#or maybe I was just too antsy while rereading it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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Can I get uuuuuuh reader who quickly figures out Breg is jackin it over the phone and proceeds to order him around & tease him?

As always, you're a fucking gift to all of your horny fans Pinnie 💕 thank you for being a glorious beacon of debauchery. Rereading your stuff is getting me through my second case of rona. Bless 🫶

--🍆🩲

[Yikes. Hope you're doing well, I only had it once. Fem reader. This a little shorter than usual.]

[Based on this post.]

He looks at the phone in pure agony.

Come on Breg, it's been, what... Half an hour longer than you said you'd be home?

It's natural to be worried, of course, but the breeder knows he could probably just text you to make sure everything's alright. Thing is, he hates texting. It's harder for Breg to read and write than the average person. And how could it not be? He learned those basic skills much later than he should have. It's only natural that he struggles sometimes, that he'd prefer to call you, which doesn't involve spelling- Aka, the bane of his existence.

Plus, he wants to hear your voice. F-For no specific reason...

It's not like he's getting lonely. It's not like he hasn't been thinking of bending you over in his hands and stuffing your holes until- Fuck.

Breathe. Think.

The whole house reeks of you, and he's getting antsy. Breg feels sorry that he's so sexual in nature, that you have to deal with this. That he's not strong enough to just turn away from the phone and jerk off like your run of the mill pervert. Nah, he's done that too much already while he was waiting for you to come back. Now he needs more. Dropping the used shirt the monster was twiddling between his digits, Breg reaches for the device and speed dials basically the only person he bothers to use the thing for, his free hand dropping to his slit in shameless preparation.

Takes a while before you pick up. As if you were debating whether or not to do it in the first place.

" ... Yes? "

Finally! His tail immediately starts wagging.

" Angel! "

There's a pause, then a very tired sigh.

" Breg. "

It's more of a groan than a greeting, something that definitely has the monster biting his lip, purposely misinterpreting the noise. His fingers drift up and down his slightly slick opening.

" Hi. "

It seems he's gone stupid. Or maybe it's just that he's focused on exposing himself.

There's the sound of shuffling from your end. " Uh, yeah- Is something going on? "

Well... That's about as far ahead into this endeavor as Breg thought. Time to toss random shit at the wall and see what sticks. The monster dips a finger into his slit and sighs quietly, the sound easily going unnoticed.

" Uhm no- I mean, yes! A-Aren't you late? You should be home by now. " He stresses.

" Mm? Yeah, I'm just doing some maintenance shopping, I'll be there soon. "

Not soon enough for his tastes.

Two fingers are now dipping into that sheath, rubbing and coiling until they find the tips of his cocks. He shivers a little, jolting at the first real touches to his members. " Do you have to do that now? "

Silence.

" ... Yes? Why? "

The breeder exhales again, this time in frustration, insistently coaxing his lengths out. It's a bit hasty of him, and Breg whines at the stretch of his unprepared slit when the roots of both cocks pop out, then relaxes back onto the couch cushions.

" Breg? You there? "

Shit. What did he say again?

" Uhhm- " Ah! " No, it's just that, I mean, we can do that tomorrow, right? You're not working then, so... Come home? " Very persuasive, that'll work.

There's another long pause of pure silence, one he's not too happy about, since the sound of your voice was helping him feel good just moments ago. The monster lightly strokes his left shaft, waiting, breath picking up slightly.

" Be honest, did something happen? Because it sounds to me like you fucked up again and you don't want to tell me. "

Breg gets a brief flashback of the handful of incidents where he set something in the kitchen on fire and quickly scrambles to soothe you. " No no, I swear! " He stops touching himself for a second. " I- I didn't do anything. "

But what if he had done something?

What if he purposely broke some of your stuff, what if he said he tossed all your plates out the window? Would that make you get home faster? Would you race here just so you could yank the breeder down and put him in his place? Punish him. Hips jut as he resumes pumping, circling the head of his cock with a thumb while he pictures you forcing him to the ground, smothering him for endless time as discipline for being bad. Fuck, he can almost phantom the sensation-

" Breg! "

The monster startles, a whine escaping him at your tone, tough he quickly coughs afterwards. It was far from a smooth maneuver. Never once does he risk stopping the flow of continuous pleasure, switching to his right dick while the left one twitches for more.

" Hhn- Y-Yes? "

" Have I been talking to no one all this time?! "

Not at all. The monster may not have gleamed a single word of your monologue, but he was very attentive to the familiar melody of your voice throughout it. " I'm... " He has to muffle another noise, tail thrashing against the coffee table. " I'm sorry, I got distracted. "

" Doing what? "

Oh, the usual, fucking myself to the thought of you. " N-Nothing. "

Idiot.

This next pregnant pause feels intentional, as if you're pressuring him. " Mhm, yeah. Well, I'm hanging up. "

" NO! " Breg shouts, half in anger half in dread, before he realizes that might have deafened you a good bit. " Please, just don't... "

There's a noise like a snort from your side, then more rustling. " Uhuh, why? "

Well fuck. What can he say now, if not the truth? He's never been good at lying, and you know that as well. He'd rather just tell you the truth and deal with the consequences than try to keep up a ridiculous charade. Breg grips the base of his shaft, pulsing.

" You're jerking off. " It's not even a question.

" I- I just wanna hear your voice... "

Painful quiet.

The breeder flusters, suddenly quiet. " No. N-No, I'm not. " Flawless, you must have been totally convinced by the awful crack in his voice.

" I've been hearing the slick of your hand on your dicks for minutes now. "

Breg halts instantly. Is... Is it really that noticeable? He's not quite sure what to say, maybe apologize? Yes, it feels like you're mad at him.

" Why have you stopped? It's not as if I'm going to ground you for beating off. " A hum, it sounds like you're moving something. " Even if you're a gross degenerate that can't keep it together. "

The insult wounds him a little, though bounces right off when he processes your first words, throbbing against thin air. " You- You want me to keep going? " The disbelief is palpable.

" Do you want to keep going? I didn't start this. "

The ambivalence you're displaying does nothing to calm Breg down. It's as if you expect this from him, which honestly, he can sort of understand when he thinks about all the other less-than-adequate situations you've caught him in. Still, the fact that you'd so nonchalantly let him get away with this is exhilarating.

" I want you here... " The pale monster whines out.

The laugh that rings out is jovial and marvelous, making him shiver and squirm. " Well, I'm not there, so make do. Don't let me stop you. "

Breg's not even sure what he's thanking you for. The fact that you haven't hung up? That you're letting him touch himself to your voice? Who knows... His pace resumes, a little more fevered this time, the breeder makes no effort to muffle his heavy breathing.

" Thank you, angel! "

" C- Can you keep talking? " He requests, in that voice where you'll be able to tell he's wagging his tail like a pup.

" Ugh, so needy... " You click your tongue. " What do you want to hear? "

" Just say things. "

Once more, very helpful of him. But it's not like the monster can spare much thought to eloquence when he just wants to orgasm.

" You know Breg... " The breaks between each word sound measured, either his mate is making an attempt to listen to him or you're just teasing for the sake of it. " Jerking off on a call, licking my used clothes, fingering me in my sleep- I don't think you deserve anything nice at all. "

" N-... No? " His cocks jump anyway, it's not as if he enjoys getting reprimanded, but the breeder is intrigued nonetheless.

" Nope. " You chirp. " What are you gonna do to make it up to me? "

Ohh fuck, anything! Anything anything anyth-

" W-Whatever you want! " If he wasn't pistoning into his own hand before, he is now, whimpering in the back of his throat. Why can't you be here??

" Yeah? " Breg nods, then belatedly realizes you can't see it. " And what do you think I want? "

A series of images flash through his mind's eye like a reel show of senseless depravity. It stuns him. Breg gives a full body shudder, tail tensing upwards while he immediately starts scrambling for words to describe half of what he sees.

" I- I can- Do you want to f-fuck my face? " He's been plagued with thoughts of it lately. You forcing him to kneel as you grind yourself over his features, spreading your scent and your mark on him. " It- I promise it'll feel good, I'll make you feel so good, I love the taste of your sweet pussy I'll- Ahn! Mmf- " A frustrated little moan derails his speech as the breeder gets too lost in his own fantasies, as usual.

" Just talking about it gets you in that state? " There's a bit of incredulity behind your tone.

" Yes, yes- Can you please come home? Please? Angel, I need you... " Words cease altogether as the monster parts his mouth in mounting pleasure, furiously chasing his climax, beads of drool splattering to his chest while he groans nonsensically, a sort of pathetic displeasure that you're not there to help him along. Or lick his cum off, fuck, you always look so hot when you do that.

" Hey, hey- Hands off your junk. "

Breg almost wants to scream. Instead, he hisses quietly, the noise tapering out into a muffled snarl.

" Don't give me that growling! "

Well, you weren't the one told to stop out of nowhere!

" Buh- But you said I could! "

A huff. " I said you could keep touching yourself, not that you can cum. "

" But I wanna... " He pouts. As if that wasn't obvious enough.

" Oh, so you don't want to cum in me then? " It's like you enjoy twisting words, and frankly, that might just be the case.

" N- Wait-! I want to, I want it, please please I'm sorry- "

" Then stop. "

Another grumble.

" Breg. " You warn. " Plug that sopping slit and don't move a fucking muscle, you hear me? "

" ... Yes. " The monster doesn't want to ruin his high, but he's also very much driven to please, sinking two fingers into the space between his opening and the members that stand tall and swollen with need.

" If you can follow those simple instructions, we'll do what you said when I get home, okay? " Breg picks up on another sound from your end, jingling keys, then the revving of an engine. Your car.

His tail is a swishing blur.

" Okay. " Anyone can tell he sounds miserable about staying still however.

There's a hum of approval. " What do we say? "

His cocks pulse. " T-Thank you. "

" Good boy. "

When you hang up, the breeder almost wants to cry, rutting into his own digits as he waits.

He's a good boy.

#Bregory #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #monster x reader

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ciaossu-imagines · 1 year

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Continuing on with this fandom meme, this time for my long-time fandom that's been surprisingly more popular than I thought it would be, Saiyuki!

Send me a letter and I’ll tell you which character…

A: Is most attractive (to me): Honestly, this one tends to fluctuate a lot. It’s changed every time I’ve read or reread the manga as to which person I find most attractive, though let’s be real…they’re all attractive. This latest time around though, I was very, very much into Gojyo!

B: Gets bored the fastest: It’s a toss up between Goku and Gojyo. Gojyo is more of a quiet, lazy bored though as compared to Goku’s much more antsy, louder, and whinier bored.

C: Is the most open to cuddling: Gojyo craves physical touch. The reasons why are numerous and probably something he should discuss with a therapist, if only their world had those, but that physical contact? That act of just feeling someone against you, alive and real and wanting to be there with you? It’s something he would honestly go a little insane without. Cuddling and physical contact is a necessity for him, to the point he seeks it in random women he can pick up just to have it.

D: Fears death the most: Despite having so much power and control over it, or maybe because of that, Hazel has a proper fear of death, more so than any other character I could think of.

E: Is the most emotive: A ‘stupid monkey’, Goku rarely thinks about hiding what he’s thinking or feeling. Most of the time, he’s upfront and his emotions and reactions are somewhat easy to see or guess, especially so for those who know him well.

F: Is my favourite: All of the main four, to be honest, and Dokugakuji. They all kind of tie for the same place as there’s so much about each character that entertains and intrigues me and gets me to thinking and wondering. Purely to write about, I feel Gojyo edges everyone out though as he’s always come the most naturally to me to write for.

G: Has the greenest thumb: I feel like Yaone not only has a green thumb but genuinely enjoys plants and gardening. She’d definitely be a plant mama if she could and would have names for her plants and would hum or talk to them.

H: Trusts their horoscope the most: Lirin is quite superstitious that way, something the others make fun of her for.

I: Tends to idolize people they shouldn’t: While her reasoning is sound, and it’s not idolization but approval she craves, Lirin does have some issues in that area.

J: Tells the most dad jokes: Hakkai likes puns. Does that make him a dad? If so, he’d be okay with that. It’s better than everyone considering him the team mom! His puns are delivered so stealthily too, with the same serene expression he often wears, and he never explains the pun.

K: Is the most skilled in the kitchen: I hate giving the same answer over and over, but it really is Hakkai. He is a good cook and does honestly enjoy cooking for others.

L: Lies the most: Nii. It’s more half-truth or things that could vaguely be interpreted as true most of the time, just to give himself some leeway if anyone should accuse him but honestly, he’s perfectly content to lie and manipulate and actually enjoys doing so.

M: Is the biggest memer: If memes existed in the world of Saiyuki, I feel that all of Kougaiji’s group except for Kougaiji would be all into memes. And they’d constantly bombard Kougaiji with them because the poor man just does not understand them.

N: Needs way more attention from me: Honestly, thinking about it, the answer kind of surprised me but it’s definitely Kougaiji. I can count on one hand the number of times I think I’ve actually written anything for him, despite thinking that he’d be one of the most popular. Normally, it’s just the main four I write for, or their previous incarnations.

O: Has the most OCs of their own: I feel like Goku wins this one. He made up friends, people, stories to occupy his mind in those long years he spent alone because it was the only way to protect his mind.

P: Is the purest, most perfect cinnamon roll: Jeep. It’s Jeep because it sure as hell isn’t anyone else!

Q: Is the quickest to judge others: Sanzo is a judgmental asshole. I love him to death, but he’d probably judge me for even that.

R: Feels the most detached from reality: Reality? Nii could really stand to learn what that even is. I really don’t think he’s fully aware, living in his mind as much as he does, spinning and spiraling plans and plots…that and the man is insane. That’s about as far from reality as a mind can go.

S: Has the strongest spirit: There is not one single character among the main cast of characters who do not have strong spirits. They simply could not live if they didn’t.

T: Is the most terrifying: This is just for me personally, but Nii scares the ever-living shit out of me as a character. He’s crazy but such a smart crazy and it makes him dangerous beyond belief.

U: Is the most unapologetic for the way they live their life: All of the characters do. They’ve all made hard choices and been through a lot. They stick by their decisions; they live the lives they’ve chosen and give it all they have.

V: Is the best at video games: If video games existed, I really feel like both Hakkai and Sanzo would be insanely good gamers. With his pretty face and filthy mouth, I could actually see Sanzo becoming a popular Twitch streamer, only at the insistence of the others.

W: Watches the most anime: Again, assuming anime was a thing in their world…I feel it would have been Tenpou. He seems like he’d be all into many types of anime, but especially Shonen or gag anime, and would get really into a lot of fandoms.

X: Is the most xenial towards complete strangers: Hazel but only if those complete strangers are yokai or half yokai. Basically, anything along those lines and he thinks you’re trash to be wiped out.

Y: Yells the most: Sanzo, but to be fair, they normally give him a reason to yell at them.

Z: Gets the most overzealous over something others wouldn’t expect: Dokugakuji actually really likes poetry, especially haiku. While he sucks at writing, having horribly illegible handwriting, he enjoys spoken poetry and is pretty good at making them up himself when he’s in the right mood.

#saiyuki #fandom prompt #dokugakuji #sanzo #genjo sanzo #field marshal tenpou #tenpou saiyuki #cho hakkai #sha gojyo #dr nii #nii jianyi #jeep saiyuki #son goku #goku saiyuki #yaone #lirin #kougaiji

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curiositydooropened · 2 years

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Merry Christmas, Max

Max gets a ride home from Steve on Christmas Eve 1985.

Pairing: Max crushing on Steve, a bit of implied Steve x Nancy

Wordcount: 3630

Warnings: just sad, panicky Max stuff

No Tag List, please follow my library!

A/N: I wrote most of this like two years ago and have been trying to finish it and get it posted. So rereading it post-s4 made me really happy with a lot of the character decisions I made. Hope you enjoy as much as I did! Happy Christmas in July!

Masterlist • Library • Ao3

Christmas at the Wheeler’s, like most things at the Wheeler’s, looked like Max had stepped onto the set of one of those old fashioned, sappy holiday musicals her mom sobbed to every year. Everything was lit up, technicolor, glossed over with a rosy glow. The fireplace was lit and stoked. Five perfect, store-bought stockings hung among the boughs of holly, just under an array of Sears-booth photographs. A large tree was adorned to the tip top with tinsel and real glass ornaments. All the presents beneath glistened under gold lamé bows.

Max almost didn’t want to unwrap hers. She wanted to pull the Scotch tape as carefully as she could to keep the paper prestine. Her own presents, comic books she’d paid for with scrounged arcade change, were haphazardly taped brown parcels, carefully tied with string. Their Christmas budget was low, Mom said, because of funeral costs. They were still recovering.

Mike had gotten her a really nice sweater, which was thoughtful, too thoughtful. And Lucas got pissed until Mike explained that El had picked it out, and she’d be wearing a matching one in California. Lucas got Max a framed photo of himself, the idiot.

After presents, they enjoyed some punch and took turns on the Atari until the front door opened with a gust of cool air, and two more guests tumbled in, stomping the snow from their boots onto the entry rug.

“Mike!?” Nancy called through the house, but she needn’t look far to see the motley crew huddled in their Christmas sweaters in front of the television. Dustin and Mike were jamming their joysticks. Lucas sat on the couch beside Max, making her too warm and itchy with his arm wrapped over her shoulder.

“What!?” Mike yelled back, not seeing his sister’s entrance.

“I’m home.” Nancy was breathless, from the cold or something else, Max wasn’t sure, but the older girl’s cheeks and nose were pinched pink, and she had the start of icicles in her hair. She was out there a while. “Hi, Max,” she smiled, holding up a small hand to wave.

Max nodded a hello.

“You guys get enough to eat? Where’s Holly?” She looked around the small room for her littlest sister.

The familiar sound of a knock out called from the television, and Dustin tossed his joystick in a fit of slander and rage. Mike raised two fists in the air, triumphant, before focusing in on the annoyed teen in the room. “Shit, what?” He blinked.

“Seriously, Mike!?” Nancy huffed in retreat. They heard her footsteps hurdle up the staircase. “Holly!?!”

Max felt a twinge of panic, wondered if the rest of them prickled at the idea of a missing child. Maybe it affected them worse than her, she never knew. She hadn’t recalled seeing Holly all evening. Somewhere between the cookies and punch, maybe? When the kitchen bustled with bodies and Mrs. Wheeler smacked lips to Mike’s obstinant cheek as she and Mr. Wheeler swept off to their evening’s party.

Reluctantly, Mike stretched his long limbs from his cross-legged position on the floor and followed his older sister to investigate upstairs. Lucas, seeing an opening, found his spot beside Dustin on the living room floor.

Suddenly feeling antsy and alone, Max relieved herself and headed toward the kitchen, mumbling something about punch. Really, she wanted a better vantage of the staircase and the front door, in case something were to go awry. In the kitchen, she knew she could arm herself. She passed the entry way, a stacked flurry of puffer jackets, and her socks dampened beneath the run-off of wet snow boots. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but continued to pad her path, peeking up the staircase for any indication of the little girl’s safety.

Max’d craned her neck so far to see up the stairs that by the time she wheeled her focus to the kitchen, she’d nearly run smack into the side of Steve Harrington, who now stood draped against the Wheeler’s island, mouth full and second Christmas cookie in hand. “Whey, Mah-,” he greeted, crumbs coating a bright blue puffer vest. He waved.

Max clutched at her chest and shook her head, moving to fill a plastic cup with punch. “Hi, Steve. What’re you doing here?” She half-paid attention to her actions, taking the new vantage point to look toward the blue staircase.

“I’m here to take Dustin home.” Steve gestured in Dustin’s vague direction with the cookie in his hand. “Is your mom coming?”

Where were the Wheelers? The hallway upstairs remained dimly lit. It seemed like Mrs. Wheeler had changed the wallpaper again, something more with-the-times. At least the lighting remained stable, no blinking, no changes. The air in the kitchen felt warm, too hot, except Max’s hand. Why would her hand be cold?

Her eyes flicked focus to her freezing hand to watch bright red punch spill over the full cup and back into the punch bowl. “Shit!” She dropped the ladle and carefully dumped punch out of her cup, standing on tiptoe to avoid spillage onto her hand-knit Christmas sweater.

“Pour much?” Steve snorted.

“Shove it, asshole,” Max sneered, setting her cup down to find one of Mrs. Wheeler’s hand towels to dry the liquid.

Steve had found it already, in anticipation for the spill, and he handed it over with a grin, using his dry, but freezing, fingers to roll up Max’s sleeve. His hands were bright red, and cold, as though he’d been outside for hours. With warmth filling her cheeks, Max mumbled a thanks and avoided glancing back up at him while she dried off. Her fingers remained sticky at the joints.

“God, Mike, you’re such a freak,” Nancy hissed at the top of the stairs. Her not-so-little brother slunk behind her, all limbs and shrugged shoulders.

“Shut up,” a small smirk met his thin lips, but he halted at the landing, bushy eyebrows furrowed into the signature Mike Wheeler grimace. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Steve rolled his eyes and reached for a third sugar cookie. He leaned once more against the counters to behead Santa before saying, “shut up, dickhead.”

Mike just rolled his eyes and followed Nancy to the kitchen to grab a handful of salted nuts.

