#up to you and whatever you're comfortable with; though

[solxamber]

Choose Us!

In which you have to decide on a dorm to become part of.

Part 2: You choose the dorm

"You're serious?" you blink at Crowley, half-expecting Grim to wake you up from this fever dream. "I can move into any dorm?"

Crowley clasps his hands together with a benevolent smile that doesn't quite match his usual dramatic flair. "Indeed, my dear prefect! It's the least I can do to ensure your safety and comfort!"

Grim looks up from where he’s gnawing on a suspiciously burnt sofa leg. "Wait, what about me?!"

"You’ll go where the prefect goes, naturally," Crowley waves off Grim’s protests. "Now, chop-chop! Let me know your decision by the end of the day."

And just like that, he floats out of Ramshackle, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos.

Heartslabyul

The second you hit send in the group chat, you regret everything. Ace and Deuce don’t even wait for you to explain. Within minutes, they’re barging into Ramshackle like the Kool-Aid Man.

“Heartslabyul!” Ace yells, grabbing one of your arms.

“Obviously Heartslabyul!” Deuce hollers, seizing the other.

“I haven’t even decided—”

“Blasphemy!” Ace gasps, as if you’d just insulted his mother. “We’re your best friends, how could you even think about choosing another dorm?”

Deuce nods fervently, dragging you toward the door. “Heartslabyul’s clean! Organized! You’d thrive there!”

"And the desserts!" Ace adds. "Think of the desserts!"

Before you know it, you're shoved into Heartslabyul’s rose garden, where Riddle is waiting with the most extravagant tea party setup you’ve ever seen. There’s a towering cake, delicate pastries, and enough tea to drown Grim.

“I thought you might need proper refreshments while considering your options,” Riddle says, adjusting his posture like he isn’t secretly trying to sway you. “Of course, I have no preference where you go. I’m merely concerned for your well-being.”

Trey hands you a plate with the biggest, most immaculate slice of cake you’ve ever seen. “You’d fit right in here, you know,” he says kindly. “We’re all about structure and care… and good desserts.”

"Plus," Cater slides in with a grin, “imagine all the cool pics we could take together! #DormGoals, am I right? You and me chilling in Heartslabyul, like, all the time?”

Riddle clears his throat loudly. “This isn’t about favoritism, mind you. But if you were to choose Heartslabyul, you’d be part of a dorm that values discipline and respect for the rules.”

Ace nudges you with a smirk. “Ignore him. Just think of all the times I’ll sneak you extra tarts.”

You glance around at the hopeful stares. Grim’s already halfway into a tart he snatched off the table. “I feel like I’m being ambushed.”

“Oh, you are,” Ace says shamelessly.

Savanaclaw

You stumble out of the Heartslabyul tea party, feeling like you’ve consumed enough sugar to fuel a small country. Before you can even catch your breath, a shadow looms over you, and suddenly, you're hoisted into the air like a sack of potatoes.

“What the—JACK?!” you squawk, flailing as he throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“You’re coming with me,” Jack grunts, completely unfazed by your protests. “You need to see why Savanaclaw is the best dorm for you.”

“I can walk, you know!” you huff, punching his back.

He ignores you. “Not fast enough.”

By the time he sets you down, you’re in the middle of Savanaclaw’s common area, where Ruggie is lounging on one of the couches, counting a suspiciously thick wad of cash. Leona’s sprawled out nearby, pretending to nap, though his ears twitch at the sound of your arrival.

Ruggie grins as soon as he spots you. “Ah, perfect timing! I was just telling Leona how we could totally use someone like you here. Right, boss?”

Leona cracks one eye open and yawns, his tone dripping with disinterest. “Tch. Don’t care. They can do whatever they want.”

“That’s funny,” Ruggie says, nudging Leona hard enough to make him growl, “’cause I distinctly remember you saying—and I quote—‘If they don’t pick Savanaclaw, everyone else can rot.’”

Leona sits up, glaring daggers at Ruggie. “I said no such thing.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Ruggie snickers before turning back to you, his grin as wide as a hyena’s. “Anyway, check this out. Leona generously donated some funds to help you... you know, see the light.”

He shoves the wad of cash into your hands. You blink at it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you want! Snacks, clothes, bribes for your annoying friends in Heartslabyul…”

Leona groans and drags a hand down his face. “You’re making us look desperate.”

“We? Speak for yourself, Your Highness.” Ruggie winks at you. “He’s just mad ‘cause he doesn’t know how to be subtle.”

Leona slouches further into his seat, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Look, Herbivore, if you wanna be around people who won’t coddle you, Savanaclaw’s where it’s at. We don’t do tea parties here—”

“Obviously,” you mutter, thinking about the claw marks on the furniture.

“—but we’ll actually challenge you to grow stronger. You can’t get that in the other dorms.”

Jack nods. “He’s right. And we’ve got the best training facilities on campus.”

Ruggie waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, training’s cool and all, but let’s focus on what really matters. Free snacks. Awesome vibes. Me.”

Leona rolls his eyes. “You’re going to scare them off.”

You cross your arms, trying to ignore the way Leona’s ears flick every time you shift your weight. “So… are you guys going to bribe me with anything besides money and vibes?”

Leona smirks. “What, isn’t my dazzling personality enough?”

Ruggie snorts. “Oh, sure. That’s totally why people flock to you.”

You can’t help but laugh, and Leona’s eyes soften just a little, though he quickly turns his head like he doesn’t care.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, handing the wad of cash back to Ruggie, who immediately starts recounting it like you’ve stolen some.

“Better think fast,” Leona mutters, though there’s the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.

Octavinelle

As you trudge back to Ramshackle, your brain still processing Savanaclaw’s “recruitment tactics,” a pair of arms suddenly wrap around you, lifting you clean off the ground.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd crows, spinning you around like you’re a prize he just won at a carnival.

“FLOYD! Put me down!” you shout, flailing uselessly in his grip.

“Nah, I got orders,” he says, grinning ear to ear as he hauls you off toward the Mostro Lounge.

By the time you’re unceremoniously deposited (read: still stuck in Floyd’s arms like a glorified teddy bear), you’re face-to-face with Azul and Jade, both of whom look way too pleased with themselves.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Azul says, standing up from his chair with his signature business smile. “We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Have a seat!”

“I would if Floyd let me down,” you deadpan, glaring at the tall eel holding you like a sack of seaweed.

“Nah, you’re comfy,” Floyd chirps, tightening his grip as if daring you to try escaping.

Azul clears his throat, pulling out a scroll of parchment that looks suspiciously like a contract. “Ahem. Now, as I was saying—let’s discuss the many benefits of joining Octavinelle. For starters, we pride ourselves on being a dorm of intellect and resourcefulness. Here, you’ll have access to unmatched networking opportunities, a plethora of unique beverages crafted by Jade himself, and—should you agree—my personal mentorship in matters of… negotiation.”

He flashes you a grin that screams, This is totally not suspicious at all.

Jade slides a glass of something shimmering and iridescent across the table toward you. “I would be delighted to name you our official taste tester. Imagine the prestige of being the first to try all my… experimental creations.”

You eye the drink like it might explode. “Define ‘experimental.’”

Jade smiles serenely. “You’ll find out.”

“Don’t be shy, Shrimpy!” Floyd chimes in, shifting you in his arms so you’re now sitting sideways like some sort of royal guest. “You’d have so much fun here. We’ve got good food, good drinks, and me.”

Azul adjusts his glasses, sliding the contract closer to you. “And, of course, we’ve prepared a special position for you. All you have to do is sign right here, and Octavinelle will officially welcome you as our newest member.”

You glance at the contract, then at the three of them—Azul’s scheming smile, Jade’s unsettling calmness, and Floyd’s unnervingly enthusiastic grin.

“I feel like this is a trap,” you say.

“It’s not a trap,” Floyd says immediately, which makes you even more suspicious.

Azul leans forward, steepling his fingers. “I assure you, everything is perfectly legitimate. Now, shall we seal the deal?”

“Or,” you say, leaning back as far as Floyd’s grip will allow, “I could not.”

Jade hums thoughtfully, handing you another drink. “At least try the beverages before you decide.”

Azul smirks. “I’m sure a sip or two will convince you.”

You glance at the drink, then back at Azul. “Is this bribery?”

“It’s persuasion,” he corrects smoothly.

“Same thing.”

Floyd suddenly squeezes you tight, grinning down at you. “C’mon, Shrimpy. Just say yes already! I’ll carry you everywhere. Betcha Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw didn’t offer that.”

You sigh, resting your head in your hands. This was going to be a long night.

Scarabia

You barely make it out of Octavinelle alive (or at least with your dignity and soul intact) when you’re immediately ambushed again.

“Prefect!” Kalim’s voice rings out, and before you can even process the sound, you’re being yanked into a whirlwind of color, music, and… is that confetti?

You blink as Scarabia's lounge comes into view, transformed into what can only be described as a full-blown festival. Tables are piled high with food, lanterns glow in warm hues, and cheerful music fills the air.

“Surprise!” Kalim grins, throwing his arms wide like he just gifted you the world. “Welcome to Scarabia! We threw a party just for you!”

“A… party?” you repeat, still trying to figure out how you got here so fast.

“Yep!” Kalim grabs your hands, his golden eyes shining with pure, unfiltered excitement. “I thought, ‘What’s the best way to convince you to join us?’ And then I thought, ‘A party! Everyone loves parties!’”

Before you can respond, a plate stacked with delicious-looking food appears in front of you, courtesy of none other than Jamil.

“Eat,” he says simply, pushing the plate closer.

“Oh, uh, thanks?” you mumble, picking up a fork.

Jamil nods, then leans in slightly, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “This is just a taste of what Scarabia has to offer. Stick around, and I’ll make sure you’re well-fed every day. Properly fed.”

You pause mid-bite, noticing the way he emphasizes the word “properly,” like he knows exactly how many instant noodles you’ve been living off of.

Kalim, meanwhile, is still giving you the most devastating puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. “You’ll join, right? We’d have so much fun together! And think of all the parties we could throw! Oh, and I can get you anything you want! Name it, and it’s yours!”

You glance between Kalim’s hopeful grin and Jamil’s subtle but persuasive bribes.

Jamil catches your hesitation and sighs, placing yet another dish in front of you. “Look, I’ll even help you stay on top of your work. You’re clearly the type who needs someone dependable around.”

“Hey!” you protest, only for him to raise an eyebrow as if to say, Am I wrong?

“Please?” Kalim chimes in, practically bouncing in place. “It’ll be so much fun! And I really, really want you to join. Scarabia would be perfect for you!”

You groan internally, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering. Between Kalim’s overwhelming enthusiasm and Jamil’s quiet determination, you’re starting to think Scarabia might actually succeed in breaking your will.

You’re doomed. Aren’t you?

Pomefiore

You stumble out of Scarabia, clutching your overstuffed stomach and wondering how you’ve made it this far without officially losing your sanity. Taking the long way around campus to avoid any more ambushes seems like the best idea—you’ve had enough dorm propaganda for one day.

Or so you thought.

You’re halfway through the forest, breathing a sigh of relief at the quiet, when—

“Bonjour, mon cher trésor!”

You shriek as Rook appears out of thin air. Where did he even come from? Why is there sparkly lighting behind him? Is this even allowed?

“Rook! What—what are you doing here?!”

“Ah, I see you were clever enough to evade the others,” he says, ignoring your question entirely. “But you cannot escape me, the hunter of beauty! Pomefiore awaits, mon ami!”

Before you can protest, he’s scooped you up bridal style and is sprinting through the forest with unnatural speed, his laughter echoing ominously.

“This isn’t fair! You’re cheating!” you yell, flailing helplessly.

“All’s fair in love, war, and dorm recruitment, non?”

You soon find yourself unceremoniously plopped down in the middle of Pomefiore’s lounge. Vil is waiting with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression, though the way his foot taps against the floor suggests he’s less than pleased.

“Honestly,” Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Was the theatrics really necessary, Rook?”

“Always,” Rook replies with a wink.

Epel is off to the side, clearly trying not to laugh at your predicament while casually carving an apple.

“Well,” Vil says, straightening his posture and fixing you with a regal gaze. “I’ve heard about this… situation of yours. Joining Pomefiore would be the obvious choice. After all, we are the epitome of elegance and refinement. It would be a privilege for you to stay here, and I might even be able to do something about your… appearance.”

You blink. "What's wrong with my appearance?”

Vil waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing I can’t fix. Consider it a favor.”

Epel, meanwhile, sidles up next to you, whispering conspiratorially “Don’t listen to him. He’s just tryna butter you up. But, uh… you should totally join Pomefiore anyway. Look, I brought you some fresh juice from Harveston. And this apple.”

You glance at the carved apple he’s offering. It’s shaped like a little heart.

“Epel,” Vil scolds, glaring at him. “Stop bribing them. That’s hardly dignified.”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” Epel shoots back, crossing his arms. “I just think we need someone who’ll actually get how hard it is to survive your routines. And they seem cool. So there.”

You feel your brain short-circuiting as Vil and Epel start bickering in front of you. Rook stands off to the side, watching with sparkling eyes like he’s witnessing a masterpiece.

Somehow, you feel like this is still less stressful than Scarabia. But only barely.

Ignihyde

You somehow manage to escape Pomefiore in one piece, though your mind feels like it’s been through a blender. You’re determined to finally make it back to Ramshackle without incident when—

“Prefect!”

You freeze mid-step as Ortho zooms into view, his boosters glowing bright blue. Before you can even blink, he grabs your arm with surprising strength.

“Ignihyde is next!” he announces cheerfully, starting to lift you off the ground.

“Wait, wait!” you shout, flailing. “I can walk! Please, I’ve been carried around like a stolen handbag all day!”

Ortho tilts his head, his LED eyes flickering. “Oh… okay! As long as you promise to come willingly!”

You nod frantically. “I promise! Just no more flying, please.”

Satisfied, Ortho takes your hand and leads you to Ignihyde. The journey is mercifully uneventful, though you can feel your soul leaving your body as you realize what’s waiting for you inside.

Sure enough, Idia is hunched over in the corner of the lounge, a laptop balanced precariously on a stack of game boxes. The moment you enter, the screen lights up with a title slide: “Top 10 Reasons Why You Should Join Ignihyde” in bold, glowing text.

“Oh, you’re here,” Idia mutters, adjusting his hoodie nervously. His hair flickers faintly pink at the tips. “Uh, okay, so—yeah, uh—welcome? Or whatever. Let’s, um, get this over with.”

He clicks to the first slide, which is an overwhelming wall of text filled with bullet points, charts, and what looks like a meme of a cat wearing glasses.

“Reason number one,” Idia starts, stumbling over his words. “Um, we’re quiet? Like, no loud parties or annoying socializing. Uh… unless you count Ortho, but, uh, he’s not that bad. And you can play games as much as you want. Or watch anime. Or—uh—just chill. Yeah.”

Ortho, standing nearby, nods enthusiastically. “Ignihyde is perfect for you! And Brother worked really hard on this presentation!”

You glance at Idia, who’s clearly fighting for his life to make eye contact with you. He clicks to the next slide, which is just a stock photo of a cozy room.

“Reason number two,” he continues. “We, uh, have good Wi-Fi? Like, really good. You could stream in 4K if you wanted to. Not that you’d want to. Or maybe you would? Uh… I dunno. Anyway.”

His hair flickers a deeper pink, and he clicks to the next slide. It’s a crudely edited photo of you and him standing next to each other in front of a glowing Ignihyde logo. You’re not sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned.

He glances at you, his expression oddly hopeful. “So, uh… what do you think?”

You can feel Ortho practically vibrating next to you, his bright smile threatening to blind you. Meanwhile, Idia is trying (and failing) to look indifferent, but the way his fingers tap anxiously on the laptop betrays him.

“I’ll… think about it,” you say carefully, not having the heart to crush Idia’s dreams outright.

His hair sparks bright pink for a split second before he slams the laptop shut, muttering something about “overheating processors” and “input overload.”

Ortho cheers. “Yay! I knew you’d see how great we are!”

You manage a weak smile, already planning your escape route.

Diasomnia

You’re so close—so, so close—to finally making it back to Ramshackle when the universe decides to remind you that peace is but a fleeting dream.

“Ah, there you are!”

You barely have time to scream before Lilia literally materializes out of thin air, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into a swirling vortex of green light.

“Wait, NO—”

Too late. You’re already standing in the middle of Diasomnia’s lounge, disoriented and ready to file a restraining order against anyone with teleportation magic.

Malleus looks up from where he’s seated, eyebrows raising slightly. “Child of man? What brings you here?”

“Great news, Malleus!” Lilia chirps, dropping you onto the couch like a sack of potatoes. “They’re choosing a dorm to transfer to, and we couldn’t possibly let them pick anywhere but Diasomnia!”

Malleus freezes, his eyes wide with surprise, before his expression shifts into one of regal determination. He rises from his seat, his imposing height making you feel like a pebble in the presence of a mountain.

“Is this true?” he asks, his voice deep and serious. “You’re choosing a new dorm?”

“Uh, yeah, but—”

“Then it must be Diasomnia.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Here, you will be protected. No harm shall come to you under my watch. And…” He pauses, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “I have a gargoyle in my room. A fine specimen. You would enjoy its company.”

You blink. “...A gargoyle?”

“Yes,” Malleus says with absolute sincerity, as though that’s the most convincing argument in the world.

Before you can process that, Sebek practically throws himself to the floor in front of you, bowing with the intensity of a knight swearing fealty.

