#feels like this should have 50k notes

[jaeminvore]

room(hate) | L.JN (M) — part I

SYNOPSIS: all you wanted was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital. All you needed was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital, but even that was considered a luxury in these trying times. A luxury blatantly stolen by your roommate, Jeno Lee, who seemed to have an endless line of bodies to fuck preventing you from getting at least an hour shut eye. It was annoying. It was disrupting and you seriously hoped that Jeno's dick falls off one day.

PART I (you are here) | PART II

[AO3 link for easier reading! Though please do consider leaving your thoughts on here if you’d like! I’d appreciate it sm 🥹💖]

GENRE: roommate au, non-idol au, slice of life-ish, unrequited hate, roommates with benefits, domesticity, porn with plot, fluff, comedy, crack treated seriously.

WORD COUNT: 18.3K out of 50K

CONTENT WARNINGS: afab!reader, a reader-insert but no ‘Y/N’ is used, MC's a little mean (blame it on the sleep deprivation), Mark has an unnamed girlfriend, Jeno's kind of an asshole (not on purpose) at first, mild slut-shaming, banter as forms of flirting/foreplay [smut warnings underneath the cut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

SMUT WARNINGS: Jeno has a big dick. fingering, squirting, doggy, unprotected sex (please practice safe-sex unlike these two), back-shots, aftercare.

NOTE: save me beatbox Jeno... s̸a̷v̷e̵ ̶̟̀m̸̞̐̇ë̴̠̟̤̆... everything is consensual btw! MC just looooves to deny and deny and deny because not only does Jeno put the 'D' in dick, he also puts the 'D' in denial <3 if i sound a little too in love it’s bc i am i love that man and i need him so bad 🧍🏻‍♀️

"You like your peace, but you love a little chaos." — Maze by Alina Baraz

"I want you to love like you hate me and fuck me so crazy, crazy." — Lava Lamp by Lolo Zouaï

I.

“When you first get a taste and your heart starts to race.”

Mark thought it would be best to part ways after living together for four years.

He was leaving you. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Mark corrected. “I’m moving in with my girlfriend.”

“That does not make it any better!”

Mark Lee was leaving you.

Not as a side-piece. Not as his ‘actual’ girlfriend (gross!), but leaving you to fend for yourself as his best friend. Which, fine, perhaps you could have started with that and excluded your dramaticism, but no one could really blame the immediate distress when you were about to lose Golden Boy Mark Lee—golden in many ways such as being the perfect roommate (minus his awful cooking. He was a great haggling partner for cheap deals, though)—to domesticity.

The thought of throwing all that away in exchange for less would send anyone into a downward spiral, if you could consider your crazed search for the next best thing as that; treating it as if you had to gamble a huge chunk of your life for the sake of retaining that same level of comfort and ease you got from Mark.

The only catch was, you had no fucking idea what it meant to gamble. Neither in the literal, nor in the figurative sense.

Which should have been telling considering that you had never, not even once, thought of exchanging a portion of your paycheck for chips you knew you’d immediately lose the second the lack of knowledge and experience showed on your losing set of cards. The closest comparable scenario you could think of was accompanying your grandmother to Mahjong Sundays with her friends, but even then, keeping up with the rules was rather difficult for a kid who only knew toys and the air time of her favorite cartoon.

Granny’s friends and Granny herself hadn’t bothered with explaining it to you either, being far too invested with their acrylic tiles. What you did learn, though, was how agitating the sounds were when they hit together. It just about evoked such a raw feeling of irritation a seven year old could go through. The messy aftermath of snot and tears did it for Granny that she made sure to ask if you’d let her drag you along.

In short: no gambling experience, yet going in full-on with that mindset equated a recipe for a shitty disaster just waiting to implode on itself.

Still, you liked to think that you had played your cards right during the whole selection process. 

Details of each possible candidate were carefully written down—color-coded, bullet points, foot-notes. Some probable pet peeves highlighted to be raised for another round of deliberation—thanks to the extensive background checks you had done on your own accord, then later checked by Mark pushed by your unrelenting insistence. A second opinion would help narrow down your choices and who better to fill that role other than your own roommate?

Well, ex-roommate since—again—Mark had succumbed to the clutches of domestic bliss.

And it’s not like it couldn’t be seen from miles away. Everyone and their mothers knew Mark’s intentions right when he had brought home a shih tzu—a dog he and his girlfriend decided to co-parent despite living separately—to look after while Mark’s other half went away for a work trip. Really, anyone could tell that he was itching to start anew under the same roof with his girlfriend, but you didn't expect it to be that day to be so soon.

Who was going to play as your budget therapist now?

If there was anyone out there who knew how exhausting being in healthcare was, it was Mark. He understood the grievances that came with being a nurse and he was always there to lend an ear until you felt less burdened by the frustrations you had carried throughout a demanding shift. It was like an inborn skill he had, finding it in himself to simply know what to say and how to bring you back down.

No one could ever replace Mark. Your co-worker. Ex-roommate. Your best friend and now that he was off to start a new chapter in his life, in love as he could ever be, this called for new coping mechanisms, and a new roommate because there was no way in hell you were going to pay in full when you had other expenses already making a sizeable dent in your next paycheck. Making it bigger was not an option you would risk.

That was another reason why you insisted on the in-depth research amounting to almost a month’s worth of what was essentially the text-book definition of stalking.

From: marklee@gmail.com Subject the roommate games Attached: tributes_lol.doc

Don’t you think you’re being a little too nit-picky with all this? When did being a Leo become a deal breaker for you haha. Like people can’t change their birthdays and do I need to remind you that I’m a Leo? We’ve managed to not kill each other over the years. There’s also Jaemin? Dejun? Who are also Leos? Who are also our close friends? What is your problem with Leos? I thought Geminis were the worst?

To: marklee@gmail.com Subject: the roommate games Attached: tributes_lol_FINAL.doc

yes, and?? THREE Leos are enough i don’t need more! in my defense i made the worst mistake of becoming emotionally attached to you guys except Jaemin (and Hyuck by association) forced friendship onto me if u remember. he’s like a stray cat that wont leave me alone.

From: marklee@gmail.com Subject: the roommate games

This is literally just a blank document?

To: marklee@gmail.com Subject: the roommate games

Which means your selection was ASS!!!!!! i dont like ANY of them. One has a criminal record of insurance fraud and the other is weird as FUCK dude like who cradles and pets their fucking goldfish like its a cat?how bout this, do u personally know anyone in need of a place? LIKE someone at least 70% normal

Radio silence. Almost five hours of it and sitting in front of your laptop refreshing the shit out of your inbox as if that would do anything seemed like the worst possible choice of action when aiming for a productive afternoon.

By the time you heard from Mark again, golden light illuminated the living area that you had to squint, picking up your phone to read his text messages.

Mark (ER): I found someone Mark (ER): remember Jeno Lee?

You: no lol

Mark (ER): lol Mark (ER): tall, muscular and kind of a hermit?

You: ur not really giving me much to work with You: for all i know jaem legally changed his name to jeno for some reason

Mark (ER): he’s nicer than Jaemin

You: 😟 You: one of hyuck and jaem’s friends i assume?

Mark (ER): correct Mark (ER): he’s looking for a place Mark (ER): and he’s likely the 70% normal to your 30% normal 😁

You: wait what’s my 70% then?

Mark (ER): insane

You: die

“His lease is ending soon too.” Mark brought up a few days later in the middle helping him pack up for the great move, and it was nice out too. Not too cold, not too hot—really, just a nice day out with the perfect temperature accompanied by an occasional breeze, and yet Mark chose this day to pack up his life, enlisting your help when you could be doing something else that didn’t remind you of the impending loneliness that was about to come.

Even the outside wasn’t safe from the beginnings of grief.

The outside, a picturesque view of the city’s greens gradually bleeding into the many shades of fall framed by the large window, became the very subject of your mournful eyes.

Brooding became your default state, whereas Mark carried on plucking his vinyl records, a small collection of novelty trinkets from your joint travels and the handful of thick textbooks from nursing school he refused to throw out. I might need them at some point, y’know. He once told you after catching your eyebrows raised in question. Just because we graduated doesn’t mean we magically know everything and Mark was mostly right about these things.

You were going to miss Mark being mostly right about these things. Whether it would be over something trivial, or medical related, he just was. Always a step ahead of you in many cases.

Summer was at its peak when Mark had sat you down to tell you of his plans, the sun harsh with its light and adding on to the steady increase in temperature. He decided to push through once the summer heat dissipated completely in anticipation of a chilly fall, and just like how the seasons came and went, watching Mark stow away bits and pieces of himself into the boxes was an inevitable change you had to accept. 

The loud scratch of the packaging tape made him wince as you sealed the box. “Who?”

“Jeno,” He repeated, reminding you of Donghyuck and Jaemin’s elusive, so-and-so friend as he took the tape from you with a pointed stare. “y’know, your new roomie?”

“I haven’t even said yes.”

“Trust me, you will.” Mark looked very sure of his claim, too. “Anyways—” he waved towards the air “—said something about his lease ending in a few weeks or so? He wanted somewhere close to work and our complex is like, real close to his office. A win on both sides?”

At least it wasn’t just you benefiting from the change.

“Right. How the hell am I gonna get to work without your car now?”

“That’s all you can say?”

“Hm, no,” you said, turning to face Mark with a straight face. “Do you think I could bribe Jeno into driving me to work?”

Mark huffed, “you’re stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” you cried, doing an awful job of keeping the waterworks from overflowing with frustrated swipes to your face. “This is so stupid—I’m stupid—God, you only live like thirty minutes away.”

Mark, ever the one to find his friends endearing even in the most undignified of conditions, let out a fond coo while gathering you up in his arms in a tight squeeze. “I’m gonna miss your morning arguments with the coffee machine too.”

The dig was met with a thwack on the arm.

Wherever Mark went, you followed. Only because he was literally your ride to and from work and how convenient it was that you both worked at the same private hospital. He was the type to simply offer a ride when you obviously needed it. For years, it had been like that.

Now, Mark stayed behind. Where he belonged, leaving him in the care of his girlfriend practically absorbing his oozing joy as they both coddled her—their dog, Ziggy, just outside of their apartment complex. The couple were completely lost in one another, inadvertently forgetting the piles of boxes in Mark’s car that had to be brought up sooner or later. They had all the time in the world anyway and it was understandable that Mark would want to simply bask in the moment with the one person that made every waking day worth it. 

And leaving them behind to catch the next bus was a bittersweet pinch to your heart.

Mark was off to unfold the next chapter of his life, and here you were still, stuck in an endless cycle, wondering if you’d ever get to start on a new chapter of yours, too.

Jeno Lee hadn't exactly matched whom you pictured in your head.

When there was Jaemin and Donghyuck, it was kind of an unspoken rule that your one-way ticket to the nearest psychiatric ward was to be willingly associated with the likes of them. 

Years of dealing with their joint efforts of embodying the human version of a headache, you kind of knew how to deal with whatever Jeno could potentially have in store for you. Jaemin and Donghyuck got along like a house on fire when the weather was fair, or when the planets aligned by some convoluted space related jargon Jisung would happily indulge any of you with. On any other day, they simply could not stand each other, wanting nothing to do with the other and arguing for the sake of arguing.

Still, they were the best of friends and having their differences was simply unavoidable, yet the many similarities they shared became a sturdy foundation for their friendship to last a long time.

Being unapologetically insane was one of them.

One’s involvement automatically entailed that they were just as deranged to some degree, and seeing the elusive piece to the trio you weren’t even aware was a trio, Jeno Lee—in the flesh—with a smile so sweet and unassuming gave you an earth-shattering wake-up call and reminder that you probably shouldn’t solely rely on baseless assumptions, especially when it came to people. Insane friends aside.

Other than that, you didn’t think a man with a face and body carefully sculpted by marble and brought to life by the gods themselves would be up to some milder version of fuckery like they were, now that Jeno thought to introduce himself.

The apartment felt staggeringly bigger than what you were used to with the absence of what made it belong to Mark too, though Jeno did a swell enough job to fill in the empty spaces with his presence alone.

It was brief. The meeting with the potential roommate, but nothing short of nerve-wracking when the man had the vibe of a quintessential supermodel top modeling agencies would fight tooth and nail for, decked in athleisure that had shown how he was built to all hell. A hundred-eighty-something centimeters of lean muscle cut with precision; clearly the fruit of Jeno’s possibly strict lifestyle, quietly taking everything in with a sense of wonder, yet simultaneously staying attentive as you ran your mouth about the apartment’s features and how sharing possible expenses would work.

You know, the vital stuff you’d want to know when it involved sharing your space with another person.

Which raised a few questions from Jeno himself. Little things along the lines of how often trash would be collected? If the apartment complex had a laundry room and if not, was there a laundromat by at least walking distance? How about a convenience store? A gym closer than his current one? These were answered fairly quickly, from which Jeno seemed pleased when his eyes turned into little half moons when he smiled, bringing your attention to the beauty mark under his right eye. God, was it adorable and frankly, you still couldn’t believe he chose to associate with two of the most annoying people you knew.

It was cute. Jeno Lee was cute, but among everything he had going on—your wandering eyes greatly appreciated the free viewing—his voice was what stuck out to you the most with how gentle he had spoken.

A voice deep and rumbly, yet warmth coated each syllable rattling the beating palm-sized thing in your chest the more the carefully articulated sentences passed through Jeno’s naturally pouted lips. He talked like he was trying to get into your good graces; like talking in any other way would risk disrupting the pleasant ambience set in stone before Jeno’s visit, which wasn’t at all necessary when Mark practically sang his praises.

And Jeno was all Mark talked about post-moving out.

Seriously, if he hadn’t chosen the medical path like you had, Mark Lee would have made a mean sales rep. You even felt the need to stop him and ask if he was still talking about a human being and not a brand new car right after he had his fill of listing down exactly why you should take Jeno in. How he essentially met all your admittedly nit-picky roommate requirements. 

Mild-temperament. What was he, a dog? Jeno was neat and tidy. Claimed that he couldn't function if measly things such as a coaster was askew. Oh good. A neat freak just like me. There were also a few pages of referrals Mark had shown—yes, printed—from previous landlords and roommates because that was a thing, apparently. Squeaky clean criminal record (with a cute face like that, it didn’t come as a surprise). Worked in tech. In the same income bracket as you.

A Taurus man.

Which shouldn’t have given you that much of a start, really. You haven’t had much experience dealing with any Taurus people—a Taurus man, no less, so this would be decidedly new.

He is reliable, persistent, and down-to-earth, with a strong sense of duty and an admirable work ethic; the kind of guy you can always count on in both your personal and professional life. He is not one to make waves or cause drama; he just wants to do his job and go home at the end of the day. A Taurus man is all about practicality, stability, and security. 

He wants nothing more than to provide the protection of his loved ones and create a harmonious home life.

At least that was what the article wrote (ignoring the in-your-face romantic tone. You were looking for a roommate, not a husband), sent by an astrology-fixated Donghyuck who seemed a little too eager providing his insight when asked for his opinion on Jeno and Taurus people in general being acquainted with you.

“A little stability won’t hurt. It’ll be good for you,” Donghyuck had mentioned over the phone after grilling you and your astrological sign, antagonizing you for no reason. It went mostly ignored though, preoccupied with reading a case you were assisting with Dr. Kim tomorrow. “and nothing screams stability more than Jeno’s credit score.”

An excellent credit score, from what Mark had relayed over cheap Chinese takeout and never would you have thought you’d cream your pants from that information, yet here you were. Financial stability was a viable trait you’d consider looking for in someone, so the decision was a no-brainer.

“Oh, before I go.”

You swallowed something down like a scream when Jeno whirled around to face you while digging into his gym bag. 

“Mark probably gave you the rundown about me but—” a folded piece of paper was produced from within the depths of his bag, having you blinking owlishly when he wriggled it for you to take.

Jeno’s palm was warm under the gentle brush of your fingers as you plucked it from his own set, pointedly ignoring the zing that jolted through you.

Arial. Font size twelve. Single spaced and justified, and it wrote what Mark had been yapping about all this time prior to having Jeno in the apartment. His MBTI, a rundown of his personality with all his quirks and habits included (you snorted rather loudly when catching the italicized ‘mild-temperament’). There was his daily routine that heavily emphasized his recreation time such as cycling, working out, gaming and a small pool of sports. His likes and dislikes, and making you laugh the loudest was his disclaimer, something Jeno was rather proud of when you caught his pleased smile.

Disclaimer: Homebody, but will go out with you if you ask nicely. I get lost in gaming a lot so you might have to knock very loudly, or even call my phone. I get sulky very easily. Please be nice to me (.◜◡◝)

The emoticon was just the cherry on top. It looked so much like him—an absolutely precious detail that you had to do a side-by-side comparison, only to find him already gazing at you in wonder.

He cleared his throat, smiling and cheeks glowing with the faintest of color. “I figured you’d want a detailed resumé. He said you’d appreciate it.” Jeno joked with the smile widening into a soft grin that showcased his perfect white teeth, long fingers raking through his dark blue hair, both in a manner that screamed boyish and charming.

He was charming, which came as a belated, mortifying realization. Nano seconds was all it took to picture life sharing everything with a cute-faced gym rat and his equally cute grin you’d have to face every single waking day for fuck knows how long until you went insane.

It could either be the best or the worst thing to come out of this. You’re not sure yet.

Though it’s as if Jeno sensed your mental turmoil because he didn’t even give you a second to rethink, leaning in close enough that you got a whiff of his cologne as he poked a particular spot on the paper a few times, grin dimming into something gentler where his eyes gained this puppy-ish quality to them followed by a head tilt.

“My number is on here,” he stressed with one last poke to his number, ducking his head low enough to catch your gaze. “Call or text me if I make the cut, yeah?”

And as the door shut behind Jeno after flashing you one last dazzling smile, you slumped against the wall with a harsh sigh, mind racing and heart about to fly out of your rib cage with the paper still clutched tightly in between your fingers.

Jesus.

You: I think I just saw a god

Mark (ER): lol? 😆 Mark (ER): how was it with Jeno

You: i literally just said i think i saw a god

Approximately three hours later, you’ve earned yourself a Mark replacement, much to the namesake’s chagrin and stealing a piece of your chicken tenders as a form of retribution.

Approximately a week and half later, Jeno hung his degree and graduation portrait next to yours right above the TV, a detail both of you found hilarious and continued to giggle over even after clearing two greasy boxes of pizza for your first dinner together as roommates. 

Approximately two months or so later, Jeno had unknowingly made an enemy for himself:

You.

II.

“When you go out your way and you don’t see a change.” 

Frankly, being in this sticky situation could have been avoided entirely if you hadn’t let Mark’s flattery towards your roommate lure you into a false sense of security.

Frequent reassurance was an absolute necessity.

It was good to just know about things and your ex-roommate had made Jeno sound promising the handful of times your conversation would segue to him. It was your own hubris in Mark’s reassurance that had led you to this—that, and Mark had perfected the art of persuasion with words.

He’d always been good at spinning the narrative for his own advantage (Jeno’s in this case). Too good, in fact, where everything that flew past his mouth left no room for worry to fester when you’ve not yet lost anything of significance from trusting Mark and his judgment.

That was until you did. Blindsided by soft grins, half-moon eyes and a killer body you’d catch yourself quietly admiring whenever Jeno, oddly enough, took to working out in the living area.

So in conclusion, this was all Mark’s fault.

“This is all your fault.”

“Yo, what?” Mark laughed in that way where you just knew that he knew he fucked up. Forced, awkward, and a little terrified of what was about to come. “What’d I do?” He asked anyway, knowing he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep without finding out just what he did to get accused.

“You shouldn’t have pimped Jeno out to me—“

Mark rolled his eyes. “Not what I did—“

“Pimped Jeno out to me, ‘else I wouldn’t be suffering this much.”

“Hold on—you asked me to help look for a roommate,” he started, voice pitching up in disbelief. “And I spent days helping you sort out every important detail—even the nit-picky ones—for you! Only to ask for someone who wasn’t even listed on the fuckin’ doc. And in the end, you said yes!"

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah. Clearly a mistake on my part."

As he ranted, Mark’s gestures grew more and more frantic in defense of himself, only for his arms to fall back to his sides with a huff when you barely blinked, unimpressed, and then folding them above his chest with a pout before mumbling, “how’d you even find out about the criminal record and the weird fish owner anyway?”

You graced him with a lazy shrug. “Fascinating what you can achieve with technology.”

He stilled, squinting in thought before letting out a resigned sigh. “Donghyuck.”

“Duh? The closest I got to hacking was looking for a cracked Sims 2 copy.” You soon got grounded by Dad when you had infected the family computer with malware, sadly. “Hyuck’s surprisingly useful when wants to be.”

Or greedy. Ten dollars were raised once you goaded Donghyuck into sussing out any deal-breakers with a snide comment or two slipping out about him not being able to find anything that would make you second guess any of the potential roommates. Naturally, Donghyuck took your provocation rather seriously, treating it as the be-all and end-all to prove a point.

Ten minutes later, he was ten dollars richer. Crazy what people would do for money.

“Conflict of interest!” you raised again, loudly, making Mark flinch. “I barely get six hours of sleep now because of your emotional ties with my sworn enemy.”

Sure there were many benefits of being approachable, but you were somewhat of a negative Nancy and all you could think of was how Mark’s painstaking kindness could potentially get taken advantage of by some lurking asshole out there.

Which was exactly what had happened. With you as collateral.

“Uh, not gonna lie, but I think you’re being a little dramatic,” he sniffed, biting roughly into the sandwich you graciously made for him. Biting the hands that fed him, how lovely.

“I’m being dramatic?” you said, incredulous, and then flicked his forehead just to hear him cry out in pain. “Okay—try having Jeno’s headboard slamming against the wall as your lullaby, which—surprise, surprise—won’t help you sleep at all!”

You paused to regulate your breathing because you were getting a little too heated and you didn’t want to traumatize Mark even more by angrily exploding into pieces. Even as a nurse and though rare, he still got a little squeamish.

“I’m just saying, you’d think he’d have some shame and invest in those rubber bumpers, but no—he just had to make sure I know he’s getting way more sex than me.”

And he did. Have way more sex than you, that is, which was kind of insane now that you’ve thought about it. Ego-bruising too when the sounds you desperately tried to drown out still breached through a pair of neon green earplugs stuck deep as they could go into your ear holes. His questionable refractory period kept you up on most nights he had girls over, wondering how short it was that he’s able to bounce back and keep you up until the witching hour with the awful remix of moans, groans, screams and whatever noises one could make during sex. Why was it always the innocent looking ones the freakiest? Why must you suffer through all this?

You made a low noise in your throat, almost like a growl just thinking about what you've gone through the last few weeks. Fucking asshole.

Mark’s eyes widened. Whether it was from your admission, or the almost inhuman sound you made, the simmering rage wasn’t that hard to miss. The moment Mark walked into the apartment, he could visibly tell how wound up you were from your pinched expression while you waited for the bread to toast.