“Was Holly okay?” Max asked softly, slipping her upper lip over the rim of her cup to slurp the excess punch from the top. It was sweet, but the fizz had flattened from hours laying stagnant in a warm house.

“Oh yeah, she’d crashed while playing Barbies.” Nancy smiled softly, cornering a star between dainty eye teeth. “God, those were the days, weren’t they?”

Max hummed a smile, chest loosening in relief. She’d never had Barbies growing up, well, one or two, because Mom wanted her to, but she was always more into skinning her knees and jamming buttons at the arcade.

A cry of victory shook the house from the family room, and Mike quickly hurried off to congratulate the winner, or take his turn, and Max took a deep breath before deciding if she wanted to follow. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was getting late, and if she wanted to make it home by curfew, she should probably get going soon. At least, if Neil was sober and awake, which was more and more unlikely nowadays.

“Steve,” Nancy gasped, covering a chuckle with the back of her hand. “You’ve got… tree…” She laughed and reached to pull an assortment of twigs from Steve Harrington’s famous brown locks. His dark eyes screwed upward to watch the action, and upon noticing the culprit, he quickly checked his hair with his hands. His immediate panic sent Nancy into a fit of giggles.

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes, but Max noticed the fondest of smiles breech the corners of his pink lips. He watched Nancy laugh before lifting a hand to her curls. “Shit, you do too.” He snorted and pulled some juniper from her hair as well.

The room felt very tight, like all of the air had been sucked from it. The last laugh fell from Nancy’s lips, and Max held her breath simultaneously, too embarrassed to make a noise. She watched Steve’s hand pick at twigs and berries, and the items pebbled on the linoleum at their socked feet.

His hands were big, overtaking Nancy’s petit face and frame, as they ghosted her cheek and neck and arm, and finally fell to his sides. Max could feel herself trembling, curiosity fluttering somewhere in her stomach, wondering if Steve’s hand would feel the same as Lucas’s in hers, or if it was tougher, more experienced. She wondered how she’d feel tucked under one of his arms on the couch, the way she had been with Lucas. She wondered if she’d feel stuffy and hot, or comfortable, safe.

“Max,” Steve’s voice snapped her out of it, and she felt her face flood with heat. She darted her eyes around the room, trying to look anywhere but him until she realized he’d address her.

“Huh?” She cleared her throat. “What?”

“Is your mom coming to get you?”

It took her a few moments to realize what he was asking, while her brain switched gears. She shook her head, taking another sip of punch. “Mmm, no. She’s at the party too. I’m going to skate home.”

“Uh, no you’re not.” Steve shook his head.

“What?”

“It’s a friggin’ blizzard outside, shit brains. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I’ll be fine, asshole,” Max rolled her eyes, but her confidence waned as she glanced toward the blackness of the kitchen window. The corners of it were illuminated with a fresh dusting of snow. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Whatever. When’s your curfew?” Steve asked.

Max stared back at the clock on the wall. “Half hour?”

Steve ran a hand through his mane. “Shit. Fine. Go grab Dustin, let’s go.”

With a huff of obstinance, Max tipped the rest of her punch into the sink and tossed her cup into the quickly-filling garbage can. She tried not to notice Nancy hadn’t moved from her close proximity to Steve. She tried not to notice the looks the older two were giving each other as she left the room. She tried not to notice the pang of jealousy she felt as she moved out of eye sight.

She thought of turning back, of peeking through the slats in the banister and catching a secret moment, but she thought better of it and made a mental note to tell El tomorrow. She gathered her bag of presents and peeled Dustin’s gaze from the television long enough to help him do the same. Her mind lingered on the teens in the kitchen, wondering if love got easier or harder the older she got.

Lucas kept his untrained eyes on the television, jamming buttons while his girlfriend and best friend made for the entry way to begrudgingly pull damp snowshoes on over wool socks. Max perched herself on the bottom step and yawned through the first boot. She glanced sideways to see the older teens entering from the kitchen. Steve pulled his jacket from the ground, wet spots still fresh and dark green against the emerald.

“You shit heads ready?” He grinned, too wide, too happy. So happy he winked at Max, who shot him furrowed eyebrows as a blushed response.

“What’s your deal?” Dustin scoffed, never one to let an uncharacteristically enthused expression go unnoticed.

“Nothing, shut up. Put your coat on.” Steve sighed, slamming down the front bill of Dustin’s cap.

Dustin huffed a response and struggled for his jacket.

Steve reached to the ground to find Max’s. The puff split down one side and was haphazardly duct taped together like her skateboard, and the entire thing looked ridiculous against the pristine image of Steve Harrington. He held it out for her to slip her arms into, and she did so, one after the other, her back up against his tall, strong front, their jackets puffed between them.

His fingers, now warm, brushed her neck upon her coat’s release, and she shuddered at the touch, immediately stepping out of his range. She grappled for her bag, and the skateboard propped against the wall and grumbled for them all to leave already.

“Bye, Mike! Thanks for Christmas! Bye, Nancy!” Dustin screeched throughout the house.

Nancy swatted at him, not unkindly. “Shhh, Holly’s sleeping.”

“Sorry,” Dustin grinned. “Merry Christmas, Nancy.”

“Merry Christmas, Dustin. Merry Christmas, Max.”

Max smiled and nodded. She lingered behind Dustin for a moment, waiting to hear the scramble of feet from the family room, but found no such luck. She sighed. Maybe being single for the holidays was just the icing on the cake from the shit year she’d had since July. Weird emotions struck her, tickled at her throat, and she shouldered past Dustin and into the cold.

Steve was right. A thick layer of white brightened the air, frosted her cheeks, tickled at her nose hairs. She blinked into the blanket, trying to decide the best coarse of action to keep her jeans dry. The lights from the garage glowed warm against the icy driveway. Already, Steve’s car was cast in a thin layer, windshield wiping in vain. The engine rolled from the cold.

His headlights exposed an odd patch of snow behind of the bushes at the front of the yard, packed like something had laid and almost attempted snow angels, though perhaps something had barreled through to destroy them. Amid the snow were twigs and berries.

Dustin forged ahead in a flurry of polyester, eager to get out of the snow and into the warmth of Steve’s car. With a groan, Max followed in his wake, hiking her skateboard up her hip to keep it dry. Dustin shouted shot gun, and the two of them collapsed into respective seats, breathless from the cold, stamping their boots onto the sideboard. Before Max closed her door, she noticed Nancy and Steve lingering in the doorway to the Wheeler’s home. Nancy’s fingers were wrapped around the lapel of his jacket. She fell back on flat feet from her tiptoes.

Max slammed the car door and fresh snow fell to the driveway outside. The window cleared, and they watched Steve sprint back to his car, entering the fray in gasps and laughter.

“What was that about?” Dustin asked.

“What?” Steve sighed. He swung an arm back to Max in the backseat to retrieve the scraper from beside her. “Be right back.”

“Don’t think you can avoid the subject, Steve!” Dustin yelled, but the car door was slammed in his face. He grumbled and turned back to Max. The smile on his impish features was too solemn, something Max had grown used to from all of the boys lately. “Sorry about Lucas.”

Max sighed, crossed her arms over her chest. “Who?”

Dustin cackled. “Ooh, that’s ice cold.”

The snow swept from the windshield with ease, dribbling down the hood, warm from the engine-block, and Steve made to scrape the side mirrors and back window next. He flashed Max a grin and a wink, and she felt her face heat from the warmth of the car and her oversized parka. She rolled her eyes and waited for his return so they could go already.

Safely buckled, they inched slowly out of the Wheelers’ driveway, Steve watching behind him with one hand over Dustin’s headrest. Once safely in the street, they took off at an amble toward the Hendersons’ bungalow.

The dimly lit homes glowed with holiday cheer. Christmas trees were lit behind frosted glass, and Steve hunkered to his steering wheel to peer through the snow that rushed at them like the Millennium Falcon in hyper speed. Dustin knew better than to distract him with too much chatter, and Max was grateful for the silence to process the thoughts of the evening bumbling through her head.

When they reached the driveway, Dustin wished her a Merry Christmas, and he warned Steve they’d have to talk about the shit with Nancy, and Steve flipped him off before the younger boy slammed the door and made his way up the steps to his home.

And then there were two. Steve turned to face her, again with his arm over the passenger’s headrest, and he nodded that mess of hair toward the seat beside him. “Wanna move up? So I don’t feel like a chauffeur.”

Max sighed, and crawled herself, dripping shoes first, over Steve’s center console and into the cushy passenger’s seat of his BMW.

“I meant get out, but sure…” Steve gave her a toothy grin, far more cheerful than he would have been if Mike or Lucas had trudged snow boots over the leather. Max wondered if it was her, or the night he’d seemed to be having before she caught he and Nancy in the kitchen.

The heater was warmer from here, a blast of hot air into an already warmed face, and she turned to buckle her seatbelt, catching her own reflection in the window as they backed out of the driveway. With her ruddy hair frizzing out beneath her hat, she was sure Nancy was the only one making Steve smile this holiday season. She sunk deeper into her jacket, and watched the delicate pass of each windshield wiper as they headed toward their homes.

“So, do you guys have any fun Christmas traditions?” Steve asked about a block from Dustin’s.

Max shrugged, thought about their traditions, and her heart sank a bit into that familiar pit she’d been getting used to over the last half a year. “We used to um… I used to decorate the tree with…”

“Oh shit, Max, Jesus,” Steve ran a hand over his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” she shrugged, biting back the emotions building at the back of her throat. She learned to quit crying a few months ago, learned it didn’t help, didn’t bring her brother back. “Do you have any fun Christmas traditions?”

“My parents usually go on this long ski trip. This year it’s like the Alps or some shit. Robin’s trying to talk me into having dinner with her family, but they like play charades. They’re all hyper. Every god damn one of them.” He was hunched over the steering wheel for better visuals, but he managed to gesticulate the way Max noticed he did, a frantic wave of those large, strong hands.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” She snorted.

“I know!” He smiled at her then, just before his face fell. It was the same pity that filled her chest with panic, rolled her stomach, stung in her eyes. “Hey,” he started in. “You know I’m like… I just mean, like… I know you think I’m an asshole…” He ran a hand through his messy hair. A juniper berry rolled out and into her lap.

“Steve,” Max groaned. She squeezed the berry between two fingers, and it popped a juicy lime green mess.

“I’m just saying!” He held up his hands in defense. “I’m actually really cool, and if you need to talk, I’m a pretty good confidant. Just ask Robin.” His voice tapered off then, like he’d given away too much information.

An awkward silence fell between them when Max didn’t respond, too embarrassed. The fans whirred, pumping heat into the cab, and the snow crunched between the tires, and faint Christmas carols could be heard on the radio, volume too low to make out specifics.

When they reached Max’s house, she mumbled a thanks and clumsily grasped for the door handle. The snow outside a relief to her warm cheeks. She was about to slam the door, to escape up the yard to the front steps, when Steve called her name from inside the car. She turned on her heel to see his face split into a friendly smile.

“Merry Christmas.”

She raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Thanks for the ride.” And then she closed the door and trudged through the snow to the house.

—

Christmas Morning was all waffles and comic books, tucked under an oversized sweater and her rainbow print sheets. Neil hadn’t seen the light of day in months, and Mom had an emergency shift, and none of them really wanted to talk about the missing piece to their family puzzle.

It was nearly noon before Max left her room again. The doorbell sounded from the front room, and a chill spread through her. She could almost hear the phantom call of her brother commanding her to get the door. Slipping out from her covers, she tiptoed down the hall, past a snoring Neil, and swung open the front door.

Her bare legs prickled from the rush of cold, and she hugged her arms to herself, frowning at a visitor-free stoop. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she stepped out onto the frigid concrete landing with bare feet to see who had ding-dong ditched.

Rushing down the path to a maroon BMW was Robin, dressed from bottom to top as a tinsel-covered Christmas tree. Before she opened the passenger’s side door, she turned to wave at Max and yell, “Merry Christmas!”

Max waved, confused, and watched as the two teens sped away, tires slipping on the icy lane. When they’d pulled around the corner, and her toes threatened to fall off, she noticed a gift leaning against the house, just underneath the doorbell.

A bright red, satin ribbon had been tied around a brand new skateboard. The wheels were bright blue, and the underside was a technicolor of swirls that matched her bedspread. No duct tape, no splintered wood, no explanation for the swoop in her stomach and the smile spreading across her face.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #max mayfield #max mayfield fic #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #stancy #max likes steve #billy hargrove #minor max x lucas #christmas fic #christmas in july fic #merry christmas max

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spockandawe · 1 year

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Hmm! Let's try to dissect this and work out a path forward while sleep still eludes me. I think the root problem here is that I overdid it on the crafts, timed it well for a holiday season that was going to be socially intensive, and then just did a marathon session with a very long, very emotionally intense book on top of it, and all systems are crashing.

What Do I Want To Do With Myself. Realistically, this should include some kind of creative pursuit, because I start crumbling the longer I go without making something, we're already pushing those limits, and this is not emotionally ideal, but I don't have much room to correct here. Ah, but the many craft events that stretched me to this point, I might reply! Yes, but now I'm past the fresh exhilaration, and I'm mostly stressing about how I'm still mortifyingly amateur at wood, and fretting that I've maybe done a terrible job with the start of the last silversmithing project and I'm going to Ruin it and waste everything.

(did i post the little bookshelf? i don't think i did, i'll have to get to that. i love it, i'm going to stick with it, but i'm smart enough to recognize just how little i actually know about anything)

So I'm bad at wood, I'm embarrassing myself at silversmithing, I showed up at a blacksmith guild meeting and was too shy to even consider touching a forge while there were actual people present. I have Stagnated at books and it's simply FAR too embarrassing to post things there when I'm no GOOD at any of it (patently untrue, still can't stop flinching away). I am having real trouble shaking the feeling that whatever book I make next, I just won't like it, and that sucks.

This maybe suggests another handcraft I have things for lying around. Sewing machine maybe needs some repairs, I've been too overloaded to confirm that, so it's out of the picture. Long furby is probably not worth it by hand, even if I unearth all the pieces. Marbling needs a better work zone in my apartment. Pyrography probably needs me to clear a workspace by my balcony. Maybe I should go back and order some whittling things, but I may be competent at pyrography and I definitely won't be at whittling, and I'm a little baby, I've already pushed my ego on how much I can gracefully and cheerfully be Bad At Things.

Cross-stitch and blackwork have been neglected for a while. This would also have the benefit of letting me maybe reengage with CR and its painful length, I want to consume so bad, it's been very good, but I get worked up trying to figure out how I'll manage to make the time. Giant starscream project would be nice, or the blackwork sal i signed up for and touched zero times. Crochet wouldn't be bad, especially if I can use up some of this goddamn yarn. Knitting will be a struggle since I know so little and I have standards for good yarn work, but I need to learn the stupid thing eventually. Not in a good state to figure out nalbinding. Leatherwork is something I would be bad at, but maybe in an acceptable way? I would lose my shit if I did a bad job quilting right now, but I think I could accept a bad wallet, or whatever. That's one to consider.

Realistically, i should do something with books. I have at least one big typesetting project I need to get somewhere on, I have a separate editing project I stalled on, I have some presents I owe that shouldn't be that hard, I can make a basic book without too much trouble, or even mental effort, but I am so! deadlocked! and it's all mental!!!!!

Speaking of deadlock, I would desperately like to write or draw a little, those are foundational to me, even more than cross-stitch and crochet, and I'm perpetually poised on the verge of it, but then I don't do it and don't do anything else either. I have ideas! wips! I went back and reread some of my own writing in preparation for writing something new! and then I did a whole NOTHING with it!!!!!!

Something consumption-driven is always an option, even if I start getting antsy. I could read, I've got a ton of mangas lined up since I'm apparently in that kind of phase again. There's cnovels I have saved that I haven't gotten to yet, or cnovels I haven't bound that could use a fresh pass through as I typeset. Television is probably out right now. But I did just reorganize my bookshelf and cull it a little and I think I have a library app half-sorted to track my to-read commitments. Those would be good for me, I think, but it's so hard to tell. If there's a way to fix the fucking electric piano, it wouldn't be bad to get on there regularly, especially if i can get blorbo music. I could play some real video games, and not ad-fueled tappy games on my phone.

This is, foundationally, very stupid. I hear often in both admiring and teasing ways that I do an impressive number of crafts. But you see, it doesn't count, because none of them are good enough. This is a terrible and bad standard that I would not subject anyone else to, and is tangled up in identity and self-worth standards that I would also reject in other people, but that also doesn't count, because it's me. But for the moment, just practically speaking, I'm terribly deadlocked, and that always panics me.

Realistic options

Leather onlays. I'll have a paring whatsit soon, and I probably have all the other tools I need. It will be agonizing to be bad at this when my materials are limited, and I don't have inspiration, but it's a practical skill

Bind a cnovel with some frivolous flair, like edge art or a ledger binding or whatever. It won't stretch my brain that well, but it might get me back in motion

The big typesetting project. It's good weather to sit in bed on my computer. I want the project to happen. It's just a bad time to feel that stationary and boring.

Chip carving. Yes I got overloaded and bailed on the shopping yesterday, but STILL.

Draw the stupid bone butch love of my life, or whatever. I should be able to find nicely aesthetic things in that series that won't make me miserable with how out of practice I am

Write write WRITE. If I can just get going, I ought to be able to get somewhere. I've always been embarrassingly hyperverbal, surely if I can just get some purchase on a story, it'll all come spilling out of me again.

Makeup deep dive - Outside option, probably won't eat up my FULL time hole, but not a bad way to force myself to zen out and do skilled work with my hands, and probably a good enough baseline level of skill that I won't rage quit.

Doublures, maybe. Or fancy, weird boxes. I need to change something up structurally, my enclosure was fine but it's suddenly much too small and I'm starting to feel it.

But this is so frustrating. There's literally no reason for my All Of This, but I think four craft in four day was a bad plan, I was already sleepy and stressed, and then social obligations have kicked in and I can't recharge. But how do I recharge when I can't settle into any of my craft holes? This is just... terrible. But maybe in the morning that will look like a reasonable list to filter through

#delete later

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cowboyhorsegirl · 2 years

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3, 9, 22, 38, 40? 👀

ahhh thank you sm for the ask <3

3. name three favorite writers

in general, I'd say madeleine l'engle, sally rooney, and brit bennett

for stevetony fic in particular, i literally cannot choose just three so i'll just rapid-fire some of my faves with full acknowledgement that i'm still missing people bc there's literally such a depth of talent and creativity in this fandom it would be impossible to list them all!!: @sineala @festiveferret @sirsapling @kandisheek-art @kiyaar @silkspectred @isozyme

9. do you set yourself deadlines?

Not even a little bit! I'll publish when i publish xoxo <3

22. favorite story you’ve ever written

undoubtedly hands down 100% Paradise Blue in 1872 and it's not even close (though I do love all my other fic too!).

Even though it's only about 500 words it took me like 3 days to write it, which i think is maybe the longest i've spent on any published fic yet (and i know relatively that is Not Long but still fjkdalsfl). Every word and reference and metaphor was so meticulously chosen, it was hard while i was doing it but it's extremely satisfying to see that deliberateness pay off. <3

I don't know, I kind of still can't believe I wrote it, because it feels like it was created by someone who is much better at writing than me lmfao. I'm just insanely proud of Paradise, one of my absolute favorite things is hearing how other people engaged with it because sometimes people will comment a brand new perspective or insight that i didn't even realize! Which is an insanely incredible interaction to have for sure :)

Honorary special mention also goes out to Lie de The (Memory Serves Me) because i quite love that one a lot too and i'm really proud of the poetic rhythm of that fic <3

38. do you reread your own stories?

if my previous answer did not tip you off, yes i love rereading all my own stories :D they are good and i hear the author is brilliant and also People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive

40. which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series

honestly, i think i'd most like to see Ralph Waldo Emerson Twilight adapted into a longer fic. as i was writing it, i had some ideas for a more thorough story with that same concept of post-EG Steve and Morgan becoming really close and starting to explore the things Tony left behind together as they piece together more information about his life. It's easy to imagine that this would be a mutual endeavor for them as Morgan tries to learn more about the caring and devoted father she remembers from her early childhood as opposed to the larger-than-life man who's memorialized across the world and who she's reminded of by everyone who meets her and Steve desperately tries to gain a little insight into what Tony's life was like during the 7 near-continuous years they were apart from each other. Was he happy, was he happy despite or because of the absence of the Avengers, what were his thoughts on Bucky and did he know how sorry Steve felt? Smaller things too, like how did he spend his days, would he go swimming in the lake, did he ever get antsy in this new domestic life or is this what he'd wanted but never known to desire all along? All the things he would've wanted to ask the man in person if he'd had more time, more courage. But he gets these faint echoes now, with the daughter Tony had loved and lived and died for, and even though it will never be near enough of what Steve wants, it's more than what he feels he deserves.

of course, this would mean actually writing all of that down and not to let anyone's hopes down but i wouldn't hold your breath on this one lol (though if anyone ever has written a similar story to this one please lmk!!!)

#signed sealed delivered #ilsilver #whoops started talking about a plot bunny i thought i'd laid to rest and now it's resurrected itself oh nooo!!