“Human!” he bellows. “You must choose Diasomnia! To live anywhere else would be an insult to the Young Master’s unparalleled grace and power! Surely, you can see this is the only logical choice!”

“Sebek,” Silver mumbles from his spot on the couch, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Maybe let them decide for themselves.”

“But, Silver!” Sebek protests, his voice trembling with the sheer force of his conviction. “The honor! The prestige!”

Meanwhile, Lilia floats into view, holding a plate of… something. “Don’t worry about dinner, dear. I’ve prepared a feast for you! Go on, take a bite.”

You stare at the plate. It looks like it might be alive. “I’m… good, thanks.”

“Nonsense! You need to keep your strength up!” Lilia insists, thrusting the plate closer to your face.

Silver sighs, finally sitting up. “You should just do what feels right,” he says, offering you a calm, reassuring smile. “Don’t let them pressure you.”

You glance between Malleus’s earnest expression, Sebek’s passionate pleas, and Lilia’s… questionable cooking. Your stomach growls, but you’re not sure if it’s hunger or the beginnings of a panic attack.

One thing’s for sure: if you survive this day, you’re going to need therapy.

The sun is setting by the time you finally drag your aching body back to Ramshackle. The dorm looms ahead, creaky and crumbling, but for once, it feels like a safe haven compared to the dorm-hopping marathon you just survived.

As you step inside, you’re greeted by the unmistakable voice of your ever-demanding feline companion. “There you are! What took ya so long? I’ve been waitin’ forever!”

Grim is sprawled on the couch, a can of tuna already half-empty beside him. He squints at you suspiciously. “So? Which dorm are we movin’ to?”

You groan, flopping face-first onto the nearest piece of semi-clean furniture. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“What?!” Grim squawks, leaping onto the armrest beside you. “What do ya mean you haven’t decided? This is important! We gotta pick one where I can get the most tuna, y’know?”

You tilt your head just enough to glare at him. “Oh, sure. Let me just base my entire living situation on your snack preferences.”

Grim puffs up, indignant. “Hey! I’ve been puttin’ up with this dump longer than anyone! I deserve to have a say!”

You sigh, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. Somehow, Grim being his usual self is oddly comforting after everything. No bribes, no PowerPoints, no gargoyle sales pitches—just Grim being Grim.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” you mumble, your voice muffled by the cushion. “I’m too tired to think.”

Grim eyes you for a moment before huffing. “Fine. But don’t take too long, got it? I’m not stickin’ around this dump forever!”

With that, he hops off to raid the kitchen, leaving you alone to sink further into the furniture. You stare at the ceiling, your brain too fried to process anything else.

Tomorrow. You’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, all you want is to sleep in your creaky, drafty old dorm. At least here, no one’s trying to kidnap you.

Masterlist

[plethorawrites]

So we’ve seen all of the batbros as cats but what about the reader? What would happen if they were turned into a cat?

This took forever, sorry! But yes, I totally can!

Bruce: Weary and worried.

• Before all else, he's concerned with making sure you're alright. He calls Zatanna immediately to ensure it's not permanent and then after he knows it's not, he can relax enough to try to comfort you.

• He was never a cat person, only ever owning dogs, so he really has no clue how to take care of a cat. Let alone a cat who's really the love of his life. He tries, though. He gets Alfred to make you dinner, something that's fresh and not gross Tuna or Salmon from a can. He gives you your choice of every throw pillow in the manor to tear up when he sees you get antsy, your claws flicking in and out in stress. And of course, everything poisonous to cats like the peace lilies in the living room are moved far away.

• Bruce still has to go to work, unfortunately and with no idea how to keep you entertained, puts on those "Soothing cat videos" on the big TV in his bedroom for you to watch. A six hour loop of a fishtank is less than ideal but seems to work well enough.

• You're in the same place as when he left you, so he assumes you didn't mind too much. He notices you grooming yourself, not because you want to, but out of some strange instinct you've developed and he can tell you're grossed out by your own actions, so he does his best to clean your fur himself. You might be a cat, but you seem to like water so he puts you in the bathtub and scrubs your fur with your normal soap which makes you pur.

• Until he takes you out of the warm water and you're absolutely freezing, shivering from the cold. He wraps you in a towel and holds you to his chest until you're mostly dry, then, despite the dampness of your fur, let's you curl up under the covers since you're still a bit chilly. It makes his own skin wet, but he doesn't mind since at least you seem a bit happier.

---

Dick: Amused and empathetic.

• He tries not to laugh. He really does. It's just...so much harder than it should be. You look so small, so adorable, so fuzzy. You have a tail, for God's sake. How could it not be hilarious? He only stops chuckling when you swat your paw at him, catching him with sharp claws, cutting him. He doesn't get upset since he knows he deserved it.

• Goes to the pet store with you, letting you sit in the cart and pick out your own things, which, he can tell you dislike but reluctantly comply—otherwise he'd buy you a rat themed toy instead of the feather one you wanted. You gurgle and growl repeatedly when he picks up those stupid cat costumes, but he still buys them anyway.

• And yes, he does force you to wear them. You resisted, at first, of course, but eventually gave up when he gave you those puppy dog eyes. If you thought being a cat was humiliating, you couldn't have prepared for being a cat wearing a sombrero and poncho. "Those are our Christmas cards this year," he tells you, kissing the top of your head while you meow in protest.

• Despite that, he's still sweet to you, apologizing for you having to go through this and swearing he'll fix it. In the meantime, just try to stay positive. He'll say you can rip up the drapes if it makes you feel better. You do and it does. You always hated them and he refused to get rid of them, but now there was a valid reason to.

• He sits on the floor with you, swinging the feather toy around as you chase it, gaining a good amount of height the longer you play. His arm gets tired but you're clearly not, so he sits there until you eventually get sick of it and he sets it down while you crawl into his lap for a nap. He was going to make something to eat, but he supposes he can wait.

---

Jason: Paranoid and terrified.

• His initial response is to reassure you that you'll be fine. He'll do whatever it takes you turn you back into a human, no matter what. His second response, is to freak out. He has no idea how to take care of a cat, let alone his partner who's a cat! What if he hurts you? What if he can't fix it?

• Being a cat, you, unbeknownst to him, sense him apprehension and almost immediately start rubbing against his legs until he hesitantly picks you up, cradling you in his arms as gently as possible. You rub your head against his jaw, trying to soothe him and he takes a few deep breaths, relaxing and nuzzling your fur.

• It takes him a while, and a lot of trial and error to figure out how to take care of you, be it buying food you don't like, to accidentally leaving the window open and panicking that you escaped (you were under the bed, because it was warm and safe) but he eventually calms down once the day is finally over.

• Cuddling with you on the couch, he can barely even feel your claws kneeding on his arms because there's so much scar tissue it's too hard to scratch and hurt. Your purring is what calms him down the most though, after an extremely long, stressful day. You sitting on his lap, his hand resting on your back as he slowly and accidentally falls asleep.

• When he wakes up, you're still a cat, still sleeping on him. He picks you up carefully, taking you to the bedroom so he can sleep in his bed and you aren't left alone in the living room. He has a feeling you'll be yourself soon enough, even if he doesn't know exactly when. He'll keep you safe until then.

---

Tim: Shocked and Frantic

• He immediately starts to panic. You're a cat. A freaking cat. How? Why? What does he need to do to fix it? He has a million questions and no answers. But his stress only adds to your own and he quickly tries to calm down before soothing you: "No, no, no. It's fine. You're gonna be fine. I swear."

• Still, the second he gets you out of the room, convincing you that you'd be more comfortable in the living room than in the batcave, he starts to pace and freak out again. It's actually Damian, of all people, who gets him to snap out of it, literally slapping him across the face and telling him to be there for you instead of worrying about the details.

• He listens, to an extent, going back upstairs to where you were chewing on the fern in the living room, ripping a leaf apart. Pulling you away from it as you meow in protest, he cradles you in his arms, apologizing for fretting and promising he won't leave again.

• And he doesn't. He does, however, keep working on a way to fix you. He tries to be annoyed when you start knocking things off his desk, pushing stuff into a water bowl, jumping into his bottom drawer, laying on his papers, but he can't do it. You're just acting too cute to genuinely be mad. Eventually, he takes a break, closing the drawer you were sitting in and hauling you to his bed.

• He'll admit, he threw you with a little less caution than he probably should have, but you didn't mind, crawling onto him the moment he laid down, eager to close your eyes after being awake for far too long. Aka 5 straight hours, which, for a cat, was a lot. He didn't quite realize that, but notices almost immediately how fast you fall asleep once you lay down, curling into a ball, tucking your nose under your tail to keep it warm.

---

Damian: Is both fascinated and prepared.

• He has over a dozen pets, so when you're turned into a cat, he already knows everything there is to know and gets you anything you could possibly need. A nice cat bed, toys to keep you entertained, a post to scratch so you don't ruin any furniture.

• His others pets want to play or chase you, but he scoops you up before any of them can get even close to you. And he insists you stay close to him and not wander off, because you could get lost, kidnapped, or hurt.

• You always knew his knowledge of animals was extensive but didn't realize how much so until he was petting you, explaining how the hair follicles on cats work, which is why they never like to be pet in certain areas.

• Despite having an extremely nice bed, you'd really rather prefer his and he allows it, reminding you not to scratch the pillows or the sheets. "They're Egyptian silk. Don't ruin them." Still, when he catches you clawing at them in your sleep, unaware you were doing it, he doesn't stop you.

• In the morning, he switches feeds you breakfast, in a human bowl so it's not so degrading and takes you with him while he works on a way to fix you. He quickly gets distracted, though, by how you're looking around at everything like it's the most interesting thing ever.

[spiderfunkz]

HYUN-JU x CLINGY!READER

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

author's note: i've been superrr busy with school lately, so i'm trying my best to balance my time and so far it's been great! but of course please be patient with your requests hehe🦭🦭 i'm working on a lot right now!

▸ let's start off with love languages. hyun-ju in my opinion is an acts of service angel! she's such a gentlewoman if you will— someone who will do whatever, whenever, if it means good for you. other than that she loves spending time with you, just your presence alone brightens her day.

▸ quality time means you can be as clingy as you want with her. though, she isn't big with public displays of affection or pda, she always has you near her, as long as you're comfortable, she's perfectly okay. sometimes you'd go out, holding each other's pinky while walking, and you'd go back home basically attached to her by the hip.

▸ she doesn't like to admit it verbally or out loud, but she loves when you just lay next to her and start snuggling up to her. especially after a rough day, it makes her feel so much more at ease and calm. again, she just loves spending time with you even if that means the time is comfortable silence as you slowly fall asleep on her shoulder.

▸ she likes to tease you by calling you a koala, as they tend to cling onto their guardians for warmth and protection. it's cute, and if you were being honest, you do seek for her during cold hours.

▸ hyun-ju gets clingy too. but she's just hesitant when acting it out, you're quick to reassure her that it's all okay though. at the end of the day, you two attach yourselves like velcro until you both fall asleep.

▸ the first time you started acting clingy, hyun-ju got really flustered and shy. for example, during a movie night you rested your head on her shoulder. "are you okay, hyun-ju? you've been so still," in reality, she was scared you would move away from her, "no, no, it's alright. please stay," she'll slowly lay her head on yours.

▸ some times she'll just be minding her own business while you try to scare her, but obviously her previous military training skills kick in, "i can sense that you are behind me, love." she'll giggle as you sigh in defeat, "you're no fun, never mind the kiss then!"

▸ but she's just so gentle and kind with you, like she can't stand seeing you sad or pout. "are you okay? do you need anything?" her voice sounded like a soft lullaby, "i just need you. if that's alright," — "it's more than alright. come here, love."

▸ she's protective too. always has a close eye on you in public. she can just be very protective in general. you must not worry, because she's always got your back! she's very reassuring and is very emotionally intelligent.

▸ you love it when she cooks. you tie her apron into the most perfect bow, she'll tie her hair up in the most attractive way, and you love when she cooks mostly because you can peek over her shoulder, wrap your hands around her waist, and see what she's doing.

▸ "smells really good, hyun." you say, kissing her cheek. time passed and you're still stuck onto her, constantly asking silly questions that are quick to make hyun-ju distracted. "you really are glued to me. you're not going anywhere, hm?" she'll smile, "nope. i'm staying right here." — "good, i'll start to miss you too much."

[alwaysobsessed777]

PANCAKES FOR DINNER - N.M.

So I'm not sure how many words are in this....but there's not warnings, this is just kinda cute???Anyways....enjoyyyyyy

The car ride was tense. I hadn't planned on leaving so soon but work changed what it had wanted me to do. Nika's grip on the steering wheel bleached her knuckles, her jaw stayed tense. I couldn't help but feel guilty, I randomly sprang this info on her the last second. Our summer plans before she went back to UConn for summer training and I went back to working out my musical career were ruined.

"I'm really sorry about this...Nika, I'll make it up to you," her jaw seemed to relax, her hands loosened it's grip.

"No need to apologize, I'm just....I just wanted to spend this next month with you," I almost wanted to spill every feeling, every thought I had about this woman right now after hearing those words. But we were just friends, nothing more.

"sometimes I wish I had a normal dream, like, being a doctor or...or whatever other people want their jobs to be."

A smile spread across the girl's face, a silent celebration went off in my head. "Being the next big pop star is no easy thing. You're dreams were just stronger than others, that's why you're making it a reality."

"Becoming a professional basketball player isn't that easy either."

She snickered. "I'm far from professional, but I'll take it."

"College.... professional....same thing," I paused, "you'll definitely go pro though. You're literally amazing at what you do."

A silence stretched between us, a quiet awkwardness. "I don't know if I will."

"Nika, please, if they don't have you going to like the Aces or the Storm.... they've lost one of the best players to ever walk this Earth."

As heat rose to her cheeks, a small smirk formed on my lips, "Stop, that's the biggest lie you've ever told....and you've told a lot."

"I never lie," that was lie in itself. It's not like I've been lying to her for three years now on how I only wanna be friends.

"Puh-leahs, all you do is lie. Like, when I first met you, you thought you could fool me by saying your straight...did you think I was that stupid," I rolled my eyes, "but it is very kind of you to speak so highly of me." Her dramatic hand-to-the-heart, the batting of her eyelashes, I couldn't help but laugh a little.

The light banter almost making me forget the fact I was getting ready to get on a plane....key word, almost. My palms began to sweat, I could feel my mind start to spiral, I hated planes....and I was getting ready to get in one.

"Hey," The girl beside me slides her hand to my thigh, resting it there for some comfort. "You alright?"

"Aerophobia."

"What?"

"Fear of flying in planes," I quickly faced her, her face softened.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" Her hand intertwined with mine. The warmth of her hands fighting with the chill of mine, it brought me back from my spiral. Only a little.

I nod, "look at me." Her hands encompassing my face, her thumbs rubbed gently across my cheekbones. "Everything is gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay. I'll even wait here with you til you have to get on, alright?"

I nodded, pulling her into a hug. A hug from her seemed to make the rest of the world cease to exist. All I needed was her, her warmth, and the comfort she provided.

But, I couldn't have just that. I had to get on some stupid plane to achieve some stupid dream.

"Alright, we're gonna go inside and just chill til you get on the plane, okay?" I nod, "I better get a call when you land in Cali."

I chuckle, "you will. No doubts about it."

We walked in, hands together, and I couldn't help but let the nerves get to me again. "I wish you could come with me."

Nika's smile seemed to brighten the world around us, "if I could, I would. Sadly, I gotta stay here in ole Croatia and hang with the family."

"I'm gonna miss you," then my thoughts spiraled. The possibility of a crash, even though it was like 1 in 100,000 that I could get in a fatal one. The thought of never seeing Nika again. I wouldn't have been able to tell her how I feel....so I did it. "Nika, I just gotta let you know I have so many feelings for you. Not just the friendly ones, like, the more than friends ones. I wish I was with you, like, I like you so much. I just feel like I make things up in my head that you might like me too, then I go down this rabbit hole of you never actually liking me, not even as a friend. Anyways, I feel like when I'm around you I can't help but feel like the entire world couldn't provide me with as much happiness and you do. I....I...God I think I love you, Nika."

Her eyes widened, surprise mixed with whatever feelings she had towards me, it was written all over her face. I should've just jumped on the plane and hoped it crashed cause I felt more embarrassed now than ever before. At least I'd be at peace with being on the plane if it meant never knowing what Nika really wanted to say.

"How long have you thought that?"

Not the questions, "for...for about three years."

She nodded, stepping closer to me, "You really think I would ever not like you?

""Platonic or romantic?"

"Either."

"Both....I just thought I liked you so much I was making things up in m-"

She cut me off. Her lips crashed to mine. The way her hands pulled me impossibly closer by the waist. My hands shot to her hair, wanting to bring her even closer to me. I had always wanted this.

"God, I've wanted to do that for years," her whispered words left me shocked. I pulled back a bit.

"What?"

"Y/N, you have no clue how bad I've been wanting to do that. Ever since I've gotten to know you...it's like you draw me even closer...wanting more....needing more. I just thought maybe I was reading into things. You're confident and charming, why wouldn't I think you were like that with everyone. But to know you feel the same way....I wish I would've made the move a long time ago."

I couldn't help but smile. Her words causing a heat to rise through my neck, settling on my cheeks. "You're joking."

"Nope," popping the 'p', "I couldn't have been more serious in my life."

