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Your day started with you banging on your newly moved-in neighbor’s door.
Why? Because who the fuck would think that it’s a good idea to blast metal rock at the crack-ass of dawn? Your neighbor, apparently.
See, it would’ve been fine if it were the first time they did it. But nooo. Since the lot became occupied, your mornings have never been quite the same. If KISS’s I Was Made For Lovin’ You wasn’t playing on loop, you’d think the person next door had been kidnapped.
So, yes, while terribly endearing (haha), you really, really want to sleep in. Maybe a peaceful day where you won’t hear any 70’s rock metal, preferably. God forbid a girl just wants her peaceful mornings listening to birds singing while making coffee.
“What is it, Karen?” Someone grumbled, madly annoyed, just from her tone.
You would’ve been lying if you said that didn’t pissed you off.
But you also would’ve been lying even harder if you said that the drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman didn’t make your tongue twist in a pretty bow.
God, fuck. Why were you always so damn pathetically weak for hot women?
“Hello? Are you just gonna stand there ogling or what?” The pretty woman snapped her finger in your face, just as sassy as her tone. Shit, you were too obvious, weren’t you?
As if snapping out of a trance, you shook your head, a polite smile forcing its return to your face, as you returned her eye contact. Rude and hot. Of-fucking-course.
“I’m sorry, that was quite rude of me, wasn’t it?” You started, kinda sheepish. “Would you mind lowering the volume of your… wake-up call? It’s disturbing some people’s sleep.”
“Are you implying that I’m a nuisance?” She scoffed, already turning her heels and closing the door before even letting you speak. Your polite smile vanished, turning into a bitter scowl. You really would’ve liked her if not for her shitty attitude.
Deciding to be the bigger person, you walked away, disregarding the interaction for the sake of your mental health. But you did notice the dramatic decrease in volume from her bass speaker. Maybe the pretty neighbor was just horseshit at social interactions, after all.
That, ladies and gentlemen, queers and non-binaries, is your very first interaction with your suspicious, drop-dead gorgeous, loud next-door neighbor, Ms. Wong (yes, you still don’t know her first name; her porch did not exactly come with a birth certificate attached to it, y’know).
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You should’ve known the universe has been wanting to fuck you up in the ass. It’s been giving you signs, and you just. like. ignoring. it.
First, it was that hot neighbor and her loud-ass bass. Second, there were your unbearably warm pillows that put lava to shame. Third, your brand new fucking espresso machine that—for the love of everything holy and unholy—refused to turn the fuck on.
Fourth, is—well—how could you say this in a… less offensive tone?
Right.
Fourth, your fuckass, incredibly rude (& hot) house neighbor is also your neighbor here. At your freaking job.
She’s the owner of the newly bought tattoo parlor, right. next. to. yours.
Fuck your life, man.
“Hey, are you stalking me?” You barely registered her saying. Matter of fact, you barely fuckin’ registered her walking up to you—with a nasty smirk.
“No, I—… I work here!” You sputtered, pink dusting your flushed cheeks. You heard her chuckle—god, it was a fucking experience. It was light and airy, amusement dancing in her features. You actually cannot do this right now—
“Whatever you say, weirdo. You own that cute cafe, yeah?”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“Say, if I order, will there be a discount?”
“And for what? Being my neighbor doesn’t guarantee you a—”
“For, you know, letting you stare down for free. Don’t bother denying; I saw where your eyes were earlier—it’s not exactly in my eyes.”
…
The fuck could you even respond to that?!
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You gave one for free.
Out of spite.
“Don’t ever talk about this to anyone, ever again. In fact, don’t even come near my shop. You’re getting banned.” You stood in front of her, slamming the large cup on a nearby table with a glare that could rival a dinosaur. She thinks you look like a noisy kitten.
She then proceeded to stare at you with a twinkle in her eyes that meant you’d definitely see her again. Like, okay, of course you will. You’re damn neighbors freaking everywhere—but that’s not the point!
“Name’s Ada Wong, doll. Y’know, in case you wanna stalk me some more.”
Now that made you storm off in frustration. Loudly stomping your feet and slamming the door like a toddler having a tantrum.