He’s been here for almost two hours and you have yet to relax. Mark’s current concern was what if your face gets permanently stuck scowling like that?

“Huh,” he breathed out, “didn’t know Jeno got bitches that often.”

“Mark.”

Mark immediately backtracked at the edge to your voice. “Uh, I mean—“ he cleared his throat, “fuck Jeno. I hope his dick, like, falls off.”

The beseeching shine of his eyes for your approval would have been something to laugh at if it weren’t for the anger taking full reign of the receptors responsible for regulating your emotions, not letting it process anything but the bottled up frustration from weeks of enduring the extra noises accompanying most of your nights.

So much for creating a harmonious home life with a Taurus man. Fuck that article, fuck whoever wrote it, and fuck Jeno Lee in particular. Seriously.

“You’re more pissed off than usual.”

“Yeah? Hadn’t noticed,” you said dryly.

“Dude, c’mon. Y’know what I mean,” Mark giggled, reaching out to pinch your cheek. You swat his hand away with a whine when he tried to go for the other. “Sorry, sorry—just—I feel like he did more if you—“ he made a vague gesture to the air in front of you “—are this upset.”

“I think keeping me up with the horrendously loud fucking takes the cake.”

“I dunno. You lost your fuckin’ marbles when I ate your food that one time.” He shuddered, knowing fully well how touchy you were with the prepped meals you slaved for hours every Saturday. “Was that what he did? That’s the one thing I told him not to do.”

Being this far into your career, cooking was almost like a chore since you barely had any opportunities to cook actual at-home-meals that required significant amounts of time and patience. You could even say that it was more appropriate to call it a luxury almost as most of your time was dedicated to the hospital—to your patients whose lives were also in your hands, and pre-made food was the only solution to fit three-meals-a-day into your demanding schedule.

The long-lasting effects of when he, out of sheer desperation, snatched your jar of banana chia pudding still lingered when he always made it a point to ask if he could have one bite, or a quick sip after the rather traumatizing verbal lashing you’ve subjected him to.

“No. Jeno knows not to do that at least.”

Like Mark, it’s the one thing you had stressed right when you had Jeno settle in. Not that he minded, sans the obligatory head tilt when he didn’t quite get it until your further explanation. He even offered his help with the meal-prep which kind of—for a fleeting moment—made you feel a little guilty thinking back to the conversation (puppy eyes, full lips jutted out into a thoughtful pout. More puppy eyes and Jeno’s weird, trademarked noises of confusion) until you were violently reminded of his fuckery.

Perhaps the whole golden retriever-like temperament and attentiveness balanced out his newly discovered predilection for whoring himself out.

Mark heaved a heavy sigh as if he was the one with a 24/7 sex noise problem. “Well, what could be worse than Jeno banging some random chick?”

You gave him a grim smile.

See, the thing was, it hadn’t always been like this.

You were no stranger to peace as you did get a generous taste of it with Jeno thrown into the mix. A peaceful coexistence between a surgical nurse and some tech guy.

A routine had been built around having different work hours where you were mostly gone from morning to evening when you weren’t on-call, while Jeno was, more often than not, stationary since he had the choice to either work from home on his elaborate PC set-up, or in the office he’d drive to when needed.

It was relatively normal. Jeno stayed true to the being neat claim and he kept to himself most of the time. He did his set of chores listed on the mini whiteboard stuck to the fridge and proved himself to be quite the efficient handyman also; assembling furniture with ease as well as fixing up superficial problems in the apartment. He was a decent cook too and Jeno generally acted what one would expect from a proper roommate who was here to make a home with you.

It had been normal. It had been peaceful, until you realized you were housing a potential sex fiend. What made this whole thing exponentially worse, though, was that the last girl he had brought home wasn't just some random chick that had fallen victim to Jeno’s charms.

It was Jimin Yu, your work best friend and the only other person who knew of your sleeping problem caused by the root of said problem whom you were starting to believe was sent to you as a divine punishment for fuck knows what. Which was kind of funny to think about considering Mark, his faith and him technically being the catalyst of it all, but you digressed. This was literally a slow-burn epidemic happening in real life, and yet no one else seemed to be alarmed by it.

Jimin Yu. Another promising young woman lost to some fucking loser (see: Jeno). Again. 

How you came to find out that it was your best friend getting her back blown out six ways to fucking Sunday right before a full day of two major operations waiting for you to scrub and assist in was from pure accidental intuition alone.

And anger. 

Especially anger.

There was a self-imposed rule you strictly followed: do not leave your room until you were sure the chosen girl from Jeno’s seemingly never-ending roster left. Saving both you and the poor girl from the embarrassment was the least you could do when you yourself would rather avoid any risks of running into anyone in someone else’s home right after a hook-up.

And, well, there was a reason why the saying ‘rules are meant to be broken’ was popularized, because you broke that one simple rule that had supposedly kept your remaining sanity intact.

Two hours left before your shift started and you were more husk than person from the lack of sleep. All rationale completely consumed by anger, an ever-present emotion that seemed to be the only thing that kept you going—and consequently, what had led you to shoot out of bed once the telltale sounds of Jeno’s door clicking open, followed by the hurried footsteps reached your ears.

You skidded to a stop, stunned.

“You motherfucker.”

This was the ultimate act of betrayal.

“It’s—It’s not what it looks like!” Was Jimin’s immediate defense right when the thunderous twist to your face grew more and more pronounced with each stomp of your feet. Yet her words didn’t exactly help her case when:

There were obvious splashes of reds, blues and purples marking her slender neck.

Her hair was a downright mess, and you knew Jimin harbored some sort of complex for her long luscious locks, so this was new—her not bothering to comb it out, clearly in a rush to leave.

There was a slight limp in her step which just said everything.

And lastly, you caught Jeno sneaking Jimin out of his room and out of the fucking apartment, clearly expecting to not run into you.

“Ah-ah. No,” you interrupted before she could even start groveling. “I’ll deal with you later. Get out.”

Jimin’s shoulders sagged, big wet eyes staring into your very soul and it took you a Herculean amount of strength to keep your gaze ahead and not break under her stare; to keep your gaze set on the main perpetrator who, unlike Jimin, appeared rather contrary to her apparent distress. 

Jeno stood underneath the awning in only—goodness—only a pair of gym shorts where you could clearly make out a hefty looking dick-print, completely at ease and infuriatingly handsome in spite of the disheveled state he was in; matching bruises bloomed on his milky skin, scratches littered his arms, shoulders and back and his hair was left as an artful mess atop his head. 

You wanted to scream.

This was all Jeno’s fault. Not even the hurt pinching Jimin’s normally serene features was enough to lessen the tension wounding up your entire body. Not when you were already neck-deep in your own pool of unfiltered rage to even consider comforting Jimin’s momentary lapse in judgment and decision to have earth-shatteringly loud sex with your mortal enemy that the whole damn apartment complex might as well have heard.

(“I’m surprised Jimin isn’t getting as much heat since she slept with your ‘problem’. On purpose.”

You shrugged. “Men are the root of all evil.”

“Fair enough,” Mark mumbled and took a gargantuan bite of the next sandwich assembled for him. It was really a mystery how he settled down before you).

And—look, you really couldn’t care less if Jeno slept around. It was his life and he had free reign over his own body, and let’s face it, there was no way he didn’t get an obscene amount of matches on Tinder when he embodied a walking wet dream.

Jeno was far from being in your good graces at this current moment, but staying blind to the truth would only get you so far when Jeno had the physical advantages to attest to that, and the same could be said for Jimin. She could hook-up with whoever she pleased—just as easily too. Hell, you’d sleep with her too if you were a little bit interested in her—because who were you to disprove her choices? All of you were adults here, but what the main issue here was Jimin knew you had one-sided beef with your abnormally attractive roommate that fucks too loud no matter how many times you reminded him to try and keep it down, and yet she still pushed on and contributed to the recurring problem.

Truer words had never been said until Mark. You really did hope Jeno’s dick shrivels up and falls off.

Now, preferably.

Right when the door had closed behind Jimin with a soft click (after dragging her feet and sending pleading looks over her shoulder like a sad wet cat) did all the pent-up anger come out in a mess of heated words and frantic gestures.

“What the fuck.”

Each breath you took had been deep and harsh. Your face was bordering on hot to the touch from the sheer amount of rage coursing through your veins and the arduous task of resisting the urge to reach out and subject permanent damage physically, mentally and emotionally by how tightly you had clenched your fists. You could already imagine it, hands stretching towards Jeno’s neck and wringing it like a wet hand towel until it ripped in your hands—

Your roommate reacted then, as if just realizing that this wasn’t you doing a bit. It made you think of how likely it could be that Jeno got away with many things simply for being the very few that had pretty privilege as a crutch to fall onto. As for you, it would be nice to have an actual metal crutch within arm’s reach to hit him with.

He was pretty to look at, sure, but not privileged enough to keep your eye from twitching in irritation when Jeno looked the least bothered by your display, long eyelashes fluttering with each of his confused and owlish blinking.

“What?” Jeno, the village idiot, asked with imploring eyes.

“What? What do you mean ‘what’? are you—“ you cut yourself off with an incredulous, borderline manic laugh at his testosterone-filled audacity. “Are you so desperate for sex that you had to go for Jimin?”

It’s not like he wasn’t allowed to bring his own friends over since you shared the same rotation of friends and acquaintances, but really, Jimin?

“I didn’t know Jimin was off-limits. You never mentioned it.” Jeno blinked slowly with a sheepish smile. “I’ll keep that in mind next time?”

“Are you fucking—were you even listening to me? Not just now, but before too. I told you to keep it down! Many many times! I need to sleep, Jeno!”

He huffed a laugh. “Technically, it’s not really my fault if they can’t keep it down, y’know?” 

You could only stare in disbelief, mouth ajar at the fact that he’s able to act proud during an argument he was likely to lose. Like dicking down someone so loud that it became a public disturbance was some kind of achievement with the way Jeno puffs out his very naked chest in the most subtlest of ways.

He wasn’t finished talking, taking your silence as a prompt to continue with a cloying curl of his mouth. “I could show you why, if you want.”

“Excuse me?”

If Jeno knew what was good for him, he would stop running his mouth right this very second. Though over time, you started to pick up on the very unfortunate fact that he lacked tact at times, and what he had let slip through his lips next proved as much.

“I’m saying,” he dragged out, like he was expecting you to catch on. “Sex reduces stress, right? The endorphin and oxytocin rush—I’ll assume you already knew that, being a nurse and all. Woman in STEM,” Jeno sang a little jingle, the smile widening into a grin that was a touch too suggestive for your liking. “I can see that you’re pent up, and I think fucking it out of you—fucking the uptightness out of you would do both of us good. A win-win situation.”

Whatever was left of the rose-tinted image of the man who had first walked into the apartment donning the sweetest eye-smile you had ever laid eyes on was wiped just like that. His grin that was meant to convey light-hearted teasing became the very image of mockery.

If you weren’t as furious then, you were now.

“Is that how you see me? Just another number to your body count?” 

It would have been funny, watching Jeno’s features twist from surprise to regret at the speed of light almost, but anything he did beyond this point just added to the stockpiled annoyance ready to be spit up again the next time Jeno thought to push his luck. So no, this wasn’t hilarious in the slightest.

“I didn’t say that—”

“You implied it.”

“That’s—I was joking!”

You scoffed, “that’s not surprising. Do you think my job’s a ‘joke’ too?”

This was exhausting. You had already lost a significant amount of sleep you needed to get through work that would start in two hours—well, less now that you’ve taken the time to completely go off the rails until some semblance of remorse showed on Jeno’s person. As satisfying as it was to witness that happen in real-time, asking some time off of work just to process The Confrontation™ was a no-no, given how important your presence was in the OR and it just so happened that you couldn’t stand being in the same room as him.

He should’ve added ‘insatiable horndog’ to his disclaimer.

Jeno made it clear that he had nothing else to follow up on, doing a horrible impression of a fish out of water that you had taken as your cue to leave.

And for the first time in forever, you couldn’t wait to breathe in the antiseptic smell of the hospital.

Being this bothered by your cold indifference was not at all on Jeno’s bingo card.

Jeno was within your visage when you came through the door, yet you paid him no mind as you bee-lined towards your bedroom, like he didn’t exist to you. And, okay, maybe he did deserve that—no, he for sure deserved that after hours of reflecting. He wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate his excuse of not really being aware that the walls were thinner than he had thought.

Jeno winced at the mini play-by-play in his head.

You definitely wouldn’t.

The clock droned on and on with its never-ending ticking. Just a quarter past eight in the evening, Jeno checked, and his heart lurched to his throat, sitting up straighter from his perch at the island counter when you finally emerged from your room. Have you forgiven him? Did this mean you were on talking terms again? Because if he had to be honest, being ignored was a lot worse than you threatening to bite his head off. At least then you were technically talking to him still and not trying to erase his existence with sheer willpower alone.

All hope of making things right, however, was shot down the moment Jeno took a quick look at your change of clothes and the large duffle bag slung over your shoulder.

Panic welled in his chest, causing him to blurt out a garbled, “where are you going?” as you headed straight for the front door.

“Anywhere but here.”

Although there was no heat behind your words from the absence of the anger you had toted around this morning, being hit by your impassive stare has him biting back the haha nice Harry Potter reference. The poorly-timed joke from this morning was the final nail in the coffin and making another one now was a sure-fire way of getting buried six feet under. Alive.

Shortly after, the door closed behind you with a soft click. Much like how Jimin left when you had sent her out, leaving Jeno alone with the deafening silence as his only companion, the pit in his stomach growing when he peeled his gaze from the paneled door to fall onto the pair of steaming cups of coffee.

Mornings for Jeno started with you standing in front of the coffee machine, half-asleep and grumbling threats to the inanimate thing. He’d grown accustomed to the sight of your sleep-ruffled state that it was obvious you had quite the fixation on coffee. At least one cup a day, three at most, you had said with a bashful smile when he caught you pouring your third cup.

Coffee was a necessity in this household. Jeno knew that, knew how you liked to drink yours and he thought making you a cup exactly how you’d like it could melt away the thick walls you had built. A peace offering, or what was supposed to be a peace offering.

Two cups sat on the quartz countertop. One almost empty while the other remained untouched even as Jeno retired for the night.

Jeno walked into an empty kitchen the morning after.

A kitchen devoid of your sleepy form that would be threatening the coffee machine to spit out the liquid bitterness faster, or else. The silence was just as deafening and the cup—your cup—was where he left it the night before in hopes of you coming back home.

You didn’t.

Fuck.

III.

“Prove me wrong by doing it right.”

“And you stayed where? For two weeks?”

“Jaem and Hyuck’s.”

Mark grimaced. “Willingly?”

You gave him a pointed look.

He raised his hands in defense. “I’m just sayin’ you have better options—like Sungchan?” Your face softened, offering a lazy shrug. “Me?”

You wrinkled your nose at the thought. “Yeah, no.”

While you had made plenty of jokes that would last a lifetime consisting of moving in with Mark and ‘the love of his life’, ranging from them becoming your second set of parents, to you being Just There with your best friend married and with kids, the appeal of third wheeling hadn’t increased in the slightest.

“I’ve had enough moaning and groaning haunting my dreams, thanks.” You snorted at the scandalized look on Mark’s face. “and I wouldn’t want to impose on Sungchan and Chenle. Thing One and Thing Two weren’t too bad.”

Although the stay had been surprisingly pleasant, with all things considered, they did poke fun at the situation at first because—duh, men. Regardless, their combined hospitality staved off the possibility of a psychotic break triggered by Jeno’s fuck-up. It would have been better if their third bedroom hadn’t been made into Marie Kondo’s personal nightmare, but the vomit green couch had been a comfortable makeshift bed. Who knew you’d end up loving the product of Jaemin’s horrendous tastes?

Jeno stayed as elusive as ever, too. You came home when you could, only to replenish your clothing and other necessities and much to your relief, you hadn’t run into him yet. Not at the apartment, not at the guys’ place (shockingly) and there was a brief moment where you thought your roommate might turn up at the hospital, what with the onslaught of texts you received, most of them apologizing and begging for you to come home, there was a time where you dreaded going to work in light of the possibility.

(“You’d think Jeno was your boyfriend with the way he’s blowing up your phone,” Donghyuck hollered from the kitchen, in the middle of cooking dinner for everyone. “He’s getting desperate with each text, babe. Even I’m feeling a little sorry for the guy.”

You looked up from the puzzle you were working on the floor with Jaemin to stare at Donghyuck, then to the space where you remembered leaving your phone on its own and now just noticing its disappearance. “How’d you get my phone? How’d you guess my passcode?”

“Zero-zero-zero-zero wasn’t that hard to guess,” Jaemin mumbled. “You’ve always been simpleminded about these things—which reminds me—you still use the same Netflix account since college, right?”).

Jeno was a no-show, thankfully. Causing a scene at work, of all places, would be way beneath you no matter how much he pissed you off.

Still, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t talk your shit from time to time.

“They’re probably faking it,” you concluded with a scoff and then quickly backtracked. “No. I know they’re faking it and it doesn’t even matter if Jeno’s tall, muscular, handsome, capable—” Mark’s eyebrows rose higher and higher, disappearing beneath his bangs as you continued on with your tangent.

“Precious eye smile—definitely a manipulation tactic… it worked on me.”

That one, you mumbled mostly to yourself, but it was audible enough to earn a short laugh from Mark which quickly snapped you out of whatever the hell that was, and then scowled when your ex-roommate, the catalyst for your suffering, tried to keep his face straight. He was doing a terrible job.

Clearing your throat—far too many times than necessary—you ignored the warmth that bloomed on the apples of your cheeks along with Mark’s insufferably knowing smirk. “My point is, there’s no way he’d be good at sex too. Like, you’re telling me Jeno made all those girls cum? Fat fucking chance. I’m sure there’s, like, a statistic disproving that.”

You didn’t even want to think what Jimin went through, especially when you’ve gotten a glimpse of what monster was begging to be freed from Jeno’s gym shorts. But like clockwork, Mark had to ruin that brief fantasy of you being right about Jeno’s possibly (hopefully) weak stroke game.

“Eh, I’d have to disagree on that one.”

How did he even know that?

“How do you even know that?” You groaned, “I’m distressed enough as it is, Mark, please be serious.”

“I am serious! I literally have the facts to back it up!”

“And what, I’m supposed to believe you?” All you were given was a stare, an arch of an eyebrow just begging to be plucked and shaped, and nothing else. “Fine, what are these facts based on?”

“Testimonies. Plenty of them.”

Your features twisted into that of disgust. “Were you there? In the corner watching him get his dick wet? Like some pervert?”

Mark appeared as though he regretted the decision of coming here. You didn’t want to be here in the first place, so it’s only fair that none of you were having a good time. Might as well make Mark your personal verbal punching bag while you were at it.

“Jesus,” he dragged a hand down his face. The perfect image of exasperation. “The mouth on you sometimes.” 

“Sorry,” you quipped, not sorry at all.

This time, Mark let out a groan much similar to yours, obviously not liking where the direction of the already bizarre conversation was heading. This upcoming headache (see: you) was rightfully deserved though since Mark did lend a hand in forcing you into a situation so embarrassing that you’d take instant death over being an unwilling voyeur to Jeno’s many many late night sexcapades.

“Okay, okay, okay—” Mark began as if the rapid-fire speech wasn’t enough to get your attention, or the fact that it was just the two of you hanging out in the kitchen. “You know how my girl hosts girls’ night every two weeks?”

“How could I forget?” you chuckled. “I missed the one two nights ago and your girlfriend’s really good at guilt-tripping.”

“Yeah,” he trailed off with a tender smile. “yeah—uh, she wanted everyone to be there.” Your own smile was knowing, a smidge teasing even and it was enough for Mark’s cheeks to pinken. “Anyways! One of the girls was painting my nails, right?” He wiggled his fingers, showing his mustard yellow painted fingernails with daisy decals, being the girls’ go-to mannequin every girls’ night. “Aeri brought up hooking up with Jeno a few times from like, a year ago, then it became this whole thing of the girls sharing their own experiences—and wow, you girls are just as gross with the details, like, for real—turns out, they all slept with him at some point! Crazy, right?”

“Even your girlfriend?”

Mark smiled, sheepish. Quite the contrast to your horrified expression. “They shared a gen-ed class. College sophomore year. She went to his frat’s party, they hooked up once and never again.”

“Please tell me the girls hated it at least.”

Mark’s jaw closed with a click, lips pressing into a thin line. “Y’know, I don’t think the word ‘hate’ was like, ever thrown around, honestly.”

Good lord—okay, so Jeno was kind of a slut then. A slut that had infiltrated your friend group (and fucked Mark’s girlfriend!) and left them unanimously agreeing that he earned his merit as an absolute god in bed. Go figure. This might as well be some divine force’s way of saying ‘go fuck yourself!’

“So I just have to live with it, is what you’re saying.”

“I mean…” His face twisted into an expression you couldn’t put your finger on and the nonsensical gesticulation didn’t provide any concrete context needed. Either way, you just knew you wouldn’t like whatever he says next. “If it bothers you that much, just find a new place. You’ve been here long enough.”

“In this economy?” you exclaimed. “That’s like asking me to kill myself!”

Not to mention drastic when you had already paid half of this month’s rent along with the other expenses—as did Jeno—and you really couldn’t afford splurging extra to get away from one minor—major inconvenience. Plus, you were pretty attached to the place.

Deciding on that was kind of a tempting solution, however. You had forgotten what it was like living alone after you and Mark thought to rent a place together post-graduation since you both agreed it was cost-effective, but if Jeno was smart enough to repent for his sins of stealing (sleep) from thy neighbor (roommate), you wouldn’t leave him to fend for himself.

“I should have stayed back and talked to Hyuck about this,” you droned, narrowing your eyes when all Mark did was snort at both your joke and your bias for Thing Number Two (Donghyuck). “He would at least agree that Jeno’s dick’s bigger than his brain.”

Which was farthest from the truth, actually.

Painful as it was to admit, the certificate of Jeno graduating from a joint program of Computer Science and Cyber Security as Magna Cum Laude was tangible proof that Jeno Lee’s brain was wired properly to some extent that It made your own certificate of graduating Cum Laude from your nursing program a bit lackluster. It was an inside joke you both shared; where your degrees and graduation portraits weren’t all that useless as they had been perfect for decoration.

All that’s left now was a sour reminder that Jeno got more bitches than you did every time you glanced up at the immortalized version of him. Looming above the flat screen TV with the effortless sweep of his hair and the sweet, canned smile he flashed at the camera.

While you spent hours to at least make it seem like you hadn’t been trampled on from the harrowing events of final exams, back-to-back practicals and soul-sucking internships, Jeno hardly looked like he had put in any effort—like an in-the-making supermodel taking his head-shots. His hair was in its natural shade of black, longer too with a subtle mullet going. Jeno looked younger, untouched by the trials and tribulations adult life granted anyone breaching that point and less like the sex fiend you would hiss at as a knee-jerk reaction.