My flight was being called, and I couldn't help but notice the nerves had been settled...or I was just currently distracted by the fact Nika had feelings for me.

"So....I gotta go," before I could keep going, Nika planted another soft kiss on my lips, "but maybe I should tell my manager nevermind."

Her laughed filled the space, "Nope, gotta become the biggest pop star in the world. I need you to surpass Taylor Swift one day."

"Whatever," I turned to leave, but took one more glance back at the brunette, "I'll call you when I get off, promise."

A/N: I got one done after months of not being on here!!! Hopefully this is good...enough cause I don't know how I feel about it. @ittiwdwysylm here ya go, Nika fic out!!

[sturnslutz]

honey goes to chris's hockey game.

collab with @stvrnioloslvt !!! and the angst begins...

baby and matt version here!

chris had mentioned to you earlier about his game, but didn't say anything about you coming. you had asked earlier if he could come over and all he texted was, "sorry, honey. i gotta game tonight, but i'll see you later."

baby had mentioned to you earlier how she was going, and had invited you. you had never been to a hockey game and thought it was a great idea to come see chris and matt play, and surprise him.

you and baby got dressed in your room together, and you picked a simple cropped school shirt, and a pair of baggy jeans with some airforce 1's.

the both of you started heading to the stadium your school had, along with many more groups of students around you, most of them from your college, some others from the college you guys were going against.

strawberry ice smoke released from your lips and filled the cold air around you as you and baby talked about whatever was in your minds. despite your shy personality, you always felt comfortable around baby and she helped get you out of your shell.

besides her, it was nathan. nate and you had always been close and he was there whenever you needed him, he was like the brother you never had, and you love him like one.

you guys got to the stadium, being met with nate and a couple of his friends at the front. “baby! honey!” he says, waving and clearly drunk. you laugh softly as he pulls you into a tight hug, muttering about how he missed you so much and how he didn’t know you were coming.

a small shrug comes from you. “decided i would come with baby and see chris and matt play. don’t you usually play too?” he nods, clearly becoming a bit more upset.

“yeah- *hiccup* i got injured though 2 games ago and now im on rest.” he points to his knee that was in a knee brace, and you nodded. “i hope you feel better.” he smiles at you, his eyes lingering a bit longer than needed. you teared your eyes away from his drunk face, looking at baby awkwardly and she just shrugs and laughs. “cmon. we’ll see you later guys.” she interlocks her arm through yours before nodding to nate and his friends, before pulling the two of you away.

“y-you saw that right? i’m not crazy?” you whisper softly to her as you keep your gaze low to the ground, avoiding any unwanted eye contact and letting baby bring you through the stadium. “no, i definitely saw that. he is either drunk out of his mind, or has the hots for you.”

a shiver runs through you at the thought of it. the cold air outside and inside of the stadium doesn't help either. you both get to your seats next to a couple of baby's friends, and you politely smile at them softly, before sitting down.

you listen to the giggling and loud voices of the girls talking next to you, and zone out looking at the chair in front of you. your thoughts are interrupted at the sound of a familiar voice you heard not even 10 minutes ago.

you look up to nate and the same friends that were outside as he gives you a sloppy smile, plopping down in the seat next to you. he wraps his arm around your chair, dropping his beer in the cup holder in front of you.

"hey, hon. y'excited for y'first hockey game?" he tries to whisper in your ear, but messed up completely causing a small laugh to come out of your mouth before nodding. "yeah, i am." he smiles back at you before turning back to his friends next to him.

being in the middle of 2 loud groups is a big red zone for you. but you're grateful for at least being in between your best friends. you pull your phone out of your pocket, checking the time. 2 minutes till the teams come out.

you hear the announcer yell something you can't really pick up, but nate can. he and the guy next to him stand up yelling some chant along the lines of, "cmon team! let's fuckin' go!!" nate looks down at you, signaling for you to stand up which you quickly deny as he playfully rolls his eyes, plopping back down, and actually whispering in your ear. "party pooper."

"im not a party pooper, you know this isn't really my environment." he nods, tilting his head. "so, you and chris a thing?" he abruptly asks which makes your breath hitch. "w-what? i mean, i guess." he nods, his mood slightly diminishing as he leans forward, grabbing his beer once again, taking a big swing.

your eyes widen as you watch him basically down the almost full bottle to only a few drops left. he finishes, practically throwing it back into the cup holder as he sighs, leaning back once more. "y'know he ain't good for you. he'll play the fuck outta you right before your eyes."

your head spins at nate's words, looking back at him, to which he was already looking. you scoff as you notice his serious face. "chris wouldn't do that." he scoffs, just like you a moment ago before letting out a dry laugh. "yeah? watch that shit." you roll your eyes at his words, looking away from him, and moving your body a bit to face baby's direction.

she notices this, giving a small confused look before you shake your head, not wanting to talk about it. she nods a bit before looking at nate behind you, then rolling her eyes. he must've said some dumb drunk shit.

the lights flash across the stadium as a loud horn gets blown through the speakers, the crowd around you bursting into cheers, that including nate and his friends. he purposefully shoves you as he stands up, not even giving something as small as a look to you as he jumps and cheers.

you roll your eyes, getting dragged up by baby so you could properly see. the teams skated out onto the rink, your college taking the right side, skating around in circles, then the other team on the left, doing the same. she leans into your ear, bringing you close to her as she yells and points to 2 specific players. "there's matt and there's chris."

you nod in acknowledgement as your eyes follow chris. his swift movements, how he hits the puck with such force, and how he looks so damn good when he takes off his helmet, his hair already sweaty.

you hear baby laugh softly next to you, wiping your lip. you look at her as she laughs again. "you were drooling." your face flushes in heat as you shake your head a bit. "no way. i was not!" "you definitely were, honey." she smiles at you, looking back to the rink for a second before pulling you back down softly into your seat as the crowd starts to settle down.

the announcer says his usual chants, announcing the players, whatever. his voice going in and out of your ears and you pay solely to chris, who was standing on the side of the rink now, talking with matt. after what feels like forever, the game finally starts.

your eyes are glued to chris as he starts skating at what seems to you, super speed. you're more invested into this game more than almost anything in your life. this causes time to move faster than you think, 10 minutes, 30 minutes, then an hour, and then finally intermission. your eyes came off chris maybe twice that whole hour.

"having fun?" baby asks from besides you to which you quickly nod to. "i can tell. you haven't taken your eyes off the rink the whole time, let's make sure your eyes don't get stuck now." she jokingly says, laughing. you roll your eyes playfully, finally taking a breath as you lean back into your chair.

nate's arm hasn't moved from his place on your chair, evidently causing you to partially lay on it as you lean back. you don't mind it though, and he doesn't either. he's chatting it up with his friends as his fingers absent-mindedly start to play with the ends of your hair as his body still faces his friends.

you look down to your shoulder, seeing his fingers play with your soft hair, and a blush slowly creeps to your cheeks, and baby notices. she doesn't say anything though, letting the moment sink in for you. you look back to the rink, the game starting once again.

your eyes once again find chris, but he didn't get called into play yet. you take this small amount of time to check your phone, once again no notifications besides a couple grades updating, great.

you look back up, chris finally skating in. about 2 minutes in, a player from the other team shoves chris to the ice, and steals the puck, a clear penalty. the crowd bursts into yells as the ref doesn't call it, letting the game continue. you rise from your seat as you can basically see the anger running through chris.

he gets back up, but he's not skating towards the puck, no. he's skating to that bitch who pushed him right before he was making a goal. once he was close enough, he threw his stick wherever, throwing off his helmet in the same movement, before throwing a punch to the guy. he manages to take off the guy's helmet, another penalty.

one punch, then two, then three gets thrown to the guy, all from chris. worry rushes through you as baby stands up next to you, both of you seeing matt rush toward chris, trying to pull him off, but chris shoves him off. chris is seething at this moment, punches repeatedly getting thrown as he gets the guy to the ground. usually refs are supposed to let the players fight it out, but this was getting too violent. chris was getting too violent.

the refs finally managed to get chris off, leaving the other guy with a bloody nose, and a couple teeth missing. as chris got pulled off the rink, curses emit loudly from his mouth. your face grimaces at the sight of seeing chris so violent.

you don't notice when, but nate leans over to you, asking a small, "you good?" once he notices the discomfort in your face. baby also looks over at you, both of them full of worry. "y-yeah. just didn't expect chris to get so violent." both of them nod, understanding. "yeah, he gets into fights, but this was definitely his worst one yet." nate manages to get out of his drunk self.

all of your eyes watch as chris gets pulled to the penalty box, his coach yelling at him as chris runs a hand through his sweaty hair. what you don't miss though, is a girl running to the box pounding on it to get chris's attention. he faces her, his face softening a bit at the sight of her. he stands up, opening the door so she can get in, as he pulls her into a tight hug, kissing her head in the process.

a small gasp comes out of you as you watch the whole thing. nate and baby both look at you, and then follow where your eyes are. "no fucking way." baby says, in a tone you've never heard her use. nate doesn't say anything like you thought he would. baby talks to you, but you can't hear a thing she's saying, her voice replaced by a painful ringing in both your ears, flooding your head.

tears start to build in your eyes as you quickly push past nate and his friends, making your way to the stairs, your feet moving faster than your brain. you don't notice baby and nate following after you, both in pure worry.

you make your way to the penalty box to where chris and the girl are, just staring at the both of them. they don't notice you before baby comes next to you, banging on the glass to get their attention. chris's eyes look at her in confusion, before looking at you, his face dropping. the sight of salty tears falling from your eyes down your cheeks and neck don't go unnoticeable.

"honey.." he says softly, almost so quiet no one heard it, but you did. he's all you could hear, all you could see. "chris." you reply, a choked sob coming from your mouth. you couldn't deny that you felt many eyes on the two of you, but you didn't care.

chris looked different. sure he looked sad, but it also looked like he had no regret, at all. the girl finally speaks up, her high pitch voice making the ringing in your ears worse. "so, who the fuck are you?" she says with a disgusted tone in her voice as you tear your eyes away from chris, now looking at her. she looked absolutely nothing like you, she was a completely different person.

"i'm honey." you say softly, trying not to show the sadness in your voice, which was clearly inevitable due to the state you're in. a sarcastic laugh falls from her. the game behind you all becomes a blur, now the 5 of you in a whole completely different environment, even if you guys didn't actually leave the stadium.

"well, honey. i'm addison. chris's girlfriend." it almost seems like the stadium crashed from around you, burying you in debris, with no way to get out. you're suffocating in your own tears. "girlfriend? what the fuck?" baby speaks out, her tone laced with disgust. "yeah, bitch. what's it to you?" addison quickly replies back. with her eyes looking away from you and now to baby, which quickly erupted into an argument, your eyes look back to chris, to what seems like he didn't look away from you once. matt came up to the glass, listening in and watching everything go down, his gaze lingering on baby.

"so, this is why you didn't invite me. you invited your secret girlfriend instead." your voice similar to baby's, a tone chris has never heard from you. he stays quiet, before nodding. "yeah." you scoff, nodding and looking away. "fuck you, chris." you finally say, before turning around and walking away from the group.

you don't miss the way you catch peoples' gazes from their seats, to which you look away quickly, your pace fastening. you feel a hand interlock into yours, to which you flinch, but look over and see baby next to you. "those assholes." she mutters as she drags the both of you out of the stadium, her feet walking towards your apartment building.

your steps abruptly stop, your hand pulling out of hers. she slows her steps, looking back at you. sobs pour out of you again, the tears never ending now. she pulls you into a tight hug, rubbing her hand over your hair as you sob into her shoulder.

"chris is an asshole, honey. i'm so sorry." she says in between shh's and soft words. you sob again, your throat for sure scratched up. "i just don't understand." she shakes her head softly. "me either, hon. i wish i could beat his ass right now, and that dumb bitch addison or whatever her fuck ass name is. she's ugly as fuck, too. he downgraded." you laughed softly, standing up straight, trying to wipe the mascara off your cheeks.

the tears don't stop though, they just come out less aggressively. "cmon, i don't want some creeps seeing you cry in the middle of the street." she takes your hand as you nod, following after her. you don't miss how your phone is vibrating every second with a new notification. you look down, taking your phone out of your pocket, seeing dozens of texts from chris and nate.

chris❣️:

"honey im sorry."

"i didnt know u were coming tn, i shouldve invited u instead."

"she had no right speaking to you like that"

"i told her we're breaking up and to leave"

"please come back kid im sorry."

“please honey come back ur my favorite girl in the world.”

"nate really cares for you. him and matt are yelling at me right now."

"honey cmon please."

"i know you're getting these, y/n."

"y/n, cmon. you didnt think u and i were dating right?"

"text me when you're not in a bitchy mood, ight?"

nathan💯:

"where didd you gi?"

"im stilk drunik as fuck i cnt drive"

"plz cme back."

"that bitch id ugly antwsys."

"i luv u kid i hopy you feel beter"

the sudden change in chris's texts make a weird feeling run through you. "baby, look." you softly say to her as you hand her your phone. she turns around, taking your phone, reading chris and nate's texts as she continues walking you both, the two of you significantly closer to your building.

you watch her face distort into every emotion, her reacting with the same wave of emotions as you as she hands back your phone. "chris is a fucking weirdo. the switch up was crazy. at least nate was nice, i guess."

you nod, stuffing your phone back into your pocket as the two of you get to the entrance of your building, you quickly stepping forward to type the code in. the both of you make it up to your room, to which you unlock it, rushing in and immediately running to your bedroom, flopping onto the bed.

"i'm staying here tonight, okay? i'm not letting you be alone." you nod, looking up and seeing baby search through your closet, throwing you a pair of your pj's and grabbing herself a pair.

after some time, the two of you end up in your bed, searching through netflix for a movie. "so, you and matt?" you ask softly, looking at her. her eyes widen as she looks at you, practically disbelief in her eyes. "i am not talking about a sturniolo right now. tonight is for us, only." you rolls your eyes, looking at her while tilting your head. "cmon, i saw you looking at him the whole game. so, is something happen between you two?" she sighs, accepting defeat. you're actually making her talk about him.

"i don't know. there's some tension, i guess. but it's nothing besides that. at least not yet." she smirks softly at the last sentence to which the both of you burst into laughter. after that, the both of you end the night with the lorax and leaving the sturniolo name out of your mouths.

you still haven't responded to chris or nathan.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @ilovedanielcaesar @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattssslutbby @mattybsgroupie @mattysketchup @m11rx @slut4brunettes @trevorsgodmother @chrislova @slut4christopherr @sturns-mermaid @oopsiedaisydeer @conspiracy-ash @p1mpactivities @sweeetbabysblog @brooklyncameron comment to be added or removed.

[reocidal]

FILM DIVA!

PAIRING ALHAITHAM X GN!READER

WARNINGS alhaitham gets hit by one (1) (soft) (cardboard) popcorn bucket, one (1) instance of swearing. romcom ish? vibes?

WORD COUNT 703

AUTHOR'S NOTE um. haha whats this @phantasmaebg

ALHAITHAM has always lived his life in black and white, clear cut rules and a perfect routine. he has no need for the mundane "joys" of everyday life, or whatever kaveh's been harping about most recently. he'd made that clear to himself — and everyone else — on his first day at the akademiya. he's skipped lunch dates and dinner dates and movie dates and hangouts with his friends (they're not his friends, he says) in lieu of studying more. black and white, study and sleep, that's all he needs in his life.

he thinks it's only fitting that you waltz unapologetically into his life, whimsical splashes of colour and noise as a sick sort of karma afterwards. you're loud and bright and your blood (he assumes) is liquid rainbows and you're everything he isn't. you're also dragging him to a movie theatre right now, and he really doesn't want to go.

there's a permanent scowl etched onto his face, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black hoodie. you'd told him to dress casual, and then gone through his entire closet when he'd opened the door in something appropriate only for the most depressing and sombre of funerals. after a lengthy consultation with "the committee", as you claimed — he thinks you just spoke to the other voices in your head — you'd come up with the most casual of outfits possible in his (rather hopeless) case. a dark hoodie, and even darker jeans.

"seriously, dude, get something nicer," you'd grumbled, and he'd glared at you in response, but the mental note was still made.

you're quite the contrast to him — what colour even is this? chartreuse? whatever you're wearing is absolutely hideous and would make anyone wearing it look even worse, but not you. never you, apparently. he really hates his brain, but you're positively glowing in this lettuce-coloured garbage bag.

the movie is boring; he prefers to look at you instead — though he'd never say that out loud. the micromovements of your face, the expressions that you make, bathed in the ever-changing multi-coloured light of the screen — it's all a thousand times more intriguing than whatever's going on in the film.

halfway through the film, you turn to him accusingly. "you're not paying attention!"

"i am," he protests, although without any effort to actually oppose your claim. you raise an unconvinced brow and he shrugs. "not that this needs a lot of attention to be given in order to be understood. it's quite simple, actually."

"that's one of my favourite movies ever," you snort. "you shouldn't insult people like that, you shit!"

how does he fix this?

"or consider," he begins, smooth, placating. "the simplicity of the film is the exact reason why it appeals to you. it provides you the comfort that you yearn for without making you feel the discomfort of having to use your brain."

"are you calling me dumb, alhaitham?"

he grimaces. "no, y/n, you're very smart. really."

unfortunately, he also accidentally uses his comfort unruly children voice and not his i am being sooo serious voice.

your empty popcorn carton hits him square in the jaw. he picks it off the floor (no littering!) and rubs his face with his free hand. "this was somewhat unnecessary, don't you think, y/n?"