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glowing-disciple · 1 year

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So. Basically I’m giving up streaming services for Lent, as I think they’re eating up too much of my time and contributing to some spiritual problems I’ve been dealing with lately.

In their place, I plan on reading. There’s a bunch of stuff I’ve been meaning to read or reread for a while now, and I might as well start making some progress with that backlog.

I actually started this a few days ago. I’ve already finished the first book (Avalanche by Arthur Roth) on my list, and at this rate I’ll have finished the second book (Hatchet by Gary Paulsen) by the weekend.

Next up is Venomous by Christine Wilcox, and if time permits I’ll reread the Chronicles of Narnia, the Space Trilogy, and Mere Christianity. After that, if there is an after that, I’ll see if I can find some of CS Lewis’ other works or maybe some Tozer at the library.

Or maybe just reread Watership Down and its sequel.

The real test of all of this is going to be how antsy I end up getting since I can’t just stare at a screen for a few hours a night.

#books #reading

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hansolmates · 3 years

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distance learning (m)

banner done by the beautiful @eerieedits

summary; after their first hookup, jungkook isn’t so sure whether you’re serious about being exclusive. after all, people say things during sex. jungkook takes it in his own hands to figure out where you stand, and he realizes soon enough that eavesdropping is a bad habit pairing; neighbor!jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; fluff, humor, crack, insecure!jk, unresolved sexual tension, stressed!mc, this is really just unnecessary drama bc drama is fun™, sexting, dom kook’s still a meanie in control, posession kink, cock slapping, a blowjob, cockwarming, unprotected, creampie, squirting, (wrap the pickle before u tickle folks) and of course the excessive use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 6.1k a/n; haaaaaa three months later im finally posting pt 2! i figured that no matter how many times i edit/reread at this point i think it’s time to finally let this beast go!!! enjoyyy click here for part 1: remote learning drabbles; 01

if you enjoy this, please considering giving our pasta couple a like n’share💚

It’s been a week since the thing.

The remote-controlled vibrator thing.

The whole sappy-love-confesion-during-sex thing.

Jungkook is antsy, tail tucked in, perpetually wondering whether he went too far. You seemed to like it, and Jungkook definitely loved it. It was spicy and dirty and hot, and at the same time Jungkook thought he really made progress in expressing his feelings for you. Not only that, you said you liked him back!

At least, he thought you did.

“I really said I’d feed her lasagna and cum in the same sentence,” Jungkook bemoans into his pillow, which still lingers faintly of your Redken shampoo. “I’m disgusting. She thinks I’m disgusting.”

People say things during sex, Jungkook knows that. In the throes of passion and pleasure, people will say anything that comes to their mind, anything that fits the mood. Of course, you’d be tied in and say you like him back. But did you like him back as a friend? As a fuckbuddy? As something more?

“Fucking text her,” Taehyung is tired of Jungkook’s wallowing, everytime he checks in on the app developer he’s brooding in one of three places. Today’s his bedroom. Taehyung dips under the blankets, and steals Jungkook’s pillow right under his nose.

Jungkook suppresses a whimper, face melding into the blankets. Now that pillow is going to smell like Taehyung.

“Text her what,” Jungkook replies despondently.

“I don’t know, something along the lines of ‘I wanna follow through with my proposition of feeding you my cum and lasagna—not simultaneously. Wanna go on a date this weekend?’ It’s that simple,” Taehyung gets up in Jungkook’s face, dark eyes forcing him to bore right in. “Want me to do it for you?”

“Noo, I’m an adult I can—”

“I did it for you.”

Jungkook nearly knocks into Taehyung’s hard head, sitting up straight when he notices his phone behind his roommate’s back. This is what he gets for sharing passwords. Thankfully, the message is cleaner than Taehyung’s words, and you’ve already replied.

[1:23] Jungkook: would you like to go out for dinner this weekend? pasta and wine?

[1:25] You: it’s a busy week this week 🥺 raincheck?

“Was the sex that bad?” Taehyung frowns, reading the message twice.

“N-no,” Jungkook is sweating. He isn’t sure anymore.

Taehyung hands Jungkook back his phone, slowly, as if you’ll reply back with a change of your mind. Jungkook is a deflated balloon on his bed, feeling like a bum in his ratty sweater and a dateless weekend.

“It’s just that,” Taehyung puts a hand on his lip, mulling, “busy people don’t reply that fast. Like even if she wasn’t busy, there’s a fifteen-minute leeway before replying.”

This silly rule overrides Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the week.

The gyms have been reopened for months, and Jungkook’s trainer misses him dearly. Jungkook meets with Saeroyi in the morning, eager to get a few jabs in with some fresh equipment. He tries to move on, distract himself with a couple of pumps and a match with Saeroyi. It feels great to sweat it off, but it doesn’t help sway Jungkook’s incessant thoughts.

The ball is in your court now, Jungkook has nothing to do but wait. Some people are just bad texters, maybe you just happened to have your phone near you when Taehyung sent the message. Maybe you just wanted to cut Jungkook off as quickly as possible so you decided to reply fast and rip the band-aid.

No, you’re definitely not that cold-hearted.

Re-entering his apartment complex, his eyes linger towards where your room lies on the first floor. It’s all the way at the end of the hallway, and he’s tempted to just confront you and make sure that what you and him really had is indeed, over. Conversely, you could just really be having a bad week and you genuinely do want a raincheck.

Jungkook’s eyes trail to his form. Still in his gym clothes, and a little sweaty from the travel time. If he gets caught, he can just tell you he’s doing a cooldown by running across the hallways. Not the first time it’s happened, afterall it led him to you at one point.

He breaks into a soft jog, making a beeline to your front door. His feet squish against your old welcome mat. You haven’t changed it since Halloween, and he smiles fondly at the black scripted “Boo Y’all” written in script next to a chibi-ghost.

His heart beats faster as his hand lingers by the door, ready to knock. Deep breaths. Who knows, he could just be overthinking (like usual.)

“Fuck, Hobi!”

Jungkook freezes, his knuckles a centimeter away from your door. He backs up as if he’s been burned. His heart has fallen all the way down to his ass, and intends to stay there because now he feels like a damn fool.

The bed is creaking relentlessly, a rhythmic pattern that has Jungkook’s face crumbling at every spring. Jungkook’s face hovers over the door, his ear brushing against the wood.

“C’mon, bunny,” the male voice is teasing, “you know you love having me over. It would satisfy both of us if you’d just let it go.”

Bunny. A cute pet name, for sure. The way it rolls off the stranger’s tongue is natural, as if he’s been saying it for years. But what about being his doll, is that not good enough?

You’re huffy, taking deep breaths. He doesn’t want to hear anymore. Jungkook has put himself through enough self-wallowing for the week. What if he was just a stepping stone to meeting new people that will satisfy you better? What if you just needed one good orgasm to get your flow back, and Jungkook’s job is done? Sure, there were no strings attached when he proposed to have sex with you, but he thought…

No more thinking. Jungkook jogs away from the door, even going so far is to jog all the way up to the penthouse.

He hates this.

You hate this.

It’s been five days since Hoseok’s arrival, and you are going bonkers. Why couldn’t he get a hotel or an AirBnB? Because he’s cheap as fuck, that’s why. Your dinky cousin has been clinging to you like a lonely koala, and while you found it cute in the 5th grade, it doesn’t translate well nearly two decades later.

Every morning is the same. You make a subpar toast and Nutella breakfast, letting Hoseok’s slices go cold as you log in for work. You’ve been clocking in earlier in the hopes to finish the majority of your tasks before Hoseok wakes up, because by then you can barely function. Once he wakes up, he’s relentless, bouncing on the bed and talking your head off while you try to concentrate on whatever your boss is telling you. Whenever he jumps too hard, your cheap mattress causes your laptop to fly, and the only thing you can do is curse him out. Sometimes he plays Disney movies and sings in tandem, choreography and all.

You know that Hoseok is stressed and this is his outlet, and you don’t have it in you to stop his incessant habits. He’s visiting your area because of a lucrative job offer nearby and the interviews are sporadic, making Hoseok linger in your apartment for hours at a time until he’s summoned for whatever test they want to throw at him.

Most of the interviews are in the evening, and it’s when you can clock back in and finish your leftover assignments while Hoseok is also working. By the time he returns, you’re dog tired and so is he.

Every night, you try to move away from Hoseok’s clingy self, as he grapples onto your waist and slings a thigh over your belly. You wish it were someone else sharing the bed with you.

If you bring Jungkook into the picture however, you’d be burnt for the week. Complete crumbs. It would be too much stimulation for you, having to balance work, Hoseok’s incessant attitude, and putting on a face for Jungkook. Your relationship with the penthouse neighbor is barely budding, hardly watered considering Hoseok’s sudden visit. You cling to the fact that in a couple days you would be giving your undivided attention to Jungkook, most of your priorities out of the way, and most importantly, you’ll have your own room back.

Maybe you could surprise him by giving him a pasta dinner, just like he proposed.

Unable to get the thought out of your head, you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand. It’s late, very late for a workday. The blue screen burns your eyes a bit, but you're determined to at least check up on Jungkook. You can’t take too long, otherwise you won’t be able to sleep and get him out of your head. Dear, unassuming cousin Hoseok is fast asleep next to you, due to the fact it’s nearly midnight. Making sure not to disrupt him, you carefully cup your phone in your hands, putting it on the lowest light setting.

[11:54] You: hey, hope work hasnt been as draining for u as it’s been for me ☠️ what’s your opinion on pasta sauces, red or white?

Jungkook is normally a fast texter, at least from your experience. It’s you that’s the sporadic texter, sometimes taking hours to reply, other times in seconds. It never really mattered until now, however. But it takes five, ten, and finally fifteen minutes before you get a response.

[12:09] Jungkook: ???

You frown, wondering what you said wrong.

[12:10] You: do you not wanna do pasta anymore? Are you craving something else now?

[12:10] Jungkook: i don’t think it’d work out

[12:10] You: why?

[12:11] Jungkook: im sure you know why, bunny.

Strange. He’s never called you bunny before, and in your opinion you think he’d be the bunny in the relationship—soft and cuddly on the outside, and an absolute horn ball in bed. Is this some sort of weird power play? Is he being passive aggressive on purpose? Whatever this game is, you’re not into it. Grumbling under your breath, you snake out of bed, looking blindly for your slippers in the dark. You’ll be in and out of Jungkook’s apartment in ten minutes.

Just as your hand brushes the doorknob, your new roommate calls for you.

“Bunny?” Hoseok calls blearily, and you’re staring straight at his cookie-printed eye mask, “what time is it, where are you going?”

“Um, out,” you reply shortly, “I forgot I left my laundry in the dryer.”

“Oh, m’kay. Come back soon, y’know I can’t sleep alone.”

It’s then you realize. Bunny. Jungkook thinks that Hoseok and you are a thing. He really needs to stop eavesdropping on you.

You feel your pussy frown. Your cousin is such a cockblock and he doesn’t even know it. Without an answer, you slip through your door and into the first free elevator. As you zing up the floors with the magical 1234 code, you work and rework your hair in and out of its style, wondering if you’ll look more presentable with your hair messy or thrown back.

As soon as you reach the penthouse, you burst into action. “Jungkook!” you cry, pounding the front door, “it’s a misunderstanding, open up!”

The door immediately swings open after the first three knocks, and you punch Taehyung in the chest.

“You look awful,” Kim Taehyung drawls. Taehyung is wearing nothing but a cranberry red silk kimono, and you have to avert your eyes and focus on his face, which is even worse because he’s looking at you like an all-knowing psychic.

“Gee, thanks,” you try to move past him, but he’s blocking the door.

“Jungkook’s in a meeting with some foriegn developers,” Taehyung talks with his hands, pretending like he has any idea of the nature of his roommate’s job, “when it’s this late he doesn’t leave his office until morning. Door’s locked.”

“Well then, can you relay a message?”

“Depends, is this message going to hurt him further?”

Oh my goodness, when Taehyung wants to be he is such an enabler. “Tell Jungkook he’s done wallowing. Instead of jumping to conclusions, maybe he should’ve just asked me why we couldn’t go on a date this week.”

“You could’ve also just told him you have a man on the side.”

“Ohmygod you two are two iotas of a combined braincell!” you shove your hands in your pocket, hotly scrolling through your phone so you can shove a picture in his face. “This is Jung Hoseok, my cousin who derailed my plans this week by crashing in my too-tiny apartment and forced me to raincheck with Jungkook. He’s a blabbermouth and would tell everyone—my parents, my grandparents, my great-aunts—about Jungkook if he found out I was dating, and I’m not ready for that,” you zoom in on the picture, despite the fact that the screen is practically touching Taehyung’s nose, “and the reason Hoseok calls me bunny is not sexual—you two are fucking gross—I had front tooth problems in elementary school and I had a brace on my two big teeth, it was not pretty.”

“Ah, bunny.” Taehyung echoes with wide eyes, looking at you as if you’re now the one with sage wisdom, “it all makes sense now.” He gulps, taking in the old photo of a mini-Hoseok and you, yourself frowning to cover your huge braces and Hoseok trying to pull your gums apart with his greasy little fingers.

Satisfied by Taehyung’s evident squirming, you decide you’re too tired to further this interaction. “Tell the other half of your cell for me, will ya?” You’re already turning away, pressing repeatedly at the elevator button, “I would love to go on a date with him as soon as he gets his head out of his ass.”

Jungkook is tired, but not tired enough to murder Taehyung and make it look like an accident.

When he has late meetings, Taehyung is usually quieter around the apartment, and even gets Jungkook a hot meal once he wakes up in the afternoons. Today, Jungkook slept through and through. Normally he’d wake up midway to Taehyung’s television dramas, or the clanging of last night’s dishes but nope, not a peep.

And today’s hot meal is takeout from Jungkook’s favorite ramen restaurant. That only means one thing—something has gone to shit and Taehyung feels guilty.

Jungkook sips his tonkotsu impossibly slow, hearing Taehyung’s words—your words from last night—clear as day. Taehyung even describes in detail where the nickname bunny comes from, down to how miserable you looked in the photo with your monstrously metal-bent teeth. Oh, how he wishes he can swaddle you between the blankets, hold you and comfort you while you deal with your family.

[2:45] Jungkook: doll, im so sorry

[2:45] Jungkook: please, i booked us a weekend at that new spa that just opened downtown. The tickets are flex, so if your cousin doesn’t leave by then week we can always reschedule

[2:51] Jungkook: baby doll…

This is far worse than believing you didn’t like him. Now Jungkook is antsy, knowing you deserve all the space in the world because of how silly he was being. You owe him nothing. If he just waited it out until you were ready, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He’s potato-esque throughout the day, thankfully Taehyung gives him space as he watches hours of mindless television.

You don’t reply until very late into the night.

[10:10] You: IM ALIVE--barely!! And mr. jeon, you’re not only a triple texter, but an ellipsis texter???? You’re asking for trouble

Jungkook has no shame, immediately texting you back. He can’t help it, he’s smitten.

[10:12] Jungkook: taehyung explained everything. It’s all his fault. Don’t ask why, it’s his fault. Im so sorry.

[10:12] You: mm, it’s okay. Just a misunderstanding. I was pretty upset last night, but i’ve been pretty tired this week so my fuse is short.

[10:14] Jungkook: you should go to sleep now, doll. We’ll have time together after your cousin leaves

[10:14] You: just a couple more minutes. Miss u and your cute face

[10:16] Jungkook:

[10:16] Jungkook: will this hold u off until saturday?

Jungkook is a pile of goo. Pink, warm, happy heart-glittered goo. It takes a minute for you to reply, and for that whole minute Jungkook is kicking his legs under the sheets of his bed like an eager five-year old who just gave his crush his Valentine. Maybe it’s taking you so long to reply because you’re trying to send a selfie of your own, running off to the bathroom to take a cute selfie if your cousin is asleep in bed.

[10:19] You: fuck, i kno that’s supposed to be a cute selfie, but i want you so bad. I want to sit on your face, let your lips glisten with my pussy as i cum all over that pretty face

[10:19] You: i wanna touch myself so badly but fuckin’ hoseok is out here snoring like he’s gon hack a lung. Panties are so wet 🥺🥺 your doll is needy for you, wanna be played with

[10:20] Jungkook: lfjsdl;fkjs;fjsoisfoisljsdfsdklfjsdklf

He throws his phone across the bed, feeling himself twitch in his red flannel pyjama bottoms. The thought of you so hot and needy when you’re ten floors down has Jungkook absolutely livid. He doesn’t know how he’s going to talk to you, comfort you without missing you like crazy.

Jungkook thinks back to what he has in his fridge. His contractor sent him a cheese assortment, maybe he can bring it down pretending to be a friendly neighbor. Maybe Hoseok can go to the convenience store to conveniently grab a bottle of wine. He can make both of you cum in five minutes, flat.

Akin to a dumb, horny teenager, he sighs. He rubs his palm longingly over his member. He’s horny, but he’s also eager to see your face. Talk to you, get reacquainted with your routine and sneak his way into it. He wants to be a part of your life, and he’s hoping you will too.

[5:02] You: Jungkook, you left me hanging last night

[5:05] Jungkook: baby doll… i wouldnt have been able to handle myself if we continued

[5:06] You: so you decided to dip :(

[5:06] You: could u play with your doll a lil bit, kook? Hobi left for another interview

[5:08] You: PNG.0901

Jungkook was a fool to believe that you would drop him like that. No, Jungkook can see now that you two are a match made in heaven. You have a bite, never afraid to speak your mind when needed. This translates to a hunger you shamelessly share with Jungkook, both sexual and romantically intimate. He almost wishes he could’ve seen you act like a bitch to Taehyung last night, he can only imagine how sexy you looked telling him off.

He has the technology to blow up your picture, the one that’s currently having him close his laptop and shove it to the side. He spreads his legs further across his glass desk, trying to find comfort between his tight pants as he absorbs every bit of your skin.

It’s nothing too risque, but it’s nothing short of sensual. The room is dark, but it’s very clearly a picture of your hand between your thighs. Again, you’re between your wall and bed, squished between your office chair with your legs spread as far as they can go. Your skin is so soft looking, plush as you press two fingers between your damp panties. Adorable.

[5:12] Jungkook: you know why i never replied last night? Because i was too busy jacking off to your dirty words doll. U really need your mouth washed

[5:12] You: wanna wash it with something else🍆

[5:12] You: please kook, i need something. Hoseok will come home soon and i might rip his head off. Help prevent a murder

Jungkook chuckles, clutching his phone closer to his body. He loves how much you’re opening up to him. Last week feels like so long ago, how you were all flushed and wide-eyed at the proposition of sex. He thinks you two can have a lot of fun getting to know each other, both emotionally and physically.

[5:15] Jungkook: i was gonna wait until i sent this, but i think my doll needs it. Here’s what i was doing last night

[5:17] Jungkook: MP4.13

He… has a meeting in five minutes. A very important, very serious meeting. Jungkook jacked off enough last night, now it’s your turn. He hopes you like it. It’s not a very long video, barely a twenty-second clip of him fisting his cock. Taehyung was still home at the time, so he had to keep quiet. However, he couldn’t get the image of you out of his head that night, rubbing your thighs together in a cramped mattress as you try to erase the dirty thoughts of him. A murmur of your name, and the image of his precum dripping down his knuckles. You hope it’s enough.

[5:34] You: u make everything so much easier💜✨

[5:35] You: MP4.234

Two minutes. The video you send is even shorter than his, barely fifteen seconds. You’re in a much more comfortable position, horizontal on the bed. Your shirt is ridden up to the underside of your breasts, one hand clutching your bare breast so hard he can see your cotton plush skin bulging between your fingers. The other hand has your panties shifted to the side, three fingers in your sopping cunt.

“Mmh—fuck, f-uck Jungkook—” the words are mere breaths, puffs of air as you reach your orgasm.

His call connects. He nearly drops his phone on the glass.

“Jungkook!” Andreas from Germany wishes him brightly, “you look great, glowing even!”

Jungkook blushes, and mutters something about having to go to the bathroom before they start.

Taehyung makes himself scarce on Saturday. He packs a duffel bag for himself and takes the PlayStation, knowing it’ll be a long weekend at Jimin’s.

Jungkook is on livewire for the morning. He even express-delivers a pasta roller to his house, and he spends all morning testing out the perfect pasta dough. His black apron is covered in flour, and he can barely comprehend the tutorial that’s teaching him on his flatscreen.

He’s on autopilot. He hasn’t contacted you since he sent that selfie, and he doesn’t intend to. Jungkook understands why you made yourself scarce in the beginning of the week, preferring to raincheck and pin your relationship for a better time. Jungkook’s brain is overridden with you, swollen with thoughts of you. You would never be able to focus if you kept in contact like you did last night, especially if you can’t get away from Hoseok.

Absence surely makes the heart grow fonder.

Slapping his hands against his trousers, he surveys his handiwork. His pasta is appropriately floured and wrung, each handful of fresh dough wrapped in little nests. Off the stove is a bechamel sauce, a base ready to be cooked in whatever kind of pasta dish you want. He thinks the two of you would have fun making your own non-traditional pasta dishes.