The Jeno now fitted the latter description to a tee. This rugged look he’s got going on for him screamed trouble. He embodied what sex on legs meant as well as being the guy a god-fearing father would tell you to stay away from. 

Having said all that, you still thought that even hot people deserved to be humbled. Ever the one to talk shit about someone that had wronged you behind their back yourself, and Donghyuck was always a great shit-talking partner.

“Nice to know you still don’t listen to me. It’s like I’ve never moved out at all.”

“Maybe if you gave actual sound advice, I would.”

“Advice,” Mark parroted, following that up with a short laugh of disbelief. “you want advice? Okay, here’s one—avoiding Jeno won’t put a stop to this. Maybe all of this—whatever this is—could be resolved if you would just, oh, I don’t know, talk to him? Talk like proper adults would? Lay some ground rules or some shit, I don’t know.”

“I already did that! Many times, if you recall what we just talked about, and look where it got me.” 

Temporarily living off of the vomit green couch in exchange for better quality of sleep? Yeah, this was definitely a new low for you.

“Would you bail me out if I was charged for man-slaughter? I’ll pay you back… in a few years.”

“No,” was Mark’s immediate answer. “I’m being serious, babe. Just… talk it out, yeah? Jeno’s worried, texting me and all.”

Huh. Never would you have thought that ‘Jeno’ and ‘worried’ could be mentioned in the same sentence when you sampled just how much Jeno couldn’t give less of a fuck towards the deep lines you had repeatedly drawn, crossing it multiple times, but you supposed there’s always a first time for everything; like how this was a first for you not putting blind faith into Mark’s words.

“I find that hard to believe,” you groused.

Mark’s whole face then twisted into the very expression he’d wear when he’s about to deliver a mean lecture. Unfortunately for you, you had never been an exception to them and you were his best friend! It defeated the whole purpose of the label and the privileges that came with it and as you braced yourself for his god-given right of bitching at you, the sound of the keypad’s beeping made both of you freeze, the fight visible on Mark’s person gone once the automatic lock clicked in place as your faces blenched.

Not one of you dared to move as you listened to Jeno skulking around the foyer with bated breaths.

You could hear a pin drop when your roommate’s shuffling came to an abrupt stop. Then came the sharp gasp, the heavy rushed footsteps and there Jeno was in all his muscled glory; again, in athleisure and panting as if he ran a marathon just to see if his hunch was right.

“Talk to him,” Mark gritted before his face brightened with a capitalistic grin that would usually fool almost everyone and whirled around to greet Jeno with a dialed up amount of enthusiasm. “Hey, buddy! What’s up?”

Jeno was nonplussed by this, his gaze still stuck on you which granted a sinking feeling in your stomach when he didn’t do anything else. No smile, no nothing and Mark didn’t seem to pick up on the growing tension. That, or he simply just chose not to acknowledge it, making nice out of self-preservation.

“You look great!” It was kind of painful watching Mark acting as the buffer, yet unknowingly stall Jeno and the impending doom of talking to him. “Strong! You look strong—” as Mark said this, he gave Jeno’s bicep a friendly slap, only for him to reel it back almost a half second later with wide eyes. “Uh, well! I was just leaving—girlfriend’s looking for me so… bye!”

And there he went, leaving you to fend for yourself, but not before giving you a pointed look over Jeno’s shoulder that clearly said ‘fix this, or else’.

Or else, you huffed, Mark Lee couldn’t even hurt a fly—

“You’re home,” Jeno said, tone soft as ever despite the clear ire that was starting to bubble up to the surface from the way you caught his jaw clench. That didn’t stop your pettiness from taking over, however, making a sour face as you turned away from him to grab your favorite mug out of the cupboard.

“What an amazing observation,” you said with the same amount of excitement a school teacher would have if they were to be condescending. “Would you like a gold star?”

“I was worried,” and Jeno, ever the one to not rise to the bait shamelessly dangling right in front of his face, kept his voice even. “You left my texts on read. You didn’t return any of my calls.”

“Wow! It’s almost like I don’t want to talk to you,” you snapped, “‘worried’ my ass. You know damn well I left because of you, so you don’t get to act like I’m in the wrong when—“

Jeno cuts you off with a stern call of your name, like he’s had enough. Of what, exactly? As far as you knew, you were simply telling him the truth of the matter: he drove you away because one stubborn part of Jeno Lee refused to listen and admit that he was in the wrong.

Slowly, you twisted your neck to hit Jeno with the most chilling look known to man-kind as the familiar sensation of anger caused each of your muscles to stiffen. The one thing that kept you from tackling him to the ground was the abashed furrow of Jeno’s eyebrows and his downturned lips. He genuinely looked guilty. As guilty as a man could be from getting as much action as a blunt getting passed around a frat-party, but sadly for him, peace was never an option.

He could cry for forgiveness all he wanted and you’d only think of ways to make him cry even harder.

“Look,” Jeno began, eyes fluttering closed and breathing out a heavy sigh. “I just don’t understand why you had to go this far? Avoiding me for two weeks straight—I was worried,” he reiterated, eyes opening just for them to narrow accusingly. “I didn’t know where you were. Mark refused to tell me since ‘it wasn’t his business’—“ and honestly, if this were any other situation, you would have laughed at Jeno’s piss-poor imitation of Mark and the exaggerated air quotes. “—and I had to find out from Donghyuck, of all people, that you were staying with them!”

This was a first. Jeno was never one to completely lose his cool. Always the milder one between you both who knew how to keep his temper in check. Jeno was calm in every sense of the word, with placid smiles and solemn nods—composed even in the most dire of situations where tensions were high. A stark contrast to how you weren’t afraid of baring your teeth to let people know how you felt, swinging your emotions around as if they were a weapon.

Clearly, the Jeno that stood in front of you bore none of that. He was visibly upset—by what could be considered as ghosting him for two weeks straight, which would have been longer if Jeno had come later in the evening. You were starting to believe that the universe simply hated you to the point of cutting the streak.

You stayed quiet, letting your scowl do all the talking.

Jeno pinched his nose bridge. “I’m sorry I slept with Jimin, alright? It’ll never happen again if that’s what you want.”

“Oh my God,” you exclaimed as you shut the cupboard harsher than intended, moving to head for the coffee machine. He still didn’t get it and you’ll need the extra caffeine in your system for this.

“This is not about you sleeping with Jimin! This is about you crossing lines I specifically told you not to cross! How about you try having someone’s life in your hands? My job isn’t a walk in the park, Jeno. I need to be alert. I need to have my head set on straight, but clearly, I can’t have any of that because I have to hear you fucking the next person who looks at you! If any of my patients die, it’s on you. If I lose my job because I let a patient die, it’s on you—why won’t this fucking thing work!”

Your last straw might as well be the shitty coffee machine proving, once again, how shitty it was. You were half-tempted to unplug the thing and chuck it at his head.

God, you were so fucking angry. The two weeks away from home was the semblance of peace you had desperately needed after almost jeopardizing an angioplasty case with Dr. Jung when you caught yourself handing the wrong type of suture he asked for. It was only luck that you were stuck with one of the more approachable surgeons from cardio, letting you off with a lighthearted ‘wake up’ as Dr. Jung gestured for the right one.

Jeno reached over, pressing down on a button while tilting his head. “Are you done?” He said along the low whir of the coffee machine, evidently trying not to laugh.

The minty waft of his breath hit your face and it was then did you notice how close he had gotten. Your toes almost touching as you blinked up to meet his eyes, confused at how fucking fast he got all up in your space while you ranted.

You scowled harder. “Yeah,” and wow, you knew Jeno was one of the few lucky ones who grew to be tall. Height was one of the obvious physical advantages he had, but when put into perspective, having him like this—almost chest to chest—made a huge difference. You felt so small underneath Jeno’s imposing dead-eyed stare as if he was gauging his prey; a silent dare for you to make one sudden move knowing he’d catch you in the end after playing with you for a little, one way or another. “Yeah, I’m done.”

A small smile tugged on his lips. “Less work for me then.”

“Huh?”

Jeno dipped his head so quickly that it took you a second or two to register his lips pressing against yours.

Jeno Lee. The very same Jeno Lee you imagined exploding in your head too many times to the point you grew bored of the gory image enough to consider telepathically saying I hope you get chlamydia I hope you get chlamydia I hope you get chlamydia until it takes and manifests in real life, was kissing you. This was far from the initial possible outcome you would expect in light of the cold war wedging a gap between you that the backasswards had all higher functions of your brain—and possibly the one that had telepathy locked away forever—shut down when he angled his head to press deeper, as if to coax you into becoming an active participant.

The only options left for you to consider were: a.) kiss him back b.) kiss him back since it became crystal clear that whatever method of psychological warfare Jeno waged wasn’t worth stopping. For reference, option b was the obvious choice. The emphasis, the drama of it all complemented your own flair for dramatics and you would rather drop dead than let Jeno have the upper hand. And maybe because you were insane, choosing anything but resolving the issue with a proper talk, and good lord can the man kiss.

It’s his lips, you thought bitterly, lips of plump and petal-pink goodness melding against your own slightly chapped pair that rendered you uncharacteristically pliant.

Normally, you were anything but, though it was a little rewarding to know that Jeno was losing it just as much; the finesse to his methods gradually chipping away along the push and pull of your mouths with the delicious burden of his weight pressing you against the counter to have more than just a taste. A small window was open for some lucidity to seep in, that being Jeno’s forethought of wriggling a hand in between the edge of the counter top and your back so it wouldn’t jab at your spine as the other cupped your jaw, shuddering when his pinky brushed along a sensitive spot behind your ear.

Jeno smiled at this. You felt him smile at this, but you were still stuck on the oddly sweet gesture that you thought to show some gratitude by returning the same level of eagerness Jeno had, suckling and biting down on his bottom lip. At his whine, you promptly soothed the spot with a languid swipe of your tongue and did it all over again. Not that he minded. You could practically tell just how excited he was; all bricked up and prodding the softness of your belly, and he didn’t seem to be embarrassed by it at all. You didn’t think he would be when he had quite the package. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

There’s a wry grin tugging at his lips when you both parted for some air. “All I could think about was shutting you up every single time you bitch at me.” He regained the closeness just to brush his lips against your cheek, sighing almost in a dreamy-like manner that you were half-tempted to back out. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“Don’t piss me off,” you settled on saying instead as a warning, yet let Jeno—taking it as a cue—lift you up and place you on top of the counter without any struggle that you didn’t even try to hide the fact that the display of Jeno’s raw strength was doing it for you. An infuriatingly attractive feat and you supposed your thought on the matter translated on your face well enough if Jeno’s cheeky grin was anything to go by.

Still, the spread of your legs was no less inviting, something Jeno found funny as he snickered to himself before taking the space in between them for you to wind your arms around his sturdy shoulders and pull him down for another kiss. Mostly to shut him up. Yes, definitely to shut him up.

Jeno parted from you again with an audible smack, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your waist. “Personally—”

You groaned, “oh here we go.”

“Personally,” Jeno tried again, ignoring your yelp when he gave a playful pinch to your skin. “I still think that you’re so pent up that everything annoys you—like me having a healthy sex-life, for example.”

This was it. This was definitely rock-bottom. You were finally in the trenches that you’re entertaining an actual conversation relating to Jeno’s fixation of sticking his dick into willing holes more times than you could count. Oh, and the fact that you were starting to become a little self-conscious from not getting any forms of sex on the regular unlike mister casanova over here.

You hit him with a dubious look. “Where are you even going with this?”

Jeno let out a low hum in lieu of an actual answer and pulled you forward as if he wasn’t already up in your space, the tip of his strong nose gently grazing yours, his lips doing pretty much the same thing too: a gentle brush against your own twitchy pair when he murmured, “don’t you want to let off a little steam? I can help. I want to help.”

And that rightfully stumped you. Not because it was the second time he propositioned you, with the first being more of a joke than anything, but how Jeno actually came off genuine this time around. Not a trace of the smugness could be found either. Just unbridled zeal that being scrutinized by the darkness of Jeno’s gaze birthed a familiar simmering of—horrifyingly enough—want beneath your navel.

There was an argument that could be made here. Where the stubborn part of you could simply claim that it was your curiosity coming into play—wanting to see for yourself if what Mark (and the girls) had said about Jeno was true; that there was a reason why Jeno’s roster was seemingly never ending. You could do that. Though, if anyone were to walk in right now, you didn’t think the compromising position would help in any way when you were quite literally entangled with each other.

Likewise, It didn’t really help that the wretched gremlin burrowing in the debased parts of your brain wanted Jeno Lee so much that you damn near salivated when the man bared more of his neck as a silent ‘go ahead’ for you to ravage the smooth skin with reds, blues and purples with your teeth. You’ve come to terms with the fact that you were attracted to Jeno that it honestly made you stupid enough to have a taste once the chance presented itself, surprisingly, without wishing an aneurysm upon yourself. 

But you weren’t going to give in that easily. You could just raise that having first hand experience with whatever Jeno had to offer was all for the sake of research and to prove your point.

That’s all that it was. That’s all that it will be; a case study for you. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jeno squeaked out his confusion when you ended up having his cheeks squished between your fingers and thumb right when he tried going in for another kiss, causing his lips to pucker out even more.

“What makes you think I’ll let you fuck me?” 

You dug your fingers into his skin harder as a warning when he tested his luck again.

It’s almost comical watching Jeno stiffen in your hold, making a show of gathering enough distance for him to look right into your eyes.

Then Jeno smiled something placid, yet the glimmer in his eyes told you otherwise. You felt so seen that you wanted to curl into yourself so he wouldn’t have to pick you apart with his steely gaze alone. In that moment, you were prey at the mercy of an apex predator just waiting to strike.

“Is that a challenge?” Jeno asked, even-tempered, irritatingly enough.

“And what if it is?” your fingers tangled themselves in the smooth dark blue strands and tugged gently. “Scared that you’ll lose?”

Jeno’s smile widened.

If there was one thing to take away from all of this, it was to never test the limits of a Taurus man’s patience.

Or else you’d end up in a position where your strength—or lack thereof—would be tested; or else you’d end up restless in between Jeno’s spread legs, one of his arms slung down the length of your torso as a seat belt and anchoring you down to his chest while three of his nimble fingers pistoned in and out of your sopping cunt. It was a fight with an obvious outcome of you losing by a landslide with his death grip around you, but you couldn’t help but squirm when he was so good at making you feel delirious just from his fingers making a mess of where you ached the most.

Fingers that were longer and thicker, reaching deeper than yours ever could. With Jeno, it took him no time at all to have you crying out from his digits nudging that sensitive spot within your silken walls, and the same fingers decidedly pulled out without any warning with an impossibly wet sound just for Jeno to switch his attention towards your clit, fingers flicking sideways in quick succession. This urged an immediate reaction, you letting out a shuddering cry as one of your hands shot out to lock tightly around his wrist.

Your head spun at Jeno’s gentle hushing as you twitched in his embrace. Tender words easily slipping past his full lips in conjunction with his almost rough treatment had your body wounding tighter and tighter as the divide between pleasure and pain gradually flattened to gossamer thin with each pass of Jeno’s fingers across your clit. 

He played you like a fiddle, like he knew exactly what to do in drawing out a pleasure filled song from within you until the barrier ripped, sobbing wetly into the air as you and your resolve shattered into pieces with Jeno’s constricting hold around your quivering form kept you from breaking completely.

When you came to, Jeno’s voice was the first thing you latched onto, bringing you back to full lucidity; gentle as he talked you through what was probably the most intense, toe-curling orgasm from being finger-banged on the couch, of all places.

Jeno breathed out a mixed noise of surprise and amazement. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

And it was when you felt the familiar warm and wet trickle from your pussy down to your ass did you finally let the humiliation set it: you’ve let Jeno finger you on the couch, soaking his shorts and the couch as evidence.

You wanted to die.

“Yeah, well, It’s not like I tell everybody I can,” you panted, hissing when Jeno’s hand curiously trailed down to assess the mess, middle and ring finger slipping between your vulva then dipping shallowly into you and rewarding himself with a whine. Uncomfortable as it was to move your neck at this angle, you wouldn’t miss the chance to glare at him. “like—‘hi! I’m this and that, and I can squirt!—do you know how deranged that sounds?”

“I dunno, I know I‘d be impressed. Intrigued. Maybe even ask for a demo—”

“Jeno.”

“Kidding! I’m kidding,” Jeno snickered as he retracted his fingers, only to stick them into his mouth with a pleased hum, like it was the tastiest thing he’s ever had in his life. “What?” He asked, muffled from suckling on his fingers still, when he caught you gawking at him, completely mortified by the shameless sweep of his tongue around his digits.

You wanted to cry. “You’re a fucking freak.”

“Oh princess, this is nothing,” Jeno finally freed is mouth of the visual torture, a broad grin stretching spit-slick lips when he, again, took in your visceral reaction towards being called princess. He’s so annoying. You verbalized the thought and the fucker just laughed. “Call me a freak again when I ask you to soak my face,” he said, voice sweet, wincing slightly when he held your cheeks, with damp fingers and all. Freak. “Or would you like it better if I beg instead? I’m flexible. I’ll do anything you want.”

Never mind, that was much much worse. Holy fuck. The visual in your head did nothing but spur you on even further no matter the aftermath of a thigh shaking release taking its effects now.

“Stop talking,” you groaned. “please, just shut up.”

“Okay.” Jeno giggled. Giggled, like he wasn’t an insane person delighting himself to your bodily fluids just a few seconds ago. Then to add insult to injury, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “Think you can go another round?” 

So he made you cum once—squirt, for that matter, but that’s, like, whatever when you were capable of doing that on your own. You had plenty of time figuring out what you liked best in this realm of preferences and for all you knew, Mark was simply fucking with you—just like the other girls probably were—as some sick elaborate joke, and Jeno was simply overcompensating for the sake of his ego with their help.

“Just… give me a few. I’m starting to go deaf.” Well, not really. It felt more like there was cotton stuffed into your ears, your own voice sounding muffled and faraway. Although you weren’t new to the feeling, it wasn’t common either and it was especially new that another person was able to render you into this sluggish version of yourself.

He sucked in a breath. “Was it that good that you’ve gone temporarily deaf?”

Other than that, then came the numbing of your scalp. You’ve read about this once, a product from genuine curiosity after a little moment of freaking the fuck out, thinking you were about to die from cumming too hard to the point of losing circulation up there in your brain. And—no you weren’t dying, though it would be an interesting way to go.

You followed up with this just as the blunt edges of his fingernails lightly scratched at your scalp. “I literally can’t feel that except a slight pressure—and don’t get too cocky. This happens to me when I get myself off too.”

Jeno didn’t get even a second of gloating before you started rambling about the possibilities of why this happens with a basic rundown of the nervous system (rapid increase in heart rate and blood pressure) and completely disregarding the stiff outline of Jeno’s pride pressing snugly into the cleft of your bare ass cheeks.

He felt just as hard as he was when you sucked faces in the kitchen. Warm. Big, that you had no idea if the shakes you were getting now was out of fear for Jeno’s cock potentially rearranging your guts to the point of no return, or out of anticipation from that possibly happening. Though what was more shocking was Jeno maintaining some sort of chivalrous streak, staying where he was and putting your pleasure first before his own when he could pretty much turn the tides and have his way with you.

But like a dog being told to stay for a promised treat, Jeno doesn’t do anything, besides soothing you with absentminded caresses here and there while he listened.

At least that’s how you thought this slip in judgment was going to end right until Jeno picked you up in one fell swoop, abruptly—and rudely—cutting you off from the build up towards a detailed spiel of a hypothesis to instead let out an undignified yelp of surprise. He hauled you up without any visible struggle and it was doing horrible horrible things to your psyche.

“Seriously, Jeno,” you exclaimed, grunting when he wrangled you onto your knees, your chest pressed down onto the coffee table as if you were nothing but a doll he gets to twist and bend for his own entertainment. “Were you even listening?”

“Uh huh—something about the temporary effects of an orgasm to the nervous system,” he trailed off at the same time his fingers grazed your skin while rucking up your pullover, just high enough that you shivered against the cool glass surface. “I’ll be honest with you, Human Biology wasn’t exactly interesting to me, but the little science session was cute.”

The glass was doing wonders in cooling down your cheek.

This was the second time he has called you cute. So casually too that you started to think that maybe Jeno had a thing for embarrassing you, see you squirm, whine, make a fool out of yourself—overall, make your life more difficult than it already was.

“Dick,” you quipped, all too weak to actually mean it and Jeno seemed to get the memo, offering a short laugh. “do I have to fit a certain criteria to do this in your bedroom?” you followed, mustering up some strength to glare at him over your shoulder, only to falter when you found Jeno was rather preoccupied with something else.

It’s no secret that Jeno was simply born with a resting face so sweet and unassuming that there was this perceived notion of him not having a mean bone inside that clean-cut body of his. That Jeno wasn’t capable of dishing out noteworthy comebacks aimed at the ego. 

Sure, he could be unaware at times (as per his loud sex problem), but you couldn’t deny the simple truth that Jeno could be nice—is nice. So nice. Sweet even, that the expression crossing his face was just as honeyed and becoming more so the longer he stayed kneeling there, raking his eyes over your half-naked form bent to compliance. It wasn’t the blatant leering that got to you though, but more of how Jeno looked doing it. Who knew the mole smack dab in the middle of your back could be adored this much?

There’s a faint smile tugging on his lips. Miniscule, barely there—still a smile, nonetheless, as he traced the length of your back with his eyes, his large hands essentially doing the same: mapping the entirety of your torso for his own indulgence until he got his fill; warm palms gluing to the soft dips of your waist, all the while his face twisted where it gave the impression he was seeing what was front of him for the very first time.

You looked away, face hotter than it was before.

Whatever that was seemed too private of a moment to witness. It felt intimate—the way his eyes drank in your body—too intimate for a ‘one and done’ thing that you seriously couldn’t wait to get fucked and put an end to this hands-on case study of Jeno’s whore-ish tendencies.

“So no bedroom, then,” you said, hoping it would snap Jeno out of it.

“Sorry, princess.” And, to be fair, Jeno did sound apologetic for a man that was about to get his dick wet for the umpteenth time. You gave him points for trying, then docked off some because princess. Really? “I don’t think I can make the trip to my bedroom. Need to fuck you now or else my dick will fall off.”

You closed your eyes, dropping your chin forward far enough that your forehead met the glass surface with a dull thunk.

So much for thinking he was sweet during a moment. It’s like the more he opened his mouth, the more he inched away from the polite friend-of-a-friend gym-bro who probably helped grandmas cross the street.

“Ugh—fuck you.”

“Mm, yeah.” You stopped counting the last time you had fallen into bed with someone else, and you were starting to think that it has probably been a while; if the brush of spandex against your skin from Jeno fumbling behind to drag his shorts just low enough for his cock to spring free has you completely losing it. Jesus, this was embarrassing. “You’re about to.”

You scoffed, “corny.”