"thanks for the heads up," you reply, rather unremorsefully. "it'll probably happen again."

he's never been happier to be alone with you, he decides. better to be embarrassed alone than in front of an audience. wait, technically he's the audience here, right? how confusing; he hates to think about it. the rest of the movie passes rather uneventfully — he pays a little more attention than before, and you tone down the physical violence to only one or two jabs that you declare are accidental. (he knows they're not.) on the way home, you buy him an ice pack and a meat stew: PIZZA edition; 40% off! as an apology.

back at home, alhaitham thinks it over and decides that he does not hate you at all. after all your antics today, it concerns him tremendously. surely… surely not. he doesn't do romance; this is impossible! yet, a pale flush spreads across his face all the same.

© reocidal 2024

[harpsinfinity]

The welcome you deserve

Leon kennedy X gn!reader

Genre: fluff

REQUESTS OPEN !!

No warnings for this one, just wholesomeness :)

Pls listen to this whole reading:

It seemed like the world was weighing him down with each step he dared to take, anchoring him. But he wouldn't let that stop him, the heavy drag of his boots against the floor couldn't keep him away from his love. Hell, even if the world burned down he'd still make sure you were right there. Safe and protected in his loving arms.

Finally he thought, home at last. Away from whatever the hell kind of hell he faced during his time parted from you. His movements were almost sluggish, eyes laced with exhaustion as he managed to swing the door to your home open.

There, you were greeted with your, very tired, boyfriend. His hulking form almost slumped, as if he was to fall over flat on his face any minute. His eyes met yours, a shine of adoration for you breaking through them.

"welcome home, baby"

A smile graced your lips as you let the man inside before wrapping your arms around him. Trying to give him your best bear hug. You couldn't have been more joyful that Leon had come home, even if he was worse for wear. You'd always build him back up though, always.

Your hand connects with the side of his face, leaning up on your tip toes to press a loving kiss to his lips. Oh, how you'd missed the feeling of his lips on yours, how he held you in his arms and gave you praise after praise.

Leon mumbles a "missed you, angel" a huff of fondness coming from him.

You took one good look at his worn out form, clicking your tongue as you decided it was time to give this man the best pampering session, and sleep, of his life. He deserved it after all, for being so strong and brave during his mission, protecting the country from all those hellish creatures.

"c'mon, let's get you cleaned up" you chimed.

With a tired nod, Leon allows you to take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together, and lead him to your shared bathroom where he'd be lulled into a world of tranquility.

In no time your ran a bath, filled with warm water and all the bubbles someone could wish for. You even lighted candles and scent sticks, you really went all out for your boyfriend. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon was both comforting for welcoming, something Leon had been looking forward to.

You helped Leon out of his clothes, tossing them in the washing basket for the next days washing session. The pair of you entered the bath, letting Leon rest his weary head against your chest. The warm water caressed his muscles, such a satisfying feeling after being caked in sweat and grime with no way of removing it. Leon always found it to be such an awful feeling.

From there, you gave the blonde mop on his head a wash. He was due a haircut but, that could wait until he was well rested. Your fingers made careful work of massaging the shampoo into his scalp, you used yours as per his request. It pulled quiet groans of content from him, feeling the tenseness of his muscles vanish with each scrub.

You swiped back the wet locks of his hair, pressing gentle, tender kisses all over his handsome face. His stormy blue eyes gazed into yours as you pressed another kiss to his lips, his eyes were practically heart shaped as he admired your face. The face he'd been dreaming for so long, you'd kept him going. The thought of you was enough to keep him strong.

"don't deserve you, angel. You're too good to me"

Leon murmured lowly, humming in delight as your nails found his back, tracing gentle patterns along it. You cupped his cheek once more, pressing one more kiss to his lips and between his brows before replying:

"you deserve the whole world, baby, jus don't know it."

That seemed to make his heart flutter, though he wouldn't admit it.

Soon, your now relaxed and pampered other half was clean, dried, dressed and ready for bed. Accompanied with being in your arms, tucked in.

His head was stuffed in your neck, inhaling your scent that he had missed so much. He had a loose grip around your waist and your legs tangled together.

With one of your hands rubbing up and down his back, and the other tangled in his hair, it was impossible for him to fight off the sleep that pleasantly plagued him.

It was no suprise when you heard soft snores against your neck, a fond smile gracing your lips before you pinned a kiss to his head and decided it was time to join him in Dreamland.

[oceandelreysworld]

Loving injuries pt.2

So so sorry ts look so long to make pt 2, but here it is!

_______________________________________

"Okay, just be gentle..?" You look at her with puppy eyes, not realizing what you were doing.

"Of course, princess, always." All Vi could think about is pulling your face close to hers to kiss you...

The eye contact between the two of you stayed like that for a moment. Vi is still holding your hand. You could feel the heating tension before Vi shook her head, focusing on what she needed to do again.

As Vi grabs the alcohol back up, she lets go of your hand to grab a cotton ball. You both felt that warmth turn into coldness.

You were a little disappointed, bringing you back to reality on what she was about to do.

She poors a small portion of the alcohol on the cotton, slowly coming closer to your side.

"You ready, pretty girl?"

You froze up but nodded your head hesitantly.

She placed her other hand back in yours, comforting you with the familiar warmth returning.

She was almost touching your skin, with you winceing your muscles in your face-

The door slamed open.

You both flinched at the loudness.

"Vi, stop!" Ekko yelled, dropping the pillows on the ground.

"What? What!" She froze in a panic.

"You can't just put alcohol on it open and infected! You need to clean it first dumbass!" Ekko argued with his hands moving in the air.

Your eyes are just wide at surprise with the level Ekkos voice was. He was a little scary when he's loud. He must have seen your emotions written on your face. He walks over to you, glaring at Vi, then turning his attention back at you.

"Damn it, I'm sorry, y/n. I didn't mean to scare you. I know that would've hurt like a bitch if I didn't say something though. I'm sorry."

"No... it's fine. I just wasn't expecting it. Or the door slamming." Eyes looking down at your hands, fiddling with your nails.

He looks at you with those eyes. Eyes you haven't seen in a really long time.

Ekko forgot how startled you got from loud noises. It was a whole thing when you were younger. The kids' Vi's age would make fun of you even though u were only a few years apart. Ekko and Powder were always there to calm you down, while Vi would yell or hit the other kids for making fun of you. When you would hear loud noises, you would go into a panic like state.

And you seemed to forget how bad Ekko and Vi got being protective of you. Reason on why they're acting the way they are now.

"Vi.. just let me handle her. Go help the others set up dinner." He sighed, closing his eyes to try and stay calm.

"Wha- Ekko, I was only trying to help!" Vi stands up from the seat, her body language defensive.

"Vi-"

"Vi." You interrupted ekko with a stearn voice, softened it up with a light sigh.

They stop bickering and turn their attention twords you.

"I dont wanna see you guys arguing about me. Please. We just got here."

Vi looks at little disappointed while Ekko has a smirk on his face.

"Hey. Stop it. She didn't know. Just because I told her to stop doesn't mean you get to act like you weren't part of the problem."

The silence in the room was so thick that you could legitimately cut it with a blade.

Both of their heads were looking twords the ground.

Vi opened her mouth and then closed it again for a moment before speaking.

"If you need me, princess, I'll be outside.."

"Thanks Vi. Ekko, when you're done, can you let her know to come back in?"

Vi walked out, shoving the pillows with her foot, moving them out of the way so she didn't step on them. Ekko just nodded his head, then looked back up at you.

"Can you do whatever it is that you and Vi were arguing about now?"

"Yeah yeah...I'm sorry. You know how we are.. especially when it comes to you.."

"I know...let's just get this over with please."

-------------------------------------------------------

Vi walks back into the room after helping set up dinner to see you sleeping, and Ekko sitting next to your bed knocked out in a chair.

As she walks up to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, little man, I'll watch her for a little while. Go get some actual sleep."

He mumbled under his breath after opening his eyes all they way. "Fine. Just don't bother her too much."

"Yeah I know. "

He gets up after that, looking back at you, then walks out. Slaming the door a little to where Vi flinches.

You groan, moving over closer to the wall. Vi takes this chance to slowly and quietly lay down next to you. She covers you up with the blanket.

"Hmm? Vi?" You say in a groggy tone, still with your back turned to her. You slowly move to turn over, but with the slightest movement you wince.

"Hey hey, yeah, it's me, princess. It's me. Don't move, you'll hurt yourself mo- Hey wait- y/n I said don't move."

You turn over so you're facing her, ignoring what she just said. You don't say anything, neither does she, but you both feel the tension between you too. Body's so close you can feel the warmth of hers on your skin.

"You're as stubborn as you used to be, you know that y/n?" You can hear the smile on her face when she says that laughing.

You stare at your hands between you two. She sees you fiddling with them, so she grabbed both of your hands with hers and intertwined them. You instantly turn pink. You think it's embarrassing, but Vi on the other hand, finds it so lovable. Finds you lovable.

"You don't need to be nervous or embarrassed. There's no one else here. Just you and me. Just us." You can feel her looking at you when she's talking, but you're not bold enough to look back. She releases one of the hands she was holding to cup your face and tilt your head up to look at her.

"Just us y/n." Her face slowly inches closer as her eyes move from yours to your lips. Your breaths fasten, and you can feel your heart beat through your entire body. Your breathing starts to get heavier.

"Shhh, princess, it's okay. Shh, it's alright." She moves her hand from your face to your heart and moves your hand to hers.

"Breathe with me, okay? You can feel my heartbeat, yeah? Good, baby, good. Breathe how I am. Just take a few deep breaths." She nods her head as you start to breathe, nodding with her.

You stare at her as your face softens. Your breathing starts to calm down now that you can feel her heartbeat. It's so soothing to you. So nostalgic.

"There you go baby, see? All better." She says, smiling but slowly droping it as you both stare into eachothers eyes.

This time, it's you leaning in, moving your hand to her cheek, then to the back of her neck pulling her in for a kiss.

You feel the whole world pause. Like it's just you and her in that moment. Slowly and loving. She moves her hands, one wrapping around your waist, pulling even you in closer than you had been before.

You panic a bit before she leans in, your eyes flickering back and forth between hers and then down to her lips.

When she kisses you, your eyes start to flutter shut as she rubs her thumb on your waist. The feeling of her hand on your waist makes your whole body tingle with heat.

You gasp when she pulls you to her where your chests are touching. The only thing keeping you apart is the clothing.

She slips her tongue in, causing you to whine, and the feeling of her hand moving from your waist to your lower back makes you moan, goosebumps running all over your body.

Her kiss distracted you from the pain. The way her mouth moved with yours. The way her hands explored your body, slowly moving up your back, getting under your shirt. Her hands where so warm compared to your cold back.

She pulled away from the kiss, making you whimper from the loss of her lips on yours. You move your face closer to hers, trying to kiss her again.

Vi's lips ghosted gently on yours, her thumb and your bottom lip, and her forehead on yours.

"I dont wanna go too fast, baby. If we keep moving like this, I dont know if I'll be able to hold back...I don't wanna hurt you." She said, looking down at your lips, her voice whispering as her thumb rubs your bottom lip.

You look at her with puppy eyes as she talks slowly. You respond with a slow nod.

"You know.. I've wanted you to do that since forever." You chuckle.

She looks you in the eyes and just smiles. She moves her thumb to rub the side of your cheek. You get flustered again, but don't look away this time. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hide the big smile on your face.

She chuckles and pulls your face back in for a kiss. Being as gentle with you as she can be. Slowly kissing you, moving her lips from your to your forehead.

"Baby, you got two choices. You can sleep for the rest of the day, or I can go get you some food, bring it up here, sit up her, and eat with you. Hmm? Which one sounds better?" She says, whispering against your head.

"Both" you both laugh lightly.

"Okay, we can do that."

There's a comfortable moment of silence. You close your eyes and nuzzle your head into her neck as she chuckles.

"Hey, y/n?"

You mumbled a yes into the crook of her neck, causing her to laugh at the tickle of your voice.

"I never told you but...I- i love you."

You could feel the speed of her heartbeat and her breath pacing. You lay your hand on her heart, slowly moving your thumb in circles. You kiss her neck at the same time. You can feel her body relaxing more as you do.

"You didn't need to tell me...I've always known. I love you too Vi. Always have, always will." You smile as you can feel her hand move to the back of your head gently rubbing your hair.

She can't get enough of you. Her heart fluttered when you said you loved her. She's been waiting for you to say those words.

___________________________________________a/n: i am so so sorry ts took 4ever. Also if I slept anything wrong please tell me. I'm dislexic so I might make a few slip ups. I hope you guys liked ts😭🙏🏼💗

Tag list:

@maruiin @armyswag93 @maddiethegoodwitch

Ps:There was sb else that wanted to be tagged, but I couldn't find there tag😭

[guesswhojusttt]

peace, peace, my love (Aizawa/reader)

Summary:

aizawa is not a good person, but he can try to be. you are not a person at all, but you can pretend to be.

(to those who wish they were a little easier to love)

Read on AO3

In which Aizawa adopts a cat. (You are that cat.)

It's never a bad time to bring a grown man to his knees.

Your nose twitches, smelling the petrichor before it happens. Big fat drops splash onto dry, grey pavement, spreading like stains on a shirt, like ink in a pond, and wet cat fur takes forever to dry, so you dart to the nearest shelter (the word shelter doing a whole lot of heavylifting here).

You huddle beneath a coarse bush, make a home of its sharp brambles and drooping boxwood leaves, the edges eaten away by crawling caterpillars or tiny ants or Japanese beetles. Your claws pick idly at the loose dirt, with its dead leaves and snapped twigs, its sharp rocks and wriggling worms that have made this damp earth their home. It would be so much easier, wouldn't it, to be a worm? You do not have to scavenge and hunt and fight for food- you can simply nibble at the nearest shred of vegetation. If it is cold, you need not seek shelter, merely crawl into the nearest pile of filth. What luxury it would be, wet mud your bed, soft grass your blanket, and all manner of greenery as your feast. No one to adopt you, coax you into a false sense of security, only to replace you and toss you out once they find someone better, someone who gives them everything you never could no matter how had you tried, no matter how you forced yourself to mold and change into anything, anything they desired, but it was not enough, because you were not enough, even when you had warped yourself into a form you did not recognize, metamorphosing yourself at their beck and call-

But, though you feel like one, though you may certainly be treated as one, you are not a worm. So you gather your limbs beneath you and tuck your head below the bush, chin resting on a patch of pillowy leaves, and watch the shoes of the people as they pass. An expensive pair of Nike's or Jordan's or whatever type of shoes high school boys obsessed over these days, pencil-thin, hot pink stilettos all tall and elegant and just a step closer to permanently disfiguring the woman's poor heels, chafed black boots that are well-worn (well-loved, your favorite type of shoes- and thus the type of people who wear them- are those that have clearly seen better days, were once shiny and polished and brand new, but have since been broken in, lost color and shine but are still worn year after year- loyalty, you think, to keep them around instead of replace them. Or maybe this man's just poor and can't afford a new pair, but… you like to think, well. Wouldn't it be nice to be a pair of shoes, kept around year after year, regardless of how you lose whatever was first appealing about you- never tossed out, never abandoned or replaced?)

What kind of life is it, if you spend your days dreaming of a worm's life, fantasizing about being a torn pair of old shoes?

You gaze out from your comfortable perch- this bush is yours, if nothing else is- and you may be parched, you may be starving, you may feel fur and fibers clinging to your ribcage till it caves in, concave chest and nothing else between your skin and bones except the thinnest most breakable layer of tissue- but at least here, you're safe from the oncoming rain. A cute pair of cats all snowy-white and speckled and spackled in cheerful orange dart past, and a little girl tugs on her mama's skirt and eagerly points at them, bouncing on her feet in her dusty-pink ballerina slippers until the mom sighs fondly, reaches into her purse, pours out a water bottle the cats eagerly lap up, nuzzling into the little girl's legs as she giggles and squeals in delight.

Well, of course (you think bitterly), everyone loves a cute kitten. You sigh and burrow your face deeper into your arms, tail flicking irritably. Why are they out so late anyway? Shouldn't the kid be asleep by now? Way past her bedtime.

The familiar pair of scuffed snow boots walks past your bush- this pair of shoes is always home well after most people are, must work a late shift, poor guy- but with your tail still agitating, it rustles the marcescent, withering leaves just a bit, just a touch, almost imperceptibility- you're never one to make much noise, why draw attention to yourself, why incite what'll only hurt you- yet the boots stop short, because of course they do. Of course he has superhuman, doglike hearing, because you truthfully weren't making much noise at all.

(You never do, anymore.

[You know better, now])

The tall figure stoops down, and if he has any regard for how dumb and silly and frankly pathetic he looks, grown-ass man bent in half, hair nearly brushing the dirt as he tries to get on your level- well. This sort of man seems to have no regard for anything, if that lackadaisical, languid, lethargic demeanor is anything to go by. He blinks at you- slowly, slowly now- and you blink lazily back.

He leaves.

Can't say you're surprised. He'd probably thought there was a cute fluffy kitten cloistered in the bushes, had wanted to take sympathy on it and feed it and maybe even pet it a little, but the moment he took a good look at you- matted fur and missing ear and mucusy eyes- he'd regretted having stooped down to inspect the bush to begin with. Well, of course he did. Wouldn't want to risk rabies or ticks or whatever else might be hitchhiking in your hair. You almost can't blame him.