The soft knocks on his front door interrupts his train of thought, and he knows it’s you.

You stand in front of the door, impossibly small in a large shirt and a plain pair of leggings. At the sight of Jungkook, a smile as warm and sweet as hot chocolate worms its way to your face, and you collapse into his arms.

He sighs gratefully, sinking into your small body. When he pulls away, he can’t help but frown at your apparent exhaustion. You must’ve come back from something tedious, because sweat dots your brow and your eyes are still puffy and dark. Your chest arches bonelessly into his, hoping to melt in his embrace.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies.

“It’s Saturday.”

“It is Saturday.”

You rub your nose between the fabric of his button down, “I should’ve been more specific when I wanted to raincheck on you,” you murmur into the white cotton.

“No, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” Jungkook whispers, even though you’re the only two people on the floor, “I’ll make it better, yeah? I’m going to love you so good tonight, won’t have to lift a finger—”

You shake your head, looking at him calmly. “Jungkook, it’s been a long week. Hobi got the job, I spent all this morning moving his two-ton speaker set into his new apartment. I don’t want anything gentle. I want you to rail me into next week,” Jungkook chokes on his saliva when you reach to cup his dick through his pants, already sporting a chub, “fuck me breathless. I want—no, I need this.”

Anything for you, but Jungkook isn’t going to let your mouth runneth over that easily. He wants that too, obviously. But again, you’ve made him wait.

Bending slightly, Jungkook whispers darkly into your ear, “Who said you can decide the rules here, doll?” he’s been waiting all week to slip back into this persona, one that has you shivering delightfully under his touch. A small, secret smile tucks itself under your lips as you tilt your head down, but Jungkook catches it. It shows you’ve missed it too. He lets your sneaky smile slide for now, only because he’s missed you so much and you’ve had a long day.

“If I wanna fuck you rough, I’ll fuck you rough. If I want to edge you until you're sobbing on the corner of the kitchen table, I’ll do it,” Jungkook spits every declaration into your skin, biting at your shoulder so hard you cry deliciously.

He drags you over to the living room, and he could sing at how easily you follow directions. Both of you have been tied up this week, and some hard sex would definitely ease that frustration, “Knees,” Jungkook commands, and you waste no time sinking to the floor, hands atop your knees.

You look up through your lashes, eyes big and glassy. His poor girl is tired, and he finds it all the more attractive that you’re willing to push that aside to make eachother feel good.

“Pretty, pretty,” he chants, pulling down his pants and letting his dick spring free, “suck.”

You waste no time, and he watches as your eyes dilate over the expanse of his cock, half-hard and ready for your mouth. Your nails dig into your knees as you start with featherlight kisses, finally turning into sloppy smacks as you lick all over his dick.

Jungkook groans, weaving a hand into your hair to force his dick down your throat. You gag at the sudden intrusion, but it doesn’t stop you from taking it like a champ. Hard, deep thrusts that he’s sure you can feel all the way in your stomach. You gag at each thrust, but don’t let up as your hot tongue wraps him up and licks at the pre-cum.

“Fuuuuck, doll,” he rips you away, his now hard dick springing away. He’s a little shaky on his knees, but he plants his feet down as he grips his cock, slapping the tip of it across your cheek. It smears your face, glossing your flushed cheeks in a mixture of your saliva and pre-cum. “Are you trying to make me cum first? So sweet, you don’t even care if you cum tonight, hmm? You owe me, making you believe you had another man.”

This isn’t true, of course. The both of you know it was just miscommunication, but it doesn’t hurt to play it up for pleasure.

“N-no Kook, I’m yours,” you grapple at his pants, pulling them down so he can get them off completely.

“Right. You’re. Mine.” With every punctuated word is a light slap to your cheek, and you take it. His cock bounces right off of you, until you finally move your head to suckle at the engorged tip, “I’m keeping you forever, doll. Don’t you know that?”

Throughout this whole process, you don’t move, other than the minute clawing at your knees. You’re so good to him. Jungkook pulls away and ignores the ache in his member for now, taking off your clothes for himself. It’s like unwrapping a gift, revealing every bit of skin reserved for his viewing. “So sexy,” he remarks once he’s got you bare, pulling you onto the couch. He’s still in his button down shirt, his date night shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. However, he lets your hands inch under the stiff fabric, feeling for his taut muscle.

He guides your aching cunt to his cock, sinking you down. It’s a tight fit, and you both moan at the brush of contact. Despite not being prepped, you’re still slick, and it makes up for it. He doesn’t thrust up or anything, just guides his lips to yours with a threadbare brush of his finger.

“Kook, d-do you want me to move?” you mumble against his cherry-flavored lip balm.

“Good dolls don’t move until they’re told,” your eyes widen innocently at the statement, and you crumple against his mouth, at his next words, “cum like this.”

“Awh shit, please no,” you tear up, burying your head between the crook of his neck, “I can’t wait.”

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you into next week. You can’t do this one little favor for me?” he’s being so mean, and you hate him for it. Haven’t you earned it? “C’mon baby, I thought you wanted me?”

It’s silent, save for the soft Italian restaurant music playing from whatever tutorial he’s hooked up to his television. It’s terribly cliche, like you’re in the porno version of a European romance movie. He thinks nothing of it, not when your juices are dripping on his thighs, your skin soft and pliant in his grip. Jungkook drums his fingers against your spine, seemingly uncaring that you’re stuffed deep into your womb.

On the other hand, it’s the only thing you’re acutely aware of. His thick, warm cock is nestled between your folds, right where it should be. You clench once, twice, thankful that this isn’t some crazed wet dream. States of sleep and consciousness have blurred this week, you’re lucky that you made it all the way up to Jungkook’s apartment.

You can’t cum like this. You need to bait him. You moan, the sound slow and rumbly against your throat as you weave your fingers through his dark tresses. Moving the strands aside to kiss his cold metal earrings you murmur, “I love this, Kookoo. I’ve wanted you all week, I was going crazy. I kept playing last week in my head over and over. I even put in my little vibrator, hoping you’d pull up the app.”

Jungkook’s teeth clench, and his grip is borderline painful as it digs into your hips.

“I haven’t been able to cum all week, and I want to do it all over you,” you husk, playing with the roots of his hair.

You can feel yourself dripping, wetness lubricating you even further and probably staining his thighs and couch with your arousal. Every second that passes is killer, and the fluttering towards your pussy tighten further as Jungkook’s cock twitches in response. Your pussy continues its ministrations, butterfly-like flaps against his hot member that have you vibrating.

“Mm, oh, I’ll cum for you,” and surprisingly, you might be able to. All this dirty talking has gotten you riled up. Just a little bit more and—

Jungkook shoves you off his cock, forcing you to land on the couch.

“No!” you cry, wiping your face. Your cheeks are ruddied, and you’re annoyed. The coolness of the autumn air has you feeling chilly, and you want to scream at Jungkook for disrupting your orgasm. You feel empty.

You’re not annoyed for long however, as Jungkook flips you on your back and gives you what you’ve been craving.

“You glide right in, don’t ya doll,” the friction is deliciously blazing, his hands pushing you further into the large couch as he takes you from behind. Hot, fast smacks against your ass come from the way his balls bounce back and forth as he pistons his cock in and out. “F-fuck, you’re so good to me. So good, I love having you like this. All pretty and dripping, you really know how to make a guy wait, huh?”

“Mmph! N-no—hng, but I’m y-yours, Kook,” you garble out, and you’re practically eating the throw pillow you’re propped up on as he slams you further into the cushions, so hard you may fall off, “all yours, honey. N-no more waiting. I want you, want you so badly—ah fuck!”

“It’s worth it, you’re worth it,” he says over and over, his thrusts becoming sporadic and losing their rhythm once he feels you clenching uncontrollably. He presses his two fingers to your sloppy bud, swirling around the juices eagerly. “C-cum, baby doll. You deserve it, yeah? Cum on this cock, let go.”

You’re starting to see spots, black and white alike. Finally shying away from his cock you rest on your back, but Jungkook doesn’t stop his fingers from flying across your clit. One look at his face and you’re gone. Pretty brown eyes, overflowing with affection. The feeling is different, and it’s the acute pressure between your stomach and pussy that makes you notice what’s going on with your body. The pressure finally releases, your eyes fluttering shut as you rest your cheek on the cushions. You dissolve, a mess on the couch as white hot liquid ejects from your body, spraying Jungkook’s thighs and cushions.

“Y-you just,” your lover’s mouth is parted open like a baby kitten, uncaring as to how the dark liquid stains his couch fabric.

“Squirted?” you answer breathlessly, a melty smile on your lips, “y-yeah.”

It sets him off, a button left dormant until now. The thatches of hair that surround his cock are dripping with your mess, a cold reminder that he got you to this high. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his cock back into you, and you gasp at the overstimulation. You try not to focus on how your body is a bundle of lit nerves, only to help Jungkook reach his completion.

“S-so perfect,” he warbles, pressing kisses to your jaw, chin, lips. Each thrust is deep, thick and heady with emotion. “Mm, I wanna cream this pussy sooo badly—mm, all mine, all wet and warm and so so sweet—”

He cries out your name, biting into your shoulder as your walls fill further with his hot cream. Your thighs are shaking from sensory overload, and Jungkook has to hold you down and soothe you into a state of reality to cling on.

Satiated, he nuzzles into your chest, feeling absolutely featherlight.

“T-thank you,” you say gratefully, when at least three out of your five senses return to your body. Your hands dip down to clutch his cheek, pinching lightly at the warm skin.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jungkook exhales into your breasts, “d-didn’t even feed you my cum yet.”

You scoff, pinching his cheek again. You’re aware of his softening cock between your folds, ready to seep the efforts of today’s coupling, but your stomach says otherwise. You crane your neck to make note of the kitchen island, staring curiously at the metal pasta roller and the little nests of carby goodness that decorate the cutting board.

“Feed me pasta first, please. You have all night to feed me dessert.”

Jungkook giggles into your stomach, he doesn’t mind feeding you in that order.

bonus.

“So.”

“So?” you have cream sauce on your lips, happily slurping on an angel hair.

“You haven’t told me you liked me back yet,” Jungkook rests his palm in the swell of his cheek, content with watching you eat from where he’s standing on the counter. He leans his upper body across the marble table, muscles rippling against his white shirt.

“Oh, I did!” you’re affronted, swinging your legs on the high chair, “I totally did last week!”

“Yeah, well. Can you say it while I’m not inside you?”

“Okay,” you blink, quirking him with a simple smile, “I like you.”

“That was anticlimactic,” Jungkook jokes at the brevity of your confession, yet his heart betrays the charm he finds in the three words.

You scoff, jabbing your fork in the little next of springy noodles. “What do you want to hear? I’ve wanted you since I’ve moved in? I think you’re really handsome when you pace the hallway doing work on your phone? I like the way you cook?”

“Keep going,” Jungkook sing songs, walking over to hug you from behind.

The stool swings back and forth as he rocks the two of you, softly and slowly so you don’t throw up your dinner. He noses into your neck, inhaling your scent and committing it to your memory.

“Mm, dessert first,” you insist, twirling around the stool so you can wrap your legs around his waist. “And then I can tell you exactly how much I like you,” your fingers play with the buttons of his shirt, walking the pads of your fingers across his chest.

Jungkook grins, hands reaching to cup your bottom and bring you to his bedroom. Of course, he’s always willing to satisfy your insatiable appetite.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #btsguild #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #bts smut #bts fic

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quillium · 3 years

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Okay okay so im new here and I just found your stuff and its all really great and I had this idea for awhile and *really* want to spit it out somewhere so i hope that's okay to do here! But ive had this idea for awhile of like- the traveler being kind of like a mumrik from moominvalley where they quite literally have to travel around places. Like if they stay in one area too long they get all antsy and fidgety and they just have this *itch* to go exploring. Its kind of like hyperactivity but more in a "ive been in this area too long I have to *move*" way. Its why theyre on the move almost constantly and you might see them anywhere. Maybe there's a semi jokey rumor spreading in liyue and mondstat that if you see the traveler while exploring or traveling that you'll have good luck on your journey. People have learned to leave out some fruit or veggies every now and then and when they come outside in the morning there's some mora waiting in return. If someone's desperately lost or in trouble they send a silent wish for the traveler and somehow they *always* show up to help. They're a cryptid all around, from history, appearance, personality and in general have unknowingly become a sign of good fortune for people on journeys. The traveler is just that- a traveler, and they'll go anywhere and everywhere possible, and if you happen to run into them then you know all will be alright on your way.

Okay I’ll be honest I just spent a long time rereading and trying to fully comprehend this feeling and I don’t get it but it’s really beautiful and I love it so much, thank you.

#asks #anon #genshin impact #traveler #do i also tag lumine and aether... ah well #but yeah i kept this for so long bc i love it so much but i didn't understand it at all?#and then this morning i realized that i don't need to understand it i just need to love it and acknowledge that it's beautiful #i really want to play with this but i don't think i could do it in a hc format... i'm a fic writer first and foremost lmao #i haven't actually written any good genshin fics so idk if y'all would've read any of the stuff i actually liked writing but #yeah this is really pretty and thank you for sending it in #sorry for letting it sit so long aoweijgldk #also something about the beauty of living a nameless life only wandering out of love for the world... i don't get it but i love it so much

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sarcasti-cally · 4 years

Text

birthday surprise

so, koganegawa’s birthday is today, July 9th, and um.. where’s the love for my boy kogane? i felt like this was the perfect time to give him some love 🥰 ❤️ ❤️ (and to quench my thirst) this is the first time i’m ever writing a fic or even smut in general so please be nice :,) just gonna casually tag @bokutokoutarou since you wanted to be there when i post my first ever fic so here i go. 🚶‍♀️

dom!koganegawa x reader????? woahh

s m u t

words: 3063

Drool was slowly pooling from your mouth as you just woke up, the sun beaming straight into your eyes, causing your eyelashes to flutter and flip your body to face away from the sunlight. Before you could close your eyes again, you reached out for your phone on your pillow and went to check the time, which is a routine you developed without noticing.

1:53, you noted. But, you immediately stood up and wiped the drool from the corners of your mouth to realize that it was July 9th. Shit. You cursed at yourself in your head while frantically throwing on whatever you saw.

Black shorts and a baggy t-shirt representing your school, Date Tech. You went to the bathroom to see what you overall really looked like taking into consideration that your hair must have been a bird’s nest from moving a lot in your sleep.

“Huh.”

You didn’t think the shirt you chose to wear would cover your shorts, but you shrugged it off. Hopefully some idiot doesn’t think that you’re not wearing anything under it. Thankfully, your hair wasn’t all that much of a mess- i mean, it was still a bit frizzy and in a loose ponytail, but who really cares? Definitely not you.

You threw on some white crew socks with some black shoes you saw under your bed. While you struggled a bit to put your shoes on, you heard something coming from your bed. It was your phone vibrating.

“I swear to god, if it’s some annoying son of a bitch-“ you stood up and tripped since you were trying to put on your other shoe standing up while your foot’s in the air. As you peered over your phone, you saw that it was a notification from Koganegawa and you sighed in relief.

When you had your shoe on you grabbed your phone and went to go and read what he messaged you.

“Hey, Y/N! I know that you might still be asleep, but i wanted to let you know that i’m having a birthday party which starts at around 4, and that you’re invited! I can’t wait to see you there. Even though it’ll be a small little party, i think you’ll REALLY enjoy it. Aone, Kaname, Futakuchi, and Sakunami will be there. I hope to see you there soon!” sent at 11:27 AM

As you read 11:27 AM your expression was covered in horror, but.. It could’ve been worse. For example, maybe it was sent at 9am and here you are just sitting on your ass, waking up at basically 2PM. You smiled a bit thinking of the scenario in your head, visualizing what you would act like if they actually happened. You quickly stopped yourself, though. something was a bit off in this text. You reread it at least 5 times to finally recognize what’s wrong with it.

“uh kogane, you didn’t even give me the location” sent 2:07 PM

Sadly, you weren’t really the patient type and when 10 minutes had passed you started to get a bit antsy. Your leg was basically vibrating based off of how fast your foot was lighting tapping against the ground.

Fuck it.

—————————

You were now furiously knocking on the door- at this point you don’t know if it was either knocking or punching it with the side of your fist. Like the idiot you were, you didn’t even try to use the door knob. When you were tired out from yelling and knocking on the door, that was the time when you decided to use it.

And, it worked.

“Kogane! I’m coming in..” you slowly dragged out the n’s in the word “in” as if you were screaming “ready or not, here I come!” in a classic game of hide and seek.

When you walked in, you could see streamers and balloons around the house, the little “Happy Birthday!” sign greeting you. Food was spread out in the kitchen, the dining room table was all set up with a birthday table cover and everything. You could clearly see the effort he put in based off of the mess he made in the living room. You could see the plastic bags the decorations must have came in when he bought them scattered around the living room. His house looked like a little kids birthday party, but in a good way. He really did go all out. The poor guy did this all by himself. You frowned at the thought, and then suddenly had a sly smirk on your face.

You quickly took your shoes off and began to quietly walk around the house, wanting to surprise him and give him a big old innocent birthday hug. Now that the thought crossed your mind, you totally forgot to get him a birthday present while on the way here, but you didn’t know the party would be at his house- that could be your excuse. You nodded to yourself, agreeing with the thought.

His home was oddly quiet, but you continued to walk around the house. Eventually, you came upon a door that was slightly opened and you peeked your head inside without hesitation.

Koganegawa was slowly stroking his long, veiny cock with his right hand, his hips thrusting up into his fist every now and then. Some strands of his hair were stuck to the sides of his head due to the sweat that was forming on his body. The little groans he let out was causing your thighs to clench together, trying your hardest to not picture what he would look like between your legs. This dirty thought of yours caused you to let out a small moan, quickly slapping your hand against your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear. You slowly sat yourself on the ground, trying to even out your breaths since it was such a close call, but you were cut off when the door right beside you swung open. You screamed in surprise and fell on your back. You could clearly see Kogane’s unattended, throbbing cock against his boxers. Goddamn was it bigger up close.

“Uh.. Happy birthday?” you awkwardly announced, trying to break the cold, uncomfortable silence, waving both of your hands in a celebratory, jazz hands motion.

He grabbed your wrist, helping you off the ground and led you to his bed. He stood in front of you, hands on his hips staring at you, obviously expecting an answer.

Instead of giving him an answer right away, you took this as a chance to admire the sight in front of you. His toned body was enough to make you drool, his abs glossed in sweat and goddamn.. his fucking thighs. They were pretty nice, not gonna lie, you smirked to yourself. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind if he just stood there all day. He should be put in a museum. Your eyes slowly went to his-

“Y/N! I’m still here! What were you doing outside of my door??” he yelled, hands out in front of him, expressing his question more through his movement.

“Listen, I- You.. You didn’t answer my goddamn text!” you replied, your eyes darting to the other side of the room, trying your best to not make eye contact with him. “So i.. came to your house, and when you didn’t answer the door i just.. Walked right on in.” you were putting your best efforts to lighten the mood but it wasn’t exactly working as you hoped it would.

“Then you decided to watch me jack off my dick behind my door, too, right?”

“What else would i have been doing? fucking idiot..” your voice trailed off at the last part, not wanting him to hear.

“Would you like to repeat what you said, Y/N?” he teasingly asked, cocking one of his eyebrows up.

“Uh no, fuck off, yeah?” you attacked right back. You leaned forward, your elbow resting against your knee as your head rested in the palm of your hand. You stuck your tongue out at him like a child, waiting to see his reaction.

He hummed in response, looking down at you with his arms crossed. “Y/N, are you even wearing anything under that?” You almost choked as you held in your laugh. I guess he was the idiot.

“Yeah, I am. Do you think i’m stupid or something? I would never leave the house with no pants on. Bold of you to assume that.” his eyebrow was still in the same position as if he didn’t believe you. You stood up from the bed.

“Kogane, look” he tilted his head at you and you lifted your shirt up. He immediately looked away and you had to repeat yourself. “No, look at me, idiot! I’m wearing shorts, see?” he slowly turned his head towards you and he looked puzzled. This man is as stupid as an elementary schooler, you don’t know how he’s still alive by now.

“So i’m guessing you have a birthday present for me?” he joked, but your mind clicked. It wasn’t your birthday hug idea, but something else.

“Actually, yes, I do. Can you sit on the bed for me real quick?” he quickly sat on the bed, oblivious to what he’s getting himself into.

You slowly got onto the bed and sat around him, your arms wrapping around his waist, your hands inching their way to his boxers.

“What are you-“

“You already know what i’m doing, it’s your birthday so just let it happen, okay?” he nodded with a gulp, and you continued your ministrations.

Your left hand slowly lowered the boxers off of his legs, causing his dick to spring up against his stomach. He groaned at the feeling, which made you eager to continue even further. You didn’t expect for his dick to be so long. It was average girth but holy shit was it lengthy. Your right hand began to stroke his cock, slowly at first, immediately teasing the tip with your thumb, wiping the precum off and onto his shaft. Feeling him shiver against your body made your cheeks flush and had your right hand slightly shaking in excitement. He noticed this and took action by wrapping his large, rough hands against yours, guiding your hand up and down at a quicker pace than you had before. His moans were becoming more apparent and louder, signaling that he’s close to his release. Kogane’s hands never left yours as his grip tightened, going even faster. Feeling how eager he is to cum and just by watching him help you jack him off is making you even wetter than you were before.

