty purple flowers that remind Clan cats of a very stinky clover.

AND. LASTLY.

Borage (Borago officinalis) = Shioo From Star + Bell. I am actually going to be banning this as an herb in my guides. It is INCREDIBLY toxic to cats, worse than the onions earlier. It irritates skin, causes liver damage, and absolutely destroys its victim.

There's actually a ton of plants in this family, including the famous Forget-Me-Not. But for now, here is the word for plain-and-simple borage!

#Clanmew

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