And if you hear a soft, airy chuckle that makes your heart skip several beats for a minute? Well, that’s not the pandora’s box you wanna open.
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Days bled to weeks, and weeks sped by to months; you know what became a constant? Your banter with the one and only, your unfriendly neighborhood tattoo artist, Miss Ma’am Ada Wong.
Well, more like she’s bantering, and you’re stubbornly refusing to lose—exactly like an angry kitten being poked like a hundred times (her exact words, not yours).
It’s annoying; it’s hot. Oftentimes, you rub one out to release your (sexual) frustration. And when the post-nut clarity hits? Fuck, you keep on wondering what the hell fucking happened, and why the hell were you not shoving your tongues in each other’s throats? Because holy fuck, there’s tension. That’s a fact. You know that as a fact. Because why else does she stare at your lips while royally pissing you off, looking utterly pleased with herself?
“Hey,” Ada called your name, rousing you out of your reverie. Fuck, you really gotta stop doing that.
“The hell you want, Bobcut?”
“Oh? That’s new. What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“You—I mean, your loud-ass music. It’s deafening my ears.” That got her brow raised. She never really turned up her music today—not at home, not at her shop.
“Okay, weirdo. Do you always—”
“Sweets! Hey!” Ada heard a man shout, calling your attention. If she felt her eye twitch, she refused to talk about that. You were on your break, for godssake! And break meant you spending your time being pissy in her parlor while eating lunch. Fucking hell.
“Oh? Hey!” She saw your eyes brighten up, making hers dim. Not that god-awful man again. She walked away without saying anything, and if you saw her roll her eyes in annoyance? Well, all she’s gonna be doing is to deny, deny, deny.
“Oh my gosh—I told you to stop touching me like that!” Your sudden, distressed shout made Ada still, her hands clenched into a fist. She turned back, again, intervening against her better judgment.
“Doll? What’re you still doing here? Thought we’d leave early.” She said sweetly, as if you literally weren’t arguing about penguin tattoos moments prior.
“Must’ve slipped my mind, ‘m sorry.” You whispered, trembling while looking at her like she was your salvation. God, you hated the fact that her effects on you were still so fucking strong—even if you’re annoyed out of your mind with some fuckwit regular being a little too touchy.
“Naughty. I’ve reminded you that al—” her airy chuckles permeate the air before she is rudely cut off. By a man, no less. That got your eye twitch.
“Sorry, who are you?” The man bitterly said, sizing her up. Ada didn’t spare him a single glance. She just leaned to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smoothly tracing her fingers to pinch your cheek. You felt like you had suddenly entered an alternate universe.
“Let’s get the hell out, yeah?” She whispered with a secret smile, beckoning you to stand up and holding your hand. Just as you did, you felt the man roughly grab your arm, leading you to almost stumble—if not for Ada’s support, gently steadying you.
“Hey, I’m still talking to you!” The man grunted, his grip tightening painfully, making you wince.
“Let go!—the fuck is wrong with you?!” You tried yanking your arm away, but it was futile. Fucking hell, you could already feel a nasty handprint-bruise forming.
While Ada? Ada is fucking livid; she could see flames. How dare he touch you? A god-awful, filthy stain in a shoe, man fucking touched you.
“Get your hands off, ‘else you want it gone.” She spat, jaw clenched with a matching glare that could shoot him dead. An icy chill ran down the pathetic man’s spine, making his grip slightly falter. But he couldn’t let go—not yet. He refused to. His ego’s way too big for that.
Listen, if you weren’t—quite literally—stuck being manhandled by an asshole, you would’ve kissed her by now. Like, seriously, she looks so fucking cute protecting you. Your head is becoming concerningly jumbled, and it wasn’t because of the asshole or the situation—well, okay, maybe if the situation was named Ada Wong, theeeeen you’ll bite.
“How about a no—” Before anything could be said or heard, a loud smack! rang in the silent room. One moment, the man was standing beside you (roughly gripping your poor, unfortunate arm), then the next, he was down to the ground, clutching his face with tears in his eyes, sporting a nasty bruise and an ugly lip cut.
“My girlfriend is not yours to touch—more or less, hurt.” She hissed, standing in front of you protectively. You don’t know how she got there, but you do know one thing for certain: something dripped, and it’s not tears nor sweat.