“God, Kogane you’re so goddamn cute..Feeling your hand against mine while you guide me to fuck your cock with my hand is so fucking hot..” you felt his cock twitch at your words and you smirked through your bright red cheeks, lowering your head against his dick and filling your mouth with his long cock. Kogane threw his head back in pleasure while pushing your head down against him, his cum filling your mouth, making you choke. You remain still, though, allowing him to wait out his release.

He lifted your head up off of him and when he looked at you with his cum dripping down the sides of your mouth, he immediately became hard again.

“Didn’t know you were that eag-“ you were cut off when Kogane grabbed you by the hips and threw you right under him. The way he towered over you made you want to cower under a blanket and hide, but at the same time it just turned you on even more. It was almost like a prey being hunted by predator scenario.

“Kogane what are you-“ the smirk on his face was like one you’ve never seen before.

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” the sly little dumb smirk he still had plastered on his face made you want to flick him upside the head, but realistically you couldn’t since you were vulnerable as all hell under him.

He didn’t hesitate whatsoever to pull your shirt off of you. Already, your shorts were gone and the same with your bra. You were lost- it was like a switch was flipped with him. You didn’t know he had a side like this to him.

Kogane went up to your neck and purposefully breathed against your neck causing you to jump. He soon started to leave small, gentle bites on the same spot, letting him leave a long lick against it, hurriedly wanting to whisper against your ear something god knows what where he got it from.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless until you learn who’s the boss around here, okay sweetheart?” chills were sent down your spine, your heart thumping in your chest, positive that he could hear it. Your cheeks were the brightest shade of red to the point it looks like a child got into their mom’s makeup. But, you didn't know if he watched some really hardcore porn or what, but did not know at al that he had that in him.

His two, long fingers were suddenly teasing your entrance, causing you to let out a small moan, but you acted quickly as you covered your mouth with your hand, not willing to give in to him. Not pleased with your actions, his fingers delved inside if you, pushing in and out of you at a rather quick pace, making sure to curl his fingers in all of the right spots.

“Can you not hide your moans from me? Pretty Please?” he gave you those puppy dog eyes that you always hated. You shook your head. He shrugged in response and positioned himself against you, your eyes widening in shock. Before you could stop him, question him, or anything, he was already buried inside of you, letting out a loud grunt.

“I’m going to fuck you really hard, Y/N. I know you like that. You like it when guys fuck you until you can’t walk, right?” he emphasized the last word by slamming his cock deep inside of you, straight towards your g-spot. You basically screamed by the intense feeling, and he only just started.

“Finally opening up to me, pretty girl?” he pushed your legs up by your head and began to drill his cock into you nonstop. His tight grip on your hips was bound to leave a mark afterwards. The sound of his hips slapping against yours could’ve been enough to make you cum alone.

He pulled out of you and you glared at him.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry.. Come here.” he motioned his hands for you to come towards him. He led you towards the wall.

“Jump” you obliged and he pinned you against the wall, making sure to not waste time by quickly inserting his pulsing cock inside of you.

“Fuck!” he looked at you, giving you a quick peck on the lips before he started to move inside of you. His thrusts began extremely slow, obviously teasing you.

“You know what I want.” Kogane’s thrusts became even slower before they came to a stop.

“No, I don’t, i can’t read min-“ your snark remark was cut off as you were given a hard, rough slap on the ass. You looked at him, and he nodded as a signal to go on. You sighed.

“Fuck me.” You sarcastically said in a dull tone, making him annoyed on purpose.

“Come on.. you know you want to. Quit lying about it, Y/N!” he began to rub your clit with one of his fingers as he waited.

“I want you to fuck me till your hearts content. I want you to fuck my pussy until i beg you to stop so i want you to quit messing around and get on with it already!” a small whine was released at the end of your words, but Koganegawa seemed satisfied.

“Whatever you want..” He grinned, He pushed himself further against you, making sure you were well propped up against the wall, and began to thrust at a rapid pace, causing you to grab onto his shoulders to give you more support.

“God fucking dammit you’re so tight..” your walls were clenching around him like a vice. His cock filled you up so well, but the fact that his dick was brushing against your cervix was throwing you off the edge. It was impossible to think that someone could fill you up so good, and so perfectly.

“Fuck, fuck! Please don’t stop, Kanji! Right there, right there!” his cheeks flushed at hearing his first name slip past your lips. The pace that he is holding at the moment, you could basically say he was using you like a sex doll. He was like an animal in heat, he showed no signs of stopping whatsoever, and it didn’t help that you used his first name.

“Say it again, please.” he whines against your ear, his hot breaths driving you to the edge even more

“Kanji!” you moaned, practically chanting his name. He loved the way you said his name. The way his cock thrusted in and out of you at such a quick pace while your cum was coated around it, was the second hottest thing next to Kogane. The way he moaned, the skin slapping against skin was too much.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” you screamed, but to your surprise Kogane kept on thrusting in and out of you, chasing his own release. You knew he wasn’t going to stop until he came.

“Kanji, please cum, I’m begging you Kanji! You fill me up so good, I love the way you fill me up is so perfect just like you baby-“ and that was it, that’s all that took.

“FUCK! Y/N I love you I love you!” he came inside of you, slowly moving his hips inside of you to ride out the overwhelming feel of pleasure. Your tongue was lolling out of your mouth at the overstimulation, and Kogane let out a small chuckle before carefully carrying you to his bed.

“Where the hell did you learn all of that from, Kanji?” you said through heavy breaths.

Futakuchi leaned on the door.

“From me.” he pointed at himself with a proud smile before walking off.

#haikyuu smut #koganegawa kanji #koganegawa #kanji koganegawa #i kind of gave up but lets not talk about that #im high on 15 hours of sleep yeah yeah #i didnt feel like proofreading so bare with me #i write like a toddler. geez. i need a thesaurus for my birthday

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lolas-writings · 4 years

Text

Sooo, I’ve got a little DabiHawks headcanon regarding Hawks’ quirk, but first I gotta provide a little context.

Okay, so I randomly remembered a fic I had read a few months ago where Deku has a quirk that allowed him to talk with animals, and within that fic Tsu reveals that she figured it out when she overheard him talking to a frog and the reasoning behind that was that she’s technically a frog so she can understand them. (It’s a really cute fic too, maybe 32k ish? Something along the lines of Midoriya Adopts A Bunch of Animals??? Gosh I wish I remembered I lowkey wanna reread it)

But like, that made me think what if Hawks could talk with birds? Have actual conversations with them? Talked with them enough that he had little birdie friends accompany him on his hero work and even help with scouting because Hawks actually befriends all these birds he comes across? Especially because he has an affinity towards injured birds who need a little help to recuperate and get back up into the air.

And it’s perfect for when he’s tasked with his LoV mission, too, because instead of relying on burner phones and talking to Dabi through coded texts, Hawks suggests using birds to relay messages back and forth. But, because it’s Hawks, he conveniently leaves out the fact that he can actually speak with said birds, so Dabi thinks it’s just some weird take on bringing back messenger hawks/pigeons. He doesn’t complain though, it’s actually a brilliant system. Just attach a little piece of paper with minimal information and send it on it’s way, then simply burn the paper after reading it. It’s a flawless system.

Except Dabi makes the fatal mistake of speaking his mind while Hawks’ bird friends linger around after delivering messages to him, how they perch on a nearby dumpster and watch as he rambles on about what started as just irritations, but slowly morphed into him revealing more of his feelings than he should have.

Dabi even eventually confides in these birds, especially the ones he recognizes (a crack in one’s beak, a half missing toe on another, a small burn on a poor sparrow’s neck that never was able to grow feathers in that spot again), not realizing that they’re actually listening to him, processing what he’s saying. And when Dabi finishes his rant and they part ways, those birds always fly back to Hawks and spill everything they heard.

It started off as Hawks wanting to double cross the league, as he was ordered to of course, but the more he learned about Dabi the more he cared to hear about his troubles, tried to think of ways to alleviate his struggles. A small packet of gauze and burn cream after their first joint mission together. Tricking Dabi into allowing him to buy him dinner. An anonymously delivered newspaper headlined by Endeavor’s abusive behavior being exposed. Small gifts that turned into caring and loving gestures.

And this progression from vague apprehension to deep caring was a two way street, and of course Dabi began spilling his heart out to those little birds whenever they came bearing new messages.

“I can’t believe I was worried about this dumbass.” Dabi muttered as he burned Hawks’ message saying that he was fine and returning to work just a mere two hours after a league mission had gotten half his wings ruined and his face bruised.

“He better lock his fucking doors before I break them down and force him back on bed rest.” Dabi rolls his eyes and comically turns his head to Dahlia — a beautiful Japanese sparrowhawk who’s blind in her left eye and undoubtably Hawks’ favorite — after Hawks suffered a severe concussion and a torn rotator cuff and still refuses to just sit still and rest.

“How dare he make fun of my taste in food when he lives off of fried chicken and expired melon bread. At least I can fucking cook.” Dabi crumpled the paper in his hand as he turns to look at Dahlia, scratching her neck with his free hand as he allows a soft smile to grace his lips. “Guess I better go prove him wrong, hm?”

“I can’t believe I love this idiot…” Dabi whispers to himself as he stares down at the photograph in his hands, the only thing Dahlia had attached to her when she flew by to drop off a message. A picture of Hawks visiting children in the hospital and allowing some to play with his feathers despite the obvious hint of pain laced in his features (no doubt caused by the little girl that has her given feather between her teeth just a little behind where Hawks is smiling at the camera). Dabi doesn’t burn this one. Instead, this time he carefully tucks it into his pocket before giving Dahlia a few loving scratches on her neck, smiling all the while.

Hawks drops by unexpectedly later that night, waiting in Dabi’s room for his return. He’s antsy and clearly full of energy, and when Dabi finally walks into his room he’s greeted by Hawks’ pacing figure. Before the door even shuts behind him Dabi is pinned down by Hawks’ intense gaze, a calculating look in his eyes that Dabi isn’t quite sure is meant for.

“What are you doing here?” He brushes it off and walks right past the hero, only to be stopped when Hawks finally speaks up.

“Do you love me?” And the question is such an unexpected shock that Dabi trips and knocks his knee into the nearby chair, making it topple over in a violent crash but Hawks isn’t focused on that. His attention is on the wild and surprised look Dabi reacts with, on the ten different emotions swimming through shining blue eyes, on the way Dabi’s mouth hangs open with intent to respond but no words in his vocabulary.

“I- Where did you hear such a ridiculous thing?” Dabi scoffs and stands upright, trying his best to keep his usual poker face but unable to hide the way his body heats up and makes steam spill from the seams around his face, almost as if this was his new way of blushing (well that was certainly new). And he’s still trying to keep his composure and feign ignorance when Hawks takes a step forward, then another and another until he’s standing right in front of Dabi and there’s no warning before there’s a gloved hand on the back of his head that pulls him in and he’s gifted a kiss. A soft, hesitant kiss that he doesn’t think twice about before feeding into it and returning the action, and suddenly they’re the only two people in the world and nothing else matters.

They part just before it gets difficult to breathe and Hawks has a gentle smile on his face and Dabi wants to punch himself because he knows he’s smiling too, but at the same time he doesn’t care. He’s wanted to do that for far too long now but he wasn’t quite sure where they stood, if Hawks felt the same way, and he would be damned before ruining yet another relationship in his life by being selfish and disregarding others feelings.

A gloved thumb lovingly swipes across his cheek and Hawks’ smile brightens before he leans in and whispers against his lips, “a little birdie told me.”

#dabihawks #dabi is touya #dabi is a todoroki #todoroki touya #bnha dabi #bnha hawks #mha hawks #mha keigo takami #keigo tamaki #don’t kill me I HAD to make that pun #wrote all of this out just FOR that pun actually #lola writes

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indestinatus · 4 years

Note

tiva fanfiction author recommendations plz I need some good tiva to read

OKAY SO

This has been sitting in my inbox for a couple of days because I had to think SO HARD about my favorite authors and I was sure I would forget some of them. I started reading fanfiction almost ten years ago, so a lot of the titles and names have been lost in my memory by now. There are some more recent stories (which the authors are active) and the ones I get back to reread, so I’ll list those. Some works are still in progress. Here are some of my favorite tiva stories in no particular order:

Christmas Meeting by @beatrixacs [M, 368,073 word count, in progress]

Christmas 2015. Prague, Czech Republic. An unexpected meeting between two former co-workers after more than two years from their parting in Israel that will make them realize that their feelings towards each other are stronger than before. But will they do anything about it? And what does the future look like for them? AU Season 13.

Kissing Deal by @beatrixacs [M, 247,815 word count, complete]

Tony and Ziva are posing as a married couple in a hotel for a week to keep an eye on another married couple that is involved in their last case and to find some evidence against them. As a part of marital necessities they make a deal about kisses. Will they finally find their way to each other thanks to it?

a crawl to cross the distance by @benditlikepress [M, 6,258 word count, complete]

Tony and Ziva’s first date ended up happening 15 years after they first met, 5 years and 7 months after their daughter was born, and just over a month after they were reunited for good.

leave before the lights come on by @benditlikepress [M, 9,049 word count, complete]

The night before Ziva is assigned to NCIS, she crosses paths with one member of the team in a bar. Set between Kill Ari Pt 2 and Silver War.

That We May Forgive by @justkindaoverhereobsessing [G, 12,875 word count, complete]

Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first (makes a comparison between Tali’s pregnancy and a second child in the DiNozzo family)

We Are an Ocean by @justkindaoverhereobsessing [M, 120,164 word count, in progress]

The first time they sleep together, it's easy. It makes sense, partners transitioning to friends and maybe friends with benefits. Letting emotions in, though? That might be a different story (tiva sleeping together and the repercussions of it throughout the episodes)

Heat wave by jelenamichel [M, 24,685 word count, complete]

What was it they said about excessive heat having an effect on a person's ability to think clearly? A heat wave in DC brings the tension between two agents to boiling point.

Famiglia by jelenamichel [T, 83,903 word count, complete]

When DiNozzo Senior's health takes a hit Tony finds out about long-kept secrets and lies. His life begins to change as his two families collide, and he battles with who he wants to be versus the man he seems destined to become.

I See You by @storywriter30 [T, 8,491 word count, complete]

And suddenly, it is the Fall of 2009 and he is seeing her for the first time again. All of her strength, all of her scars, all of their history, lay bare in front of him (Tony finds Ziva is alive in Paris).

The Liaison by @hundan [E, 28,470 word count, in progress]

Some days it's hard to remember why it is you do your job, this was highly evident today for Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. When he left Gibbs, his boss, in the motherland to take a overseas deployment to Israel he thought the whole thing would be an experience of a lifetime. Maybe he was wrong, but maybe he was right. AU

The Past Forgotten by @hundan [T, 75,315 word count, complete]

"I'm sorry, I don't know you" Tony said, simply. Like that one single comment hadn't ripped her heart out and stomped all over it. She was his partner, she's not meant to be forgotten by him of all people.

Hoping for Happiness by @jaelke421 [M, 265,887 word count, complete]

Tiva romance. Chronicles their transition from friends to something more. Departs canon after Child's Play. Warning: Mention of rape and torture.

Cold Tiles and Warm Air by @factoffictionwriter [M, 3,658 word count, complete]

But staring? It just wasn't her thing. Touching, kissing, stroking… these were all forms of intimacy she could get behind. But leave her to look - just look, not touch - and she typically grew antsy. Or worse: Bored. Tag 11x02. Bitter Sweet.

Family Second by @factoffictionwriter [M, 26,865 word count, complete]

Alternate ep 13x24. The team gets ahold of Ziva before the mortar attack. Follows along with the storyline of the episode for the most part. A true to character AU of sorts.

holding on (and letting go) by @thewintersoldierdisaster [G, 1,322 word count, complete]

Tony and Ziva are reunited again. Set in S17.

Cool Hand Luke by @thewintersoldierdisaster [G, 1,959 word count, complete]

Tony and Tali spend Ziva's birthday in Paris.

Of Plenty by Strawberry Shortcake123 [M, 28,748 word count, complete]

While celebrating their reinstatement as NCIS agents, Tony and Ziva drink too much and go too far. They decide to put the night behind them- until Ziva finds out that she is pregnant.

Treasure Map by @belletylers [T, 11,285 word count, complete]

"Tony had always considered himself fairly good at finding people who were missing. Especially if those people were Ziva." Tony and Tali go to Paris, searching for Ziva after the events of 13x24.

A Helping Hand by @loudlooks [M, 16,928 word count, complete]

Ziva comes up with a creative solution to help Tony, who refuses to take painkillers after injuring both arms.

Something I Left Behind by @aksannyi [E, 5,894 word count, complete]

This is a missing scene from Past, Present, Future, which explains how Tali came to be. Yes, the M rating is there for a reason. This is angsty, given the nature of the episode it comes from.

Under Pressure by @aksannyi [E, 4,338 word count, complete]

She didn't need to kiss him then, but she did, and suddenly they were no longer pretending. Tony and Ziva learn a lot about each other while they're under cover. Tag to 3x08, Under Covers.

Treading Water by Mechabeira [T, 191,744 word count, complete]

"You can still swim, can't you? You're going to have to tow her in, DiNozzo. We aren't going to let her just tread water."

There are so so so many more great authors out there, so I’ll list their FF.net and AO3 pages (the ones I can remember): Zays, jae-vous, brightblue, Anonymous033, Strawberry Shortcake123, AliyahNCIS, quotelation (@quotelation), McGeekle (@mcgeekle), LittleSammy, pro-bee (@pro-bee), xoxonessie (@xoxonessie), alacarton (@ahtlolevad-fics) and MANY OTHERS THAT I SURELY FORGOT (for that I’m sorry, but I tried my best).

Please feel free to fangirl with me about all those stories (haha I’m always opened to that) and to click in their accounts to see more great ones!! I just linked some I like most, but there are authors who wrote about 20-50 tiva stories with the same quality I linked it here. Be sure to check their profiles out!!

ALSO IMPORTANT TIP

From someone who loves tiva fanfiction, the works about it are scattered throughout more than a decade, so there’s A LOT (a lot, no joke) of good fanfiction both on FF.net and AO3. Some of the authors are still active on Tumblr, and if you like someone’s type of posts, try to ask them if they wrote something (what I love here is that most people active on the fandom eventually turn into writers) or even if they haven’t I’m sure they would recommend some great ones!

I hope I could help you somehow, and I’m sure Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David will still have a lot of new authors to cherish them, their story is not over yet.

thanks, anon!! xoxo Sofia

#tiva fanfiction #fic rec #sofia rambles about fics #i'm sure that are many many many more that i didn't include because i'm dumb #and forgot about it #that i sure love #but i really tried to bring some good ones #anyway thank you for the question anon!!!#this made me see HOW OLD I AM #following these two idiots since god knows when #THEY HAVE MY HEART OK #ask

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impossibletruths · 3 years

Note

(slides into your inbox) give me an inch, I'll take a mile: 1, 4, 8, 11, 13, 14, 15, 38, in any combination <3 - hunxi

1 & 15 answered here; 13/14 answered here!

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

there are like, a dozen docs in my wip folder (yikes) but I’m only really chipping away at two at the moment. one is a modern wangxian road trip au that has been coming together in fits and starts and the other is a tattooist!lwj/florist!wwx au that has sort of stalled out because I can’t decide what flavor I want it to be and I gotta make some Plot Decisions before I can go any further so it’s, y’know, marinating.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“My dad made this, you know,” he says, chin jut out over the pond. He doesn’t know why. It’s stupid. There’s no reason to talk about it. “For my mom.”

Wei Wuxian is looking at him. He can feel it, a steady pressure.

“He did,” he agrees, all caution. Jin Ling folds his arms.

“Nobody ever tells me about them.”

When he glances up, Wei Wuxian looks— Oh, it doesn’t matter. “Nobody?”

He relents. “Nothing important. Nothing—” He’s not sure what the right word for it is. “Real.”

“Real,” echoes Wei Wuxian. Jin Ling folds his arms tighter across his chest.

“Well, your father had a real stick up his ass when we were kids,” Wei Wuxian says, which is the last thing he expects. “We called him the peacock. Me and Jiang Cheng. He was never good enough for Shi— for your mom.”

“Oh.” He’s— He doesn’t know how he feels about that. Wei Wuxian laughs, a huff of air.

“He tried, though. Right up until the end, he tried. He’d have given her the world.” He pauses, considering. “I guess lotuses were close enough.”

There’s something thick and terrible in his voice and Jin Ling suddenly regrets, almost, asking, and can’t bring himself to stop.

“What was she like?”

“Oh,” says Wei Wuxian. He’s smiling in the moonlight, and maybe crying too. It’s hard to tell. Jin Ling looks away. There’s too much honesty there; he doesn’t want to see it. “Oh, she was the very best of us. The strongest and the very best.”