Almost. For such a little thing, you really are full of more hatred than your small body knows what to do with.

You idly bat at a sprouting crabgrass weed, displacing a black ant that had been edging up its stem, when the thick, peeling boots come back, and with them, the foreign, exotic, salivating mouth-watering gourmet heavenly scent of-

Tuna.

No, not the stubby little can with cold watery shreds, but ahi tuna steak. Easily a fat inch thick, juicy and tender and comes-apart-in-your-mouth meat.

Oh. He must've seen the cute twin cats earlier and his old little heart must've softened and he must've wanted to why is he crouching down at your bush again? Are they behind you? No, would've heard. Your one ear hears better than two, really. But, no, neither your eyes nor your ear lie to you- he really is offering you this blue-ribbon tuna steak.

He digs his long index finger into it, peels off a morsel, and plops it down on the cracked curb before you. You're no idiot and make no move to take it. He backs up- five feet, ten feet- and only when he is no longer within grabbing distance do you pounce on it, snatching it up in your jaw and scurrying back to hide in the bush before he can blink.

You down it so quickly you choke. Not even a second to savor the rare, precious, once-in-a-lifetime flavor. You'd squandered your chance to delight in its taste and you'll never again-

He's offering another scrap. backing away- one arm's length, two arm's lengths-

You seize it and dash back into hiding and gobble it up and-

You continue this little song and dance till you've eaten the steak whole.

The next day, you do not perk up when he comes by, nor do you spend your full day awaiting his return. Because you are better than that, and you know better than that, and you know it was a fluke. A one-off encounter, because either he'd been drunk (though your sharp nose had not detected any traces of alcohol) or sentimental (his no nonsense manner does not strike you as the sentimental sort), and you weren't gullible enough, naive enough, foolish enough to really think he'd come by for you again.

And your shoulders do not relax when he sits at the park bench, stretching his long legs out, sighing off the weight of his day. The mini-playground, consisting solely of a small, faded red slide and an airplane spring rider, sits in wood chips which conveniently double as a big old litter box. A grey tabby- one you'd benignly dubbed Thief- scuttles over to the man's boots, its tail winding round his leg affectionately. He droops his large hand down, lets Thief sniff it, scent it, lick it.

You tamp down your envy. You expected this, and you can't be mad about things you knew would happen, right? That's like being mad at the weather for raining after you'd already checked the forecast and chose not to bring an umbrella.

Thief paws up the man's leg to settle on his lap, reveling in the scritches behind his ear and under his chin, leaning into the man's large, warm body.

You shiver under your bush, suppress an aggressive hiss (the time for fighting is long since over, for you. As far as you were concerned, Thief could have him, goodbye and good riddance), and curl your limbs closer, ever closer, around yourself.

It's going to be a long night.

Best you go to sleep now.

Night after night, when the moon is high in the sky or when the sun is just beginning to crawl up from the horizon, he comes back. Night after night, you are still on the waitlist for every homeless shelter within a 50-mile vicinity, and go back and forth between cat and person as if it makes a difference at all.

It would be nice to believe he was looking for you, but really he is just here to play with whatever stray cat is out. So you hide while he feeds fat, big, strong Garfield, and you bristle, because he snatches up any scrap you find before you can even smell it, batting at you and hissing at you or even scratching at you even if you were in the middle of eating something- if he spots food, it's his, doesn't matter whose mouth its currently in- he can and will and does snatch food right from between your jaws, still spit-slick and half-gnawed.

Even the big black cat- almost-panther-like, in size and appearance, but not as strong, or if he was as strong before, he's had it long since beaten out of him. He lopes over with a fluid agility that promise once I was something great, but now, with gunky black stains trickling from the corners of his great big eyes in permanent tear tracks, flinching, just like you, at the slightest sound, jumping, just like you, at the first sign of a motion just a hair too fast, conceding, just like you, to any cat half his size or strength the moment it wanted to steal his food right out from under him.

Yeah. Weak and a little pathetic, just like you. You get him. He's your favorite. You look out for each other, the both of you. All that really boils down to is that he doesn't steal your food and you don't steal his, and if he seeks shelter under your bush, you let him, and if you trail after him, he lets you.

It is the closest thing you have tasted to love. To friendship.

(It is not enough.)

But maybe that is because you are greedy, all-consuming, always wanting more than the little slivers and scraps they toss you. One day someone will extend an itsy bitsy droplet of kindness and you will think this solitary drop is enough to sate years and years of parched mouth and dry tongue, others you go from night to day without a single interaction and back again, and the starvation is back, like it never left, like its only compounded exponentially, worse and worse every day you go without a single moment of affection and-

And the last and only time you've been touched in a way meant not to harm is-

Is-

Is years ago, in that shelter's end of the year catch-and-release program. They grabbed you, vaccinated you against ringworms and parasites, and subsequently released you back into the wild as if you could survive out here.

Well, you're fine. You're all good out here. Just peachy.

The sky breaks open. It's happening less and less, and this worries you. Rain used to be common. Snow used to be common. Now, you're lucky to see even a smattering of snow, it's an unmitigated miracle if there's baker's sugar powdering the streets. Gone are the days of snowballs and snow forts and snowmen, lamenting long-gone snow days where children get to stay home from school and snow so high it drowned the park benches in its crests and dips. The rain is good, yes, in the sense that there'll be plentiful water to lap up when it douses the clefts of the cement, the fissures of the sidewalks, but immediately it only means that this bush isn't enough, the dappled leaves a contented for the water to seep through and soak the dirt at your feet. you scurry to the tall trash cans only to find a family of cats has already made it their home, using the plush, overflowing trash bags- thin and black and shimmery as drips slip down and coat them- as bedding, as shelter from the storm. The pitter-patter of the rain gushes into a torrent, and you dash to the overhang above the doors to the apartment buildings but of course, of course, both Thief and Garfield are already there, albeit on opposite ends since both are too competitive to really get along. Your precious bush is colonized by a drove of rabbits that in any other time or situation would know better than to come here, of all places, where bigger cats like Sushi and Fushi would eat them alive. Stupid, ugly, disease-ridden, tapeworm-carrying, flea-infested furbags, they thump their hind legs and lunge and you really, really don't have the energy to deal with them.

You can weather bad weather. You certainly have before- you are capable of it, more than capable. On one hand, you could probably slip through a train station and take it as your bed for the night, on the other, the last time you did that, someone reported you, so. Cat form it is.

Sure, the life expectancy for stray cats is about a fourth of house cats, but you've adjusted better than most. You're not weak, like the rest of them.

Even if… even if you weren't born into being a stray like some of them are. Even if, once, you'd actually been gullible enough to believe…

But there was no use worshiping that family in your mind. They never appreciated it once anyway.

The man comes back (late, as always), his eyes alighting on you as if he'd been searching for you. As if worried about you. as if. He takes a step towards you. You take three back. He crouches low, makes himself smaller, less intimidating.

He is not any less intimidating than a lion that rears back before it strikes.

You do not want his help. Not because you do not need it- you are not arrogant, nor are you so foolish so as to believe you, or anyone else, is entirely self-sufficient- not even because you do not want it (who would not welcome a warm, dry shelter from the thrashing storm lashing the trees themselves in all their height and grandeur?)- but rather, because you cannot have it.

Not permanently.

Last time you'd actually fallen for it-

So no. You have no interest in letting him warm you and dry you and take care of you only to abandon you the moment the rain stops. What is the point of love if not everlasting? What is the point of letting him give you just a sliver, just a finite taste, of what warmth could be like only to toss you back out like garbage?

No. You will huddle under this tree even as the rain slips through the leaves and douses you. He's getting soaked, too, but those heroic types are always willing to sacrifice small comforts for the greater good. You leap to the lowest hanging branch when he makes to approach you, dig your claws into rough bark, buried in the little crevices and cracks along the wood, skittering and scrambling up the tree to get away from him like a cat possessed. Take the hint, you want to growl, I don't want you. I'm not fine on my own but I'm still better off than I would be with anyone else.

He misinterprets your distaste for fear (it isn't, but of course he is the arrogant sort), and carefully lopes over to the base of the tree, craning his neck up to look at you, blinking the rain out of his bloodshot eyes. He raises one long arm to shield his stubbly face from the onslaught of rain, other hand weaving two long fingers into his stretchy grey scarf- grey, like the overcast sky, grey, like the sheets of rain separating you and him as a thick and much-welcome curtain. He takes another step closer, jaw set as if intending to scale the tree and rescue you, so you arch your back and hiss and do everything a cat does to say go away and leave me alone, but all he does is cock his head in sympathy, making a cooing noise that is so condescending and infantalizing that you'd all but gouge his eyes out were you not set on keeping him as far away as possible, scrabbling up to the next branch, ever higher, the torrent of icy water stabbing through your fur coat and right into your skin, again and again, cold sharp needles battering away at you- the leaves do not protect you at all, the tree swaying in the wind and bending and bowing to the harsh winds. When he realizes that no amount of pspsspsssting is going to bribe you to abandon your safe harbor, he squares his shoulders and straightens his slouch and tightens his grip on his loose grey scarf, tugging at it, winding it-

Then shakes his head, as if thinking better of it.

Instead, he offers his hand. Palm up. Crooks one long finger in a come hither motion.

You snort. Does he really think this would work?

He digs around in his trouser's pocket. Pulls out his phone. Your heat jackrabbits- is he trying to send you to a shelter? Not again not again- you're ready to leap off the tree and take your chances to outrace him, but-

Cats. Yowling. He's pulled up a Play this to attract your cat and make it meow back (works instantly!) video, and … he looks up at you so hopefully, so expectantly, that you almost feel a little bad for the sopping wet cat of a man before you. Almost want to throw him a bone. Rain ricochets off his moisture-wicking raincoat, douses his mop of black hair, stringy strands falling into his face (weathered, less so with age than with weariness). He fishes in his oversized pockets again, replacing his phone with a…

Carton?

CATMILK: TREAT FOR CATS & KITTENS, a cartoon of a bright orange cat heartily licking a milk mustache off its upper lip.

Does he… carry around a carton of milk for cats? Just in case? [1]

Does this man not have hobbies outside of following stray cats like some sort of stalker? [2]

He makes those soft kissy sounds that you know he thinks attract cats but really just make him look like a silly old man.

He's certainly tall enough, long-limbed enough, that if he really wanted to, he could just scale the tree and seize you himself, so it's beyond you why he's going to such bizarre, near-comedic lengths to lure you down. His pants are plastered to his legs by now, the rain sticking his clothes to his skin and isn't he cold, even in those thick boots and even with the turtleneck peeking out beneath his coat- it is the sort of wetness where it not possible to get any wetter, a drowned rat in a gutter. (You've seen and eaten enough of them to know.)

Put this poor idiot out of his misery, you huff, give him what he wants and then he'll leave you alone. As you always are. As you always should be.

You rear back on your haunches, slowly, slowly, and his eyes widen so earnestly that he must be a child seeing Santa is real, spreading his arms wide to catch you.

Well, fine.

Placate him and he'll go away soon enough.

You leap off the tree, claws out, head first, the branch left trembling from your jump off it, and he does not startle, does not react- you think dully, this must be a man who is used to catching people, to adjusting to unpredicted weights, permanently prepared. He draws his inky rain coat open, letting his sweater get rain-splattered in the process, tucking you into his jacket and bundling you close and tight before speed-walking to his home, kicking up sprays of water and splashing up perfectly good puddles in his haste to get home.

No.

To get you home.

He treks up the stairs, water-sodden boots squelching with every step, strong arm keeping you tucked closer than you think is strictly necessary, and you hold your breath and remind yourself the other shoe will have to drop.

He will release you back into the wild. It's what they always do. He's accomplished his heroic endeavor of getting you out of the cold wet rain, and as soon as the storm ceases, he'll be done with his task and done with you and honestly, honestly, you pray it stops raining right this second so you can leave. Before you learn his name or his mannerisms or what his phone-

His phone, blaring the generic, cheerfully chirping ringtone he apparently never bothered to change- he's pulling it out and you avert your gaze, not wanting to know his lockscreen, his phone case, how new and shiny and expensive it is or isn't. You tuck your small head further into his thick, dense jacket, an action he mistakes for affectionate nuzzling when really it's to cotton your ears with the fabric so you don't hear his conversation- or so that it's at least muffled. Don't want to know the low cadence of his voice, don't want to learn the slow, steady way he speaks as he sighs, "I'm not- no, Hizashi you are always pulling some- you can survive one night without me. Yes you can. Yes you can. Well if you die that's a you problem. To say I would laugh at your funeral is to imply I'd bother showing up to begin with. Mm-hm. I'm just busy right now. Yes it's more important than you, but that's not a very high bar. It's not really canceling plans because I never wanted to go anyway. No I don't. No I don't. You and Nemuri need adult supervision? Can't argue with that. I'm tired. I want to sleep. We'll go out for drinks- sooner if you have a say in it, later if I can avoid it. I said I want to sleep. Good night. I'm hanging up now. Yes I am. Yes I-"

And he really does hang up. Huh.

What a shame, too. The more time he spends talking to his friend the less time he'll spend bothering you, so it would've been in your best interest if he'd kept the conversation going just a little longer.

It's better when that sonorous, canorous timber isn't directed at you. When you can't feel it resonating from his chest into yours, can't feel his lungs steadily expanding into all of you, all of you, consumed by all of him. His rain-slicked coat may have been all rubbery and wet on the outside, but on the inside, where he had stowed you away? A fuzzy, dense fleece lining blanketed you on one side, his cable-knit wool sweater blanketing you on the other. All droopy and roomy, the shapeless collar sagged so low that your little head nestled right against his cool, smooth collarbone. The more your soggy fur presses into his sweater, the more he stinks of wet wool and wet cat and wet mud, but he only chuckles fondly.

"You stopped thrashing when i was on the phone. Does my talking help calm you down?"

No, no, no, no you do not need to hear more of that all-encompassing, steady-as-a-mountain voice. You squirm and convulse in a bid to pry yourself out of the cotton cocoon he has entrapped you in, but all that does is confirm his theory that he needs to soothe you.

Like some child.

Like some pet.

But you are not his pet. You are just a stray, that he happened to stumble across once or twice, and he had nothing better to do (he canceled plans with his best friends to stay here with you), and the moment he's done he'll toss you out and it'll be better, be safer, not to get attached to something you'll lose before you even have it.

It's not worth it, the way a cut takes only a second to stab into you but takes weeks, takes months, takes years, takes forever takes eternity takes infinity to heal and even then, even then, it leaves a scar behind to mar you; you can't risk that, not again, not again, not again-

He grunts, one large hand still cupping your head as the other fishes for his keys, jingle-jangling against each other as he unlocks the apartment door, kicking off his waterlogged boots, elbowing the door shut and flicking the light switch on. Warm, orange light bathes his apartment in a dreamy glow- the sleek wood paneling leading to a shaggy carpet, the overcrowded desk shoved to one corner, the stuffed-full bookshelf against the white wall- all so toasty and cozy and promising, awash the hazy orange glow.

Keeping a firm arm around his chest to cradle you close, as if scared you'll slip away the second he loses hold of you, he hushes and soothes you through every action he takes: his keys clink when he plucks them down onto his kitchen counter, shedding his rain coat, shaking off the water the way a cat shakes water off its fur and hanging it on the hook at the door. For just a moment, he pauses, back slumped against the wall as if his legs can no longer carry the weight of him- sighing, running a hand over his face, the quiet, irregular drip-drip-drips of his hair and clothes puddling at his feet- composing himself. Catching his breath. His heartbeat thrums slowly into yours- steady, steady, steady.

The man hooks a thumb through his thick grey socks, peeling them off, toes over to a long, pillowy, yellow sleeping bag, and eases you in.

A sleeping bag…?

Oh, shoot. You'd been taken in by a poor man. He'll shake stale Cheerios from a tattered box for you and call it dinner.

Well.

It would still be a kindness, and you would be grateful for it just the same.

You shuffle, kneading into the plush, well-used, well-loved fabric-

No, no, no. See, this is exactly what you were hoping to avoid. Now you know things about him. Things like- he has kept this sleeping bag around for a while, he has not replaced it, he has tossed it into the washer hundreds of times and it has lost its color and whatever deluxe softness it once held, whatever sleek shiny shades it had on the outside, and yet he has kept it, he has not thrown it out in the same way he has not replaced that scuffed pair of boots, he has used them both till it's molded to the contours of his body, and look, his phone's not new either, not at all, he does not throw things out on a whim, doesn't just abandon- he keeps, he keeps, long after the object is outdated and expired and obsolete, and there is no good in knowing any of this at all, because all this does is inflate a bubble of false hope, that you too could be a constant, something to keep around like a worn-out pair of well-trodden shoes-

You close your eyes. It is the only way to stop observing things.

Again, the man does not understand you. He doesn't- he doesn't get it. Doesn't get you. Delighted, babbling like a fool in love, "aw, you gettin' comfy, kitty? All cozied up? Good, make yourself at home. Oh, I know, you were just so cold and scared outside, huh? Brave girl. Such a brave girl. Trust me, you don't have to be scared, anymore. Wanna get a little warmer? Yeah? Of course I'll turn on the heat, just for you. Such a sweet little kitten."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

The dull rumble of the gas kicks on, heat seeping into the apartment like a nice hot shower after a snowy day, cradling you in its warmth till staying awake and sober is an active effort. The ambiance does not flood, but trickles into, your ears: feet shuffling along cool floor, fridge pops open, rustling, fridge snaps shut, tap water gushes, tap water off, glass clinks on the counter, cabinet opens, soft rattling, cabinet closes- the quiet, cyclic sounds of his pitter-pattering about the kitchen could've damn near soothed you to sleep, a homespun, home-baked, homemade lullaby of just- of just- someone going about their day. Someone going about the meniality of life, the same humdrum of a routine smoothed and honed and rounded the way a river sands down a stone till it's a comforting weight in your palms… when was the last time you had a place to sleep with no shouting, no crying no clanging no yelling no slamming-?