Jeno didn’t deign the cattiness with an answer and instead let his growing impatience speak for itself, kneeing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer until your sharp intake of breath pierced through the once still air when the sticky head of his cock prodded at your hole.

“Any time now.”

Trying to sound unaffected was truly a Sisyphean task. You couldn’t help it, really. Being snarky came natural to you, though if Jeno could tell you were just talking your shit to cover up your impatience, he did nothing about it and went about with teasing you, dragging his length back and forth against your slit.

“I’m literally becoming dryer the longer you keep this up.”

That got a reaction out of him this time, letting out an incredulous laugh, “there’s no way of shutting you up, is there?”

“I don’t know, you can try hard—” whatever else that was supposed to follow immediately died at the tip of your tongue, gasping at the sudden intrusion.

“Oh! Well that’s one way.”

Another version of Jeno in your head just died of spontaneous combustion. You could literally hear him smile. Smiley bastard.

It was intense for sure. As intense as it could be after a stupidly long dry spell that you genuinely felt as though you were reborn a fucking virgin and made the mistake of picking the very guy with a third leg for a dick to pop your cherry. If the head of his cock breaching your pussy had you this frenzied, who knew what the actual thing could do to your actively deteriorating sanity? And—well, you were about to find out, weren’t you?

The reality of it all hit you like a freight train, the groan Jeno breathed out sounded so loud even over the mechanical drone of the air conditioner when he pushed deeper into you.

“Jen—oh my God—wait—” You reached behind to grab onto Jeno’s ass cheek at breakneck speed. A grave mistake, really, because in what you would hope could have stopped Jeno from basically splitting you into two, you unintentionally helped him plug you up. Your nails dug into his flesh as a result.

“Careful with the claws,” he hissed. “They actually hurt.”

“Yeah?” He yelped when you squeezed his ass tighter, his own hand holding onto yours to stop you from doing actual damage. “Try getting impaled by a dick, dickhead.”

Jeno went rigid. “You’ve had sex before, right?”

“Yes?” You looked at him like he was stupid over your shoulder and—all gods above. He already looked fucked out. Cheeks pink, skin shining with sweat (when did he take his shirt off?) and eyes darker from how blown out his pupils were—you know, maybe you weren’t too far off from the thought. “But unlike you, I don’t fuck the next thing that breathes my way.”

“Wow,” Jeno huffed. “Clearly I’m doing something wrong if you’re still running your mouth.”

You had a long history of letting your mouth run before your brain could even decipher if what you had to say would be ideal for the situation. To get out of it, though, was a completely different story and with how things are unfolding, yeah, maybe you bit off more than you could chew.

“No, no—shh, it’s okay. You're okay,” Jeno soothed just as you squirmed, trying to relax. “You're doing so good for me. Just breathe, yeah? Jus’ a little more—oh, fuck.” The guttural groan coincided with the squeak you let out once Jeno shoved himself balls deep into you with a faint slap of skin, clenching around him.

Out of all the men you’ve been with in the past, it took you the longest to adjust around Jeno’s girth. Not only because you simply did not have the time to fuck around, but he really was huge in the sense that he was somehow hitting places that you didn’t even know were there. He truly was the biggest you’ve taken in a while and it was a relief that you had the day off tomorrow and the day after; plenty of time to recover. The thought of having to explain getting railed over your coffee table to the point you were walking funny was mortifying enough as it is.

“This is so much better than hearing you bitch and moan, seriously. Sometimes I start thinking you just want me to hate you.” Jeno didn’t look like he was capable of hating anything if he tried, though with the way his hips drilled mercilessly into you, maybe a tiny part of him could. If pushed right. “And you complain so damn much about the noise when you’re no better. Can you hear how fuckin’ loud you are now?”

You didn’t even realize Jeno was still holding onto the hand that seemed to permanently glue itself onto his barely-there ass cheek until he took your joined hands—fingers laced and all—to migrate beside your head. Right in front of your face and, somehow, it felt like an insult.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Jeno Lee,” you moaned and squeezed his hand at a particularly hard thrust jostling you forward. “Fuck you and your useless big dick.”

Jeno snickered. You still called him big, so he’ll take that as a win. “My dick is one of those things and it’s not useless.”

Jeno didn’t really mind how loud you actually were. In fact, he liked it. A lot. Liked hearing how good he was making you feel with each drag of his cock within your warm and slick insides. Liked knowing that he was the reason why you were so lost in your own song of pleasure as you fucked back onto him with all you’ve got when he stopped all his movements to see what you would do and goodness, were you a sight for sore eyes. And Jeno was glad to witness all of this.

You were truly a fantasy come to life. Something he’d never would expect to touch, to mold and to feel in his own hands.

Watching you take what you wanted with no complaints was not an expected outcome—hell, having sex with you wasn’t what Jeno was hoping to get from tonight at all. Talking would have been just fine, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Of course not. Not when you were putting up a show, fueled by your own greed for pleasure, for him and him alone and he could tell all that pent-up stress was starting to seep out the more the back of your thighs met his.

Jeno was a patient man for sure. He was known for it at work. When it came to his diligent daily visits to the gym just two blocks away. When it came to living life in general; yet somehow, you were part of the minute collective that was able to test that until there was nothing left of it and as much as Jeno loved seeing you like this; desperate enough for cock that doing all the work was no problem, he quickly grew bored being a spectator.

There was also you threatening the safety of his skull if he didn’t get a move on to fuck you harder. Jeno only let out an amused snort at this, thinking it was cute and leaned forward so you were chest to back.

“I hoped for a second you’d be begging,” he mumbled into your nape. “you’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Fuck me, or I’ll make sure you’ll never get to fuck anyone else ever again.”

Well.

You did make a compelling argument, and just like how this all went, Jeno followed and delivered.

It was made very clear to you that his muscles weren’t just for show because unlike you, he possessed an insane amount of core strength that it barely dented his stamina when he lifted you up a couple of inches above the coffee table. Your joined hands came in clutch for balance while his free hand acted like a necklace loosely wrapped around your throat so Jeno could kiss you as his hips regained momentum.

Kissing gradually became less of a thing and more of just you both breathing into each other’s mouths, completely taken over by the sheer pleasure of it all. Normally, you’d avoid his eyes if you could, but you were so far gone that you didn’t mind staring into the endless pits of Jeno’s hooded stare. His thrusts slowed down, yet they were more deliberate than ever that it took all of your leftover energy to not say anything stupid like how this change in angle and pace had Jeno plunging in so deep that you could almost feel him in your throat.

“‘m close,” he rasped, hand on your neck tightening a smidge as his movements steadily increased in speed. “How about another one from you, huh? On my cock this time?”

You could only sound a shaky hum and that was enough of an answer for him.

Heated and damp skin met the glass surface once more and Jeno’s cock snugly fit inside of you again with little to no resistance. It was almost the same as how you started out. The only difference was your navel pressing firmly against the table by your still joined hands pushing down onto your back.

Time wasn’t wasted at all and that change alone fully intensified the sensation of Jeno’s girth drilling into you like he was trying so hard to carve a space that he could only fill, even more so when you wriggled and squared your hips to take him in better. It made so much of a difference that your eyes rolled back into your skull as mindless pleasured noises spilled past your lips, your grip around his fingers growing tighter that it hurt your own.

The second wave of your orgasm encroached at a dangerously fast pace from the oversensitivity earlier and the consistency of Jeno’s perfectly timed jackhammering thrusts hitting the tender spot within you, forcing out tinny ah ah ahs out of you as you clenched around him from how mind-numbingly amazing this was, being underneath Jeno’s weight.

It’s been too fucking long that the delirious part of your brain, completely compromised by the rush of dopamine and oxytocin from cumming for the second time entertained the idea of keeping Jeno buried in you long enough until your insides molded around each ridge and vein of Jeno’s cock for the perfect fit. You’ve never felt this full in your life. Even the frantic pistoning of Jeno’s hips aided by the wet gush of slick didn’t shatter the illusion. The feeling of cotton stuffed into your ears came back tenfold.

“Close,” Jeno rasped. “Where—where?”

“Pull out,” you said, all too winded to add that you were on the pill, but you didn’t want to take your chances. Apparently the tension was that bad that none of you had the forethought of using a condom. Your minds were so clouded that critical thinking was impossible, but what’s done was done.

Jeno pulled out with a slick sound, followed by a shaky moan that grew louder and louder with each stroke of his cock, leaving you to whine from the loss (wow, you were so out of it). Warm cum splattered onto the sweat-damp skin of your back and for once, you didn’t have the heart or energy to complain about the sticky mess

Click.

Your eyes shot open. “Did you just take a photo of me?”

“Yeah,” Jeno said. “You look good like this. Pretty. Wanted to have something to jerk off too.”

He could have just stopped at pretty. “You’re gross. You aren’t going to show that to anybody else, are you?” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t like sharing and I actually value my life.”

You could only groan in response, sagging more against the now moist surface of the glass as if you were trying to merge yourself with it, feeling the after effects of Jeno trying to fuck the life out of you.

“I think I’m going to die.”

Jeno responded in kind with a sweet laugh, letting go of your hand. It didn’t even register that you still had your fingers intertwined up until he let go, and tempted as you were to lift yourself up and see what kind of face he was making now that he left his mark on you, you were genuinely too exhausted to do that.

“That good, huh?” His hands returned to your hips, squeezing them gently. “I told you so.”

With the last bit of your strength, you kicked at his thigh.

“Okay, let’s get you up.” He swiped his discarded shirt up from the floor to wipe away the cum before lifting you up by the armpits so you’re on your knees, settling your weight onto your calves as he watched your pullover delicately fall into place and cover up most of your skin. Your own name on his tongue sounded so far away to you. “—hey. You still with me?”

There’s a hum as a response and that’s it. Not only did he end up fucking all the stress and tension out of you, there goes half of your life, too. Gravity took over and you fell right into his chest with your head cushioned by his bare shoulder, eyes glazed over.

“How does a bath sound?”

You nodded, letting your eyes slip closed as Jeno adjusted your slumped form to carry you.

Jeno almost jumped out of his skin when your phone rang.

“Hello?” Jeno said quietly after scrambling for it on your side of his bed, looking over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t woken you up. He didn’t think you had granted him the perk to simply barge into your room just yet, so he had you clothed in one of his sleep shirts and a pair of new boxer shorts as you dozed away.

“Jeno? Why do you have her phone? Did you kill her before she killed you?”

“No.” That made him worry. How often did you tell anyone who’d happily lend an ear that you’d murder him in cold blood? Whatever, hopefully after tonight, things will smoothen out. “She’s asleep right now. She won’t be heading back over there tonight.” Or ever, he thought.

“Oh?” Jaemin sounded excited for a second, then turned suspicious. “Why? Did she forgive you yet?”

Jeno let the question marinate for a moment, weighing the benefits of letting one of the nosiest people he knew in on his business. A loud snort followed by some mumbling startled him and Jeno craned his neck to find you now facing his side of the bed, still asleep with your mouth parted in a darling little ‘o’. There’s drool at the corner of your mouth. You’ve never looked cuter.

“Define… forgive.”

For once, Jaemin, surprisingly, was rather quick on the uptake “Oho? You two fucked it out, didn’t you?” When Jeno didn’t answer right away, Jaemin gasped. “Jeno, you dog!”

His cackling caused Jeno’s cheeks to flush an impossible red. “Don’t make it weird!”

“You made it weird the second you decide to sleep with her. Besides, we’re all adults here! I promise I won’t tell my third unofficial roommate“—Jeno wished he could reach through the phone right now and choke the life out of him—“that you told me. Tell me everything. Down to the nastiest detail—Hyuck! Oh my God, you’re home just in time. Guess what—“

“I’m coming by and getting the rest of her stuff in a bit.” The whining fell deaf onto Jeno’s ears. “Goodbye, Jaemin.”

He hung up, gently sliding your phone underneath the pillow you’re using. Actually, maybe you'd let him in your good graces if he went to fetch your charger.

Just when he thought peace and quiet had finally been attained, his own phone started buzzing from an onslaught of messages.

Hyuck: U GUYS FUCKED????? Hyuck: WITHOUT ME??? Hyuck: NO FAIR 😭😭😭😭

Jaemin: OR ME??? Jaemin: spare coochie plz 🥺🤲🏼

Hyuck: was there a tape at least 😔

Jaemin: 👀

Jeno: I hope she kills you both when I show her these.

Jeno set his phone to ‘Do Not Disturb’ and tossed it carelessly onto his nightstand.

This was not your room.

With each toss and turn, it still smelt like man, which wasn’t completely awful. It’s a rather pleasant scent; fresh, not too overwhelming on the citrus notes and something woodsy and floral binding everything together. A little too summery when it was currently in the middle of autumn, but you supposed you were in no position to judge when you’ve been using the same perfume since high school.

All in all, it was still nice. If not a little off-putting, not waking up entangled in your linen sheets which was starkly different from how your usual mornings went, yet the exhaustion was what kept you from making a huge fuss. At least Jeno's room didn't harbor the aesthetics of anything from the r/malelivingspace subreddit. Jeno's room was rather nice. Clean. Neat. Evident that a man lived here.

Apart from the abrupt change, there was also the bone-deep soreness serving as a heavy reminder of the aftermath of your decision to sleep with the very same person who took it from you.

And how ironic that he was also the reason why you slept so well last night too.

What a way to end your so-called case study with you as the punchline, really and—fine, maybe Jeno did have the room to boast his admittedly exceptional stroke game. Maybe Jeno knew how to make people cum and it was a fluke that he made you, too. Twice. Maybe Jeno earned his merit of being an expert in the field of sex then.

Your lips wobbled, frowning at Jeno’s ceiling.

This was literally the worst discovery of your life. Being a test subject yourself to see if Jeno’s reputation had preceded him didn’t make it any less horrifying. How could you return to normalcy after this?

You buried your face into one of Jeno’s many pillows and screamed.

Luckily, he hadn’t caught wind of your morning breakdown.

After freshening up in the bathroom, you quietly made your way towards the spacious kitchen, assuming it’s where Jeno was, albeit slowly as each step you took made the ache in between your thighs more pronounced. He had his back to you, bare of anything besides the tight boxer briefs and the frilly pink apron shielding his torso from the splattering oil cinched around his waist.

Jeno Lee painted the very picture of temptation in this current moment. Jacked all to hell, complementing his god-like proportions that showed off his slutty waist women alike would die to have and a striking face that could start wars. But out of everything, your gaze lingered on his barely-there ass wondering if your nails did leave any stinging marks that Jeno would feel for days.

“Oh, hey. You’re up—were you staring at my ass?”

From his behind, you immediately stuck your eyes onto something else less suspicious—like the geometric light fixture just above his head you once hoped would knock him out one day.

“No I wasn’t,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Can’t stare at anything that isn’t even there.”

“Hey!” Jeno whined. “I do have an ass!”

“And I have a dick,” you shot right back and made your way towards where the shitty coffee machine was. Just a few paces away from where Jeno stood. “See how easy it is to lie?”

He sighed. “How come you have an answer for everything?”

You cracked your first smile of the morning. Smug, if anything, but a smile nonetheless. “You just make it so easy.”

“Damn, so even the sex wasn’t enough,” Jeno muttered as he flipped a pancake with an effortless flick of the wrist. “How many rounds will it take for you to forgive me?”

“Zero.” If looks could kill, Jeno would have burst into flames by now. “Is sex all you think about?”

“I can think of other things…” he trailed off, giving you a quick glance with a sweet moue on his lips. “most of my thoughts are of you, so…” Jeno turned to you fully, his eyes gaining a hopeful shine.

That shocked a short laugh out of you in spite of yourself, shaking your head as you marched for the cupboard. “Nice try, big guy—and the sex?” You shot him a quick glance over your shoulder. “You can forget about it.”

“Okay.”

You looked at him again. Jeno was now frying eggs with his face devoid of everything but concentration.

“I still hate you,” you added, loudly.

The sunny side-up eggs slipped cleanly onto a large plate. “Mhm.”

“It was a one time thing.” Somehow his lack of a reaction was slowly getting to you. “It’s not happening again. Ever. I’m not having sex with you again. Ever.”

“Yeah, I got you the first time.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Perfect.” You harrumped, making a quick grab for your favorite mug before coming face-to-face with your stupid ass coffee machine.

This was not your stupid ass coffee machine.

What sat in place of the old piece of junk Granny had given you as a housewarming gift (after expressing her concern for your possible caffeine addiction) was a newer model you were pretty sure most, if not all, lifestyle influencers had displayed in their meticulously curated coffee corner. This was built mostly for convenience and to fit into the current trend of aesthetics, no wonder you couldn’t get it to work last night. Muscle memory had you pressing the wrong button.

Slowly, you pried your trembling eyes from the brand-spanking-new replacement to watch your roommate in his element, completely unaware of you currently going through the greatest shock of your life, and back.

You looked closer. There was a Post-It stuck onto the side.

I’m sorry (.◜ᯅ◝) — your asshole roommate.

Jeno bought you a new coffee machine.

“Hey Jen?” you called softly after a full minute of inner deliberation.

Jeno hummed his acknowledgement. He even fried the bacon just how you liked it. There’s no way you couldn’t forgive him now. You were mean, sure, but you weren’t evil. Why did he have to be so nice?

“Can you show me how the coffee machine works?” Then, just as quietly, you added: “please?”

He turned to look at you with the most brilliant smile as he killed the fire.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Mark (ER): so did you two talk yet Mark (ER): ..hellooooo Mark (ER): did you kill him 😟

You: no? tf

Mark (ER): so u guys r good now or

You: 👍🏼👍🏼

Mark (ER): omg TWO thumbs ups 😀 Mark (ER): are u bffs now ??? Mark (ER): i was here first btw

You: go bother ur gf omg??????

a/n: *taps mic* ...hello is this thing on? First things first, thank you so much for reading until the end! Originally, this was supposed to come out as a full one-shot, but life has been all sorts of crazy that I simply haven't had enough time to work on this fic as much as I would have liked to. And upon realized it has been so fucking long since I've posted the teaser, I decided to just split it into two parts to get something out, so I truly apologize for the very long wait! I do hope you enjoyed the read and please please let me know your thoughts on it <3

bonus of me going thru it in our chat lovingly named 'en-ct':

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna @rjreins @pinknjm @kshynj @dorkyji @notevenheretbh1 @everytimeicrymytearsdonteverdry @iscocohere @seulkikiii @wintahh @peachesmilk @rxnexxi @rum-gone-why @bluedbliss @tiramisubox @jinxxdreamz @minkyuncutie @txnml @yawnzshit @suhwife @carelessshootanonymous @sanctify-mp3 @haechansbbg @dreamiestay @ryuvrsie @derywinkle @byungbyungbaek @surrealxox

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (7)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: mentions of murder, fire, death, knives, blood, loss of parents, fever, betrayal; injuries; grief; self-loathing; crying; heavy revelations; tension

Author’s Note: Omg I'm over 50k into this story, I can’t believe it lol. I'm actually proud of myself. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The collections of brilliant greens and golden blossoms are spread out before you. The merge of all the wildflowers and herbs is sharp with pine and earth and mint and honey-like. Invigorating.

You kneel on a patch of mossy ground near the campfire. Bucky had lit it the second you got back. The fire is crackling.

Pine needles shimmer faintly with dew, their resinous tang sharp in your nose. Feverfew with its delicate flowers nestle beside clusters of clover blooms, their soft pink petals almost luminous in the flecked sunlight.

Contemplating with what you are going to begin, you run your fingers across goldenrod stems, their tiny mustard-colored buds crumbling slightly under your touch. The medicinal scent of yarrow stands proud among the rest.

The familiar smells and colors again bring echoes of your mother’s voice from the palace gardens. Patient and gentle as she taught you the properties of each plant.

The pale leaves of Lily’s Balm feel waxy on your fingers. They are good for soothing inflamed wounds and drawing out heat from infection. Feverfew against his overheated skin, lowering the fever, its green frilled edges so delicate and lace-like. Wild mint will ease his breathing and calm his body. Clover blooms for their gentle healing abilities. Yarrow and Goldenrod, both strong bases, to slow his bleeding. Wild thyme to cleanse, and pine, sticky with resin, pungent and purifying.

You exhale slowly, deliberately dragging air through your lungs. This is your time to be useful. To actually do something other than dwell in your sorrows and the losses you had to endure.

Bucky is slightly hovering in your line of vision. He is silent. But you don’t like him walking and shuffling around the way he does while the fever sweat hangs onto his brows and the freshly stained blood lingers on his shirt. It makes you queasy. You don’t know if he hid his injury due to oversight or simple stubbornness, but either way, he should not walk around like that.

“You should sit down,” you tell him while beginning to strip the yarrow leaves from their stems.

He doesn’t answer right away, so you glance up. He stands there stubbornly arms crossed over his chest, looking right back at you with a guarded expression. Though he definitely looks paler than he should be. And you avoid looking at the blood stain on purpose.

“M’ fine,” he grumbles, brushing you off. And before you get to an answer, he continues. “Your side,” he counters, voice gravelly. “Let me check it first.”

“I am not the one bleeding.”

His lips purse. “You callin’ me color blind, darlin’? I know what I'm seein’. That’s definitely red there.”

Well, maybe you did bleed through Bucky’s bandage, but that will have to wait.

“We can get to that later.”

Bucky takes a step closer, shadows flickering across his face from the low fire. “Princess-”

“No. Now sit,” you instruct, cutting him off and surprising even yourself with your tone.

Bucky is silent for a beat. You hear him shifting but stay focused on your herbs. “You tellin’ me what to do now, princess?” There is a sparkle of amusement in his voice and in the tug of the corner of his mouth.

Briefly glancing back at him, you meet his eyes with a steadiness you don’t quite feel. “No,” you tell him. “I am telling you I would not know what to do if you passed out.”

He scoffs, clearly offended by the suggestion. “Gonna take more than that to knock me out, darlin’.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “Humor me?”

He watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing, trying to decide whether to argue further. But then he relents with a low huff, lowering himself onto a flat rock by the fire basically in front of you. The movement is slow and you catch the wince he tries to hide. But he looks more relaxed sitting down.

Satisfied, you turn back to your work. The yarrow leaves are crunched between your fingers. Their pungent smell rises while you release the healing oils from the leaves and add them to a small tin cup filled with clean water from the stream.

The goldenrod comes next. The yellow of the flowers vivid against the darker-turning liquid.

Furrowing your brow slightly, you swirl your head around to look for something that might help you prepare and stir the herbs. And then you remember. Hurriedly, you get up and walk over to the discarded cloak, the one you had laid over Bucky in his sleep. There’s something safely tucked inside that you can use at the moment.

It’s a dagger. It’s not as lengthy as Bucky’s, but it is enough. You took it from the fight. Obviously, it is not the very same one you picked up to throw at Rumlow, because that one is likely still buried in his body, but you found it lying on the ground and picked it up.

You just did not find something useful to do with it. Until now.

You walk back to the herbs and Bucky at the fire.

Since Bucky’s gaze followed you, he catches sight of the blade immediately and looks up at you in surprise. “You kept that?”