- from A Matter of Technicality

Sometimes writing fanfiction is for making yourself cry and that’s all there is to it! This fic fought me a whole lot, honestly. I rewrote big chunks of it, multiple times, and there are still things I wish had come together better, but all of the headache was absolutely worth it for the chance to write Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling talking about Jiang Yanli. Seriously, I love this scene so much. It was fun to write and I like how it turned out and how it fits into the fic as a whole and everything going on between Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian and memory and time and the rest.

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

I’d call it a passion, I think. it really bleeds into like, everything. I saw a quote recently from someone about how they collect everyday moments as, like, currency for future writing endeavors and it struck me pretty deeply because I feel that I do the same thing, take little moments and file away the taste or shape or feel of them to pull out later and fit into something I’m working on. I get antsy when I don’t write for a while; there are too many words in my head and they gotta go somewhere. it’s really... I mean, I don’t want to say it feels like an obligation because I try to make sure it’s something I do for myself first and foremost, and take breaks when I need to and practice patience with myself, but I do think it’s a step up from whatever level of engagement and energy goes into a hobby.

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

all of them!! so many!!! I’ve gotten a couple that have made me cry in good ways and some that I go back to and reread because they make me happy. I love hearing about the things a fic reminded them of in their own lives or the comfort it offered. I especially love when people point out little details or connections I wasn’t sure anyone would catch; that’s always a nice feeling. it’s just! y’know! you create something and send it out into the world and people connect with it and tell you so and that’s so cool!!! gosh!!

meme for fic writers

#a review that made my day is Every One of Yours in fact <3 #I gotta say I think wgtfom has the best dialoge since 50% of that fic is phone calls but none of them excerpted particularly well so #anyway talk to me about my Jin Ling's Extended Family Agenda #ask memeing #Anonymous #long post //

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friendlylocalwhumper · 5 years

Text

The thump of a notebook hitting the floor, and the clattering of a sharpened pencil following suit, make Lux jump. He stares at them, then looks up at the Hunter, confused.

“Go on,” His captor instructs, lowering himself to sit on the floor and watch.

Lux’s arms aren’t manacled to the wall, not right now. He reaches with shaking hands for the notebook, flipping it open to one of its many fresh lined pages, and picks up the pencil. It takes him a moment to remember how to hold one. The warlock looks up again, confused.

“I want you to write,” The Hunter says calmly. “Or draw. Whatever you want.”

“O-okay...” The tip of the pencil meets the start of the first line on the page and then holds itself there. “W-what... what should I write?”

“Whatever you want, my light. I’m simply curious. Maybe you want to write something down to remember it... maybe you want to write a letter to someone. I won’t send it, of course, but it could make you feel better. Or maybe you want to write a story.” The Hunter shrugs one broad shoulder. “I know that it must be boring to be left down here chained up and alone. Could drive someone mad. I thought I would give you something to occupy your mind.”

“Th-, thank you.” Lux looks down to the paper again and frowns. Everything he writes will be seen; whatever he writes will be kept, can be used against him. He doesn’t want to write at all, but he’s been told to, and if he seems ungrateful for this opportunity...

The idea of writing someone a letter was the most appealing suggestion that he heard. It’ll hurt his heart, but even just imagining that someone will hear from him, that someone would care... he starts, fumbling at first and making awkwardly-spaced letters before finding his old usual rhythm.

Dear Emory, he starts, and then stares, emotions clogging up his throat. That word is so sweet that he has to write it again. Emory Emory Emory Emory. Writing it, he imagines saying it, murmuring it into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. I miss you. I love you. Why say more than that? Why say that at all? Emory knows. I’m scared. I wish you wer- Lux’s eyes widen and he flips the pencil, hurrying to erase that sentence thoroughly. I wish I was with you right now. Oh, oh no, that’s not good either, the Hunter will be angry with him. Lux erases that sentence too, and he gets nervous about how much he’s smudging up the paper. What if he erases so hard that he tears a hole in it? Will he be punished for that?

So far, the letter says,

Dear Emory, Emory Emory Emory Emory I miss you. I love you. I’m scared.

It’s like a child wrote that start. Lux droops a little, determining that he must be something less than a man, to be trapped here and obedient anyway. It’s fitting that this letter doesn’t read like that of a man.

Don’t know what to say, Em, I... I’m someone else. I’m someone else when I’m here. Thinking about home, about you, feeling safe, it doesn’t seem real. Remembering how it felt is so hard. Hasn’t even been that long. I won’t forget you, I promise I won’t, but I already forget what it’s like to go to sleep in a bed, and to wake up to smell breakfast and fresh air. Lux hisses out a sharp breath as leaning forward cracks open gashes in his scarred back. It’s hard being here when there’s someone out there who loves me. Hope hurts. But it gives me good dreams, and makes me feel less tired existing, even here. I love you so much. Miss music and snacks and TV and napping on the couch and our friends. Will you wait for me, Em? Will you still love me if I don’t come home? I’ll try my best to come back, to stay alive and focused, I really will. If I do, I hope I’m not too broken to trust and relax and let you hold me. I know you won’t read this, I know I probably won’t ever get to say a word to you again, or see you. But I love you, and I’ll write it anyway, even if the only person who reads it is me. I love you, and I love being me, and even if I change and never come home, I love what we were.

Lux’s letters are all wobbly and spaced oddly again, this time from aches in his hand and emotions making his arms quake. They’ve been hanging, pinned, and he hasn’t thought this hard since he was taken this time.

Just gotta say it one more time, Em. I love you. - Lux

In signing his own name, he feels like his life ends. Lux blinks and looks up at the Hunter, coming out of his reverie to remember that he’s not speaking to Emory, just being watched by his captor.

Lux sets down the pencil and places one hand along the spine of the spiral-bound notebook, taking hold of the paper in his other hand and carefully, evenly tearing it out. He folds it in thirds so it could fit in an envelope, and hands everything to the Hunter with a sinking heart.

“What’s this?” His captor asks, and Lux presses absently into his spasming hand with the other. Wrote a lot, desperately, and he hasn’t in a while.

“A letter,” Lux answers, weighed down by his grief. “For Emory.”

The Hunter cocks his head to the side and pulls the paper open, reading it for himself. Lux’s heart sinks and he bows his head. Of course, it’s not private. He knew it would be read.

The fifteen minutes that the Hunter spends reading the letter, and probably rereading, should make Lux antsy and nervous, mortified about the reaction. All he can do, though, is stare down at his lap and think about all the hugs, and kisses, and back rubs, and smiles and whispers and laughs that he’ll never get again. Having someone out there who wants him to come home is devastating.

“...You feel this,” The Hunter says thoughtfully, holding up the letter and paying attention to Lux once more. The warlock looks up, eyes flickering with despair, and he nods.

“I feel that.”

“And you love him that much.”

Now, nerves flutter in Lux’s stomach. “Y-yes. I love him that much. And, and I love you-”

The Hunter waves his hand, disinterested. “We’re talking about the letter.”

“R-right.”

“You want to go home.”

Lux sags toward the floor a bit. “Wanna go home.”

“...I’ll send him your letter.”

“Y-” The warlock’s eyes go wide and he leans forward. “You will?”

“Yes, I will. Why not? It doesn’t give away anything important. It’s just feelings. Doesn’t even mention me.” Maybe there’s a tinge of jealousy or disappointment to that statement, but Lux doesn’t care, compared to his joy at getting to tell Emory how much he loves and misses him. “I won’t even add any dramatic flares. Blood. Teardrops. Not necessary, I think.”

Lux is trying to restrain his enthusiasm. “I - I - how can I earn this?”

“No need to earn it. I mean, you know what this letter will do, don’t you?”

“N-, y-, it - it says I love him. Miss him.”

“Yes. And it doesn’t confirm where you are, or if you’ll live for a full minute past when you wrote it. All it will do is make him miserable. Don’t you think he already knows you love him?”

Lux’s expression falls, and the hands clasped together in his lap drift apart. “I... I just wanted to - got excited, to, to talk to him, for someone to r-, remember me...”

“Oh, he’ll remember. He’ll never move on. You just ruined his life, darling.”

He - he didn’t mean to do that! Lux’s brows furrow, a wave of dizziness threatening to make him lose balance even though he’s sitting with his back leaning against the wall.

“He’ll read this every night and imagine how broken you might be, how mangled. He’ll think about it all day. You’ll break his heart for good with this. In sixty years, when he’s old and you’ve never come home, he’ll die clutching this letter in his hand.”

It’s a struggle not to cry, now. Lux feels terrible. He’ll never leave, and he’s hurting Emory, hurting him so bad, and forever.

“Please don’t send it,” Lux croaks, face twisted with misery. “No, I, I can’t do that to him, please, please don’t.”

“But you were so excited for it before,” The Hunter replies, seeming perplexed. “You mean you’d rather me burn this than send it? Is that what you want now, little one?”

“Y-y-yes, please, I can’t, I, it’s s-selfish, it’s cruel, I can’t let him kno-ow that stuff... please do-on’t!”

The Hunter nods in understanding, and with the flick of his hand, the letter floats into the air and bursts into a small flame, disintegrating into ash. Lux sinks down in relief and lets the Hunter come closer to pet his hair and rub his shoulder in support.

“It’s alright, don’t you worry, it’s all gone. He’ll never know. You’re very sweet, my light.”

Lux nods numbly, agreeing with the slight movement. As long as he doesn’t hurt Emory, he’s fine feeling alone and trapped. Emory knows Lux loves him, knows Lux would rather be home than wherever he is. Emory knows.

#whump #drabble #lux #the hunter #captivity #obedience #stuttering #angst #control #manipulation #mine

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Four | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 3,371

Chapter 4/24

Warnings: Very brief, yet strong language

AN: Let me just say that I am profoundly grateful for the love this series is getting! I am enjoying your comments and theories and am so flattered by your praise. I didn’t get a chance to respond to every comment like I usually do - my car accident took care of that. I’ve had a hard time focusing and coping after that traumatic day so I hope everything in this chapter is in order. Love you all so dearly. Come scream at me when you’re done. 💖

Chapter Three

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Exiting the elevator the next morning you fumble through your handbag, trying to find the lipstick you didn’t have time to put on before you left.

Of all mornings for the subway to not be working it had to be today. I’m so late, I’m gonna have to bust my tail before Anderson notices.

“Good morning, Mrs. Flannery,” you say absentmindedly as you approach her desk.

“You’re late. I have-”

“I know, it’s been a hell of a-- excuse me, it’s been a heck of a morning,” you interrupt, head still down, lipstick nowhere to be found.

“Miss-”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” You rush past her as your mental to-do list only grows longer.

“Ahem.”

There was no denying that was aimed toward you. You come to a halt, slowly turning back to the daunting woman. Peering over her glasses, one hand perched on her hip while the other was stretched out to you, grasping a piece of paper.

“This was left for you yesterday afternoon after you had completed your shift.” You timidly reach for the slip, when Flannery pulls it back at the last moment. “I feel the need to remind you that this is a place of business. Not romance, not courtship, not frivolity. I meant what I said on your first day - beaus are not allowed in this office. This is the only time I will extend grace. Understood?”

Mystified you take the paper, nodding your understanding.

What the hell is she talking about?

Suzy sidles beside you on the walk to your desk before she whisper-shouts, “The note was for her!”

Immediately, six other women leap from their desks and huddle around you talking a mile a minute.

“We were here when he dropped it off!”

“He was so cute!”

“Why do I feel like I’ve seen him in the movies?”

“Maybe he’s a war-hero?”

“He looked familiar,” Connie muses.

“Who cares! What does it say?” Suzy urges as she pokes your arm.

The huddle falls silent as you open the neatly folded note.

The gaggle of girls around you squeal for a moment before Flannery’s harsh shhhh quiets everyone to whispers.

“How sweet.”

“He’s one of the window washers?!”

“Wait, we have window washers here?”

“I still feel like I know him from somewhere else. . .”

“Well, how do you feel?” Suzy draws the focus back to you.

You bite your lip. “Umm. . . it makes me feel. . . pretty great.”

“Jeeze, for you that may as well be equal to jumping up and down!” One nudges you gently with her elbow. “What are you gonna do?”

“Do? I- I’m not going to do anything. I got a nice note and I appreciate it,” you state, hoping it would bring an end to all the attention surrounding you. It didn’t.

“Oh come on!”

“Have you been flirting? You need to be more tantalizing!”

“You have to find him right now!”

“Show us your moves, we can help!”

Waving your arms for quiet you declare, “I’m already late and if I don’t get to work, I’ll be canned before I get the chance to see him again. Is that what you want?”

Everyone begrudgingly trudges across the office while Suzy lags behind. With a knowing grin she says, “Lemme know if you wanna talk about it. It’s nice to see you smile like that.”

As she leaves you plop down into your desk chair, rereading the note. It’s then that you realize just how much you’ve been smiling the last few minutes and just how fast your heart was beating.

Yeah, I could tell you enjoyed the new look. Why am I blushing all over again?

He came up here to try to talk to me. To actually see me. In person. He faced the wrath of Flannery to get up here and leave this.

He can’t wait to see me? Does he look forward to seeing me as much as I look forward to seeing him? Of course he couldn’t be bothered to sign his actual name. What a tease.

It takes a shout from Anderson’s office to bring you back to reality. Propping the note against your typewriter you read it one more time before grabbing your pencil and notepad.

For the rest of the day you anxiously check the window every few minutes, waiting for the author of your note. Every moment you feel self-conscious, not sure what you should do when he stops on your floor. Is he expecting more to come from this? Do you need to be a little more flirtatious, like some of the girls had mentioned? Should you be making more of an effort? Is that something you even wanted?

But then you see him and the uncertainty fades away. The work day is almost over before he descends to the sixth floor. You make eye contact, check your watch, and tap its face twice. You’re late.

He nods while wiping his brow. His head lolls to the side, eyes closed, tongue sticking out in a comical manner. Slept in.

Shaking your head and tutting softly, you raise an eyebrow.

Both his hands shoot up in a I know, I know. Won’t happen again.

With a short nod, you go back to filing and leave Window Washer to his work.

By the time you turn around, you expect him to be gone. To your pleasant surprise, he seems to be waiting for you. He beckons you to the window. When you get close enough, you notice something written in the suds at the very bottom of the pane. The word doesn’t make sense to you, so you scrunch your eyebrows at him.

He taps himself on the chest several times and mouths “my name”. You look again and it finally clicks. B-U-C-K-Y. You nod your understanding and smile. It isn’t until he points at you that you realize he’s waiting for your name. You press your finger to the glass, waiting for him to mirror your touch. You trace your name on your side, allowing him to spell it on his side. He reads it and grins wide. Nice to meet ya, he mouths.

“Mary! Get in here, take notes.” You turn from the voice, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Hooking a thumb toward your boss’ office, you sigh deeply. Gotta go.

Bucky held two fingers to his brow and gave you a half-hearted salute. Good luck in there.

------

You are dutifully typing a letter when a pair of shiny Oxford heels appear in your peripheral vision next to your desk. “You need to go ask that boy on a date.”

Heaving a sigh, you keep your eyes on the task in front of you. “Didn’t we have this discussion yesterday, Suze?”

“Yeah, and you still haven’t wised-up.” Papers rustle on your desk as Suzy props a hip against it.

“On the contrary, I think I’m exercising a lot of wisdom.”

She scoffs, finally drawing your attention away from your paperwork.

“Someone’s a scaredy cat.”

“Suzy.” You fix her with a pointed look.

Pretending to have a sudden interest in her cuticles she mutters, “It’s the only possible explanation.”

“How do we know that note was an invitation? What if he was just saying hi? What if he-”

“Mhmm. Those are the thoughts of someone who is unafraid.”

“How do we even know if he’d want to go on a date with me?” You lean back in your chair, tired of this conversation.

The redhead’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “I’m sorry - ‘You looked beautiful’? ‘Can’t wait to see you’? Sorry, doll, but people don’t say that to just anyone. I adore you, but I can definitely wait to see you if it means coming in to work.” She dodges the playful kick you aim in her direction. “All I’m saying is that you weren’t here when he left that note - I was. He was all kinds of antsy and blushing.”

“He works outside, maybe he had a sunburn,” you deadpan.

“You were just talking about how you barely know anyone in the city and you need to meet new people. He’s new people!”

“But I don’t even know if I want a romantic relationship right now.” “Then you’ll tell him that after your first date if you still feel that way. But why shut it down now when it doesn’t even exist yet? Maybe he’s lonely too-” Suzy’s eyes dart behind you and her posture changes. She leans in toward you, feigning interest in the letter you’d abandoned. “Oh yes, those are the addresses I was looking for. Don’t know how they got on your desk. And you needed something from me right?”

You sit stunned by this sudden change of behavior until you see Flannery approaching your desk.

“Uhh-yes. I was wondering what the protocol would be for when. . .” you both watch as the office manager floats into the filing room and shuts the door behind her. You and Suzy relax back into your previous positions. “I never said lonely,” you point out, shoving your defensive instincts down.

Suzy rolls her eyes and with a wave of her manicured hand says “Fine, fine, you’re being adventurous. Does that make you feel better?”

“No.”

“Answer me one last question, Newbie, and I’ll leave you alone.” Raising a brow, you wait for the question. “What’ve you got to lose?”

You weren’t able to answer then, and you still don’t have an answer now.

Under Suzy’s watchful eye, the second your watch reads 12 o’clock you leave your desk and hustle down the stairs, hoping the physical activity would work out some of the anxiety in your chest. It doesn’t.

Turning the corner toward the service entrance you see the window washers gathered outside in a loose group, taking their lunch break. Your heart begins to beat faster when you imagine actually holding a conversation with Bucky. What in the world were you going to say to him?

I really should’ve thought this through a little more.

But then your feet were taking you toward the group and it was too late to turn back now. The clicking of your shoes on pavement draws the attention of each man whose heads simultaneously swing to watch you. You stop a few feet away from them, losing your words.

“Can we help you, miss?” The apparent leader of the window washing crew steps forward. He’s much younger than Bucky, scrawny and tan. He’d be lucky to be 18.

“Um. . .” you scan the faces, not finding the one you’re looking for. “Is Bucky around?”

The leader’s eyes narrow, giving you a too-thorough once-over. “Whaddya want with him? If it has to do with windows, I’m in charge here. Name’s Harrison. Maybe I can help you out.”

You control the urge to fidget under his scrutiny, steeling yourself to squarely match his gaze. “No, there’s something else I need to discuss with him.”

“He had to skip out early today. Something about a family emergency.”

“Oh. I see.” You think for a moment, not enjoying the pack of men watching you like vultures. “Would you let him know I stopped by?” You turn on your heel when Harrison speaks again.

“What’s your name, baby-doll?”

Shutting your eyes you remind yourself to watch your temper. Thinking better of giving your name, you spare a glance over your shoulder. Coldly you reply, “Tell him ‘Sixth Floor’. He’ll know.”

More questions are shouted at you but you keep walking, very familiar with the rakish tone in which they were spoken. You didn’t have time for drooling boys. For a moment you worry that Bucky is cut from the same cloth as them. But something deep in you urges that he’s different.

Unbeknownst to you, when Bucky arrives at work the next day Harrison actually does mention your visit.

“Barnes, some broad came lookin’ for ya at lunchtime yesterday.”

Bucky doesn’t spare a look from his kit he was preparing for the day. “Yeah? What for?”

“She wouldn’t tell us. Seemed kinda stuck-up and snooty. Like she was better than us or something.”

Hitching his kit over his shoulder to head to the roof, Bucky smooths back a stray strand of hair. “I hate to break it to ya, but if she was acting like that I’m sure you deserved it.” As the kid who was technically his supervisor opens his mouth to protest Bucky interjects, “Did she say anything else?”

Unamused, Harrison practically pouts. “She just said ‘sixth floor’ and said you’d get it. Then she left.”

Bucky stills immediately at the mention of you. “Really? She said that?”

“Yup. Was a bombshell too, real date-bait if you catch my drift.”

Eyes closing, Bucky imagines strangling the teenager in front of him rather than actually carrying out the action. “Shut your trap.”

“Wish she’d stop by again, wouldn’t mind an evening of necking with her.” He conspiratorially winks, mistakenly thinking he would go along with the sentiment.

Squaring up with Harrison, Bucky leans in dangerously close and says lowly, “You’d better watch that mouth, kid.”

“What’s the big deal? She’s not your girl or anything is she?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky insists, eyes practically boring through the terrified kid in front of him. “She’s not yours, so don’t be a creep. Girls don’t like creeps, if you haven’t caught onto that yet. And I don’t either.” He leans back, smirking with satisfaction at the deer-in-the-headlights look he was getting. Resting his brush on his shoulder Bucky turns to begin his day.

“Keep your paws off me, Barnes!” Harrison shouts to Bucky’s back.

“I didn’t touch you, Harrison. Maybe you would’ve noticed if you weren’t always on skirt patrol,” Bucky tosses over his shoulder as he begins to climb the fire escape.

As Bucky climbs higher his thoughts turn to you. You’d been looking for him. You’d obviously shut down Harrison and the rest of the boys. Anyone that sassed that kid was a hero in his book.

Maybe his note hadn’t been a total disaster after all. Once he’d gotten into bed that night, he fretted over that dumb piece of paper for hours. He thought of a million things he could’ve said besides the three hastily scribbled lines. A million kinder, wittier, more fitting words for you. You’d been nice enough the next day, playful even. And he’d finally gotten your name - a sweet, suitable name that rolled around in his head for hours. But he couldn’t help feeling like he needed to do more.