Okay, fine.

Just for tonight. You'll sleep here, just for tonight, just to weather the storm, just to dry off, and in the morning when he opens the door to go to work, you'll slip out when he does, and part ways as unlikely friends. [3]

Which unfortunately means, no matter how hungry you are, you can't take his proffered gifts. Normally you have no problem accepting help- you need food, and would never pass up a free chance to eat without neither cats nor people competing and drawing blood for each and every bite- but to eat now is- well-

It's the basic Greek laws of xenia, yeah? Same for the Islamic hospitality rules. If you have a guest, you feed them; if you are a guest, you eat and be merry and thank your gracious host. To do otherwise is to say I am not your guest; I am merely a traveler, passing through; I will not sit at your table, I will not drink your wine: I will not sleep under your roof and bid you a good night, and you will not wish me safe travels and thank me for brightening your day.

We are strangers. Let us remain so.

So when you hear the sharp snap of a metal can, when the salty tang of sardines permeates the air, when he places it reverently at your feet like a worshipper, you do not grant it so much as a cursory sniff.

"Some cats don't like seafood, right? Or is it that you don't like wet food?" He scuffles off only to come back with a bowl full of cat kibble and oh God this is not a cat bowl this is a human bowl. The man is using his own dishes to feed you. Come to think of it, that was just a normal can of packed sardines, not a can of cat food. Is he just feeding you whatever he has in his own pantry? No, the dry food for sure smells like bonafide cat food. Still. His own bowl. His own food.

Oh, well, now the reason you're eating isn't just to reject hospitality and show him you're not one to keep around, it's because he's this poor broke sorry man who's sacrificing his own meals to feed you. Poor thing, going hungry for a sorry stray. To accept his kindness would be a cruelty. It's okay, you would tell him, if you didn't have the basic social decorum that says if you turn back into a human now he'll freak out because no Quirk justifies tricking someone into providing you with food and shelter and warmth.

Because no matter how much you had fought tooth and nail to keep him from bringing you in, no matter how much he'd been the one to insist, it still felt like you'd… manipulated him. Coerced him, somehow. But there was no room for guilt: you become a cat specifically because… well. People are… kinder, to cats. Still cruel, still overlook them, still do not save them or take care of them or adopt them or love them, but no one is going to call the cops on a famished, bedraggled, ugly cat the way they would on a famished, bedraggled, ugly woman. A homeless person is a threat. A homeless animal is a tragedy.

So you give thanks for your Quirk because at least, as a cat, your stomach is smaller, your needs lesser, and no one's going to think you're some scary, smelly drug addict who needs to be reported for disturbing the peace (sleeping on a park bench).

You nudge the can back to him and hope it conveys, I'll just scavenge for mice and birds outside, so don't you worry about me! You'd leave out the part that normally the moment you get your grubby little paws on a scrap, every other cat within a 50-mile radius can somehow smell it and pounces so viciously that you're left without even the bite you'd held between your teeth. Still, go mix it with mayo, shred some lettuce, wrap it up in some tortilla, you skrunkly old man. Judging by the broken red capillaries all over the whites of your weary eyes, you need this boost more than I do.

But he does not understand you, just as you do not understand him, not even a little bit, not even at all (why is this penniless old man giving up the last of his food to feed a bony old cat, you wonder, and do not know that he is neither penniless nor that old and has a whole stockpile of catfood and cans and bags and pouches specifically on the luck occasion that he comes across a cat, you do not know that being an underground hero and a teacher at the most prestigious school in the county means his pockets are lined with far more than lint and cobwebs, you do not know, you do not know-)

Just as he does not know you. He clicks his tongue, "picky girl, huh? Princess wants to be spoiled? Want a Fancy Feast Classic Pate ™? Want a Churu Puree Lickable Treat™? Come here," and he does that fake-groan thing humans do where it's not a grunt of actual effort but they exaggerate it like it is, scooping you back up into his arms- doesn't he care that wet cat is getting all over his perfectly good nice sweater?- and you squirm viciously, struggle and writhe, but all he does is bring you to the open pantry, holding you up to eyelevel with a dizzying, colorful array of options.

Oh, bless his heart. This man's a cat mom with no cat.

Well, this explains everything.

Big brand names and wand toys and bags- not just of kibble but of litter, a scoop, a cat bed- why does this man stockpile like it's going to be a damn apocalypse. An apocalypse where specifically cats are in danger, because you know damn well he doesn't have this much in the fridge.

You dig your claws into his arm and use the split second of distraction to leap out his arms, bound over to the fridge, because you've gotta know. you can just tell he's the sort to come home at midnight, open the fridge to nothing but leftover take out (from a restaurant he didn't even want to go to but was dragged along), sniff the sticky rice, decide it's maybe decent and probably won't give him food poisoning, and eat without bothering to heat it up in the microwave.

"Refined taste? Sorry, sweet little kitty, I don't have much to offer you in the ways of human food." He pops the sleek black fridge door open, and-

And-

Oh, you were so right it sort of hurt a little.

One- because you are so set on not knowing this man, (the more you know the more you get attached is how it works you see), but damn if he isn't easier to read than a picture book with big bold neat letters.

Two- because this sorry excuse of a man was just much in need of help as you. If anything, having you around might encourage him to buy himself some food, as it had already pushed him to turn on the heat (would he had just let the apartment stay cold if it wasn't for you being here?), to go to bed at a reasonable time and to come home earlier to take care of you.

You could do him some good, you think, but that is an arrogant thought, and a condescending one to boot, so you squash it down along with the worse, rotten, traitorous he could do me some good. You give a disdainful sniff to the low fridge shelf, carrying the impressive feat of no less than half a bottle of soy sauce and a yellowing onion and a dented, open can of sparkling water that you just know had gone stale and should've been tossed out weeks ago and-

You've been here too long. Getting too comfortable with each other. What are you doing, sniffing up his fridge? Fuck's sake!

Piss him off.

You scale the pantry with its veritable cornucopia of feline delights, and it is not hard to send everything toppling over like a collapsing tower, to wreak havoc and destruction upon his frankly creepy shrine, because otherwise- and you can hear it so clearly, an impartial, detached observer spectating the actors as they take their stances upon a stage when you've already memorized the script right to the bitter, yet crudely obvious end:

"I'd love to adopt you, but I'm so busy with work; I just wouldn't have the time to give you the attention you deserve: I'm barely home as it is." And it would be true, because you always see those scuffed boots trudge home when the moon is bright, or even when the dawn has first begun to break. It wouldn't be a half-baked lie or a flimsy excuse.

(It wouldn't make it hurt any less.)

"You have a very special place in my heart, and you always will, but I'm just not in a place in my life where I can adopt a pet."

"Why is she in a room by herself? She got behavioral problems or somethin'? I'm not interested in an aggressive animal."

"It's just that I already have all the cats I need and besides what if you don't get along with them?"

"I'll still visit you. Of course I will."

(She did not).

"I wish I could, but my mom's allergic-"

"She won't let me pick her up."

"What's wrong with her face?"

"My dorm doesn't allow-"

"Not very friendly, is she?"

"I'm looking for a lapcat, but this one's been cowering and hiding in the corner like I'll kill her-"

"Can you introduce me to a better-?"

"Way too shy-"

"I'm sure she'll find her forever home, but I'd prefer a-"

"No, really, what's with her face?"

"She bit me!"

"We'll find you your person eventually," the shelter worker would promise (lie), every time, "I'd even adopt you myself, but-"

Whatever. People don't owe loyalty to strays; only to the housepets waiting for them at home, the ones they keep around for years and years till one of them dies and then they grieve carry a piece of their pet with them forever because they love them, they love them, and people can certainly be nice to strays like you, and feel sorry for you, and wish they could find a home for you, and then walk right past. They do not love them (you), they are no more loyal to them than to a trampled weed. Yes, they might see it once upon an idle stroll, might peer at it closely on their way home, but that is the start and end of the relationship.

It would… save you both a great deal of time and trouble to just nip it in the bud.

Yet even as the metal cans clatter to the ground and your claws rip into a paper bag of kibble, waterfalling onto the yellowed kitchen tiles you realize, as you exert every manner to make him turn you out sooner rather than later- so you can only feel a smug, I-knew-it-all-along satisfaction, rather than a hollow I thought this time was different pang- that the stockpile of food is assorted in the sense that- that- with a marked difference in expiration dates and brands and states of being, old and new alike, that he must've-

You can see it now. Every time he goes grocery shopping, indulging his curiosity, making a harmless little impulse purchase, flitting into the pet food aisle, perusing the shelves and grabbing one or two things just in case, for the somedays and what ifs and hopefullys, and repeating this ritual every single time he ever goes to a store until they build up into whatever the hell it is he's got going on here. You had sat in your bush a thousand times over, had watched him follow strays in his free time (so you know what he is doing is not out of kindness nor the goodness of his heart, he just has nothing better to do with his life. Probably works a miserable job with shitty hours and shittier pay and this is the only part of his day that gives his life any real meaning, makes him feel like he's useful), watched from the safety of your foliage as he extends an arm out to offer up packets of pate and cans of carp, sprawled on the park bench, rubbing the heel of his palms into his bloodshot eyes and sighing, long and heavy and aching, days- nights- when your nose tingled with the tang of blood, and what kind of job is this, that leaves him bloodied and scratched up and dented like an old beaten-up car?

So you understand that taking care of strays is just his passion project, and yes, yes, you can understand that. Respect it, even. Appreciate it the way a parishioner appreciates a bite of sacrament.

Just…

You need so much more than one bite.

(I know love does not come easy.)

You don't want to be someone's charity case, yeah? It's a little embarrassing. At the same time-

You do not have that sense of pride everyone else seems to, the sort that makes them say we're not taking free food and I'd rather work three jobs than accept handouts and I want not your pity but your respect. Can't relate. You would love to pitied. If someone felt sorry for you, that means they acknowledge bad things have happened to you. If they smother you with sickly sympathy, at least it means they know you've had a pitiable life. And your desire for dignity is so much lesser than your desire for someone to just- to just get it.

But no one fucking gets it.

(Oh, there must be someone who hears me.)

Because no one else is in your position. Oh, everyone else has a partner, if no partner, then a friend group, if not a friend group, then a best friend, if not a best friend, then a loving family, if not a loving family, then someone, somewhere, who understands them a little, who loves them a little-

But you do not have anyone to couch surf with, to 'can I crash at your place till I get back on my feet?', a special sting of misery when shelter workers, when every intake worker asks if you have any family or loved ones you can stay with, because they have limited beds and every homeless shelter is underfunded because don't you know money should go to bombs, because war keeps our country safe so you can starve in peace; a special stab of humiliation, that there is a not single person you can put down as your emergency contact, it is just a big blank line staring back at you, the dash of N/A where you're to put a phone number taunts you like a playground bully and- and it's-

At least a cat can be cute.

This man, kind as he may try to be- he doesn't get it either, can't get it, because he has friends that were waiting for him. Who want to met up for drinks with him. He does not need you, because already he has people who love him, and people he is protective of, and he is in the business of taking care of strays, not taking in strays.

And what is more violent than being taken care of but not being taken in? If he keeps you safe tonight, but is rid of you in the morning, then…

What could be worse?

Painfully patient long fingers pluck up every item that clattered to the floor and ease it back into the shelf. Get a broom too short for his tall form, sweeping up the kitty kibble like it was no bother at all,

He closes the cabinet. He sighs, and there it is, he is disappointed in you he hates you you've upset him he'll finally toss you out and you won't have to spend another excruciating minute choking down his vile, suffocating, poisonous kindness-

"So!" He claps his hands together. "Your palate is simply too sophisticated that neither my own food nor the cat food satiates it, but I can't just not feed you. Let me check again, m'sure I can throw something together."

He pries the white Styrofoam takeout container from his fridge, muttering "guess I should thank Hizashi for forcing me to try that conbini stand."

Mackerel. You do not even like seafood unless it is salmon or tuna. (You have learned that the food at a cat shelter is generally safer than food at a homeless shelter). But this poor man is trying so hard to help you, to take care of you, and even if it is to stroke his own fragile ego, it would just be cruel to reject him, at this point.

So you bend your head and you eat it and you try not to look at him when he smiles as if you are a kindly fairy who has granted him everything he didn't know to wish for.

He just… sits there. Crouching, hunching, staring. Well. Perhaps staring is the wrong word- staring (glaring gawking leering glowering) is what they do to you when you're sleeping on the train and you stink of sweat and vomit and piss and your prone form is taking up three seats, staring (watching waiting waiting waiting) is what you do when you've found a particularly good dumpster and you can't decide if it's safer to approach it as a cat (and risk bigger cats fighting you for every scrap of food) or as a human (and we all know what happens to a woman walking alone at night), staring (studying observing poring over) is what you do when you get your greedy little hands on a book, soak it up word by word and page by page and throw yourself into it, headfirst, submerged in the feel of ink and paper and thoroughly immersed that everything else just disappears-

Yes. That's the type of staring he's doing now: poring over you. Like everything else doesn't matter because finally, finally, he's fed you. Doesn't touch you. Doesn't even try. Just goes to the bathroom, door clicking shut, water running, brush-brush-brushing his teeth and just… leaves you to eat. In peace. Gives you your space.

You can almost hear him say: if my heart was a house, you're right at home.

Home.

It's enough to make you want to vomit all over his carpeting just to make him kick you out, but-

You're not about to give up the only food in your stomach for spite.

That, and…

You can't stay in your cat form forever. It's like laying down too long or sitting too long, your body can't just- can't just stay in this 'mode'. It's a mode to turn on and off, not keep running forever, like a laptop never shutting down till it overheats. And you will. Overheat. But he could come back out any minute, and- he'll think you're a burglar and he'll call the cops on you or worse he'll just kill you himself and no one would ever know, it's not just that they wouldn't care or wouldn't miss you there just genuinely wouldn't be anyone who would even know-

His footsteps, when he comes back, are enough for your shoulders to jump. Footsteps and knocking are about the scariest sounds out there. But he just flicks off the lights. Peels back his blanket- soft, well-worn, why is it that everything he has, he's owned for years, why is nothing here new, why are you the sole intrusion upon an ancient sanctum, does that means he really is the loyal type like you judged when you first saw those stupid boots?- he eases himself into it with a soft groan, pats a spot next to him to tuck you in for the night. You blink at him, attempting to convey as much disdain and dislike and distaste as physically possible-

But again, he does not understand you. He slow-blinks back, and he must think he is reciprocating love, as a cat's languid blink would normally mean a sign of affection.

He keeps misinterpreting you- giving you the benefit of the doubt, assuming your every rude, insensitive, petulant action is so much better than it is, that you're so much better than you actually are.

Nor do you pretend to understand him, either, and while he tries to see the best in you, you force yourself to seek out only the worst in him-

Yet despite every miscommunication and misconstrusion-

He finds a way to make it work. So he keeps the corner of the blanket peeled back, waiting just for you, even as you slink away to the window, hopping up on the sill, stretching your back and marveling how, for once, you did not have to be careful of your movements. You would not startle anyone around you, nor would anyone startle you, either. You do not have to be careful of how your jaw stretches as you yawn- no one will interpret at as a threat, because this man does not see you as anything more than a pathetic little charity case. (You suppose he's not wrong). You can outstretch your arms all along his cool windowsill, and he will not be mad at you for making too much noise and can you keep it down some of us are trying to sleep here. For once you are on the other side of the windowpane, the rain battering the glass practically a world away— though you can hear the pellets pound the pane, though you can feel the icy chill of the water seep into the glass, it does not seep into you, because the heat he turned on has settled quite comfortably into your boenes- for once, no one is hurting you, for once, just for now, you are safe.

You are safe.

Oh, yes, you know, you know- he'll let you go soon enough. Just as soon as those storm clouds wither up and dry.

Outwardly, you'd hissed and squirmed and clawed every step of the way.

Inwardly, you hope the rainy season stays forever.