Not looking back at him, you settle down and focus on slicing the leaves of Lily’s Balm into thin ribbons. “Didn’t know whether I would have to save your life again,” you quip.

You don’t know where that came from. Perhaps having a real purpose for once is making you regain something akin to confidence.

The sound that follows though, startles you. It’s a laugh. Bucky’s laugh. Sudden and loud and gruff, lifting somewhere far within his chest. It’s so unbridled, stemming from surprise. And it is utterly captivating. It makes your hands halt. Never have you heard him laugh before. Really laugh. Not like this. You are entranced. The sound floats for a while and you never want it to stop. It makes his voice to a soft glow of mirth.

You stare at him, half amazed, half in disbelief.

But he isn’t even looking at you. His head is tilted to the ground, shaking. He’s still chuckling to himself. Lips pulled into a wide grin. “Aren’t you full of surprises, darlin’.”

You watch him for a few seconds longer. The corners of your mouth lift and there is nothing you can do to stop them. “I am glad that this is entertaining for you.”

Turning back to the leaves, you try to calm the fast pace of your heart. The blade slices cleanly through the stems and leaves. But you can’t really focus on that. The shake of Bucky’s shoulders in a silent laugh catches your vision. His laughter keeps ringing in your mind. And you still want to hear it again.

Pine resin is sticky on your skin, the sap gleaming amber in the sunlight. You crush the prepared leaves into the dark liquor and mix it into a fine paste, adding the pine resin to create a thick, fragrant balm. The yarrow adds a cooling element, its sharp scent cutting through the heavier tones. It is perfect to stop the bleeding and prevent infection.

You take a quick glance over at Bucky. His head is bowed, forearms resting on his knees, but his eyes are fixed on you, sharp despite his fever. There is something quiet in the way he watches you. Astonishment. Curiosity.

“Where did you learn that?” he speaks up quietly, as if using a normal voice would disturb something intimate. There is something about the way he uses his voice and winds his tone, that almost makes you believe he is admiring what you are doing. As if this is a wonder.

You don’t look up at him, hoping he won’t notice the slight flinch in your fingers. Or the pang in your chest. “My mother taught me.” Your voice is even quieter than his has been.

He doesn’t say more. Perhaps he doesn’t even have to see the pang in your chest. He heard it in your voice.

You start the second tincture, the one for him to drink. Feverfew, wild thyme, clover blooms, and wild mint. Combined they will help ease his fever and cleanse his body.

Your hands almost move on their own, preparing the leaves. On instinct. It feels unexpected. But it makes you realize just how important those moments with your mother really were to you. And now they turn so monumental, it makes your chest close in on itself. You carry this from your old world. Something useful. Something that has survived of her even if everything else now lays in ruins.

Your breath trembles on the cusp of grief. But you get a hold of it.

Another glance over at Bucky makes something cold skate down your back, leaving a trail of tension.

Sweat accumulates again on his forehead despite the coolness of the forest. His lips are pressed together. The bloodstain on his right shoulder has again spread further than you hoped, darkening the brown leather of his armor. His fever is climbing. That’s not good.

You rush through the second tincture, mixing everything in water again and heating it over the fire at the same time. The liquor is thick and green with a sharp scent. Carefully, you pour it into another small tin cup, making sure it’s not too hot for him to drink.

Rising, you cross the short distance to him and crouch down again.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks immediately, eying it warily.

“It will help you relax and lower the fever,” you assure him gently. “Drink it.”

He leans forward slightly, skepticism written all over his face. He grimaces faintly at the smell and you have to hold back an amused smile. For a man like him, he surely acts like a diva.

“You sure you’re not tryin’a poison me, darlin’?” he drawls, humor winding through his words. However, if you’re not wrong, you can detect a hint of nervousness.

It makes your heart sink but you manage to play lightly, rolling your eyes. “You are the reason I am alive, so I am pretty sure poisoning you would be counterproductive.”

His brows inch upward as he looks at you with an unreadable, but intense expression. With a deep sigh, he then takes the cup from your hands and downs it in one swift motion. His face twists with disgust and he swipes the back of his hand against his lips, releasing a cough. “Tastes like dirt,” he rasps.

Biting back a smile, you get up to retrieve the balm for his wound. “I think you will live.”

You watch him set down the cup with a heavy sigh, the lines of his face softening.

“You don’t gotta do this, darlin’.”

“You have done it for me,” you retort, walking back over to him and kneeling down. This time with the tin cup holding the balm for his wound.

Bucky lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head at your stubbornness. He watches you with intrigued eyes. But there still is that nervousness surrounding him.

“Let me see,” you request, almost timidly, but willing strength into your voice.

He shifts where he sits on the rock, clearly uncomfortable with the request. His jaw is hard. Muscles are tense beneath the bloodied remains of his shirt.

“You are still bleeding,” you acknowledge more firmly. “Take it off.”

His brows rise at your sudden authority, but there is amusement in the motion. A smirk curves his lips despite himself. He doesn’t make a move to do what you say though.

“Gettin’ a little too bossy there, for my likin’, princess,” he teases, each word dripping with sly delight.

“Bucky.” Your tone turns soft again, but your resolve remains firm. His shoulder is worrying you. “Please.”

After a tense moment of quiet, he drags out a long and sharp breath through his nose and straightens up. With a grimace, he slowly shrugs off his brown armor. His shirt underneath is sticking to his torso, dark with sweat and dried but also fresh blood.

You swallow hard as he peels the fabric away from his shoulder, revealing a part of the wound he’s been keeping to himself.

The gash extends out from his shoulder and dips slightly towards his upper chest. It’s an arc of torn and angry flesh. A mass of swelling blood crusts around the edges under a layer of sweat, laying a dreary tapestry of red and brown on the skin below. It looks puckered and bumpy, suggesting that the blade that pierced him must have been of serrated or distorted nature upon impact.

You might have stared at it a second too long because Bucky lets out an uncomfortable cough.

“Lucky swing,” he says tersely, to make this a little less awkward. It does not quite work out, because now you are staring at his face oddly. To you, this does not look like someone got lucky, considering the fact that the man responsible for this is dead now and Bucky has to carry this around.

But what snaps your attention back to the wound is the heat you feel radiating off it. And it confirms what you already suspected - infection is setting in. The skin around the wound is inflamed, making it glisten ominously.

However, what makes your hands tremble lightly in discomfort is the fact that you won’t be able to access every part of that gash with his shirt on.

“You, uhm-” you start nervously, unsure of how he will react. “I am going to need you to take your shirt off as well.”

He stares at you.

“I will not be able to reach everything like this,” you explain, still timid.

He sighs, dropping his head a fraction, before slowly starting to peel his shirt off. He winces with the movements of his arms, fabric tugging against drying blood.

The full extent of his wound looks even uglier. You try your best to ignore the pale lines of violence scattered across his skin, especially his other shoulder - the scars you caught glimpses of at the river. Your gaze quickly moves to the flesh injury.

You don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. Well, not more than he already seems to be.

“Lean back for me,” you instruct, not wanting to waste more time, but keeping your voice kind.

There definitely is something surreal about telling Bucky what to do. You’ve been doing that basically your whole life - giving instructions and following the ones you’ve been told by people higher than you - but with Bucky, it feels different. The words taste odd in your mouth.

Bucky hesitates. His lips press into a thin line and he eyes the tin cup gloomily. He looks as though he might argue but then he thinks better of it. Reluctantly, he shifts his weight and braces himself against a tree behind him.

You dip your fingers into the balm, the cool, thick paste sticking to your skin. Bucky watches you, his whole body full of tension. A tremor passes through his throat as he forces a breath past the lump there.

He is not used to this. To being cared for in this way, to having someone’s full attention on his pain. That much is clear.

“This might sting,” you warn, voice quiet.

He grunts.

Steeling yourself, you let your hand hover over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

He grunts again, giving you a tight nod. You try to ignore the way he watches you. He seems to be bracing for more than the sting of the tincture.

Warming the balm between your fingers, you press it gently against the torn flesh. The scent of the wild herbs is strong in the air.

Bucky goes incredibly rigid. His breath hitches sharply. His eyes flash for a fraction of a second before settling into a void you can’t decode.

Even the forest around you seems quieter while you spread the self-made lotion on his shoulder. You are precise in your sweeps, careful not to meet any of his skin that doesn’t need your touch.

The more you work, the steadier he gets. He doesn’t make a sound, but the discomfort doesn’t entirely leave his body. Discomfort of pain or vulnerability, you can’t tell. Probably both. His hands are clenched into loose fists at his sides. But you do notice the few relieved sighs he lets slip unintentionally after a few swipes over his skin.

The wound resists at first, but you move your fingers with patience and caution, in even strokes. Quickly, the ointment begins to calm the irritated areas, drawing out some of the heat.

Bucky’s chest rises in a deep inhale against your fingers and you avoid the almost magnetic pull his piercing eyes have on you. He watches you so intently, all you can do is to keep your gaze on your task and resist whatever heat simmers in his stare.

The herbs already seem to ease the swelling a little bit and you are confident that they will stave off the infection. It makes you breathe easier, despite the intimacy of your current situation. You’re so close to him, asking so much of him, and with every careful sweep across his torn skin, you are getting more aware of it.

Then, without warning, one of his hands reaches up and wraps around your wrist gently. Making you still mid-motion.

“Stop,” he says quietly, his voice rough but not unkind.

You freeze startled, blinking at him. “What?”

“Keep some of that for yourself,” he insists, slowly pulling your hand away from his shoulder. “You need it.”

You take a moment to consider what he even means. Then, you shake your head. “I do not-”

“You don’t wanna argue with me, darlin’. Keep the rest for yourself,” he repeats, more sternly this time. His eyes darken into something bordering on concern.

You stare at him. And then you don’t. Eyes going to his now-covered wound, and the tin cup in your hand that still holds some of the paste you made.

Biting pressure makes your heart seem to seize.

You didn’t even consider using the balm for yourself. Your side is still stinging. The bandage is still red with blood. But you did not spare it a single thought. Did not think about caring for it in the way you did for Bucky’s wound.

Every leaf, every petal, every drop of resin has been meant for him. The idea of keeping any for your own wound has never so much as crossed your mind. You haven’t thought about it consciously, but now it is glaringly obvious. You would use every last drop of the balm for him without hesitation. There’s something wrong about that, something you dislike confessing even to yourself.

Bucky is still watching you with his brows drawn together. He nods toward the tin cup in your hand but keeps his eyes on you. “If you knew how to do that the whole time, then why don’t do it earlier? For yourself?”

You take a pause. His hand is still warm around your wrist, basically lying on his lap. Sharp eyes are gauging your reaction.

“I just- It did not come to my mind,” you admit, shaking your head dismissively. “But it is of little consequence now.”

His expression is hard. Not the kind of hard you knew his features to hold when you met him. It’s not meant for you directly. But it still is there because of you, because of the way you think. His jaw shifts, muscles moving in tense vibrations, grappling with words he isn’t sure he should say. “That’s bullshit,” he voices with a stiffness in his tone.

The blunt language of this man is an insult on its own. But the meaning of his words still hit you.

A shaky breath falls from your lips.

Never once have you thought of soothing the pain of your own conscience or making a balm for yourself.

Your side has ached, the wound pulsing and throbbing and hurting, but it faded to insignificance as soon as you saw the streaks of sweat trickling from him and the blood blooming across his shirt. Every instinct has driven you to help him.

And why? Because you somehow deserve the agony, don’t you? The thought is bitter in your chest. You don’t believe you deserve the care, the relief of healing herbs, the preservation of your own body.

You haven’t been of use to him, needing his protection at every waking moment. You killed a man. You failed to stay out of harm’s way like Bucky had told you to. That’s what got you injured in the first place. Stupid girl.

It is shameful to think of how invulnerable you have thought him to be. You relied on him so utterly, so selfishly, leaned on him without a care in the world, and laid all your troubles upon his already burdened shoulders. How many times did you assume he is untouchable, indestructible? And now here he is, bleeding, just like everybody else, and keeping it to himself. Because you haven’t been enough.

This is your fault. You relied on him too much, demanded too much, not even considering the toll.

Darkness engulfs those thoughts.

Your throat feels bound. Your heart works in stuttered pauses. Breathing doesn’t feel like relief. Swallowing doesn’t drag down the tide of self-loathing making its way up your spine.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against your pulse and it snaps your attention right back to him. You pull away from his hold and he releases your wrist immediately. Though his hand retreats to his side rather slowly.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’, don’t” he states rather calmly but somehow still so intensely. His voice is so low it seems to be scraping against something hard.

You meet his eyes then. They are insistent. Resolved. Sharp. They make you attempt another try to gulp down the knot in your throat but it doesn’t work.

“What?” you ask weakly.

His persistent eyes remain fixed on you. “I know that look. Stop it.”

A choking sensation cinches tight around your throat. It is strangling and stifling and makes you want to turn away. But he somehow manages to keep you on the spot.

“I-”

“Don’t,” repeats, softer this time. His hand twitches at his side and he takes a quick glance at the quiver in your own fingers. “This isn’t on you, got it?” His voice is rough with conviction, so fierce.

His gaze still is so relentlessly focused on you to get his point across.

It makes you want to vomit. His words push against the very flimsy barrier of defenses that you have constructed around your guilt. He sees right through it. His gaze makes it see-through. Ineffective. Worthless. Fruitless. Just like how you feel.

“It is not about that,” you try to defend yourself, but it comes out with a frail voice.

“Yeah, it is,” he maintains. “Whatever you’re punishin’ yourself for. Stop. It ain’t gonna get you nowhere.”

The tension in your shoulders doesn’t fully ebb, but something grows warmer around you.

Letting out a long, reluctant sigh, you let your shoulders slump with surrender. Bucky’s gaze softens, something like gratitude crossing his face.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he says quietly, his voice sincere and grounding. “For this.” There is no bravado, just a genuine gratefulness.

You shake your head, heat flooding your features. Your knees ache when you shift and the pain in your side kicks in again.

Bucky stands up slowly and his expression shifts, something resolute settling in his features. “Now,” he announces. “Let me help you with that.”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden change in his tone.

“You don’t-”

He cuts you off with a raised brow and a gesture that brings back his commanding nature. “Sit down,” he orders, pointing you to the stone he sat on moments before. “And better do it now. Because that’s not lookin’ too good.” He throws a concerned look at the tear in your dress that reveals the bloodied dressing he put on.

You open your mouth but his eyes are authoritative enough. You stand up, only to reluctantly sit down again on the very same rock he’s been sitting on. You calculate your movements, to not show him how painful it actually is.

“You always interrupt me. That is not very nice,” you exclaime, perhaps to make his attention on you waver, or just to throw him off with another topic and distract you or him from what he is going to do. Or maybe you should really be annoyed at the way he doesn’t let you finish speaking. But somehow him constantly interrupting you even feels endearing in some kind of way you can’t explain, considering the fact that he only ever does it when he knows he won’t like the words coming from your mouth. Maybe because you tend to talk yourself small.

Bucky’s lips quirk into that maddeningly amused smirk as he takes the tin cup out of your hands. “Not used to people interruptin’ you, princess?” The title carries no cruelty, only an enjoyable warmth that causes a tingling sensation on your skin.

You huff. “Well, I am getting used to it now,” you grumble.

And there it is again. The sound that has caught you off guard before. That laugh. Full-bodied, sonorous, and so utterly disarming in its power over you. It makes its way into your chest. His head is tipped slightly backward, exposing faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

You find yourself staring breathlessly. It’s a sound so human, so rare, so special, that you wish you could bottle it up and keep it safe.

You’re mesmerized by the perfect way his teeth are gleaming at his wide grin.

He catches your gaze and you quickly avert your own, neck turning hot.

Bucky shakes his head, an amused look on his face he obviously tries to stifle. “Come on. You made me listen. Now it’s your turn.”

You sigh, while Bucky moves closer to you in a crouched position. His eyes move to your side and his expression shifts to something far more serious.

“Let me see,” he orders, tone gentle, but somehow not meant to go against it.

The weariness in your body wins out. Or rather, his voice wins out. You pull apart the torn pieces of your dress to give him enough access to the makeshift bandage wrapped around your side. His brow furrows as he takes it in.

“You should’ve said somethin’,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself somehow.

“I was otherwise occupied.”

He snorts, clearly unimpressed with your lame excuse. “Bein’ the stubborn girl you are.”

“Do you feel a change yet? Is the fever going down?”you inquire after a beat.

“You tryin’a distract me, princess?” he hums with amusement. His lip tugs upward lightly.

“I might.” You guess, you can't directly tell him you're genuinely concerned about whether he's feeling any better yet. He certainly appears better, however. He ceased sweating, his eyes are focused and his actions are more precise than before. It causes you to inhale deeply. A sigh that is full of relief.

Bucky breathes out a small laugh. “Don’t know what it is that you did there exactly, but it worked,” he acknowledges with a lighter voice. There is something like disbelief in his tone. Delight. Appreciation. That tiny hint of admiration that seems grow an inch or two.

You watch him carefully remove the fabric around your wound, to look at the injury beneath it. His brows immediately cease together tightly. Tension draws along the lines of his face, knotting his jaw. His face is hard again.

He doesn’t waste time, dipping his fingers into the salve you prepared, the thick paste now covering his calloused fingertips. His other hand brushes against your soft skin as he rather unnecessarily helps you peel back the fabric of your dress on your side.

His other hand moves to your gash so slowly, reverent almost. The first touch to your wound makes you hiss through your teeth and he lets you adjust to the feeling before spreading it around gingerly.

Blue eyes glance up to your face, watching closely for any sign of discomfort as his fingers move over your side, slowing his pace, when he sees your brows twitch, and your breath hitch.

The light of the day shimmers faintly against the angry red margins of your wound getting deliberately covered by the dark paste.

The trail of the many intertwined scents goes for your nose, mingling with faint metallic tangs of blood.

The mixture tingles against your skin, cooling and soothing the angry redness.

It’s a distraction from the fact that he hasn’t bothered to put his shirt back on.

He’s still shirtless.

The forest air kisses bare flesh. The light brings a glimmer of sweat to stand out like bronze, bringing to life the scars and distortions of his muscles. You try and tear your gaze away, dizzy with heat as it spreads over your neck and cheeks, but curiosity is what pulls your eyes back.

He is so very close in front of you. You basically see everything. Each of those lines across his naked chest and shoulders has its own tale you are sure you will never be told. You look away again, but your gaze goes hopping back.

He’s so mesmerizing in every way. He was bleeding in front of you just a moment before, but he still looks so strong. So bulky, despite the fact that he can’t eat much out here and keep his muscles trained because he has to keep an eye on you.

“You’re starin’,” he remarks quietly, not looking up. Fixed on applying the ointment.

The next beat of your heart skips. “I was not-”

“You were,” he confirms, though his tone isn’t accusing. It’s rather light. Lighter than you would have imagined. Amusement underlines his statement.

You bite your cheek, seeking to say something. “I was just thinking,” you mumble, half-heartedly attempting a defense.

“That right?” Soft and subtle humor winds around his tone. He doesn’t glance up, still thoroughly smearing more of the balm over your skin, respecting your reactions. Concentration on his features.

Silence hangs in the air, only interrupted by the rustle of clumps of leaves and a softly wafting breeze.

You hesitate. Your heart gallops in your ears. You tentatively nod at the tin cup in his hand. “Maybe this might help with your scars?” you ask, voice so soft, they almost turn into a whisper. Your fingers are clammy. It’s a feeble question.

Bucky’s hand stills. For a moment, you think he might pull away, but he does not. His finger continues to sweep but a shadow of thought passes over his face. It is not hostile. Not repelling. Just contemplative. Maybe a little surprised.

Then, there is a faint shake of his head. “They don’t hurt anymore,” he says finally. There is a subtle thickness to his voice. But he seems to have control over it.

“We could try,” you say quietly, almost in a hopeful way. So full of good intention, it makes Bucky freeze again.

He huffs out a tiny and gasping laugh. It reaches your collarbone, grazing it faintly. His head drops as though it has become too heavy for him momentarily.

“It won’t work, darlin’.” He says it so softly. Carrying an almost apologetic tone, sympathy wringing his voice dry. His thumb lightly swipes over your skin right above where the wound sits as if it is you who needs the grounding.

Your eyes move to the forest floor. There is a stillness in the air between you, unsaid things hovering in the void. The only sound is the fire crackling undisturbed.

The balm is starting to cover your wound, fragrant with mint and resin, its healing properties also somehow meant for wounds deeper than skin.

The firelight dances across his scars, making them look almost alive. Like memories etched too deep to fade.

Timidly, your quiet voice breaks the silence. “How long?”

Bucky’s brows twitch further together, lips pressing into a thin line. He watches his fingers move over your skin. You see the glimmer of reluctance in his eyes, the internal debate waging behind them.

You immediately regret asking. “You do not have to answer that,” you rush to say. “I apologize for asking.”

He exhales slowly, a sigh heavy with something unnamable rising and falling with his chest. After a long, deliberate pause, his voice is almost indifferent. “Five years.”

The simple answer hits you harder than expected. Five years. A timeline begins forming in your mind, grim shadows stretching across those years - the kind of scars that can’t always be seen.

Your back tightens as a cold shiver winds through you.

Five years. You find it hard to process. Five years of carrying whatever - whoever - has carved those scars into his body.

“You were a soldier,” you express quietly, voice so small, almost fragile.

His eyes are detached when he nods once. It’s a simple gesture and yet so complex. “I was.” His voice is clipped, but not harsh. He lets out a sound resembling a cough.

You needed the confirmation. Needed to hear it from his own lips. It solidified something inside you.

You feel your breath grow shallow, thoughts going into a haze. You have heard the bitterness in his voice whenever your father was mentioned, words tinged with disdain. He didn’t hide his contempt. He even let it out on you. But it begins to take shape. Those scars. The way he no longer claims the title of soldier as if that privilege was taken from him along with something far more precious.

He still carries himself with that form of discipline, even when standing still. Always ready for the next hit to strike. But he tried to shrug off the remnants of that past as a soldier - a soldier in your father’s army, no less.

Something has happened. Something shattering. Something traumatic.

A shiver of unease crawls along your spine, prickling every nerve.

Your father always held you to impossible standards. His love was a conditional thing that you were forever grasping to earn. He has always been a man of authority, his word was a law, and his decisions were never questioned. But there were cracks in that facade, fractures that you have chosen to ignore a long time ago. And now, those cracks are gaping, yawning wide, and you are meant to fall into them.

Your gaze falls back to the marks on his shoulder. Throat feeling constricted.

“Did my father have a hand in that?” Your voice is wavering. Anxiety gnaws at your chest, each heartbeat heavy with dread.

Bucky’s gaze lifts to you. He looks you in the eyes so intensely. Whatever he’s thinking remains locked behind his gaze, hidden from reach. But he seems to be contemplating whether to shield you from the truth.

“Yes,” he admits then, the single word falling like a stone into the silence.