She stomped at the man one last time before facing you, silently scanning where you’ve been hurt. Her eyes zeroed in on your arm; splotches of red and purple in place of fingerprints were visible. “You’re hurt.” Her words soften as she places her hand on the small of your back, leading you further inside.
If you heard her employees (and customers) whisper and whistle in congratulations, well, you grinned in pride (Ada just looked mad defeated, but the smile she was fighting off speaks a LOT).
She guided you to her private booth, closing the door for privacy.
“Hey, I’m sorry for ca—”
“Did you mean it?” You breathe, looking at her with glistening eyes.
“Were you uncomfortable? Sorry, I—”
“No, I don’t give a shit. Did you mean it?” You persisted, gently holding her hands, tracing absent circles—either to comfort her or yourself, you weren’t quite sure.
Ada took a deep breath, her grip on you slightly tightening subconsciously before loosening.
“I do.” She whispered as if it were the first breath of fresh air. “From the moment you bitched about my loud bass, I knew I was done for.”
You didn’t speak, letting her finish. You continued to stare at her in the same fond manner you’ve always had. You continued to admire her raven locks and her bob cut that always manages to frame her face perfectly. You continued to look at her twinkling eyes, which always seemed to bring sarcasm and wit. You continued to gaze at her soft, kissable, pink lips—you’ve never once seen them chapped. Fuck, you’re in this deep, aren’t you?
“I never said anything because, well, I don’t know if you even like women that way—fuck, if you even like me that way.” Even if she couldn’t hold back the self-deprecating laugh she let out, she continued. “I just—I was just content with being whatever we are ‘cause I’d rather have that… than not have you at all.” Her voice gradually faded into a whisper, a testament to how much the ruthless yet graceful lady exterior earlier crumbled in the face of an uncertain variable called love.
Specifically loving a woman you didn’t know loves you back, and is currently clenching her fist to calm herself down, leaving her palm with mini crescents because—holy fucking shit, what do you mean my long-time crush-slash-enemy-ish just confessed to me aaaaaaaaaaahhh—but it’s whatever.
“I—… Fuck, it’s about time.” You threw your arms around her neck, grip slightly tightening with joy. “Thought you were never gonna say something.” You whispered in her ear—catching her off guard.
“I—”
“I like you. So much.” With your voice that only whispers the truth, Ada felt as if this godforsaken world finally did her right.
You leaned close, noses touching as you waited for her permission to continue. She closed the gap, not even a second later.
Her lips were soft, languidly moving in yours like a waltz. Her hand cupped the back of your head, while her other hand traced your back before settling on the curve of your waist—pulling you impossibly closer. You couldn't help but melt into her arms, parting your lips with a gasp. She took that opportunity to swirl her tongue in yours, greedily exploring the crevices of your mouth. Mewls and whimpers bubbled in your throat as she took it with a grin—lightly sucking your tongue.
You didn't know when she pulled away, just the fact that after she did, warm, wet kisses trailed to the column of your neck.
“F-fuck, babe.” You whimpered, mind barely functioning, as she was the only one keeping you anchored.
Ada chuckled, her hand trailing from the back of your neck down to your collarbone. She tugged the neckline of your blouse before popping open a button.
“Can't let other people think you're up for grabs, Doll. Gotta fix that, don't you think?” She mumbled to your skin, expertly finding your sweet spot. She licked a stripe before making marks with a vigour you didn't think she had. It wasn't long until she had you putty on her hold.
You were a mess. A whimpering, moaning mess. Ada thinks she could print out the sight from just her memory. Fuck, you look too pretty with lipstick smudges decorating your lips and her marks that littered your neck—with your brows furrowed in pleasure, and the unsteady rise and fall of your chest.
You're a masterpiece she wanted to be framed on her walls to spend hours worshipping.
“My needy Doll. You’re already this worked out after a bit of kissing? Haven’t even tasted you yet.” She hummed, tucking the stray strands of your hair behind your ear.
She then leaned close to your ear, her teeth grazing the tips, as her warm breathy whisper made you shiver. “Bet my needy doll’s already dripping for me, hm?”
You think you just came untouched.
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