He found himself even more excited to get to the sixth floor today, to see you, to have a little hope, to share in a smile. Though that’s not exactly what happens.

------

“Get in here, NOW!”

Anderson’s tone instantly drowns your insides with dread.

You rush to his door, quietly opening it. Anderson’s heels are crossed, kicked up to rest on the edge of his desk. His eyes bore into you, disdain obvious.

“Sir?” you make out much smoother than you feel.

“Do you know what this is?” he flicks a letter across his desk toward you. Quietly picking it up, you silently read its contents.

“The steel mill is turning down our partnership offer? Because they never received paperwork? Sir, I definitely-”

“Read the letterhead,” he bites out. “And then read what you sent out. What do you notice, Doris?” Another letter is flicked in your direction. You bite back a retort about your name.

Holding the letters side-by-side, a pit drops in your stomach. “I copied the address incorrectly.”

Anderson gives you a tight nod, jaw clenched. The room is claustrophobic in silence.

“Sir, I-”

“You cost us thousands of dollars with this idiotic move, because you didn’t proofread your work enough? Because you can’t copy a damn number over?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I missed-”

“You missed it because you were careless!” Anderson bangs a fist to his desk, causing you to jump a fraction. He stands up abruptly, stalking over to you. “This job isn’t a fucking joke. You were given a chance because you kicked up a fuss about being let go when our boys came back from war. You want this job? Act like it!” With every word Anderson steps in your direction causing you to match with a step backward. You are in his office’s threshold when he leans in and whispers menacingly, “If you can’t get a damn letter right then you shouldn’t even be here in the first place, Marge. Make sure it doesn’t happen again or you’re gone. Now get out of my office and fix your screw-up!” The door slams in your face.

Hands shaking, you make your way to your desk. Willing the tears not to fall you take a few deep breaths. Elbows rest on the surface, head in your hands, focusing on not falling apart in the middle of the busy office.

You’re tougher than this. A man raising his voice at you is nothing new. You are fine, you made a mistake. Don’t you dare lose your composure, it’ll only make you seem weak.

A tapping on the window directly next to your desk startles you. Bucky is there, looking more concerned than ever. He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed together. What’s wrong?

The tears spill out at the kindness reflected in his own. You search desperately for a handkerchief before turning back to the window. Dabbing at your wet cheeks furiously, you gesture to Anderson’s office. You blink against the hankie, hoping to catch the makeup before it runs down your entire face. Pointing to yourself you mouth “my fault”. The tears don’t stop for several minutes, but everytime you look up Bucky is sitting at the window, watching you sorrowfully.

Eventually you dry up, puffy eyes meeting Bucky’s. “I’m fine,” you whisper, dropping your gaze to the handkerchief in your lap that you’ve been twisting into knots.

More tapping draws your attention back to Bucky, who promptly flips off Anderson’s closed door. You manage to stutter a laugh out in between your sniffles, feeling a little lighter already.

With an admonishing shake of your head that you don’t mean, you return his smile. Thanks.

You could be imagining it, but Bucky seems hesitant to move on to the next floor. Giving him what you hope is a reassuring thumbs-up you mouth, “I’m okay.”

Looking thoroughly unconvinced he watches you for a few seconds before nodding slowly. He drops out of your sight, though you still stare out the window where he had been.

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

One day passes where you don’t see Bucky at all.

Two days pass. No Bucky.

Three days pass. Zero handsome window washers.

When the end of your day comes and it hits you that he hasn’t made his usual stop you try to ignore the disappointment that prickles your heart.

It takes a while before it dawns on you that since you had started your job Bucky had washed every single window on this side of the building. Which meant he would move onto another side or possibly an entirely different building.

On your walk into work Friday morning, you notice that the window washing crew’s tools are absent from the sidewalk. An unfamiliar emotion has you biting your lip as you approach your desk.

I guess that’s that. We kept missing each other and time just. . .ran out. It’s not a big deal. . . If it’s not a big deal then why am I so sad?

Turning your gaze to the window immediately to your left, you notice a piece of paper in the middle of the pane. You stare for a moment, fairly certain that it hadn’t been there when you left work last night. With a purposeful step you go to the window, a sneaking suspicion in the back of your mind. You find a note written in a familiar hand taped to the outside of the window, the writing facing you so you could read it clear as day.

Chapter Five

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#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Reader Insert #Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes fluff #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #All We've Got is Time #Chapter Four #beka writes

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craniumculverin · 5 years

Text

Precipitate Withdrawal

The final installment of Ripper!AU’s intro and the conclusion to Alfred’s drunken outburst. Life made this take a while to finish, but hey I did it! Percy is left waiting in his clinic after a no-show and decides he’d like to find out why.

Alfred has been late to his appointments only twice. The first was due to exceptionally poor weather even by New Pthumerian standards, and the second to having to take an unexpected detour due to an overturned cart. He was deeply apologetic after both instances, despite being a scant five minutes behind schedule, at most. So for him to leave Dr. Percival Hewlett waiting a half hour is quite out of the norm.

Not that Percy really minds - this was meant to be another of their "discussion sessions", none of which have gone particularly well given Alfred's reluctance to discuss anything of a deeper nature concerning himself. Not his likes or interests or what has happened to him, but himself. The man could verbally dissect a long dead religion for hours on end, but ask him to describe the most basic of thoughts concerning the reasons behind his actions and suddenly he's nothing to say. He's the first person the doctor has studied that seems to lack absolutely any desire to understand himself, and frankly he's uncertain what to make of it.

As Percy utilizes the time to tidy the already immaculate office, he thinks of what course of action to take. This had been scheduled to be his last appointment of the day what with its usually taxing nature, so without a patient present there was no need for him to stay. However if Alfred does show only to be greeted with a locked door and darkened windows, the surprisingly sensitive man would likely take it as a personal affront, which in itself would be quite taxing in nature. "It's so unlike him to be late to a meeting, let alone miss it entirely… He's made every single appointment and session until today, even when he's complained about it beforehand… I wonder…" Setting aside the well-polished saw he'd been cleaning, the physician returns to his desk and opens the file he'd left there to scan through his notes.

Alfred had certainly acted very oddly the last time he was in. By the time he'd abruptly taken his leave, his manner had become so erratic that Percy actually had the ridiculous notion he should arm himself.

Could whatever had been the catalyst then be the cause of his absence now? If so, what was it? They'd discussed a good number of topics, what with the purpose of the appointment being to update his records… Perhaps outright addressing his alcohol addiction is what did it? That was the first time Percy had spoken so openly about it, and in such a negative light... Alfred first started to appear antsy when their previous conversation concerning the topic was mentioned, then there were his apprehensions over possibly harming others should he completely stop drinking… Or maybe he's simply hungover again, and doesn't want to face his physician after the reality of his situation had been so thoroughly laid out.

Percy closes the file and leans back with a sigh, unsatisfied. None of these conclusions feel right…

…Were it not for the fact nary a peep has been heard from Alfred about his libidinous outburst last month, Percy would consider that as a possibility. But he hasn't said a single thing about it - and Alfred would say something, likely in the form of a longwinded and excessively dramatic display of repentance. All evidence and prior experiences point to him doing so immediately when he feels he's wronged someone. Well, at least for those on the very short list of people he cares about, which Percy knows for a fact he's on.

No, it must be that his initial impression was correct - Alfred's apparent alcohol-induced amnesia has kept him from recalling anything of the incident. Refraining from informing the younger man of his own actions appears to have been not only the preferred route of action, but also the correct one. Percy is still convinced it would've ruined Alfred had he forced him to confront what he'd done - especially directly after, what with how distraught he'd been solely over getting so drunk. And it wasn't like Percy was in the role of the man's doctor when it all happened; he was simply being a friend by escorting him home! If Alfred really wants to have him as both doctor and friend, he can't expect everything that happens between them to be dealt with in a strictly professional manner.

Really though, Percy thinks he did well to act so kindly toward Alfred despite his own slight hangover at the time - that, a substantial lack of sleep, and the various bruises he'd had to cover up made the meager amount of enmity he'd still been harboring all the harder to ignore. Luckily the other man had been so miserable, a pang of sympathy had overridden whatever annoyance Percy felt over the previous night's manhandling. It also helped to remind himself how easily it could've been him drunkenly instigating something of a similarly intimate nature, not too long ago… But regardless, the whole thing has truly turned out for the best. Percy didn't have to endure an emotionally distraught and nonsensical Alfred the day after the assault, nor will he ever. Handling such hassles are simply not his forte; he'd rather have to start treating "hysterical" old housewives again than attempt to console an illogically upset, temperamental patient!

A contemplative frown creases Percy's brow as he laces his fingers behind his head. "Come to think of it, Alfred's overall 'condition' would likely improve were he to receive such 'treatments' - though preferably in a self-administered fashion. He may very well cooperate if it's under the guise of a medical procedure… Ah no, he'd easily see it for what it is and refuse…"

At least the drunken fiasco has given him a rare opportunity he otherwise never would have witnessed in a clinical setting. A glimpse into how Alfred manages his impulses when uninhibited has proven quite helpful, particularly in understanding how he's fairing with his bizarrely intense aversion to anything of a sexual nature. Which is, of course, very badly.

The doctor ponders his current special case a while longer before drifting to previous ones, leant back in his seat to stare at the high, shadowed supports of the ceiling. Everyone that chooses to cross his threshold as a patient has something to offer him, be it potential research or simply funds, but sometimes he really has to curse his curiosity. If someone ends up too interesting they tend to become far more of an undertaking than he can ever predict. Still, these particular patients always make for engrossing study subjects - in very, very different ways.

A hint of a grin twitches at the corner of his mouth as he retrieves the most recent bundle of letters he's received from London. For a while Percy forgoes his immediate dilemma to reread the tight, neat script therein, his smile turning fond on occasion. After rereading a few parts he switches to another pair of papers within a similarly addressed envelope, covered in quick, fluid writing. It's always such a pleasure when Rosalind sends a letter along with Wesley's. As glad as he is for the correspondence, the dear man's delightfully fretful manner never translates well to his written word - at least through Rosa's lively descriptions he can catch glimpses of it. Plus she's so refreshingly forthwith about life, comfortable speaking about all manner of ridiculously taboo topics. Other than their still not being pregnant ("Goodness Wesley, surely it isn't that difficult without my presence.") the only other news is of Rosa's preparations for a piano recital and Wesley's friend Harold dragging him into his latest antics.

Percy sighs and replaces the papers into their respective top drawer, already bored with this as well. The evening of reading and research he'd planned just wasn't alluring at the moment, but neither was remaining in the clinic, and he hadn't finished planning his next letter to begin writing. His fingers tap out a rhythm - Bach's sonata for violin and piano in… C minor, was it? - as he thinks. The weather has been holding out today. He could head to the market before it gets too busy, but he already has what's needed for tonight's supper from his morning run… Maybe look through that old bookstore near Old Yharnam again? The shopkeep's assistant had been quite obvious about her interest in him last he stopped by; perhaps he could charm the girl into letting him peruse the backroom stock? No, he wasn't in the mood for such games… He's wanted to visit Lumenwood Garden again before the flowers are covered for the season, but it won't be dark enough for viewing for some hours yet… Perhaps he should just stay home and outline a few of the experiments he's thought up since last he did so, for when he can finally begin his work in earnest… No, best not - his recent ideas are of a nature too risky to have lying around should Iosefka drop by unannounced…

The doctor sighs yet again as he closes his eyes. It wasn't like him to succumb to ennui, especially when there's so much to be done. Reports to pen, papers to file, chores to do, superiors to ignore, experiments to plan, unexplored topics to delve into - of course it's when he finds himself with much-desired free time that nothing seems fit to fill it! "I suppose this is much like any other abrupt cancellation or absent patient, in that regard… It's more of a nuisance when I don't get to know why they don't show up. I always have to wait until they come in again to satisfy my questions…"

His eyes snap open. "…There's really no reason not to actively seek out a missing patient, should I want answers badly enough. If they were to accuse me of violating their privacy I could easily wave off my snooping as concern, or some such - just being a caring, professional practitioner." He sits up quick enough for his chair to let out a squeak, adjusting his waistcoat as he returns his attention to his desk. "Now, where did I put that…"

The patient file is quickly splayed open to make rifling through the backmost papers easier. He soon finds what he's looking for and pulls out the small slip he'd neatly copied from one of his journals - the address of the boarding house where Alfred resides. Who knows at what point the information had been shared, but he'd immediately made note should the need arise to utilize it. Boredom seems as worthy a need as any, especially considering the young man is at its source for neglecting to make his appointment.

Quickly glancing out the towering windows to see if an umbrella is in order, Percy pockets the scrap of paper and sets about preparing the black leather bag he brings to all house visits. After ensuring he has everything in order, the clinic is closed and locked up before he makes his way through the underground hallway to his residence. The foyer is somewhat dim as he dons a heavy coat and scarf, the tall windows above a poor substitute for lit sconces.

The air is wonderfully crisp when he opens the front door, a slight breeze playing with his hair as he locks up and begins his impromptu walk. The sky is aglow with wispy early Winter clouds and his street's walking paths pleasantly devoid of activity save for the agreeable elderly couple that lives across the way. As Percy draws closer to the ladies in their garden he doesn't slow but is sure to smile and nod in lieu of a proper hello, earning him the same in return. With the address fresh in his mind, he mentally plots out his course as close to where his knowledge of the city would indicate he's going, and musters the patience and wherewithal he'll need to find the rest of his way.

----------

Though only on the edge of the Old Yharnam district, the area in which Alfred resides certainly shares many of its less desirable characteristics. Cramped, dingy streets with very few lamp posts, residences and businesses crammed around and on top of each other - even a few derelict buildings that have yet to be torn down, this long after the war. People are everywhere, some obviously homeless while others are mongering or shopping or just milling about; and still others, a much smaller number, advertising themselves on street corners.

In other words a lot like London. Enough to cause a sense of nostalgia in Percy as he drifts out of the foot traffic and comes to a halt in front of an old manor house nestled among the indistinguishable buildings. The heavy wooden door is unlocked when he tries it so he lets himself in, only to be immediately greeted by loud snoring on crossing the threshold. An old man sitting against the adjacent wall is the obvious culprit, so soundly asleep not even a shriek from the door's hinges nor slam of it closing can stir him. The foyer area is surprisingly cramped for such a large estate, yet the ceiling is so high it's lost in the shadows. Noticeably newer walls and stairs are to blame for the strange layout, likely put in when the place was restored and renovated into a boarding house. Across the cavernous entryway near the furthest wall is an old woman, the rocking of her chair having halted as soon as he opened the door. She's still in her nightcap despite the hour and has a good deal of knitting in her lap, her craft momentarily paused to glare at him.

"Good afternoon ma'am," Percy says, a pleasant warmth added to his words as he dips his head in greeting. The elderly woman leans forward to squint through the dim of the place, causing a litany of protest from her chair. "My name is Dr. Percival Hewlett. Are you aware if Alfred is in?"

"Alfred who- Oh, him. Yes," she says as she slowly and creakily leans back, "he and that dog of his, yes. He's in. Hewlett you said? You're his doctor then?"

"Yes I am. I've come to check on him. Could you direct me to his room?"

"He's not left all day - only took the beast out once, poor thing. Good you've come," the old landlady says as she slowly cracks and pops into standing, the knitting piling at her feet as she snatches a cane from somewhere to hobble closer. "The boy's been unwell the last few days, I think. Very odd for him to stay in so much, hasn't been finishing his meals like usual. Missed dinner yesterday, come to think of it… Oi, old man! Wake up, you!" She gives the elderly man's stool a sound whack, startling him awake with a loud snort. "I'm going up! Stay awake to keep watch for once, you old git!"

The man's angry complaints go ignored as the old woman leads Percy to one of the many sets of stairs. They ascend to what is probably the third floor - multiple flights, angles, and landings make it hard to keep track - on which the landing juts off into a long, windowless hallway of many doors. They stop in front of one of the closest doors, much like the others save for the number "39" painted in fading white, a little off of center. Expecting the old woman to take her leave, Percy stands close to a wall, his bag held off to the side to let her pass. She merely scowls and waves him toward the door. "Knock already, will you? I don't want to have to come all the way back up here should he not answer, just to let you in!"

"He's been that bad off?" he softly asks, pointedly ignoring her rudeness. The doctor gives the door a few knocks and waits. When nothing happens he calls out and tries again, a little louder. It's only after the third round of knocking that a quiet, inhuman whine can be heard as something shifts to block the faint light spilling out from under the door.

The landlady huffs and pulls a large ring of keys from under her apron, expertly picking one out with nary a look. She shoves past him to the door and unlocks it before stashing it away as she turns to glare at him. "Lock up before you go, and don't rile the beast into making a racket." With that she pushes past once more to take her leave. Percy arches a brow at her retreating form before returning to the matter at hand. The door sticks a little when he tries to open it a crack, but once he manages a strange rumbling suddenly starts from inside. Only when it's nearly fully open and too late does he realize it's not so much a rumble as it is a growl.

Directly in front of him, stood in the middle of the tiny room, is the largest dog he's ever seen.

The physician stops in his tracks, hand still on the doorknob as he swallows back his surprise. He knew Alfred owned a dog, but had neglected to ever ask what kind - in hindsight, a giant of a mastiff seems a rather obvious choice. "Alfred?" He calls gently, so as not to startle the enormous hound. From the corner of his vision he sees movement from beyond a bed's footboard. "Alfred, are you awake?"

A groan comes from under the covers, which lower to reveal a mop of messy blond hair. The growling quiets momentarily as the animal's ears perk toward its master, but otherwise is intent on fending off the unknown intruder. Another groan turns to low mumbling before a scruffy-looking Alfred emerges to blindly face the large, well-worn cushion across from him, no doubt where the dog lays. "Sig, you're fine. Quiet down…" That at least stops the growling for the time being, leaving the now confused behemoth unsure of what to do. After a few seconds it softly whines its discontent, finally prompting Alfred to somewhat prop himself up, eyes shut tight against the meager amount of light. "Ugh, what's wrong now…?"

"Only an intruder in your domicile, by all means stay in bed."

Alfred bolts upright with wide, wild eyes as he whips the covers away, his hand instantly at the gap between mattress and wall to grasp what looks like the end of a previously hidden handle. He pauses to blink rapidly at his unexpected guest, both men and dog tense after his flurry of motion. The energy in the room suddenly dissipates as he slumps back and groans again. The handle is left to sink back into its hiding place as he presses both palms into his eye sockets, exhaustion gracing every aspect of his being. His hands drop into his lap when he stares at the physician, as though he's unsure of what he's seeing. "Percy…?"

"Yes, though right now I believe 'Dr. Hewlett' is more fitting," he stiffly motions with his bag toward the still-aggressive animal standing between them, "could you, ah…?"

Alfred sluggishly blinks before understanding dawns. Whatever he says next is apparently a command, as the dog immediately relaxes and starts to pant, tail lazily wagging as it cants its head and approaches to sniff at the visitor. Another oddly familiar assortment of syllables and it returns to its corner of the room, circling before laying down on the old cushion. The younger man cracks a tired smile at his pet before tensely looking back to Percy, wariness etched across his features as he replaces his blankets. "What are you doing here Dr. Hewlett?"

"Checking in, as it were," Percy says as he shuts the door behind him. Now that there isn't a snarling beast glaring at him he can take a more thorough look around as he strips off his outer layers. There's a coat stand directly in front of the entry against the stained and cracking wall, beside which is a heavily-laden, tiny desk with a mismatched stool, a dented waste bin wedged between the two. On the other side of the desk is the dog's bed and bowls, situated below the tiny room's equally tiny window, too high to be anything other than a minor source of ventilation and light. A narrow bed piled with patchwork blankets and knit quilts sits against the wall in the corner, next to which is a nightstand barely big enough to hold the lamp atop it. At the foot of the bed sits an enormous, ancient, and very heavy-looking trunk, its padlocks left undone. Above it, a few shelves and a fair number of hooks along the walls are home to what little else Alfred apparently owns, along with differing lengths of dog leads. The most notable thing in the room besides the trunk is a painting hung in an elaborate frame, above the head of the bed - a detailed portrait of an aged, pale man with a full beard, long hair, and piercing eyes.

All in all a miserably cozy little setup, far from comfortable and fulfilling only life's barest necessities. Percy hides his dismay at the state of Alfred's living quarters as he hangs his coat and scarf on the stand. No wonder he's out and about so much, walking the streets more than the Church militia; this place is hardly large enough for a grown man, let alone a grown man and a more than grown animal!

"I thought it best to drop by, seeing as you've never neglected to show for an appointment before," the physician says whilst turning around, one hand smoothing the front of his jacket, the other holding his black bag. "I believed something might be amiss. It appears my suspicions were correct."

"An appointment…?" Alfred's face scrunches up in confusion before it breaks into panicked realization. He bolts upright to scramble out from under his covers. "The session! How could I forget, I should have-!"

"Relax Alfred."