It struck you with breathtaking force. The earth seems to have slipped beneath your feet and the world tilts, causing a sudden strain in your chest with the awareness that came.

You want to deny it. You want to argue that your father wasn’t capable of such treachery. But deep down, you know better. The cracks have always been there. Carefully tucked behind his walls.

Your throat is a clenched fist, made of muscle, gripping hard against the swell of emotion threatening to rise. Every breath that tries making it up your throat is only getting squeezed out by that fist.

Tears are gathering behind your eyes, the sting of them uncomfortable.

Bucky watches you. He is gauging your reaction with a poignant gentleness - not cruel, not gloating. Just honest. His expression softens, guilt shadowing his features as he takes in your reaction. He clearly does not revel in your heartbreak. It’s clear he regrets having to say it.

You fidget with your fingers. It takes Bucky finishing attending to your wound - smearing the last bit of the balm onto it and dressing it again - until you get a hold of your voice again.

“What happened?” Your voice cracks. Part of you wants to withdraw the question, fearing what he might answer. Or if he even will.

He sighs again. A hand moves to slide over his face as he sits back down, keeping the tin cup in his hand. His forearms lean on his knees, head tilted to the ground. He stays like that for a little while.

He only lifts his head for a second to see the shake in your hands.

“We were in battle. Rumlow and his men went behind our backs. Slaughtered every standin’ soldier. Got me real good, but I wasn’t quite dead. Learned to stay real quiet. Lyin’ on the ground, and all.” He huffs out a humorless laugh. He can’t meet your eyes.

You don’t know if you’re still breathing. It feels like you aren’t.

Your hands clench instinctively, grasping for something that might steady you, but the air only offers shifting shadows.

“And my father-” you choke on a swallow. “He-”

Bucky nods once, sharp and terse. His jaw locks, bracing for words he’d rather not say. “He covered it up.”

An intense pain builds in your heart, burning through the last traces of your faith in the man who has raised you.

The muscles in your face are trembling and there is that stubborn pulse inside your chest where that sob you won’t release tries to carve its way free.

Your father had a hand in Bucky’s pain.

Not just the scars on Bucky’s body, but the ones that run far deeper, the ones so deeply embedded into his very being. A soldier, abandoned by the kingdom he served, betrayed by the very man who should have protected him. Betrayed by the very man whose daughter he’s now been forced to protect. It is such a cruel irony, you can’t breath.

You feel like the air is trying to choke you. Gravity itself seems to conspire against you, pulling you down into the earth’s depths where the air is thin and hope does not exist. It slips between your lungs before it can soothe you.

A picture forms you haven’t dared to assemble until now.

And it makes tears well in your eyes. Pain stabbing and stabbing and stabbing your heart to death. You blink furiously, unwilling to let them fall. You can’t look at him. Not even closely.

Bucky told you about his mother and sister. He told you that your mother sent them away for their own safety. But he didn’t tell you why they were in danger in the first place.

Now you understand.

Your heart races, seeming to try and outrun the collapse of your world. It hammers against your ribs like fists on a locked door. The more it hammers, the more chaotic it gets, beating to the tempo of misery.

“No,” you whisper, lips wobbling. Tears cling to your lashes. Your chest heaves with the effort to breathe through the pain.

Bucky’s brows are deeply furrowed. His eyes never left you, teeth grinding together. His features are full of a struggle he tries to break out of.

Bucky Barnes was a soldier, abandoned by the kingdom he served, betrayed by the very man who should have protected him. And worse, threatened into silence by the safety of his family.

“No,” you repeat, the word a single quiver. “Your mother, and- and your sister-”

Bucky’s head drops. His hand moves over his hair. His breath leaves him with a harsh, strained sound.

Your father has threatened them, using their lives as leverage to keep Bucky silent about whatever horrors he had endured. Because exposing the truth would have cost Bucky everything he held dear.

Bucky’s eyes are the confirmation of what you are already puzzling together.

And you can’t look at him any longer. A choking sound leaves you. Your gaze moves to the flames of the fire lazily flickering upwards into the sky. The heat sears in your eyes but you don’t look away.

If you weren’t sitting already, you’d be lying on the ground by now. Your muscles are unsure whether to hold firm or buckle under the pressure. A tremor starts in your knees, making its way upward like a warning your body already understands.

How could the man you once idolized be capable of such cruelty? And how has Bucky borne it all, carrying all of this silently, without breaking?

Shame prickles under your ribs, seeping through every breath. It’s like a slow erosion happening inside you. A sense that you are both too much and never enough. You burn, consumed by something that leaves no smoke but scars all the same. Each breath fans the flames. No matter how full or brittle.

Bucky’s eyes burn you down and you can’t help but meet them again.

His face is softened in a way you’ve never seen before - not even in those rare moments when his walls seemed to crumble just enough for something warmer. There are shadows in those blues but they lock onto yours with a gentleness that has your muscles trembling.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye and you swipe at it hurriedly. You try desperately to pull your thoughts together, but there is nothing left to be done. The dam has already burst. A sob leaves you.

Another tear follows, streaking down your cheek, hot and bitter, filled with all the hurt that has just been released between you.

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, a gritted note in his voice full of kindness. “No.”

A large, calloused hand cups your face, his thumb swiping the damp trail across your cheekbone.

The unexpected tenderness makes your breath quake, and more shame creeps onto your skin for having allowed yourself to shatter in the open.

“C’mon don’t do that,” he murmurs under his breath. He sounds pained by the sight of you. The sight of your tears. Again. Like something in him is crying out for an answer to your broken heart.

He leans closer, shifting on the dirty ground, to brush his other hand gently against the side of your jaw, framing your face between rough palms. His palms feel warm in contrast to the hot current running through your body, but he holds on steadily.

Bucky tilts your chin enough for you to meet his gaze, blue irises that grapple with guilt, but also something more subdued. Something soft and real you aren’t sure you even earned from him.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please,” he pleads near a whisper and it rips something off inside you.

The pain in your heart only seems to get stronger. You want to claim him wrong, that if anyone should rightfully feel grief or tears for the pain they carry, it is him. But the words refuse to leave your throat. All that comes is a strangled sound, a whimper, a sob, followed by a few more sweltering tears.

His thumbs continue to diligently brush your cheeks once more, painstakingly slow as if erasing the evidence of your hurt could undo it altogether.

“I mean it, darlin’,” he implores quietly. His voice is still rough. “Don’t.”

It does not feel easy though. You just found out how much has been robbed from him, how your father has contributed to it all, the man who has loomed over your life like a shadow not easily warded off with a single light. The personification of cold judgment.

And still, Bucky is softhearted and steady-eyed against your breaking moment, offering kindness and comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper thickly. “I am so sorry.” Your voice is fractured. It feels inadequate. Hollow. Not enough.

Bucky’s thumbs rest against your temples as if trying to reground you.

He bites down hard on a slightly trembling lip, the muscle in his cheek standing out sharply. For a moment, his eyes seem to look for a distraction somewhere far away, somewhere only he can see.

When they return to you, there is a pool of his own apology shimmering within them, deep enough to drown in.

He releases a gruff breath. “Not on you. This is not your fault, Y/n.” His voice is firm but also breaking with a sorrow he can’t fully express. “Wasn’t exactly easy on you,” he says lowly, gravelly. He clears his throat. “I was wrong. About you.”

You shake your head, still wedged between his hands. Your lips are wobbling, your voice in cracks. “You had every right.”

“No.” His voice is resolute. Tension pulls at his jaw. His brows almost meet each other. He shakes his head, letting his hands slide into your hair. “I didn’t.”

You sniffle. A harsh, wavering breath falls from your lips. A sob crawls up your spine. “I do not blame you for hating me.”

Bucky’s hands against your face go still. They stiffen. He even seems to flinch ever so faintly and it makes you look at him briefly. He bites back a dry swallow as if something wedged there might never leave. Something urgent pulls at his jaw, making it tick.

“I don’t hate you,” he leans his head in, looking you directly in the eyes. “Don’t hate you, princess. Alright? Don’t think that. God, please don’t think that.”

Your hands are still shaking in your lap and Bucky’s own hands fall from your face for an instant so he can trail the pads of his fingers along your wrist.

“I’m the one bein’ sorry, sweetheart.” His voice falters, a huskiness catching in his tone.

Your chest is swollen from the hard work of breathing against its pressure, while new tears still threaten to slip out of the corners of your eyes. But Bucky stays close. Still kneeling right in front of you.

“Look at me, please.”

You do, although your tears blur your vision.

“I’ll say it again,” he murmurs, swallowing dryly. “Please don’t cry, darlin’. Don’t cry.”

His eyes hold the pain he is too broken to voice.

“Yes, you will rise from the ashes, but the burning comes first. For this part, darling, you must be brave.”

- Kalen Dion

Part eight

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd

[cowboylikeyouu]

🦾 WINTERHAWK RECS 🏹

@bl0ssomized asked for some winterhawk fic recs & i took that as my sign to finally sit down, go through my 500+ bookmarks and provide y'all with my fav fics <3 if you end up reading/enjoying any of these, PLEASE make sure to leave a comment on ao3, the authors deserve all the nice words in the world!!

about this list:

most of these fics are pretty popular in the fandom, so this list is more directed at new fans just joining the winterhawk paradise!! (there's a lot on here tho, so maybe you find one you haven't read yet)

bee asked for little to no smut, so i'm not gonna rec any pwp works here (with a few exceptions). if you want smut recs, hmu tho, i got y'all

there's obviously still smut in many of these fics, but i tried to tell you if it's important/skippable or not. if you don't mind smut i obviously recommend reading it bc GOD these authors just know their shit, but i think nobody should miss out on the amazing long fics just bc they don't like smut :)

i put a "notes" section for every fic where i just yap about it and/or my feelings towards it for a bit bc i literally can't shut up about these two guys.

alright, i think that's all, let's go!! pls tell me if i messed up the links somwhere :)

50k+ words 

Lucky In Love by dr_girlfriend 

words: ~60k 

important tags: no powers AU, oh my god they were roommates!, friends to lovers, mutual pining 

notes: every time i give winterhawk recs to a new fan i start with lucky in love, bc even tho it’s an AU, it has soo many of the typical winterhawk tropes i love so much. PLUS: roomates. and lucky. and every chapter is titled “aw, [something], no” and i find that way too funny to not mention. idk it’s just one of that fics that gives me the warmest & fuzziest of warm fuzzy feelings and i think everyone should read it. 

smut: even tho it has the wonderful, wonderful tag “not gonna tag every sex act just trust me there’s plenty”, there’s actually not that many. in my opinion, the perfect amount for a 60k, 21 chapters winterhawk fic. it’s quite a slow-burn, so they’re only in the later chapters anyway, and the build up to it is soOoo good. this is one of the fics where i know exactly where to find the smut scenes so feel free to hmu. 

Like Real People Do by Kangofu_CB

words: ~67k 

important tags: “i actually just wanted to watch these two idiots fall in love in a secluded cabin ok”; civil war fix it 

notes: no one, NO ONE  gets me like this fic, it checks like every single one of my boxes. perfection. not lying when i say it’s my favorite fic of all time. it doesn’t have a special premise or anything, but that’s the good thing about it. it’s just so… cozy. comfy. feels like home. i can’t even remember if like real people do is my favorite hozier song because of this fic or if it’s my fav fic bc like real people do is my fav hozier song, but i know that i never cried as hard as i did when i heard lrpd live and could only think about this fic. nothing makes me feel as good as re-reading this story, i want to eat it.

smut: yes, but only like 2,5 scenes. hmu and i tell you the exact fucking paragraph number or smth, this fic is literally engraved in my soul. thank you CB. some day i’ll leave a 2k words comment on every single chapter. 

The Other Man out of Time by sara_holmes 

words: ~97k 

important tags: time travel, falling in love, clint barton centric 

notes: okay so this is kinda the best winterhawk fic in existence?? not my absolute favorite bc it makes me cry too much, but definitely top 3. no other winterhawk fic made me sob this hard, no other winterhawk fic makes me wanna curl up on the floor and cry for an hour every time i think about it. that being said: IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING!!! and a lot of stuff in between is SO sweet as well. premise is basically: clint travels back in time and fights in wwii alongside bucky and they fall in love. and then bucky!canon happens. you get it? you get it. it’s- UGH it’s so good. jesus. i’m crying. 

smut: a few short sexy scenes i think, but no SMUT smut, and it’s definitely definitely DEFINITELY not the focus of the story. can’t emphasise enough how much everyone should read this 

Hipsters get Remembered, Legend’s Never Die by sara_holmes

words: ~90k 

important tags: millennial bucky barnes, awesome clint barton, recovery 

notes: millennial bucky is one of the most entertaining things fandom came up with, and this fic is the epitome of that trope. love love LOVE. plus, clint’s really fucking awesome in this. 

smut: yes, but only like two or three times in 11 chapters, easily skippable

Puzzle Pieces (series) by sara_holmes 

words: ~446k 

important tags: steve/tony, kid fic, emotional hurt

notes: if you don’t like stony this one isn’t for you, just skip to next one :) if you like stony: GOD pls read puzzle pieces!! the first 200k words fic is stony focused and has only pre-slash winterhawk, but even tho they don’t get together in this one yet it’s literally one of my favorite clint/bucky portrayals of all time, no one gets them like sara, it’s perfect. the stony/kid fic storyline is SO amazing as well, so if that’s your cup of tea, check. it. out. after that they’re a few longer winterhawk instalments, and while some of them are really angsty and painful, there’s always a happy ending. god i need to re-read this entire thing. it makes me wanna cry and throw up in all the good ways. 

smut: some, but you can definitely skip it.

I’ll keep you safe here with me by sara_holmes 

words: ~110k 

important tags: kidnapping, PTSD, mind control aftermath & recovery 

notes: ngl i haven’t read this one in a long time, but everything by sara is perfect and this one’s one of the most kudo’d winterhawk fics, so it’s basically a must read. everyone needs to read a good clint & the winter soldier fic at least once

smut: it’s rated mature, so no really explicit smut. can’t remember if they don’t get a bit horny tho.

A Heart Worth Loving by Kangofu_CB 

words: ~82k 

important tages: soulmate AU, no powers AU, modern bucky barnes, forced cohabitation 

notes: GOOD FUCKING SOUP. soulmate au AND they were roommates????? beat that. it takes them ages to figure out they’re soulmates, which makes this equally amazing and frustrating, but it’s all so so worth it 

smut: yes, at the end of it. you CAN skip it, although i recommend skimming through it and read the dialogue parts and stuff. 

if you were a mythical thing by Kangofu_CB

words: ~75k 

important tags: teachers au, kid fic, werewolves 

notes: quick story time for this one bc i remember it so so well lmao: winterhawk olympic bang 2022, most authors had started to post their fics except for CB and i KNEW she had written one, and i was literally checking my emails every hour for days. and then she finally posted it and i already started screaming when i saw the taylor lyrics as a title, and then i read those three tags and literally had to sit on my floor for 20 minutes to calm down bc i was so excited. i remember posting like 20 stories on my private insta that were just me keysmashing lmaoo. idk but teachers + kid fic + werewolves is just such a BONKERS combination, and i can promise you’re in for a treat, it’s so so fun. 15/10. 

smut: yes, but it takes some time to get there and it’s skippable

Adventures in dogsitting by Call_Me_Kayyyyy 

words: ~53k

important tags: friends to lovers, dogsitting, pining 

notes: another olympic bang fic, thank you. cute, fun, lots of lucky content :) good soup 

smut: NO SMUT

Under My skin (series) by finely honed 

words: ~360k

important tags: Steve/Tony (the “main” instalment is stony focused), PTSD, Life after the army, AU - Tattoo Parlour 

notes: the “first” instalment is a stony fic (one of my all time favs honestly) but with a lot of amazing side-winterhawk, and there’s a winterhawk spin-off, that’s a prequel to the stony arc, so you can just read that first if you want. it was one of the first english winterhawk fics i’ve ever read and it always makes me wanna cry when i think about it (in a good way).

smut: they’re quite horny in both big instalments, but i would say the smut is skippable. it’s not un-important for both the winterhawk and the stony dynamic tho, so i wouldn’t recommend doing that

This is Not a Date, it’s a Kidnapping by sara_holmes 

words: ~50k 

important tags: Fake Kidnapping, also real kidnapping, Bucky Barnes recovering, fake relationship 

notes: all sara_holmes is good sara_holmes, but this one’s one of my favs, it’s just so fun. GOD i miss winterhawk olympic bang 2021, this was such a blast to read when it first came out!! 

smut: NO SMUT

Freedom’s Reach by dr_girlfriend 

words: ~68k 

important tags: arranged marriage, western/historical AU, slow burn 

notes: aaaand another  winterhawk olympic bang 2021 fic! pretty sure this one was my fav during the bang, like i remember hitting up a friend of mine and screaming at each other for like an hour every time a new chapter dropped, we were SO invested. very good soup. 

smut: yes, but it’s a sloooow build, so it’s only in the later chapters. pretty sure it’s easily skippable 

ghost in the machine by squadrickchestopher

words: ~75k 

important tags: fake character death, heavy angst, ghosts, loneliness 

notes: UGHHHH clint “dies”, becomes a ghost and only bucky can see him. touch starved clint final boss basically. amazing shit. painful shit. (happy ending tho) 

smut: it’s rated explicit and it’s by squaddy, so i’m like 99% sure there’s smut, i actually can’t remember tho lmao 

Barton’s Halfway House for Ex-Brainwashed Assassins (series) by Kangofu_CB 

words: ~90k 

important tags: the slowest burn, the mcu reimagined completely, accidental baby acquisition, found family, kid fic

notes: this one’s an ongoing series, and it’s such an amazing one, you can feel all the love that’s been put into this. you have to go through like 60k of slow burn before winterhawk actually happens, but it’s soooo worth it. plus: kid fic. kid fic’s always good. 

smut: yes, but only in the 3rd part and the short pwp oneshot. easily skippable

something magic, something tragic by squadrickchestopher 

words: ~55k

important tags: supernatural elements, vampire bucky, enemies to lovers 

notes: VAMPIRES!!! that should be enough to convince you to read this fic!! and it’s by squaddy, it literally can’t be bad if it’s by squaddy.

smut: ughhh not entirely sure, pretty sure the mature rating is mostly for violence, but, again, it’s squaddy, so it’s very possible there’s some sexy stuff hiding in there.

Sweet Home Was Home by there_must_be_a_lock 

words: ~110k 

important tags: “i sorta made my own franken-canon”, christmas fluff, soft feelings

notes: i found this one on accident once when i wasn’t really expecting to find another PERFECT long ass winterhawk fic i haven’t read yet, and then i binge-read it in one night, and it’s honestly one of the best i’ve ever read, it’s so so soft and… healing. for both bucky and clint and myself. it’s really not as popular as it should be imo, definitely worthy of a place on the first page of the ship tag!! highly HIGHLY recommend checking it out!! 

smut: yes, but skippable 

10k - 50k words 

Starving for the Light by thepartyresponsible 

words: ~45k 

important tags: magic AU, soul bond 

notes: jesus christ i wanna eat this fic so bad. definitely my favorite 2021 winterhawk olympic bang fic, it’s just THAT good. need to re-read it entirely to make sure, but i think it’s in my top 10 if not top 5 fav winterhawk fics of all time. clint’s just so… beautiful in this, idk how else to describe it. and idk, it has a such a unique premise and setting, i love everything about it. 

smut: yes, but skippable. 

Historic Features by flawedamythyst

words: ~19k

important tags: ghosts AU, homophobic violence 

notes: oooohhh my god, don’t make me think about this fic i’m gonna cry. it’s actually pretty fun and cute and fucking awesome, but clint & bucky’s backstory in this?? i’m ugly crying, leave me alone. premise is basically: they’re ghosts and haunting the apartment they died in years ago, scaring everyone who tries to live there out of it. then steve and tony wanna move in. it’s fucking great. 

smut: NO SMUT 

Call It What You Want To by Kangofu_CB 

words: ~48k 

important tags: modern bucky barnes, sugar daddy

notes: clint becomes bucky’s sugar daddy on accident without realising and it’s the funniest fucking shit i’ve ever seen, god i love him so much. plus, again,,, millennial bucky barnes. gimme all the millennial bucky barnes.

smut: 3 or 4 scenes i think, starting as early as chapter… 2??? i think??? pretty skippable tho, as long as you read like the foreplay and everything.

A Thistle Cannot Grow by ccbytheseashore

words: ~12k 

important tags: kid fic, developing relationship 

notes: AHHHSDJGHSKJDHG. enough right?? i’m always a sucker for some good dad!clint & soft!bucky content. this one’s so so sweet it’s one of my main comfort fics, can’t recommend it enough if you love kid fics! 

smut: yes, but it’s literally only like 500 words of frotting, you know when it’s coming and you know when it’s over :) (it’s amazing tho) 

Attachments by Lissadiane 

words: ~22k 

important tags: high school au, mother hen bucky barnes, clint barton needs a hug 

notes: i KNOW many people don’t like high school AUs and i don’t fucking care. teenage winterhawk has so much potential, i love them to death. which is exactly why you should read this ;) 

smut: NO SMUT

Outnumbered by sara_holmes 

words: ~18k 

important tags: kid fic, triplets, no powers AU, bucky comes home to new york 

notes: another single dad clint fic, but give him 3 boys this time!! —> chaos. amazing chaos. + amazing bucky. good soup. 

smut: NO SMUT 

Once Lost (now found) by Teeelsie 

words: 40k 

important tags: hurt clint barton, on the run, self sacrifice 

notes: hurt clint barton final boss. this was written for whumptober, so you can imagine how bad it gets. SO worth it tho, even if you don’t really love that kind of stuff! 

smut: NO SMUT (pretty sure clint’s too hurt to have any kind of sexual thoughts <3 stupid stupid stubborn man. i love him so much)

The Best Worst Thing (that hasn’t happened to you yet) by sara_holmes

words: ~48k 

important tags: enemies to friends to lovers, rescue missions 

notes: if you’re into comic winterhawk and read their tales of suspense run, you should definitely read this fic. if you haven’t read tales of suspense, go do that now and then come back to the fic, bc it’s basically a rewrite that gives us the bucky/clint & nat dynamic we fucking deserve

smut: don’t think so?

skylines and tan lines by flawedamythyst

words: ~33k 

important tags: no powers AU, coronovirus lockdown, long distance flirting 

notes: this was literally my fav fic during lockdown, i’m not lying when i say i read this at least 20 times in 2020/21 lmaoo. it’s just such a fun concept; bucky’s living with peggy/steve, and their dynamic is so enjoyable. 

smut: there’s quite a bit of sexting & phone sex, plus a smut scene at the end. doesn’t take up the entire fic tho, and the rest is worth it as well. 