[submattenthusiast]

listen loser!virgin!matt

the sexually submissive sounds that originated from matt were so satisfying to hear especially knowing that you were the cause of them. though it was his hand stroking his cock in the audio you received, you were the reason he was whimpering so pathetically. you loved every single thing about it, and you wanted to make sure he enjoyed it just as much as you did. a sinister idea came to mind when you were mindlessly scrolling through your messages, replying to the unanswered texts from earlier in the day to literal weeks ago. knowing he would do just about anything when he wanted to cum, you knew it would work out with little to no trouble. now you just needed to get him there.

matt nearly knocked down the door with how he rushed in, the wood door swinging open and quick footsteps tapping against the floor. as he walked in he threw his jacket, backpack ,and keys all on the desk in the corner. the loud noises were a clear attention grabber, and you fell right into the trap. "what's your deal?" you speak, interrupting whatever he had going on. your words didn't seem to register in his mind as he continued to undress and get more comfortable now that he was home. not even turning his head to where your voice echoed from.

his mini tantrum was seemingly over with, seeing as he stopped fidgeting and throwing things around. he calmly walked over to your side of the bed. standing silently and broodingly over you he sighed, the air he blew out tickling you slightly. his eyes burned holes into the side of your face until you looked at him. with the new contact he reached out for your free hand to place it on his crotch. a airy sigh left his lips as he whimpered out a please.

the material of his jeans felt quite uncomfortable under your hands as you felt him up, feeling said boner he was begging for help about. his mouth dropped open at the touch, feeling relief that he couldn't provide for himself. you fondled with him until he started to enjoy it a little too much, stopping to start excuting your plan. "take your pants and boxers off and sit down" you instruct.

with quickness matt was only left in the grey t-shirt, pants and boxers pooling at his ankles. the cold air began hit him as he fidgeted uncomfortably in his place on the bed. your arm wrapped around his shoulder to pull him into your side, using that same hand you held it out in front of his mouth so he could spit. silently he gave you enough to coat his cock. "good boy" you praise, wrapping your fingers around him. a soft moan blessed your ears in return. before he became foggy brain he muttered out a thank you and tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

strategically you built up a pace, hands moving at an angle that would get him to cum quickly. the makeshift lube of spit helped your fist move faster and to add onto the rushed movements you whispered endless amounts of praise to him. telling him how much of a good boy he was and how good he was being, and how you were glad he came to you for help. his pretty sounds filled your ears once again, the whimpers that came from his mouth when you rubbed over his tip and the moans when you stroked his cock faster. drips of drool began to pile up at the corner of his lips from his mouth being constantly ajar. "i'm close mommy i'm sorry" he half warns half apologizes. you smirk at this, knowing he must've really been worked up to be this close already, and knowing that you helped him get there.

"that's okay baby i got you' you coo, slowing your hand down but not completely removing it. sensing the change in pace, matt untucked his head and looked to you for an answer. "why'd you slow down?? please please just let me cum i can do it again, but i just need it now" he rambled, hand covering yours to speed you up. chuckling at his eagerness you purr, "you're still gonna cum alright, mommy just wants to try something". hesitantly he nodded and moved to release you from his grip. you stop him immediately, moving his veiny hand back on his needy cock.

his eyes followed yours as you reached for your phone, silently wondering what you were doing. after finding the audio and pressing play you rested the device on your thigh. a pink blush rose on his cheeks as he realized what he was listening to. his hand froze and his head found it's way to your neck again, embarassment flooding his body. a pained whine left his lips as he tried to block out the sounds. "you sound so pretty sweetheart" you tease. shaking his head he whines more "nooo m embarrassed now".

"oh you are?, so you don't want to cum anymore?" you ask, going to pause the audio. his nose brushed against your neck as he shook his head. getting desperate now, he started to jerk himself off. you smile down at him as he touches himself pathetically to his own whimpering audio. "please let me cum i'm sorry" he pauses, keeping eye contact with you. "that's a good boy, keep going hm" you speak, caressing him softly.

as the audio went on it ironically matched up with his state now, precum was oozing from his tip and soft whimpers of mama escaped his lips as he touched. the squelches from the clear substance and the spit added onto the multiple sounds in the room as his hand moved faster. sweat began to drip onto his shirt and his body twitched as he neared his orgasm. his blue eyes disappeared from your vision quickly, his eyes squeezing shut, allowing him to focus on his pleasure. "really close a-ah please mommy" he begged.

identical moans left your phone and his mouth as he gave a strong last few strokes, begging for your hand and to cum at the same time. "can't hold it please" he whined, gripping his cock to hold as best as he could. "look at me" you command. you wanted to see him fall apart, see the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head when he reached his peak. with no hesitation he opened them and held the best eye contact he could. "there he is, such a pretty boy".

the blush on his cheeks increased at the compliment, making his cheeks and cock the same colour. "i am for you i am" he adds on. "then cum for me pretty, make a big mess like you did before". the praise and the sultriness of your words sent him tumbling over the edge. one big stroke had him spurting out white. higher pitched moans came deep from inside him as the liquid coated his hands, thighs and part of his shirt. it was a big one, so big that a drop was on your phone, pausing the audio.

coming down from his high, he heaves out a heavy breath. you comfort him as he curls into you. the room was oddly silent, looking at your leg you realize what sound was missing. jokingly you show matt, "the audio didn't finish baby, i guess we gotta do it again"

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 60

"she's just... amazing, you know?"

nico chuckled, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in his seat. he and jack had managed to steal the seats by the only table on the bus to the second game of their newest road trip. while most of the team caught up on some sleep, the two friends were engrossed in a round of gin rummy – one jack was losing by quite a lot. "you keep telling me that," the captain said, placing a king down on the table. "so does anna. i haven't met her, but it feels like i know everything about her already."

jack laughed along with this, picking up a new card from the pile. "i'm going to bring her along so you can meet her someday, and you'll see."

"to the christmas family skate, maybe?"

the younger of the men pressed his lips into a line, head tilting to the side as he looked up from his cards. "not sure about that, it's still a little early," he said.

"early? you've been going out for months, and it's still early?" nico shook his head. "you two see each other all the time, and it's still early. whenever i ask if you want to do something, it's always, no i have a date, or something."

"you're exaggerating."

the swiss sighed, shaking his head. "what's the deal with that, anyway?" he asked. "why won't you bring her along? are you ashamed of her?"

"of course not." jack gazed over his cards for a long time, pretending to think about which card to place instead of formulating his next sentence. "it's just… complicated. difficult. she's not the type to want to be paraded around the arena like a puck bunny or whatever." he finally placed a queen on top of the discard pile, reaching over to grab his water bottle from his bag and take a sip.

"sure. but showing her off and just taking her to one game is different, no?" nico countered, grabbing the queen jack had just placed, and dropping it down in front of him along with two other queens.

the younger groaned at his actions, shaking his head. "how is that even possible?!" he exclaimed, before letting out a deep sigh and returning to the former subject. "i guess… i don't really know where we stand. like, we see each other all the time, but…"

"man, i heard she's got some serious commitment issues, but if it's this bad…"

jack's ears perked up at this. "you heard what? did anna say something?"

nico thought for a moment before placing his cards face-down on the table and sighing. "i don't know how true this is – anna told me that jenny told it to her, but you know girls." jack nodded slowly, so he kept on talking. "there's… some stuff in her past, apparently. her parents' relationship wasn't too good, and one of her exes… man, i shouldn't say anything because i don't really know, so you should ask her yourself."

jack tried his best not to react, to make it seem like he in fact knew everything his captain was talking about. he nodded slowly, a soft "yeah, you're right" slipping from his lips. on the outside, he looked calm as a ???

but on the inside? completely freaking out. your parents? your ex? jack thought he had finally managed to reach deeper into you, that he had finally gotten you to open up. you were much more honest with him, and he was sure that you two were on the right track, even if you moved slowly. but you had never as much as hinted to anything in your past affecting you the way nico was insinuating.

he felt a little dumb, though, that he hadn't realized sooner. of course there was something deeper going on that he had no idea about. but oh how badly he wished you were comfortable enough to tell him about it, instead of him having to hear about it from his friend. who heard it from his fiancée, who heard it from your friend, who heard it from you. four degrees of separation were three too many.

as if sensing that jack needed a break from his own thoughts, nico placed his final two card onto the table, leaving jack with about fifty points worth of deadwood. the boy slammed his head onto the table as he let nico collect all of the cards, a string of curses falling from his lips.

sure, his mind was now occupied, but at what cost?

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

How would the bones react to their movie star s/o getting harassed at every interview.

s/o is allways asked if and for how long they have been dating their co star. S/o says they are dating someone else and co star backs them up, but no one listens. The interviewer is allways pushing

Undertale Sans - When he's around and they're too much, and that he sees you're about to have a mental breakdown, he makes his way into the crowd, grabs your hand and you both disappear, leaving all the interviewer confused about what just happened. Sans is far from impressed by all of these people and he doesn't hesitate to show he's there if you need it. Well, it also draws a bit of attention on him and how monsters can teleport everywhere, but eh, he can take a bullet or two for you.

Undertale Papyrus - Papyrus is in the crowd, and he tries to cheer you up silently and tells you that it's ok. But he gets increasingly upset as the interviewer keeps pushing the questions. You're here to talk about your art, not your private relations, and it doesn't seem fair to ruin all your effort to promote whatever you're doing like that. As soon as he notices you're shaking, Papyrus steps in, says the interview is over and guides you backstage so you can have a moment. He stays with you to comfort you until you feel better.

Underswap Sans - Blue keeps his distance because he doesn't want to make you even more distressed, but he's boiling inside. Who does that person think they are? Can't they see you're uncomfortable? He's so mad. He doesn't even know how you're holding on and he feels so sorry for you. He's glad you can at least rely on your costar on this, and the both of you come to comfort you after it's over. He's for sure going to send them an email about what he thought of the whole thing though.

Underswap Papyrus - Honey is increasingly distressed as he can see you're on the verge of breaking down and that he's not authorized to join you. The security keeps asking him to stand back, even though he keeps saying he's your partner. When after one more question you start to cry, Honey takes a big breath, then jumps between the legs of the security guy and makes a run to join you. He's fully aware the guy is on his heels so he grabs your arm and teleports backstage in a bit of panic, not realizing you were holding hands with both your co-star and the interviewer lol. He kinda took the three of you away. Oopsie. Well, not oopsie. He tells the interviewer that what they did was wrong and that he's not happy of how they treated his S/O.

Underfell Sans - He invites himself into the room and goes to sit next to you, staring intensely at the interviewer. Yeah, he's here now, that's his S/O. What you're going to do about it? You think they can't be a couple because he's a monster? Go on, say it to his face, he's listening. The interviewer quickly changes the subject, sweating and trying really hard to not meet his eye sockets. Yeah, that's what he thought. Look down.

Underfell Papyrus - He lets a low growl escape his throat when the interviewer forces you to hold hands with your costar, which makes the guy look at him. The interviewer then asks the security to get rid of the monster because they're ruining the interview, which doesn't please Edge. Edge bursts in the room and asks them if they know who he is. He then tells them all about his attorney job and how they're so fucked if his S/O fills a report for defamation. You really want to try your luck? Let's just say the interview is over after that.

Horrortale Sans - He's not happy about the allegations, but you said he could come only if he stays in a corner and doesn't intervene, and he intends to do that. It's evident he is displeased though and he won't stop staring at the interviewer with a creepy smile that eventually spooks them so much they say they're not feeling well and cut short the interview. Of course, when his S/O looks towards him, he plays the complete confusion. What's wrong with this human? He has no idea.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow is not very comfortable and the more it lasts, the more insecure he is. He actually starts to believe you would make a better couple with your costar and he's spiralling in his own thoughts, even more since the interviewer doesn't hesitate to say you deserve more than a monster and asks private things about him that he really doesn't want people to know. You know him though and quickly end the interview when you notice how distressed he is in the background. You take him have some ice cream to cheer him up a little and calm his anxiety.

Swapfell Sans - He's so mad, but he's holding on. His eyes are throwing daggers at the interviewer and he keeps mumbling to himself when they're saying something dumb. The only reason he doesn't intervene is because he knows you got this. But as soon as it's over, he comments the entire thing with you and let's go of all the bitching he had been holding on for two hours. He makes sure to talk loud enough for the interviewer to hear everything, then hypocritically wishes them a nice day as he leaves the building.

Swapfell Papyrus - Your eyes are calling him for help. Or he thinks so. So he quickly takes all of his clothes off and casually walks in before crashing in the couch next to you. He panic-screams "draw me like one of your french girls" as he realizes you didn't mean him to intervene like that. Well, next time you want something, use words! He's not a magician, he can guess magically what you want.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Oh, that interviewer thinks they are soooo clever, right? Disrespecting him and everything when he's just standing there in the corner of the room. That interviewer is getting fired before the end of the day. Wine works all day and talks to dozens of people from his network to get them fired. Don't talk shit about his S/O or you might get hurt really bad.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's upset, and screams that your costar is not your boyfriend at one point. Then everyone looks at him, he becomes entirely purple, locks his hood on his head and disappears to go hide somewhere, so embarrassed. He was brave for three seconds, that's the best he can do.

[spiderfunkz]

HYUN-JU x TALKACTIVE!READER

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

author's note: this is so me.. i talk way too much so i'm lowkey just projecting myself on here. anyways, requests are open but i'm taking my time replying since i've been busy so just keep that in mind!

▸ hyun-ju is a good listener. a great one, even. she's got a big heart and soul, she's someone who is willing to listen to whatever you have to say. and she doesn't just listen, she tries to understand. which is a quality that is hard to find these days.

▸ you noticed it a bit later in your relationship. every time you talk, she listens and isn't afraid to ask questions regarding your situation or interest. she's genuinely invested in what you have to say. "oh, really? tell me more, hon."

▸ even if you just say random things or suggestions related to literally anything, she's all ears! whatever is going on in your head, every single sentence you utter, she's always nodding a long. she's probably wondering how you managed to say three sentences in a second.

▸ you tend to get very extroverted when you get comfortable. you'd ramble about anything for hours and hours, hyun-ju finds this adorable. she's definitely admiring you as you speak, your words always find a way to her heart.

▸ if you were talking about something she has no clue in, she's gonna research about it either online or in books so she could talk about it with you! even if small mistakes slip, her efforts show. and you appreciate that more than ever.

▸ "wait, you watched the movie and read the book?" — "yeah! i thought it would be nice to discuss it with you. you talked about it nonstop last week, so i figured i'd give it a look, and i must admit- you do have amazing taste."

▸ good moods mean you'd go on walks with hyun-ju and visit multiple parks at once. pointing out random birds, trees, and flower types. speaking whatever crossed your mind in specific moments.

▸ "oh look! a daisy. did you know daisies bloom in the spring like every other flower and their last bloom is in autumn? though, that's very common, um. ah! moon flowers, they only bloom one night a year." you'd giggle, "i did not know, but i do now!" hyun-ju smiles.

▸ during movies you can get very quiet. but as the movie ends, you'd ramble quicker than speed itself. "it's okay. at best. i just don't understand why the characters would do such things! i guess it is fictional, but still! does logic not exist in that universe?"

▸ same thing with books, you can read for hours in silence, but as soon as you close the book... "hyun! you must read this! not only is this one of a kind, but once you read it you can not put it down. i love it so much, it made me tear up a bit because of a character, but, um. okay, no spoilers!"

▸ hyun-ju could get really lost in your voice sometimes. you'd be talking about something silly like rocks or something, and she'd still be mesmerized. hyun-ju thinks that your voice could easily soothe her to sleep.

▸ and it's true, your voice makes her feel so safe. during conversations, she gets sudden realizations of how lucky she truly is. to be able to listen to you, in a calm setting, just the two of you.

▸ if you send her voice notes, she'd listen to it on repeat. especially when she's away or vice versa, she loves hearing your voice over and over as it gives ger comfort.

▸ "hey, hyun! i know you're really busy, and i know you only listen to my voice notes when you're done with work, so i ought to tell you about how much i love you. and how much i miss you. don't forget to tell me goodnight, or not the bed bugs might bite me."

▸ she would never think of your ongoing talks as unimportant. if you would suddenly pause and stop talking, she'd notice immediately. but hyun-ju always reassures you that it's perfectly okay.

▸ if you feel tired or off, and you just wanna be quiet for a bit, hyun-ju likes to ramble too, she does it a bit more often ever since she's met you. her voice is sleepy, her head lays near yours, your bed is cold and hyun-ju is the only source of warmth. as she traces your hands, "do you wanna know what happened earlier in the office?" you'd nod, she'd talk and only stop when you've completely fallen asleep.

▸ "and that's the end of it. goodnight, angel." she'd place a kiss on your forehead before falling asleep herself.

[fandoms--fluff]

Hiii I hope you’re well. I love love LOVE your stories and was wondering if you could do one of Elijah mikaelson? In this context the reader is a werewolf and was his wife since the 1800s but has been on the run from him for ages (for any reason I’ll leave that up to u) Elijah finally hunts her down in mystic falls taking her back to their mansion. You can do whatever you like with this suggestion really. Also no smut but maybe lots of tension? Like pinning her against the wall during an argument or smth.

His

Immortal female werewolf reader x Elijah Mikaelson

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, mentions of death?

A/n: I had fun writing this <3

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

I knew it was too good to be true, you think to yourself as you quickly pack a duffle bag of clothing, money, and other essentials around your apartment. Which happens to be located right in the middle of 'downtown' Mystic Falls.

You rush around the space that has brought you comfort over the past couple years. But of course everything has to end, the friendships you made here, the comfort, and having a life. Now you have to start all over again. Hopefully this time where he can't find you.

You've heard whispers about the originals and Klaus around the small town, mostly within the group of the Salvatore brothers and the others. You have made acquaintance with them after the killings started happening around a year after you had moved here. It was okay, for now, you thought, Klaus hasn't actually shown his face yet.

Until Elijah kidnapped Elena, and gave her a less than friendly warning, not to mess with the wrong people. No one knows what that means, and you're glad they haven't traced it back to you. They don't know your history beside being an immortal werewolf and basics like that. And you plan to keep it that way.

Which is why you need to leave. Now. Before he gets to you.

And that 'he', is no other than Elijah Mikaelson. The husband you once loved and have been running from for the past two centuries.