The blond freezes before he can further tangle himself in his sheets. Now that he's properly facing him, Percy can see just how bad a condition the man is in. His usually styled hair hangs limp and unwashed, and the typically well-kept sideburns are on their way to being consumed by unshaven stubble. Pale, clammy skin, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a sheen of sweat on his forehead - this wasn't just a hangover. He'd either managed to become very ill in the two days since they'd last spoken, or… Percy sighs.

He pulls the stool out and sits, setting the bag at his feet as he does. Alfred still appears somewhat ready to fling himself out of bed, but his manic energy has been somewhat replaced by the same wariness from before. He won't meet the doctor's gaze, looking anywhere but his direction, and his hands can't seem to stay still. How curious… "Now that I see your state, I'll forego the lecture of how to properly cancel an appointment the day of. Missing was obviously not a conscious decision."

The younger man kneads at the topmost quilt, managing to look even guiltier. "I'm sorry. Had I- if I'd- …I haven't been well."

"I can see that. You've stopped drinking, haven't you?"

Alfred tenses, gaze immediately snapping to his hands. "I, uh… how…?"

"Because you were perfectly fine two days ago, and aren't one to let anything less than severe pain or injury keep you from being active," Percy doesn't bother keeping the displeasure from his voice as he gets straight to the point. "If you'd consulted me before blindly charging into this, you would know that stopping such an addiction shouldn't be done alone. Especially if one decides to do it all at once - the shock and resulting symptoms can lead to death if not under proper supervision!"

The blond huddles further against the headboard at the chastisement, hands anxiously fidgeting in his lap as he keeps his head down and chews at his bottom lip. From this angle his eyes look to be rapidly darting every which way, glossed over and even teary as the sweat falls from his brow. Taking a slow breath, Percy decides to change tactics. Having to deal with an unnecessarily emotional patient is such a task, and Alfred has proven he is very capable of being just that. The doctor pauses a moment to consider his next move, unconsciously leaning forward to better observe whatever reaction he'll receive. His voice is kept as quiet and calm as can be.

"…What changed your mind? You went from 'considering' to 'doing' rather quickly, no further convincing required. Am I really that good?" He chuckles, "perhaps I'm simply too familiar with handling you-"

Alfred's breathing suddenly hitches, followed by a series of hiccups as it grows faster, more erratic. Tears immediately begin to stream down his pallid cheeks, as though they'd been building up for some time. His eyes screw shut as he quickly hides his face behind hands that end up tangled into his hair. A tightly clenched jaw is visible behind shaking forearms as he sucks air in between his teeth, rapidly hissing as he tries to keep himself quiet. He stays upright for only a moment longer before he buries himself under the covers to curl into a fetal position. His heaving form, now wracked by outright sobs, haphazardly rocks beneath the knit- and patchwork.

Percy remains silent and motionless as he stares.

He hasn't a clue of what to do.

The unease Alfred causes him on occasion is back in full force, bearing down on him, making it extraordinarily difficult to sort through his thoughts. It's obvious he's done something to set him off, but what? Why was he so upset in the first place? Was he really feeling that guilty over foregoing the doctor's assistance? Is it the withdrawal causing him to act out due to heightened chemical imbalances of some sort? Has he, personally, done something? The dog stands only to eventually sit back down and whine in its master's direction. Percy pays it no mind as he watches the shaking mass of covers, frown deepening the more he ponders.

He's done everything a personal physician should when trying to help a patient face their addiction; not even his former peers in England could argue he's been too "morally lax" with this case! So why is seeing a man in the throes of withdrawal breaking down in front of him- Why does he feel guilty?! Lost in his bewilderment, it takes him far too long to realize the incoherent sounds emanating from the bed are peppered with words.

"-rry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm s-sorry I- I'm-"

Percy sits at attention. "Sorry for what? Alfred, you've done nothing wrong."

The sobs turn to fast wheezes as the mass of quilts curls further in on itself. Fearing the younger man might pass out from lack of air the doctor swiftly stands and comes closer, ignoring the worried whines of the animal at his feet. He goes to lay a hand on what was likely a shoulder only for it to flinch away, sobs catching for a moment before continuing. Percy stifles a frustrated sigh as he straightens, still unsure of how to proceed. He brings the stool to sit closer, resting his chin in a hand as he considers the problematic patient before him. "…Alfred, please. I can't do my job unless I'm aware of what the problem is. What's happened to upset you so-"

"I assaulted you!"

Alfred's head pops out from under the covers, hair sticking to his reddened face where tears and snot have caught it. His eyes are clenched shut, fists balled into the fabric under his chin as he practically shouts, "I-I assaulted you, forced myself on you like an animal! I've done everything wrong! I don't deserve forgiveness, I don't deser- deserve-! I'd never- let alone to you! God, I don't know why I-! You're the only bloody friend I've got and I just, just-! Treated you l-like some common-"

"…Oh," utters Percy, too quiet to be heard. A hand presses over his mouth as his gaze falls to the floor, Alfred's rambling fading into background noise.

All of his observations from the recent past topple to the forefront of his mind, aligning to form a glaringly obvious truth with disconcerting ease. The atypical lack of communication and unannounced visits this last month, how Alfred's odd manner during his last appointment only began after Percy brought up their talk, which occurred the day after his outburst - even during the day after itself! How he'd so uncharacteristically neglected to finish his meal, or even pocket the biscuits for his walk home! It all makes terrible sense when connected by the common thread of his remembering his actions from the very start. "I was a fool to think I could ever forego the ridiculous mess of addressing what happened. If he just didn't get so overly-!" The doctor purses his lips in a tight frown as he rubs the bridge of his nose. "…No, no this is squarely on my shoulders now. I didn't deserve the torture of Alfred's dramatics, but now that I've made the situation so much worse… Plenty of contrary evidence to my decision and I was still blind to it all! Too content in thinking I'd avoided an overemotional bullet! Verdammt noch mal, I hate making mistakes!"

"-nothing but patient and kind, and I repay that with, with trying to rape you! Oh God! I-I'm such a wretched, disgusting, vile-"

Hardly aware of Alfred's self-loathsome sobbing, Percy barely moves his hand to blandly reply, "You didn't try to rape me Alfred, don't be ridiculous."

"-ing but revulsion! You shouldn't even want to look at me, let alone treat me! I shouldn't be anywhere near you after I-I did such a thing, but I still-"

The physician finally looks up at him as his hand drops away, focus no longer divided. "Refusing you treatment is the furthest thi-"

"Another man! That I force anyone against their will for my own lewd selfishness is- But a man?! How could I do something s-so-! To someone who, who'd never even think that anyone would want to-"

"I am quite familiar with homosexual acts, Alfred."

"-odd and perversely unnah…tur…"

The muffled words trail off. Alfred slowly turns from where he'd buried his face into the now sodden pillow, finally looking at his visitor for longer than a glance. "…You are…?"

"Quite."

"…Oh…" He stares for a moment before his eyes drift to the wall, expression oddly blank.

For a short time silence hangs in the small room, and Percy is too relieved for a break from the wailing to question it. However, the longer it goes on the more he notices the other's expression shift into something more… thoughtful. An immense amount of discomfort overtakes the physician, driving what little of his tension that had dissipated to return tenfold. He loudly clears his throat to interrupt whatever disagreeable ideas the other might be having. "However, I've�� someone to whom a significant amount of time and energy has been dedicated. And, that being the case, I've no interest in such a relationship at this time."

"Oh." Alfred's expression falls as flat as his tone.

His brow furrows as his gaze drifts to his dog, still sitting nearby with its nose on the edge of the mattress. A hand comes out from under the covers to give the animal a scratch behind an ear, eliciting a steady thumping as its tail wags against the floorboards. Percy lets out the shallow breath he didn't know he was holding, glad to finally not be the other's sole focus. It has to stay a short-lived reprieve, however - he still has to set this mess right somehow.

"…For clarity's sake, receiving another man's advances isn't something I find odd or distressing. What was of an offensive nature pertaining to your actions that night was being thoroughly manhandled-" the doctor pauses, his expression turning pensive before bordering on sheepish, "-…in such a… an indifferent fashion. That is, without consent."

Alfred's already pallid complexion pales beneath the flush of upset, self-disgust practically oozing off him as he hiccups on the threat of miraculously unspent tears. Percy quickens his pace in the hope of cutting them off before any more can fall. "But! I know you never would have carried out such actions if you were in any way able to comprehend them at the time. As such, I consider the entire affair as something to be analyzed and understood, similar to any other aspect of your overall case. And I'd like to make one thing very clear-" he pointedly pauses and stares, gently smiling when the younger man finally looks up,"-what I said the following day was and remains true, Alfred. Apology accepted."

The blond's breath hitches and for a terrible moment he appears alarmingly close to all-out sobbing again, which causes the older man's smile to prematurely wane. Instead the offending tears are ignored as he two-handedly rubs at his faces and sniffles in an attempt to hold them back. "But I hurt you..."

Percy raises a brow and sits straighter to spread his arms wide. "Do I look hurt to you?"

"There were- you have bruises…"

"Which have faded - or are very well on their way, if you've managed to pick them out. Wait," Percy arches a brow questioningly as he lays his hands on his thighs to lean forward, "is that what set you off during your last appointment? You saw what's left of the mark on my neck? Honestly, I've gotten worse from badly-stacked book shelves…"

His patient simply nods and bites his bottom lip, eyes anxiously dancing across the room. If anything he looks hesitant now, as if he's unsure he should accept that he's already been so readily forgiven. They sit quietly as Percy tries to hash out how best to convince him so they can move on to the matter at hand - his withdrawal. He sighs as he comes to a conclusion that should act as a much-needed segue into what he'll have to do so he can finally be free of this ridiculous affair. "Think of it like this - were I still upset with you concerning what happened, wouldn't I have said something by now? The day after, or any time after that? Or right now for that matter?"

Alfred goes stock still, averted eyes widening as he rapidly blushes a new shade of red and rubs at his mouth. "…Uuuhh I- uhh…Hmmooh…" His muttering grows more and more muffled as he sinks lower and lower until he's reclined once more, pressing himself into the mattress as if in the hopes it'll swallow him whole. The doctor pretends not to notice his obvious embarrassment, instead focused on trying to look remorseful or even anxious instead of annoyed over his current situation. Evidently not a single thought about Percy's reaction, or lack thereof, has crossed Alfred's mind in all of his panic and self-loathing. The physician would even posit a guess no real concern over how he may have faired has occurred to him either.

Good. Incredibly self-centered and ignorant, but good; hopefully it'll stay that way, at least for long enough to make easier what must come next. Percy turns away for a moment to gather himself. "…For that I owe you an apology."

The blond opens his mouth to question, but Percy silences him with a terse shake of his head before continuing. "The day after I retrieved you from that pub and the subsequent incident, you didn't appear to remember any of it. From that scant observation I decided, instead of forcing you to recall the ordeal while already upset over your getting drunk, I'd act as though your outburst never occurred. Knowing how you loathe wanton acts of any nature, I thought that line of action would be best for you to recover and move on from the blow getting drunk would have dealt to your mindset. I was very, very wrong. I never bothered to think that I may had been mistaken, that perhaps you did remember your actions from that night, or of how what I was doing may affect you. By acting as though nothing happened I waylaid your mental recovery and undoubtedly caused you an enormous amount of duress - questioning your memory, perhaps even your grip on reality. As a medical professional, your physician, and in an unofficial capacity your psychiatrist, my making assumptions and retaining information from you concerning your own actions was morally questionable at best. I apologize profusely."

The room is silent once Percy finishes with a penitent dip of his head. Alfred has shifted to laying on his side, mouth hanging open in obvious confusion just as it was while he listened. It snaps shut almost audibly when he realizes but the confusion remains, slowly morphing into a grimace as he struggles to understand, mind as sluggish and impaired as it is right now. His mouth opens and closes a few times before words finally begin to form. "I… uh. That- I wasn't expecting, for you to… I'm the one who- I don't- but you… You're, um… forgiven?"

Percy makes a show of letting go of a breath he hadn't been holding. "Thank you for forgiving me. And of course I owed you an apology - the turmoil my actions caused you must've been great. Deplorable on my part, as your doctor. Now!"

He swiftly ducks down to open the leather bag at his feet and pulls out a small notebook and pencil. As he returns the stool to sit at the desk he fishes out his spectacles from a breast pocket, depositing them on his nose before clearing a space for him to work. "On to business, yes? I have a few questions about how you've faired since going dry - I'm sorry, that's another assumption on my part. You have stopped your alcohol intake entirely? Likely starting directly after your last appointment?"

"I- yeah? …Yes," Alfred is immensely lost over the sudden change of topic as he pushes himself up. His eyes are still glossy and his voice hoarse from his earlier wailing, but now that the flush of embarrassment and upset has subsided he looks wanner than ever. Sweatier too, unless that's just residual tears and the dim lighting.

"Very well. You've been experiencing the usual withdrawal symptoms I suspect - headache, fever, stomach complaints, trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah… all of that…"

Percy hums as he jots this all down. "Have you experienced uncontrollable shaking?"

"A little, in my hands…"

"When you move do you feel unbalanced, disoriented?"

"If I'm standing or move too quickly, yeah…" Alfred sits upright again and clenches his eyes shut, frowning.

"And have you noticed anything… odd? Visual or auditory things that don't seem right?"

"You mean hallucinations? I don't- probably not…?"

"Good, good. Have you been able to keep down most-"

"Bin."

"-of what you've ea- beg pardon?" Percy looks over to see a very pale Alfred tensely clutching his covers. His mouth is a thin line as he harshly breathes out through his nose, his voice naught but a croak. "Bin!"

Without taking his eyes off him Percy deftly leans to grab the receptacle and is next to the bed so fast the dog startles to its feet. Before the blond can fully take it he's already retching. The doctor stands by with no discernable reaction as he passively watches, pencil and notebook poised to write. Once the successive coughing subsides and Alfred wearily retracts his head with a moan, Percy returns to his task as though nothing had happened. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

----------

"What are you reading?"

Percy turns to glance up from where he sits at the room's cramped though slightly more organized desk. "Alfred, you're up! So sorry if I managed to wake you, it was not my intention," he moves to fully face the bedbound man, bringing the book he'd been focused on to display the cover. "Nothing pertaining to any of my current cases, but of interest nonetheless. The Ward's libraries cover so many fascinating topics."

"Mmhm," Alfred hums, already closing his eyes once more. The doctor watches him as he uses the interruption as an opportunity to stretch some, before adjusting his spectacles to find where he left off.

Three days have passed since Percy first came to check on Alfred. Thanks to the schedule they'd quickly set up the physician has been back to the little room often - sometimes thrice a day if the weather and his other appointments cooperate. It's surprisingly… alright, having to come out to see to the miserable man. Though the trip takes him near less than desirable parts of town, Percy enjoys the excuse for walks and exploring routes he'd otherwise never take, as well as the occasional bonus of receiving baked goods from the elderly sapphic couple, now that he passes by so regularly. The boarding house's old landlady had opted to give Percy a spare key to Alfred's room on hearing he'd be back so often, making the act of getting in nowhere near as unpleasant as his first visit. And with Alfred so firmly in the midst of his withdrawal, he's nowhere near as talkative and irritating as his usual self. In fact, other than giving an update on his condition, the blond primarily spends his time silent and in bed, trying to get some semblance of sleep. It makes for a quiet, somber sort of environment - not unlike a library really, save for the dog smell and occasional sounds of retching.

Percy began bringing his reading along during the second day, when Alfred told him he seems to sleep better with someone nearby. "I don't think I've ever slept completely alone in a room of my own, before living in Yharnam," he'd shared as his reasoning on the matter. Of course Percy had only acquiesced after seeing first hand why his further prolonged presence was indeed needed; when the blond suffered a brief bout of falling sickness as he slept. If not for the physician's quick intervention he would have likely given himself a mild concussion with how he'd been convulsing against the wall. Instead he ended up with only a scrape on his forehead, while the wall gained a few fresh cracks in its plaster.

So, other than occasionally having to walk Alfred's mastiff Siegward - which to its owner's credit is surprisingly docile and well-behaved for those that know a few choice words in Old Pthumerian - Percy finds himself enjoying the time technically spent tending to a needy patient, and actually spent recreationally reading. It's not his own home of course, but the lack of comfort just keeps him from drifting off between paragraphs as he's become wont to do more in recent years.

"Is it about eastern folk medicine?"

Percy looks up in surprise to see Alfred intently squinting at him, or rather the book. It's still very strange to hear him forego his newer, more refined manner of speech in lieu of the accent he had when they first met. Yet another sign of how awful a state he's in, and of the trust he must have in the physician. "Why yes, it is. How did you- have you read it?"

"…You could say that," he settles back to lay down after having propped himself up. Once he sees the doctor's obvious curiosity he groggily continues. "Transcribed by Logärius from its original Chinese, right?"

Realization comes to Percy on hearing the name aloud. He flips to the front to be certain and, sure enough, there is the late man's name in solid script under the title and intricate characters of the original authors. "Yes it is. Did he work on this during your mentorship?"

Alfred doesn't respond. Enough time passes that Percy considers dropping the matter. Talk of his mentor was a touchy subject, and he doesn't want to overstep any boundaries or cause an upset when it could so easily affect the man's health. He'll just have to make a note of this to bring up at a later time.

"…On the back page, if it's the original printing - it's signed by Logärius at the bottom," Alfred suddenly says, almost too low and gravelly to be heard clearly, "the 'A' is in a circle instead of with an umlaut…"

The physician quickly turns to the back page. There at the bottom, much smaller than he'd expected, is a simple anglicized signature, perfectly centered with a curiously large "A", missing its umlaut in lieu of a perfect circle. His interest fully piqued, Percy looks to the younger man expecting further explanation, apparently in an amusing fashion as he dryly chuckles in response. "He transcribed everything by hand originally, since printing wasn't… present most of his life - it wasn't really used in Pthumeru. His hands caused him a lot of pain by his later years, so he never learned how to type. I learned instead, when he took me on."

"You transcribed this book into print?"

Alfred nods as he looks at nothing in particular. "I did a good number of his first transcripts. Some of the papers were damaged or beginning to fade; we needed to salvage them in the midst of our travels…"

Percy raises his brows, genuinely impressed - who'd of thought the ever-impatient Alfred capable of such a thing? But something bothers him as he considers this new information. "Of all the works gathered by Logärius that I've read, I've never seen a single credit for the transcriptions go to anyone but him. Surely you deserve-"

"I don't want it."

The doctor pauses, his confusion plain. Alfred sighs. "Pecking at a typewriter is nothing compared to the actual work my mentor dedicated himself to near the end of his life. He'd already traveled much of Asia and Europe by the time we met, was more than halfway done all on his own. Adding my name would only diminish the importance of his efforts, his dedication. I didn't - still don't - want to take away from the recognition that's rightfully his."

Remaining silent, Percy adds this revelation to what he already knows of Alfred's relationship with the mysterious Old Pthumerian that had been Logärius. It was evident from the start that he highly reveres the man - which makes perfect sense, considering how he'd vastly improved Alfred's life practically over night. From education to etiquette, Logärius reshaped and guided a spirited no-name brute into a relatively decent gentleman of… some amount of academic prowess. During one of their discussion sessions, he'd even let slip he considered the man as a sort of father figure, the first he could ever recall in a positive light. But this degree of humility is completely new. Alfred is a prideful man; proud of his academic work, proud of his physical abilities, proud of his status of being Logärius' sole surviving protégé, and proud of how he's successfully reshaped himself to blend with those of a higher social standing. So to learn he willfully, adamantly refuses rightful credit for his work in a well-known collection of literature, which would most certainly force his peers at Byrgenwerth to reconsider him… Perhaps it's less reverence for Logärius, and more a strange sort of glorification…

Percy shakes his head as he's nudged out of his thoughts. Siegward has come to lean against he and the stool, panting slightly as he slobbers near one of his pant legs. With a frown the doctor shifts away from the impending mess of a particularly viscous line of drool. Alfred interrupts his dozing to crack an eye open at the movement before he settles in further, prompting Percy to ask one final question. "…What does the circled 'A' entail?"

"Hm?" Alfred turns toward the doctor's voice but doesn't open his eyes.

"You mentioned this book's signature having a circled 'A', as if it were unique. Why is that?"

Now it's Alfred's turn to frown. "He was of the same mindset as you, that I should receive credit. He didn't push the matter, but made sure to sign everything I'd typed like that, without my knowing - the 'A' capitalized and circled, for 'Alfred.' Ridiculous old man… he just laughed when I confronted him…" The last handful of words are muttered, but his frown sleepily inverts to a fond smile.

Percy hums in response but says nothing. Glancing at the back page again before flipping to where he'd left off, he decides to make note of which books he might happen to read that bare the same unique signature. For curiosity's sake, as well as to see just how much credit and fame Alfred is willing to part with in the name of elevating his mentor's image.

As soft snoring quietly pervades the little room the physician shifts to sit properly at the desk once more, but only after casting a glance at the portrait, the ancient man's intense gaze meeting his own as if in challenge. Percy hums and returns to his reading. What a bizarre study subject he's managed to find…

#bloodborne #bb #ripper!au #alfred the executioner #executioner alfred #alfred bloodborne #percival hewlett #donc-desole ocs #original content

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