Behind Bars by sara_holmes and Behind Bares (On The Other Side Remix) by flawedamythyst 

words: ~32k (sara), ~25k (amy)

important tags: prison AU 

notes: sara’s fic is the original, amy remixed it and wrote if from clint’s pov (with quite some changes). i love both fics, but i definitely read the remix more often and prefer it, but i highly recommend reading both, they’re amazing!! clint & bucky are cell mates!!! and it’s angsty!! a little bit!! 

smut: can’t remember what it’s like in sara’s version, but it’s only rated mature soo... there’s definitely one or two smut scenes in amy’s fic, but easilyyy skippable, only like a few handjobs or smth i think.

What do you mean we left Clint on Mars? by sara_holmes 

words: ~25k 

important tags: outer space, falling in love, clint feels 

notes: a classic. falling in love long-distance is soo fun, and i love it when author’s touch-starve clint, so there’s that <3

smut: NO SMUT

A Christmas Miracle: Getting Lucky by Lissadiane

words: ~11k 

important tags: christams, hallmark fic 

notes: LUCKY!!!! i read this every single christmas. you should too. you’re welcome. 

smut: NO SMUT 

Dear Super-Secret Diary by flawedamythyst 

words: ~16k 

important tags: christmas fluff 

notes: clint is bored and gets a diary (and the guy). a christmas must-read, it’s fun and cute and fluffy!!! one of the few times i will accept first person narration bc, well, it’s a goddamn diary 

smut: NO SMUT 

winterhawk punks in love (series) by 1000_directions 

words: ~19k words 

important tags: punk au, amputee bucky, deaf clint, ptsd, emotional hurt/comfort, recovery 

notes: punk!winterhawk is so important to me I NEED MORE OF IT!!! this one’s such a perfect mix of happiness and angst and comfort UGH it just hits that spot. 

smut: yes, but the fic’s still amazing if u skip it 

Apple Of My Eye by flawedamythyst

words: ~40k 

important tags: clint barton’s farm, found family, domestic 

notes: FARM FIC FARM FIC FARM FIC!!! bucky, clint and wanda basically start an apple business on his farm, and it’s just soo comfy and awesome.

smut: NO SMUT

Alone in the Bitterness by Lissadiane

words: ~16k

important tags: no pwers au, nurse bucky, disaster clint 

notes: nurse bucky nurse bucky nurse bucky nurse bucky!!! do i have to say more?? 

smut: NO SMUT

Team Spirit by Noxnthea 

words: 17k 

important tags: case fic, enemies to lovers lite 

notes: noxnthea is such an underrated author it’s a literal crime. i normally don’t love case fics that much, but this is a ghost hunters case fic AND their banter is so fun that it really doesn’t matter for me this time 

smut: NO SMUT

Reach Out by Kangofu_CB

words: ~11k 

important tags: 5+1, a lot of sex tags, porn with feelings, feelings realisation 

notes: CB’s smut always hits different, and idk, the +1 of this is just sooo funny and adorable, i love it to death. read this more times than i’ll admit. 

smut: basically pwp, big no no if you don’t like smut. 

Storms Within (Bridges Rebuilt) by Kangofu_CB 

words: ~11k 

important tags: star wars setting, force sensitive bucky & clint, crack treated seriously 

notes: guys you can’t imagine my excitement when the notif for this fic popped up in my emails. luke skywalker is one of my top 10 all time fav fictional characters AND HERE HE IS INTERACTING W MY FAV BOYS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!! it’s so so good, if you’re into star wars you’re gonna love it!! (even if not, it’s by CB, impossible to not enjoy)

smut: NO SMUT

Draw, Breathe, Fire by FestiveFerret

words: ~15k 

important tags: falling in love, flirting, banter 

notes: haven’t read this in a long time, but i’m pretty sure it was like a perfect little bucky-recovering-and-falling-in-love-with-clint-while-living-in-the-tower-fic. he learns archery!! pretty sure they also adopt a ferret or something???? good shit

smut: NO SMUT

Hoist a Black Flag by Kangofu_CB 

words: ~11k 

important tags: pirate au 

notes: ITS BASICALLY AN OFMD AU OKAY HOW CAN U NOT LOVE IT???

smut: yes, but skippable

Cupid’s Arrows by flawedamythyst 

words: ~14k 

important tags: office AU, valentine’s day 

notes: clint dressed up as cupid, bad pick up lines, shenanigans. haven’t read this in quite a while, but i remember i enjoyed it A LOT a few years ago and re-read it multiple times!! 

smut: NO SMUT

The Best Thing since a Double-Shot Expresso by sara_holmes 

words: ~11k 

important tags: coffee shop AU, misunderstandings, getting together 

notes: friends to lovers final boss. they’ve been best friends (husbands) for years and literally live together, and it takes them an insane amount of jealousy and steve’s ass to finally get together. such a fun read, highly HIGHLY recommend 

smut: NO SMUT

Habits of My Heart by Kangofu_CB

words: ~18k 

important tags: Fuckbuddies to Lovers, no powers AU, grindr 

notes: fuckbuddies to lovers with loads of pining will always be THE most realistic winterhawk depiction for me, sorry not sorry. this one’s extra fun bc steve and nat have been trying to set them up for months, but they’ve been already hooking up for months. it’s great. 

smut: yes, but easily skippable.

In Which Peter Is Everyone’s Favourite Avenger by DestroyedConscience 

words: ~25k 

important tags: Twitter, everyone is gay, gen z humor 

notes: look, this is an unfinished, non-winterhawk-centric twitter fic, but as a fellow winterhawk twitter fic author i just HAVE to recommend it. if u like this kind of thing, go check it out, it’s so fun :) 

smut: NO SMUT

Look What The Cat Dragged In by flawedamythyst

words: 22k 

important tags: Bucky Barnes is a cat lover, domestic fluff 

notes: i haven’t read this in years, but i KNOW it was great. at this point just go check out amy’s account and read all of her winterhawk fics, she has over a hundred and they’re all great!! but this one has them co-parenting alpine, so it’s extra great!!

smut: NO SMUT

My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend 

words: ~49k 

important tags: soulmates au, single parent clint barton

notes: soulmate au plus kid fic guys, i repeat, SOULMATE AU PLUS KID FIC GUYS!!! BY DR GIRLFRIEND!!!! GOD i miss winterhawk olympic bang 21/22 this one was such a blast to read when it first came out. 

smut: yes, but skippable 

Chrome Plated Heart by dr_girlfriend 

words: ~20k 

important tags: pacific rim fusion

notes: i’ve never seen pacific rim and i still had a blast reading this one!! (she put a basic explanation for it somewhere in the story notes, so dw about it!!). it was SO nice to read a fic where they’re not heavily traumatised and just have a chill, easy getting together. really sweet stuff

smut: NO SMUT!!

Know When To Hold ‘Em by flawedamythyst

words: ~11k 

important tags: exes to lovers, no powers au, cambling 

notes: UGHHH i need more fics like this one, it’s so so SO good!! flashes back and forth to the time when they were first together and when they meet again and skjdghlksdhg my heart just hurts so much for both of them. (happy ending tho dw, clint’s just so sad in the present and it hurts my soul)

smut: yeah, the part in the present is basically just one big smut scene but it’s soOoOoO emotional and i always love me some emotional smut

Christmas in Colour by mariana_oconnor 

words: ~12k 

important tags: soulmates see in colour, christmas fluff 

notes: SOULMATES SEE IN COLOUR !!!!! *swoons so hard she falls to the floor* top 3 best soulmates tropes i dont make the rules i love it so much. ESPECIALLY when it’s with a character like clint who usually has a colour he loves SO SO much. a christmas must read :) 

smut: NO SMUT

Chaos By Another Name by shatteredhourglass 

words: ~13k 

important tags: dimension travel, time travel, friends to lovers 

notes: DIMENSION-HOPPING TIME-TRAVEL ADVENTURE GUYS!!! why wouldn’t you wanna read it??? 

smut: yes

I Still Choose You (The Public Domain Remix) by mariana_oconnor 

words: ~14k 

important tags: soulmates at first kiss, fake/pretend relationship 

notes: have a fic with two of the best tropes ever, you’re so very welcome. plus plus PLUS: demisexual bucky. as a demisexual/asexual/still trying to figure it out lesbian, i’m always ALWAYS here for any kind of ace spectrum winterhawk, so yeah. 

smut: NO SMUT

the road rising up to meet me by veryrach

words: ~24k 

important tags: pining, sexual reawakening, chaotic slutty clint barton 

notes: MORE DEMISEXUAL BUCKY!!! AND HOT CLINT!!! no other words needed. read it. 

smut: i’m so sorry but i can’t remember if it gets SMUTTY smutty. but there’s definitely a lot of sexual themes i mean look at the tags lmao

Showdown by shatteredhourglass 

words: ~14k 

important tags: fake/pretend relationship; fluff 

notes: breaking my silence: fake dating might me my fav trope of all time. in this one they’re pretending to date for the sole purpose of annoying steve and tony and i think that’s the best thing ever. 

smut: NO SMUT

Light the Spark by dr_girlfriend

words: ~26k 

important tags: fake/pretend relationship, mutual pining, enemies to friends to lovers

notes: aaaand the next fake dating fic >:) the enemies arc is like 0.2 seconds, blink and you miss it, but whoooo cares, we’re here for the fake dating & pining guys!!!

smut: yes, but you can skip it!

-10k words 

Wine and Pine by feathers_and_cigarettes 

words: 6k

Important tags: Touch-Starved, Fake Marriage, pining!clint 

Notes: this is one of those fics i always come back to without realising and it always hits that spot. like i said, fake dating is my favorite trope, and MISSION fake dating???? i'm in heaven

smut: there’s quite a bit of smut, but it’s at the end and even if you stop reading after they kiss it’s really worth it. 

Over Easy by Lissadiane

words: ~9k

important tags: hook up gone awry, awkwardly crashing the birth of a baby 

notes: need y’all to know that this has one of my all time fav smut scenes, i kinda know it by heart. don’t quote me on that, this is our secret. this one’s just so so SO much fun, i’m having the time of my life every time i read it (which is at least like once a month) 

smut: yes, and it’s kinda the best part, but everything else is so fun as well that i really wouldn’t wanna miss out on it

The Love You Deserve by flawedamythyst 

words: ~8k 

important tags: unhappy family holidays, homophobia, family issues, jewish bucky barnes 

notes: another must-read christmas fic for me; clint goes home for christmas to an uncle of his or something but they all turn out to be homophobic assholes or something and then bucky shows up to save the day <3

smut: NO SMUT 

what you really, really want by Noxnthea 

words: ~8k 

important tags: pining, misunderstandings 

notes: *blurts out* THEYVE BEEN IN LOVE FOR AGES AND THEN WANDA HEXES THEM SO THEY THINK THEVE BEEN DATING FOR YEARS!!! this is SUCH an underrated fic, it doesn’t even have 200 kudos like wtf??? SHOW IT SOME LOVE!!!

smut: NO SMUT

The 300 Club by Noxnthea 

words: ~10k 

important tags: no powers au, scientist clint & bucky 

notes: there aren’t enough scientist winterhawk AUs so HUGE THANKS noxnthea for feeding us. i will literally haunt you if you don’t read this one, ITS SO UNDERRATED!!! AND SO FUN!!

smut: NO SMUT

For Everything There is A Season by dr_girlfriend

words: ~9.7k 

important tags: crack fic, secret service agent!bucky, small business owner!clint barton 

notes: crack fics are always gold and this one especially, it’s such a ridiculous idea, how could you not love it? always a very fun read! 

smut: NO SMUT

Background Noise by Reremouse 

words: ~8k 

important tags: modern au, deaf clint barton 

notes: MILLENIAL BUCKY!!! clint is bucky’s upstairs neighbour and extremely loud bc he’s well… deaf. lol. and bucky’s a night shift worker which really isn’t a good combo on first thought. but on second thought, these are clint and bucky, so OBVIOUSLY they’re gonna make a great combo out of it. it’s fuckign amazing. plus bucky & sam friendship!! good shit guys, good shit.

smut: NO SMUT

you didn’t hear that by jedusaur 

words: ~2.6k 

important tags: roomates, eavesdropping 

notes: super self-indulgent rec, i always read this one when i need some cheering up lmao it’s just so fun and they’re kinda nasty and UGH. love. it explores the range of bucky’s super hearing. do with that what you want. 

smut: yes. it explores the range of bucky’s super hearing in every way ;)

one more time by squadrickchestopher 

words: ~4k 

important tags: touch starved, hurt clint barton 

notes: i don’t even know why i love this one so much, but it holds SUCH a special place in my heart. it might be my undying love for touch starved!clint who finally gets his well-needed hugs by bucky. there’s also an amazing podfic by flowerparrish for it, make sure to give kudso to them both!!! 

smut: NO SMUT

the salt on your lips by veryrach 

words: ~9k 

important tags: kissing, an absolutely ridiculous lack of communication 

notes: exactly what the tags say. it’s a 5+1 as well, WHAT ELSE DO YOU NEED IN LIFE???? 10/10. i remember waiting for months for the last few chapters and it was SO worth it!!

smut: NO SMUT

Love Potion No. 10 by Kangofu_CB 

words: ~8k 

important tags: love potion/spell, not actually unrequited love

notes: i won’t say anything about the story bc i don’t wanna spoiler it, but i’ll say that i re-read the second half of it at least once a month, it’s just THAT sweet. 

smut: NO SMUT

There’s No ‘I’ In Denial by flawedamythyst 

words: ~5k 

important tags: truth spells 

notes: clint gets hit by a magic truth gun and can’t lie anymore. such a fun & cute read every single time.

smut: NO SMUT

The Name of the Game by squadrickchestopher 

words: ~6k 

important tags: competition, trash talking, feelings realization 

notes: this one’s just so so fun, it has allllllll the winterhawk banter anyone could ask for. and i always love me some competitive idiots in love

smut: NO SMUT 

Full Barton by aw_writing_no 

words: ~6k 

important tags: no powers au, cop!bucky, human disaster clint 

notes: what the tags say. clint embarrassing himself in front of bucky who enjoys it a bit too much gotta be one of my fav tropes. 

smut: NO SMUT

one more little mistake by shatteredhourglass 

words: ~3k 

important tags: clint barton wears glasses, bucky barnes is horny for clint barton 

notes: these tags are basically the entire fic lmaooo. it’s great, i love nothing more than HOT HOT HOT clint barton and bucky realising how hot he is 

smut: almost lmao (they get interrupted while making out) 

my hands no longer an afterthought by shatteredhourglass 

words: ~3k 

important tags: getting back together 

notes: i have a sweet sweet SWEET spot for winterhawk getting back togethers if handled well, and this one handles it soo well. 

smut: NO SMUT

Five Lies People Believe About Clint and Bucky by EVVS 

words: ~1.5k 

important tags: established relationship 

notes: this is one of those fics i always go back to if i have a few minutes and need some (bitter)sweet fluff. it’s exactly what the title says, some lies are fun, some are painful, and all of them just hit that spot 

smut: NO SMUT

My Sausage Brings Alll the Boys To The Yard by flawedamythyst 

words: ~1.7k 

important tags: bad flirting 

notes: this one’s so stupid it probably shouldn’t be on here but i remember how i was reading this in class for the first time when i was still in school and i was almost pissing myself bc it made me laugh so hard. very fun, go read it >:(

smut: NO SMUT

bonus for the freaks:

Filthy Porn Fridays by squadrickchestopher 

there’s 18 works so far, it’s smut smut smut aaaand - you guessed it - smut. if you wanna see the boys fuck nastily, this is your place to be. 

(delicate tension is the best fic of the series, it’s actually a roadtrip AU and not just smut, highly highly recommend) 

alrightyyy, i think that's it for now :) this took me quite some time so i'd appreciate some reblogs or whatever!! we need to spread some winterhawk love guys!!

all my love goes out to every author i mentioned here, and every other author who's ever written winterhawk. you guys are my heroes, idk what i'd do without you. literally ripping my heart into a thousand pieces and giving every single one of you a tiny part 💜

[goldfades]

🌱 wedding dress shopping w your mom and ellen... you like a dress but it's over your budget but jack gave his card to ellen and ends up spoiling you

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 | jh⁸⁶

♡ ─ word count | 704

♡ ─ warnings | slight angst (y/n being sad over a dress) but cute mom/ellen/you moment!!!!!

♡ ─ ev's notes | jack seems like the type to drop 50k on a wedding dress LMAO (as he should)

"Oh my gosh, this one looks like my wedding dress!" Your mom gasped as she touched the dress, a warm smile on her smile. You gasped at that, touching it as well. Ellen smiled as she watched you and your mom continue to admire the dress.

"Oh, does it really?" Ellen chuckled, a fondness evident in her voice. "We have to look at the old pictures when we get home again, I love good old wedding photos."

You nodded, still marveling at the dress that bore a resemblance to your mother's. The three of you were in a bridal boutique, surrounded by lace, satin, and tulle in every shade imaginable.

"I remember the day I found my dress," Ellen continued, her eyes sparkling with memories. "It was such a special moment, just like this one. It's a dress that holds so much good memories, despite the stress that comes along a wedding."

Your mother laughed, her eyes reflecting the shared memories of her own wedding day. "Yes, despite the stress, it was one of the happiest days of my life. And finding the perfect dress made it even more special."

Ellen nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. There's something magical about finding that one dress that makes you feel like a princess."

Your mother began walking away from the dress, looking around. "Anything catch your eye yet, sweetie?"

You shook your head as you sighed. You were still thinking about the dress you had found a couple days ago but you had decided it was way other budget, not being able to justify spending that much money on a dress.

Ellen noticed the hint of disappointment in your expression and stepped closer, her eyes filled with warmth. "Is everything alright, Y/N?"

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to share your dilemma. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke, "I found a dress a couple of days ago that I absolutely fell in love with. It was perfect in every way, but..." You trailed off, the weight of your decision hanging in the air.

"But it was way over budget," Ellen finished your sentence, her voice gentle yet understanding. "Sweetheart, finding the perfect dress is not just about the price tag. It's about how it makes you feel, the emotions it evokes. If there's a particular dress that captured your heart, it shouldn't matter how much it is."

Your mother, sensing your hesitation, chimed in with a reassuring smile. "Your happiness is what matters the most. We can always explore options, but if you're still thinking about it then we should look at it again, babe."

"But it was way over budget-"

"Y/N." Ellen said firmly. "It doesn't matter the price, Jack told me to make sure to get any dress you want. Jack wouldn't even notice how much we took, plus all he wants is his future wife to be happy." She smiled as you laughed.

You sighed as you nodded. "Okay, then."

"Sweetheart, it's not even gonna make a dent in his bank account, trust me." Ellen joked as you laughed again. "And plus, your wedding day is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, and you deserve to feel like a princess."

Your mother nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting the same sentiment. "Ellen's right, sweetheart. Jack loves you more than anything, and he wants to see you happy on your wedding day. If this dress is the one that makes you feel that way, then let's make it happen."

Finally, unable to resist any longer, the boutique attendant brought out the dream dress once again. As you slipped into it, a sense of certainty washed over you. The delicate details, the way it made you feel – it was worth every penny, especially knowing that Jack wanted you to have the dress that would make you happy.

Ellen and your mom exchanged knowing glances as you twirled in front of the mirror, a radiant smile on your face. Their silent approval meant more to you than words could express.

"This is it," you said, your voice filled with certainty.

"Oh, sweetheart, you look absolutely breathtaking," Ellen whispered, genuine happiness radiating from her. Your mom, too, had tears in her eyes as she watched you.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[voxofthevoid]

Onto Fem GoYuu Infidelity Wednesday #4 with a healthy dose of *checks notes* tits and cunt 💦

Last week has been somewhat hectic, so I haven't written much, but the fic as a whole is now 37k, and I'm midway through Chapter 6. The chapter count has grown to 13 though—a mixture of the outline gaining more meat and existing chapters being split further to control the flow and breaks better.

Anyway, it's now 100% certain this will cross 50k—it's just a matter of how close it'll get to 100k. Whee. I never learn.

“You were louder,” Yuuji says, her lips still brushing the nipple.

“What.”

“On Friday,” Yuuji says helpfully. “You were a lot louder. Or…easier, I guess?”

“You’re calling me easy?” Satoru asks, more confused than offended.

“Yeah,” Yuuji says, “but that’s not what I meant.”

“Hey—”

“It’s like…” Yuuji straightens up, bringing her eyes level with Satoru’s jaw. Her arms ease up, sliding back around to Satoru’s front to hold her tits, as if Yuuji can’t bear to leave them unattended while they have this baffling conversation. “I think it was because you were drunk, sensei. You weren’t thinking so much, so you reacted more. You should keep doing that. I like the noises you make.”

Satoru’s body betrays her, burning all over, and she knows it shows in her cheeks, the skin there hot with blood, but she still wrangles her mouth into a mean smirk—wasted on Yuuji, who eyes it like she wants to kiss Satoru badly anyway.

Satoru scrambles to speak before Yuuji does just that, saying, “Or maybe you’re just lazier tonight.”

Yuuji’s eyes snap up to Satoru’s. “Huh?”

“Don’t be so surprised. All this time and you’ve barely done anything.” Satoru looks down at her chest, knowing that Yuuji will follow suit. There are already marks forming there, streaks of vivid pink that’ll darken the same way they did last week. And they’ll smart a little if Satoru presses down real hard, but the only points on her tits that are really hurting are the nipples and that one violently red patch of skin Yuuji really set her teeth to. “You were a lot wilder that day. Maybe I’m not the only one who could use a little drink in her system.”

“That’s not true at all,” Yuuji says, her voice dipping into something Satoru can’t place, even as it makes her blood sing.

“Yeah?” she asks, tilting Yuuji’s head back with a single knuckle. “Prove it then.”

Yuuji surges into her, knocking Satoru off balance just to lay her out on the mattress, and it’s a mess of flailing limbs, but Satoru doesn’t put up much of a fight—just enough that she can feel the strength in Yuuji’s body as she knocks away stray arms and pins writhing legs, and she laughs there at the end, when she’s panting above Satoru like a triumphant god, and the sound is so infectious that Satoru finds herself grinning widely, her heated cheeks bunching up with it.

“You’re such a tease, sensei,” Yuuji says, her voice far too fond. “And I know you let me pin you.”

Satoru bats her eyelashes. “But you’re such a big, strong girl, Yuuji-chan.”

Yuuji rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t stop smiling. “And you’re a bigger, stronger girl, Gojou-sensei.”

“Woman,” Satoru corrects softly, her own grin easing into a smile that burns on her mouth. “I’m a woman, Yuuji. Surely you’ve noticed.”

Yuuji’s eyes rake down Satoru’s body, rich with knowledge.

“Yes,” she rasps, leaning in.

Satoru groans when teeth sink into the curve of her left breast, right where the resulting mark would show front and center on any cleavage she chooses to show, and Yuuji doesn’t break skin, as asked, but it’s like she stops just short of that, biting harder and harder until tears spring to Satoru’s eyes. There’s a soothing swipe of her tongue before she zeroes in on her next target, but then it’s more of the same—teeth, sharp and vicious and exactly what Satoru needs.