You both had once loved each other very dearly. Until it came to the night that ruined everything and made you go on the run, not standing to be near him. And you've been running ever since. You're quite surprised you've made it this long without being caught by him. Or even one of his siblings, Klaus especially.

Your thoughts are all jumbling together as you rush around your apartment. A place that brought you security and comfort, now being torn away from your grasp. Because if you stayed, then you can't even think about the pain it would leave you in by taking that action. As you try to leave as fast as you can, you can't help but think about the past. The reason why you're so frantic and have the urgency to get out of the small town in Virginia.

It had all began when you were younger, still innocent, enough that is, to the cruel dark side of the world. Of course, you already knew about your werewolf side and it had been activated when you were very young on your seventh birthday. You could never figure out why you hadn't needed to kill anyone to activate it. But it was clear you were special from a young age.

You were eighteen, mastered full control of the wolf inside you and hadn't brought pain to any one beside a few woodland creatures. You tried your best in the world, keeping your secret while also keeping up with societies rules as a young woman, as the people of your village would murmur around about you. About how you had not found yourself a suitor. A husband. But how could you? with a secret like yours? So, you kept to yourself.

That was until a new family arrived in your village. A very wealthy and mysterious family of apparent four siblings. Word spread around the small village of their names, Klaus, Rebekah, Kol, and finally, Elijah Mikaelson. Though no one knew where they came from or why they had came to this specific place. Except it was clear they had major influence.

You didn't trust them, it felt weird how they just appeared out of no where over night, something seemed off about them. You stayed clear from the new residents of the village, minding to the apothecary shop your parents owned in the corner of town.

It didn't last long though until one of the Mikaelson's came into the shop. At first you hadn't acknowledged them, hoping they would pick something up, buy it, and leave. Or just leave entirely, not even wanting them to buy anything. But luck wasn't on your side.

The strange man comes up to the counter where you're standing. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Elijah" The man, Elijah, says to you. Smiling weakly at him, just wanting him to leave, you have a bad feeling, "I'm Y/n."

He continued the conversation and left after a while. And you we're surprised to have a wish of hope that he would've stayed longer. Maybe you we're wrong about the new family. You hadn't known what you'd just gotten yourself into for the next centuries.

And so, the handsome man has come to the shop everyday since and you couldn't be anymore exhilarated. It's been so long since you've felt happiness like this.

It had been good, or so you thought. The relationship you guys had was romantic and lovely, and anything you could ever wish for. It soon turned to marriage, and you loved him and he loved you. That was until the night everything went wrong. The night you ran and have been ever since. From your one true love.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, really. But you had been on the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water when you heard voices in your husband's study. It was him and Klaus, talking of the plan going just right with the werewolf.

Elijah had 'discovered' you were a werewolf about the same time you suspected of him being non human as well. Just you weren't expecting him to be a vampire. And it was quite strange how he wasn't surprised of you being a wolf. Which should have been your first clue. But you overlooked it, filled with love for the man. Which was a painstaking mistake. Especially when discovered after many tests that you were no longer aging after your twentieth birthday.

Your eyes widen as they mention a werewolf. Are they talking about me? You wonder, as you continue listening.

"Y/n suspects nothing of it, right?" Klaus asks his brother. "Nothing, I love her, but she can't know what we have planned, not yet" Elijah answers him from across the room.

Tears well up in your eyes as they continue talking. "There's a chance my curse will be broken by using her?" Klaus asks. "Yes, by the next full moon in two days, there is a best chance with her willing or unwillingness of the ritual, that it will be undone. You will be a full hybrid, Niklaus" Elijah grins to his younger brother, taking a sip of his drink.

You quickly cover your mouth and walk away as quickly but quietly as you can while tears run down your face. You thought Elijah loved you, just as you do him. But of course it's not. He just pretended to get close to me, you think as you get to your guys' room. You grab your cloak and nothing else before sneaking out of the massive house.

There's no point confronting your husband, it was clear there was no love to be shared between the two of you. Instead, a need to get far away from here as you can before you get caught. You should have never fallen for the original, should have never spoken to him like your gut told you to.

You stealthily make your way to the stables. No one has caught you yet, making it easy to get on the horse and start the galloping travel through the woods.

It's not until you're deep into the forest when you hear voices and men shouting. When you hear Elijah shouting for you, anger enriched in his voice. But you never look back, only making the horse go faster until you're so far that they can't keep track of you.

Until now. Elijah is here, or at least close to here. You know Elena had met with him, unwillingly. And you can't risk anything else.

You finish zipping up the bag and leave the apartment behind, going outside where your car awaits. Unlocking it, you throw the duffle in the trunk before speeding into the driver's seat.

Driving above all speed limits, you get to the border of the town before a man, a man that you could recognize anywhere appears in the middle of the road.

Fear sparks in your eyes, and instead of stopping like any sane person would do, you swerve the car and press on the gas, passing him.

It doesn't turn out so well, when you hear a thunk on the top of your car and then the man crashing his fist through the windshield, making you slam on the breaks. The breaks emit a loud and jarring squeaking sound as your breathing picks up at the sight of your husband.

Before you know it, you're manhandled out of the car and whisked away to a mansion. You fight your way out of his grip, "Let me go!" You exclaim.

He lets you out of his hold, raising his arms up. "It's been a while, my Y/n" He says, and you swear you could hear a smidge of longing in his voice. "What? Since you used me and pretending to live me just to break your brother's curse?!" Your voice booms with emotion.

After everything, a small part of you still loves the vampire in front of you. A part before you found out his plans, when he was still mysterious to you. But you can't let that cloud your vision, speech and thoughts right now.

"It wasn't like that" Elijah takes a step forward, making you take a step back, not wanting to be close to him. You scoff, "I'm not so naive now, Elijah. Of course it was like that. You knew I was a werewolf before you pretended to find out and tell me you were a vampire, a god damn a original at that" You lash out, anger and resentment coming out.

"Just hear me out my darling-" You interrupt him, "No, you can't just hunt me down for 200 years and then once finally catching me, make me listen to your lies and justification. You we're going to what? kill me? Why not just do it instead of pretending to love me and then fucking marry me."

Elijah's face falters before grabbing your arm again. He slams you up against the wall, pinning you against it. His grip on you is hard and painful.

Your eyes flash into the amber colour out of anger. You try to struggle out of his grasp, but have no luck.

"No need for those eyes, darling. For your knowledge, I did love you and marry you because of that love. To this day I still love you. Even after the running away stunt you pulled." Elijah explains to you with a hard voice.

"Good for you, but I promise you, those feelings are definitely not reciprocated" You ground out, still struggling against his hold. Elijah just leans in closer to you, you can feel his breath on your skin. "I could never love someone like you after what you planned for me" you spit in his face.

Elijah falters for a moment, giving you just enough time to switch it around and have him pinned against the wall in his place. You use your werewolf strength to hold him down. "Now, I think it's best for both of us to just move on with our lives. I mean it" You say in a loud and clear voice, no pain whatsoever leaking out. All you want to do is leave and never see this man who has caused you so much pain.

"You don't mean that" Elijah's mouth twitches up into a loose grin. "I assure you, I do" You claw your nails into his skin, making his gasp out.

With an ounce of strength, Elijah gets free from your hold and wraps his hands around your neck. They're not tight enough to block your air supply, just to get you to not move.

"We both know your feelings aren't gone for me. You love me. You just can't admit it. I have been after you for so long, you're my wife whom I love."

You scoff, "A wife who you still want to do the ritual. let me think about it" you pause to 'think'. "NO!" You exclaim in his face. Elijah's vampire face comes on display for a moment before he calms himself. "You don't need to be in the ritual. there's another way now. A new one, my darling. We can finally be together. No more running or hiding, or secrets. I give you my word" He come's closer to you again.

You pause, not knowing what his plan is. There's no way he really means those things. His 'word' may have worked two centuries ago on you, but not now. "And how am I supposed to take you seriously? Or believe a single word you just said? Just because I'm technically your wife still, doesn't mean I have to act like it." You finally tell him.

"Then I truly am sorry, darling" Elijah takes another step closer, you being a couple inches apart now. "For what?-" You get cut off.

Elijah grabs hold of you and twists you around. He quickly wraps his arms around your neck, placing a hand on your jaw and twists your neck. Breaking it.

He's lost you for this long, he's not going to take any more chances. He'll make you remember your feelings for him, whatever it takes, You're his. Even if it means keeping you as a prisoner.

[abarbaricyalp]

hello!! 45. comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together , if you like! ☺️

"I don't get it. I've seen you two pull off that move a million times. I had it in my hand and I still lost it." Joaquin looked positively distraught, even with half a pizza in front of him and a soda bigger than his head. He was looking down at his hand, where proof of his claim was apparent--a dark bruise cutting across his palm and seeping to the back of his hand and down his wrist the longer he didn't have ice on it.

"Ah, don't feel too bad," Sam laughed. "Bucky's just got freakishly long fingers and he's been playing with that thing for a century."

The pizza place was pretty empty, all things considered, and they'd piled into the booth the further from the door and the karaoke stage. It reminded Sam of the old arcade houses he used to waste summer days in as a kid. Even the soda sticky cushions were the same.

This was a great wind-down after a mission that almost couldn't have gone better. No one was actively bleeding. They hadn't had to seriously maim anyone else. And some other organization was handling clean up. No media. Minimal reports. Clean bill of health. Until they devoured this 20 inch pizza. (Bucky had his own. He was not allowed to eat 90% of everyone else's pizza anymore) With Joaquin across from him and Bucky next to him and the heater running above them, he didn't think he could get more comfortable.

"You'll get there," he added with a nod towards Joaquin. "Takes time."

"Doubt it," Bucky mumbled and earned an elbow in his ribs. "It's a complicated move," he defended.

"Not the only thing he's been playing with for-- Ow!" Joaquin jerked his leg back from beneath the table and pouted even harder. Sam hooked his foot against Bucky's again. Okay, so the night could be better if his partners could learn to like each other. "His fingers aren't even that long. I have good fingers."

Sam sighed, world weary. "We are not doing this right now. It was an great mission. We're having a good time. Let's not--"

Bucky put his elbow on the table, holding his palm out to Joaquin, fingers spread. Joaquin shifted so he could lean across the table too, holding his hand against Bucky's. Though their palms were a near match, Bucky had half a knuckle length on Joaquin by the end of their fingers.

"What the hell?" Joaquin asked. "I played piano as a kid. I have good fingers."

"Yeah, my ma had me learning from the lady who played for the Catholic church down the road too," Bucky agreed. "All 'cause I had long fingers. Not any pitch or time keeping, just the hands."

Joaquin stretched his fingers and scooted his palm up just a little bit, trying to touch the tip of Bucky's fingers without moving too much. "You've got extra bones in there," he decided. "Your funky super soldier thing made you grow extra bones."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed with a roll of his eyes. "It's been doing that since I was a kid."

"Whatever, man," Joaquin grunted. He threw himself back into the booth seat cushion and crossed his arms over his chest. "Still doesn't explain why you can do it," he added towards Sam.

"I'm Captain America," Sam said with a shrug. "It comes naturally."

Bucky nudged him with a knowing grin and Joaquin scoffed. "Bullshit. I see how much you train with that thing."

"And how much do you train with it?" Sam asked pointedly. He laughed when Joaquin's pout got even deeper. "Come on, you've gotta practice with it to be able to use it effectively. It's not just a blunt force object. It's got its own physics."

"I'm getting more fries," Joaquin decided quickly. "You're being mean."

Sam laughed at the juvenility of it all. "Oh, come on!" he objected , still grinning, when Joaquin really did get up from their booth. "Hey, bring me another Dr. Pepper, could you?"

Joaquin's ego may be bruised, but he wasn't to the point of disrespect, so he nodded and skulked away.

"You're too hard on him," Sam admonished lightly. "It was just a bad bounce."

Bucky shrugged, unrepentant. He held his hand, palm up, out to Sam. Sam nudged his shoulder against Bucky's but put his hand on Bucky's hand. Bucky used the extra length he had on Sam to push Sam's palm down where it belonged, so the balls of their hands matched up.

Sam had good fingers too. Bucky thought so. Bucky really liked his fingers actually. But of the three of them, his fingers were the shortest. Usually the cleanest too, but that was besides the point.

"You know," Sam said faux-contemplatively, looking at the spread of his fingers, capped off by Bucky's fingertips, "back in school, we used to do this to flirt with the girls. Girls love a guy with big hands."

"Well, you know what they say about a fella with long fingers," Bucky suggested.

"What's what, Barnes?"

"They wear big gloves."

Sam pitched over with a laugh. Their hands stayed balanced and even, so when he sat back up, everything was as he'd left it. He could feel the tight pull of Bucky's palm beneath his, the way he was holding his hand flat and also pressing up into Sam's touch.

"I ain't never been the one with the smaller hands, y'know."

"Is it working?" Bucky asked. "Are you wooed by how big my hands are?"

Sam felt himself flush down to his fingertips and he knew Bucky would totally feel it too. Truth be told, Sam had been into Bucky's hands since a fight in some back alley in an otherwise beautiful city in Corsica, when Bucky ripped the slide out of someone's pistol and used it to pad his punches.

Sam had gotten taken off his feet for the momentary distraction, but they'd otherwise won the fight and walked away with some intel. Bucky walked away with more, because he couldn't share, but whatever.

"They're fine," he said with a shrug.

Bucky snorted and leaned into Sam's space. He shifted his hand over and laced their fingers together instead. Sam tracked their alternating fingers, light and dark, and squeezed Bucky's hand back. "Look a lot better like this."

"Yeah," Sam agreed in a breath. "I think so too." He tilted his head enough to get a quick kiss, which Bucky copied several more times. "Greedy," he teased.

And Bucky was gearing up with some smartass answer, but Joaquin beat him to it with a groaned, "I was gone for, like, two minutes tops! They didn't even have to make new fries."

"I was checking on the length of Sam's fingers," Bucky explained with a shrug. "And I don't think finger length has anything to do with being able to catch the shield. I think you're just bad at it."

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back into the booth as Joaquin launched into some defensive rant, which only got worse when Bucky took several fries and shoved them in his mouth all at once.

Against his thigh, though, Bucky kept rubbing his thumb over the back of Sam's hand and squeezing his fingers against Sam's too.

It was a pretty good night.

[kaiderlou]

Taking Back Your Brain: tips from a medical student

I have a confession to make: I am incredibly terrible at looking up from my phone and engaging in real life. Like bad bad. Like I struggle to get through a lecture without getting on tiktok bad. So here are all the things I'm plotting and planning to take back my brain from the greedy fingers of tech billionaires who have commodified my attention span--hopefully some of this will help you too!

1. Recognizing WHY I'm reaching for my phone as much as I am

the hidden truth behind our declining attention spans : This video really helped me reframe the way I think of my reliance on social media. I encourage watching it, but if you don't have the time, here's the breakdown:

We live in a world that is designed to distract us. Media and tech as a whole have gotten continuously better at grabbing our attention. It grows their platform, it makes them money, and they are investing money into research to invent new tactics to distract us.

What cues us to reach for our phones? Leonie shares in her video that she does so whenever she has a negative thought, and I agree. The nature of short form content promises quick distraction without having to commit to a long holiday from whatever task is at hand (though it always ends up happening). I'm working on confronting whatever uncomfortable thing is prompting me to reach for my phone, rather than giving in and creating a cycle of dependence.

2. Utilizing zones

Designate zones for each different "mode" of life. Don't shit where you eat and don't work where you sleep. Have a space for studying, socializing, sleeping/leisure, etc. and don't mix them. This prevents you from mixing cues. When you're in your work zone, it signals to your brain that it's time to go into work mode, making it easier to focus.

This is the idea behind sleep hygiene too! Keeping your room or even just your bed reserved only for sleep means that when you enter that zone, it cues your brain that it's time for sleep.

3. Mindfulness practices

There is very little I resent more than being told as a busy student that the reason I'm burnt out is because I don't practice mindfulness (it's definitely not because the system is rigorous and asks too much of us, right????) but unfortunately, they might be right.

Mindfulness helps pull you out of the muck of what's happening inside your head and into the present moment. It has been so helpful with pulling me out of my anxiety and makes me feel like I'm actually living my life, rather than avoiding it. Instead of diving headfirst into my phone or maladaptive thinking, I'm grounded in the reality of the present moment.

In the same vein, feel your feelings. It can be uncomfortable, but running from them only works for so long. It takes more and more energy to avoid them until something finally gives. Feel the sensation in your body, be aware of it, then let it pass. Getting comfortable with doing this will eventually replace the avoidance tactics you've picked up, like endless scrolling.

4. Fill your free time with productive things

This doesn't mean don't rest. Rest is productive. But you have to actually rest and do things that are regenerative, not doomscroll.

Take the time to grow in ways that interest you. Do things for your body, mind, and soul. For instance, I like lifting weights, reading/watching video essays/seeing movies on topics I'm curious about, topics that make me think (balanced by fluffy books that DON'T make me think), and praying/reading my Bible. Growth is good for you, your brain wasn't made to be stagnant.

5. Be kind to yourself and your brain

Sometimes kindness looks like cutting yourself some slack, but sometimes it's having the discipline to do something now so you aren't kicking yourself down the line. This is the biggest principle that I live by and it helps me reframe doing the hard things. The hard things have to be done regardless, it's just a matter of under what circumstances. Wouldn't you rather do them when they're easier than when you're fueled by panic? Take care of future you

Anyways, these are the things I'm going to be focusing on with my dedicated STEP 1 study period fast approaching <3