She clutches at Yuuji, needing something to claw at that’s not the impersonal folds of her bedsheets, and the tug on her hair and the nails on her bare shoulders all just make Yuuji bite Satoru more and harder, till both of her breasts feel hot and raw, and as if that’s not enough, Yuuji catches a throbbing nipple between two calloused fingers, pinching.

Satoru keens low in her throat, her feet kicking furiously, uselessly at the mattress.

Yuuji pulls on the nipple as she bites deep into the underside of the other breast, and Satoru’s entire body burns red.

“Yuuji,” she gasps, scrabbling at her shoulders. “Fuck, Yuuji, that hurts—”

“You want it, right?” It’s a soft murmur, not really a question. “You like it.”

Satoru whines as teeth find more flesh—her belly this time, a sliver of hard-earned muscle blooming hot under that bruising pressure. Yuuji moans like she’s tasting more than sweat-slick skin, and when her tongue darts out, she licks the indents of her teeth and the reddened skin around it like it’s a prime cut of meat.

She turns her tender mercies to another patch of skin, and Satoru curses under her breath, a nonsense stream of biting, bitten words, but she doesn’t stop Yuuji and Yuuji certainly doesn’t stop herself, not until Satoru’s entire stomach is littered with marks that don’t bruise as bright as the ones on her tits but hurt worse—deep, skewering hurts that throb in time to the beat of her heart.

It’s pure relief that first floods her when Yuuji abandons the exposed skin to shove her face into Satoru’s mercifully clothed cunt, and then that pressure really registers.

Satoru’s body responds with a helpful gush of slick, and with Yuuji fucking mouthing at it, Satoru can’t ignore how her sweatpants are noticeably damp at the crotch.

“Take it off,” Satoru grits out, lifting her hips—it just makes her pussy grind against Yuuji’s overeager face. “Fuck, kid, you can eat it all you want after, just take it off.”

“Yeah,” Yuuji gasps, lifting her head and sucking in air like she was drowning. In a way, she was—on the smell and taste of Satoru’s slick-drenched pants, which just makes her pussy gush all over again. ��Yeah, lemme just—”

At least she makes quick work of the sweatpants, tugging them off Satoru and tossing them to the floor and landing back between her legs in a matter of seconds, and if Satoru were the kind to get self-conscious, the way Yuuji’s staring at her cunt like a woman both bewitched and ravenous would do the trick, but she shed shame before she was even halfway through her teens, so all she does is reach down and spread herself open, a finger each slotted along the lips of her pussy.

They’re wet.

“Sensei,” Yuuji chokes out, gratifyingly breathless, “it’s so wet—and pink and—”

“If you’re going to drool, do it on me,” Satoru cuts in drily. It’s not that she’s not pleased—Yuuji’s blatant admiration is sinking warmly into her blood and doing significantly dirtier things to her aching, clenching cunt.

But she can’t be too nice to Yuuji. Can’t have her developing any illusions. Or ideas.

Yuuji just dives for her cunt, eager and easy. It’s not new, how Satoru’s mean streak is wasted on this girl. She never seems to mind. Not in class and apparently not in bed either.

Then there’s a greedy tongue licking Satoru from taint to clit, and her mind goes blank, all of her narrowing to the suckling mouth attached to her clit.

It’s going to be a quick one. All the need that’s been pooling in her cunt since Yuuji first touched her is on the verge of bursting, and now it’s at the mercy of a girl who made Satoru come thrice even when her senses were dulled by drink.

Sure enough, a few seconds of clever suction is all it takes for Satoru to feel that hot, pinching sensation deep in her gut, echoed by a hotter, broader ache all between her legs, and she grabs Yuuji’s head, just to keep her there in case she decides to move at just the wrong time, but she doesn’t, only pushing her face more firmly into Satoru’s cunt with a groan that trembles against the flesh housed in Yuuji’s mouth.

Satoru’s spine arches up, her heels digging into the mattress and her hips pushing up into Yuuji’s face, and more hot suction lashes at her clit, ripping the pleasure out of her.

Satoru comes with a shout, grinding her cunt against Yuuji’s mouth with helpless twists of her hips, and Yuuji takes it well, her lips and her tongue faithful and relentless, and it’s good, it’s great—until it isn’t, until the strokes and the suction start to feel like an exposed wire digging into her clit.

She shoves Yuuji’s head back, shuddering and crying out when that mouth tears free with a vicious sucking motion.

“S-shit,” she pants, blinking away streaks of shimmering white. Her thighs are trembling, twitching like they have a hope in hell of closing when there’s a broad-shouldered beast between her legs, and her cunt isn’t any better between them, throbbing hot with the aftershocks, and it’s still fucking needy, the insides a hollow ache that’s only grown more gaping and urgent with the orgasm. “Yuuji.”

Darkened eyes continue to stare hungrily at Satoru’s cunt for a long few seconds before they drag themselves up to Satoru’s face.

“Sensei,” Yuuji says, her voice low and gravelly.

Satoru twists her hand in her hair, and Yuuji’s eyes flutter half shut, but they still bore into Satoru.

“Fuck me,” Satoru orders. “Your fingers—put them in me.”

[butchtaurus]

modern au polin fanfics i like

i’ll link them, along with how long it is (chapter + word count) and the rating if it isn’t explicit. i won’t write any descriptions cause you can just check it out if the title speaks to you. maybe i’ll write lil things if i feel like it. they should all be complete/finished but ones that aren’t will have a note saying when they were last updated or whatever

regency fics

she sighs, he gasps by malpal123 - one shot, just under 10k words. monster fucker type shit.

Romancing Miss Featherington (Poorly) by lilfinch - 4 chapters 15k words.

Tiger Stripes by lixabiz - 11 chapters 55k words.

Here, There, and Everywhere by LightLeadingMe - one shot 5.5k words. breeding kink stuff, like penelope has a cum obsession.

hands by ktbeets, liziana (series [not complete but the 4 works in the series are completed]) - one shot 9k words (all together so far 37k words. 4 one shots, one multi chapter complete as of march 3 2025)

free by applepuffsilver - 3 chapters 12k words. title speaks for itself i think but free use 🫣

Before sunset by lafleurdumal - 9 chapters 28k words.

tie me up, tie me down by applepuffsilver - 3 chapters 18k words. penelope is going thru therapy and has to learn to let go of control. so obviously that ends up meaning some kinky shit with colin.

fuck away the pain (baby scream my name) by theyarnmaidstale - this one is locked unless you have an account. one shot 10k words. debling cheats on penelope, she asks for help from colin to get over him, free use again.

The way you make me feel by LilithAfrodite04 - 6 chapters 23k words. penelope is in a failing relationship with fife. fife wants to do a partner swap to “spice up” their relationship. it will not work out for him… 🤭

The Age of Exploration by CosmicMuncher69 - 10 chapters 56k words. listen i love this fic but i have to say food being used during sex is not it for me so that turned me off but i still love the fic! can’t remember what chapter that was but just an fyi

It's You, You're the Problem by thathoppingmadtargaryen - 27 chapters 100k words. enemies to lovers? forced proximity

Five Feet To Be Exact by KatofKanals (series, part 2 One of Me Is Cute, But Is Two? says incomplete as of nov 2 2024) - 19 chapters 70k words (plus 19 chapters 129k words). colin gets into an accident that keeps him at home from his constant travels, colin and penelope then get close 😳

wild nights, wild nights by gentlewallflower (greyspilot) - 14 chapters 79k words. penelope is a call girl/sex worker 🫣

cherry by LightLeadingMe - one shot 6k words. reverse age gap and virginity taking, colin is the virgin!

ignore signs of change, no more by maxmayfield - 2 chapter 14k words. taking ur girl best friends virginity as a bestie xoxo

tethered. by uneventfulhouses - one shot 50k words.

Strip by writergirl8 - 13 chapters 102k words. colin keeps stumbling in on penelope undressed oopsie

motivation by applepuffsilver - one shot, just under 6k words. colin needs some motivation to study 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 cw: author says mild dubcon so i’ll pass that on to you before opening the link

strawberries on a summer evenin’ by grizzlyfromthevault - one shot just under 21k words. virgin colin, again

Let's Make It Cinematic by KatofKanals - 11 chapters 87k words. penelope has an onlyfans

Sugar by lixabiz, wantisamlindyla - 20 chapters 86k words. penelope becomes colin’s sugar baby. there’s bad communication obviously.

Bless The Telephone by KatofKanals - 13 chapters 100k words. phone sex

wanna make you fall in love by applepuffsilver, writergirl8 - 5 chapters 29k. this is one of my most unhinged fanfic likes. like this is breeding kink to an extreme with misunderstandings from not communicating but everyone consensually loves it

happier than ever by deanxcasxlove - 16 chapters 58k. penelope is divorcing alfred.

just say you won't let go by WinterLampost - 5 chapters 19k words. fake relationship

pink in the night by applepuffsilver - 43k words 8 chapters. this one i’m like afraid to share tbh. it’s so nasty dirty kinky freaky but it makes me feel things! the author makes a note about colin masturbating to a teenage penelope (there’s a 5 year age gap) it’s mentioned twice but in the fic penelope is an adult, 24. but i know that could be a jarring thing to read even if it’s not real. cw for body image stuff

English Girl in an American Town by The_Snuggery - 65k words 15 chapters. this is the comfort fic, it has some light angst but solid communication. cause as you know if you’re an avid polin fanfic reader many fics use miscommunication, which is a base theme of polin’s story yes, and most of the time it drives me insane. but you don’t have to deal with that here!

Life Advice by Chinesepapercut - 110k words 24 chapters. another comfort fic where polin don’t have huge miscommunication issues. this has a small cw like in “pink in the night” where it’s mentioned colin may have had some more than friendly feelings with a teenage penelope (there’s a 3 year age gap) but nothing bad happens obviously but it could be off putting idk

Dear Whitney by Rachel_writes_plays - 73k words 18 chapters. ANOTHER comfort fic, not much miscommunication. tho personally i think this is the most ooc to me? you can decide that for yourself tho, i still really like this fic cause the concept is different and interesting compared to others i’ve read.

sweet things need time to grow by applepuffsilver - 40k words, one shot. (but also has an accompanying fic 6k words) western polin! i love the setting of this fic. it has not even miscommunication, it has like no communication for most of the fic, which is insane. every time i read a fic like that im like blorbos please just talk to each other but anyway i love this fic its great. thank you applepuffsilver for something so niche

Surviving Christmas by Sea_Dragonfly - 36k words, 5 chapters. a rom com christmas basically. tbh i could totally imagine the hallmark vision of this.

I'm Making Her a Mama by KatofKanals - 29 chapters, 200k words. most insane scenario but i love this fic 🥹

Black Limousine by PennyFB - 24 chapters 73k words. penelope needs a fake boyfriend so she hires an escort, named colin. i find this one to be a bit ooc? like more ooc than usual for modern au’s but i like the content of it so i read it!

cleanse my soul, make me whole by applepuffsilver, writergirl8 - 7 chapters 65k words. this one makes me insane. size difference in multiple ways 😳, kinky dirty lovely, a bit of miscommunication but it all works out in the end! a bit of queer colin if you like that.

down the line, things might change by Demisexual Colin Bridgerton (karawrites) - 6 chapters 21k words. long distance/phone sex

if it's the thought that counts (let's think it through) by Demisexual Colin Bridgerton (karawrites) - one shot 18k words. virgin colin asks penelope to take his virginity (he doesn’t know she’s also a virgin)

[velvetvexations]

I’m. So baffled by that one dude saying that trans men being able to pretend to be women is a privilege, because in his tags he says that it’s a thing specific to transmascs. Does he mean pretending to be cis as a means of safety is a transmasc specific thing?? Because uh, I’m… pretty sure that’s something that can be done regardless of a trans person’s gender? There are transfems and nonbinary people who can also pretend to be cis [whatever their agab was], too?

Its also not a privilege. Having to hide what you are out of fear isn’t a fucking privilege lmao

strangely people understand that when it's about trans women

just saw a post on my dash saying "'infighting' is a dogwhistle which frames transfems as aggressors". i really hope the tide is turning like you said, bc this shit is getting exhausting and im still seeing it from random people i follow who otherwise gave no indication that they drank the koolaid.

they make me out to be the aggressor all the time!

Nazi imagery anon here

These are the pics I was referring to.

As you can see it’s posted on the verified border security account and you can see two different nazi symbols on him :(

yeah it looks like standards for what they allow soldiers to adorn themselves with are low and the person taking and posting the pics aren't paying good enough attention because that guy also straight up has a naked anime bitch on his knife sheath

as I said this is an individual thing and they need to start knocking their heads together like the Three Stooges and sending them into trenches first

You know who saying that th**fab is actually a storied term that trans fems have been using to identify transmisogonists is fucking insane like girl that's such obvious lie give us nothing

they aren't even trying

It’s crazy how almost every other day on this site I see a new post with like 50k notes talking about how absolutely NOBODY deserves to be harassed, sent death threats or be put on blast yet once again I’m seeing people trying to justify the harassment of another transmasc teenager. Honestly people should just start openly admitting Tumblr is becoming increasingly hostile towards trans masculine individuals, I don’t see clownery on this level on any other platform-

Tumblr...is really bad.

I think the reason why this whole headcanons discourse bothers me so much is that is really is just fuelled by petty spite. Like all these characters are cisgender in canon. We make headcanons because it’s FUN to expand on characters in ways that reflect our different life experiences in whatever form that may take. Intentionally going after transmascs, especially young transmascs, for doing this with characters like they like and accusing them of all these different things genuinely does just feel like bigotry. Who cares if a head canon may not make the most amount of sense? It’s a cisgender fictional character we’re playing around with! Why does it have to be some grand act of activism to say blorbo number 3 is transmasc? We have much bigger fish to fry here.

exactly it's such dedication to not letting anyone else have anything

So sick of people acting like trans men are the same as cis men under the patriarchy and moreso im really sick of the "you're privileged to not be surrounded by men". Like, for lack of better phrasing, saying that about a group of people that is generally perceived as "failure women" pre transition (and sometimes during and post) is a little tone deaf. All about acknowledging how women and people perceived as women are harmed by misogyny until the ones perceived are men. Gender essentialism is ugly and tasteless and nonsensical. Please feel free to delete this im just rambling without a point

rambling is okay anon <3

„wow ur so privileged to not fear men”

i fear the fucking everyone asshole, i just realized that isnt everyone elses fault so i should still treat them with respect !!!!!

that woman called me a "self-hating doll" and I hate the second part a lot more than the first

[queers-gambit]

Affirmation King

prompt: ( requested ) attending university as a full-time student is hard, but your boyfriend makes some of the stress worth it.

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 3.1k+

note: author gives unsolicited advice in the form of sharing a citation website to make college essays a little easier! this is not meant as promotion or anything, it's just your author trying to share a resource they know of.

warnings: cursing, small hurt large comfort (reader snaps a little at Carmy but he handles it like a fucking pro), author gives unsolicited college advice in the form of a recommended website, reader is in a masters program and not undergrad, fluff.

The 16 inch screen glared into your retinas, fingers feeling numb from the hours pounding away at the loose keyboard. When the screen started to warble and darken, your head ducked down slightly to try and preserve your visual; glaring up at the offender when they pressed the screen closed after forcing you to retract your hands.

"You're cute and all, but not so cute as to interrupt me like that," you deadpanned, eyes wide and burning from your lack of lubrication via blinking.

"You've been sat here for hours, it's time for a break."

"Funny when I say that to you, it's always, 'Get outta my kitchen.'"

Carmy smirked, "Come eat something."

"Let me finish this essay and - "

"No, it's time for a meal."

You felt your irritation spike, narrowing your eyes slightly, "I'm on a deadline, Carmen, so either be fucking helpful and productive or get the fuck out of my space. I've got work to do and you're just slowing me down."

He offered a patient look, asking, "Is that what you really wanted to say?"

You paused, then shook your head, "No... May I try again?"

"Of course," he nodded.

"I appreciate you trying to... Alleviate some of my stress," you spoke slowly, stringing the sentence together in realtime, "but this project isn't something I can ignore right now, so, I'd like to finish this thing before we do whatever else."

"Better," he teased, knowing you ran a short fuse when stressed out and overworked. "What's got you riled up?"

"I have this 20-page paper due."

"20 pages!?"

"It's not that bad, honestly, once you have your thesis together," you chuckled dryly. "it's just time consuming and meticulous."

He frowned and stepped forward to press a kiss to your forehead, mocking in a sarcastic tone, "You're doing amazing, sweetie."

"I'm so tired," you pouted up at him. "Do I really need this degree? This is so much stress for such a little thing such as a piece of paper that cost me $50k just to say I'm allowed to join the work force."

"Hey, hey," he laughed. "Just remember what you're working towards. You're one assignment closer to your internship turning into a full-time gig, right?"

You nodded, "You're right. I want that job so bad... I just hate how busy I feel - it's like, how can I remember to eat let alone write 6 different response posts to my classmate's work?"

Carmy nodded with empathy, "Just remember that end goal, baby. Keep grinding, keep moving. Almost at the finish line, right?"

"Right," you nodded with a smile. "Thank you, angel face."

Carmy smiled at you before softly asking, "Want me to bring you anything? Something to eat, drink, a condom?"

"Stop quoting Mean Girls at me!"

His hands shot up in defense, deflecting, "I was just trying to be a gracious host. If the missus wants anything, I'll make sure she has it."

"Pretty sure 'missus' is a term used for wives - " His groan made you laugh lightly, then covering, "No, thank you, baby, I'm okay. I should only be about another hour or so...?"

"All right, yeah, sure. I'll start dinner in 30, okay?"

"Sure," you smiled, already distracted again as you lifted your screen again to stare at the Word document that had been haunting your hard-drive for about 3 weeks now.

"Hey," he interrupted, "don't forget your glasses."

"Thank you," you mumbled, reaching for the special, blue-light filtering glasses Carmy had gifted you when you first started your Master's program. He claimed staring at a computer screen was going to cause long-term damage (he read an article) and got you a pair, which, you had to admit, made a huge difference.

Your hair was raked into a new bun as you reread the last of your essay, trying to get back in the academic mindset in order to finish the last bit of your assignment. There were textbooks spewed around your work table; laptop plugged in, highlighters and pens and notebooks within reach and a nearly-finished bottle of water was set to the side. You wrote ferociously once you got back on the right mental track, feeling your headache stir to life as you blindly reached for your water bottle.

However, when you picked it up, you blinked in mild shock when the bottle was heavier than before. Glancing over, you realized Carmy had replaced the bottle because there, under where it had sat, he left you a handwritten note:

replenish what you lost from crying!

You chuckled, knowing you were a stress cryer and when tackling big assignments like this, you were ten times as stressed as usual. Still you worked, even putting your headphones on to play soothing background noise - like rainfall. Your neck cramped, back ached, temples throbbed, and hands were cramping. Still you worked, using sticky notes to flag the important quotes you wanted to use from your textbooks and notebooks. Your stomach growled, your eyes begged for reprieve, chest felt tight, and shoulders were too tense.

Still. You. Worked.

Deadlines were important to you, and while you were a professional procrastinator, you always turned everything in on time - no matter your mental state. You could smell whatever Carmy had started cooking, focused on writing as you only used spellcheck as you went - and still you worked. You knew you surpassed the hour limit you told Carmy, but you couldn't stop, you were so close to finishing, it almost put tears back in your eyes, but this time out of relief. You only paused to look at online sources and apply chapstick, cracking your tightly-wound knuckles, and when you finished the last body paragraph of the essay, grinned to yourself.

All that was left was your conclusion, to create a bibliography, and to edit - but you were almost home free!

Suddenly, you jumped in fright when a hand planted on your shoulder; whipping around to see your boyfriend's own startled expression. "Sorry," Carmy apologized with a wince when you removed your headphones, "didn't mean to scare you, just wanted to check on you."

You nodded, 'Yeah, no, I'm almost done. Like give me 20 minutes, almost done-almost done."

He smiled softly, "Dinner's ready when you are."

"I'll be there soon, thank you, angel face."

"Can I help with anything?"

"Uh," you cocked your head, "you know what? Maaaaybe..."

"Really?" He grinned, perking up. "You never let me help!"

"It's not really work, per se," you amended, "but would you mind letting me read this out loud to you - see if it makes sense? The mark of a good writer is to act as if the audience knows nothing about the subject and make them understand, and you're exactly that."

"Lemme hear it," he nodded, taking a seat, "I might not be much help but I can still try."

You agreed and finished typing the outline of your conclusion, then scrolled to the top of your word document, and explained to him what your class was before starting to read. He listened intently, sitting on a spare stool with his elbows resting on his knees; keeping him leaned forward to provide his undivided attention. You managed to reword a few sentences, only noticing they didn't make sense when you read them out loud. Once or twice, Carmy even offered an alternative phrasing you liked - making the changes and rereading, then continuing through your assignment.

By the end, you were able to beef up the conclusion and Carmy was grinning at you in pride. "That's real good, baby," he complimented, "it all made sense and rolled nice together. I think that has to be an 'A'-worthy paper."

"You should be the one grading theses, my professor's the worst," you frowned. "It's why I got so in my head, I got a fucking 76 on my last essay and need to do really well on the next few to help average my grade."

"What about the tests?"

"We don't have any, this class is all about writing material and turning it in," you pouted.

"Hey," he spoke seriously, making you look at him in question, "I'm really proud of you."

You giggled nervously, "Oh, yeah? Why? What for?"

"For doing this," he nodded to the desk. "Look at all you're doing, baby, there's no way I'd ever be able to keep up with this kinda shit. You're doing such a great fucking job - I want you to remember that. What you're doing ain't easy, but you're handling this like a pro."

"I cry, like, everyday..."

"So what? You still get shit done while emoting - call that multitasking, baby."

"Got me there."

"Seriously, though, you're not told enough what a fantastic job you're doing; how strong and resilient you have to be to deal with this kind of stress day-in and day-out. I see the hard work you put in," he promised, "and I want you to know how fucking proud I am of you. It's all gonna be worth it one day, but until then, I love watching you grind through school. I might not take the classes with you, but I'll help however I can, whenever I can."

"Thank you," you whispered. "It's really nice to hear... I feel myself burning out and it's nice to be reminded that what I do now will influence my future. Validates me in feeling stressed out, you know? Sometimes, I feel silly 'cause, like, there's so many bigger things to be upset about and here I am, stressed out at a place that's guaranteed to stress me out..."

"It's not silly, it's normal. College ain't easy," he reminded, "and you're just trying to keep yourself afloat."

"Yeah, but there's bigger things in life than something trivial as my education."

Carmy scoffed at you, shaking his head, "Ain't no way."

"What?"

"My girl just said her feelings are trivial... Nah, she said her emotions about her education is trivial," he shook his head again. "Should wash your mouth out with soap - talkin' crazy like that. Baby, you know, first and foremost, your education is high on our priorities list, but your emotions? You think they're trivial? Nah, if anything causes you to have any emotion, it's valid - it's not something silly or redundant."

You pouted slightly, "You always know what to say."

"Hungry?"

"You're the perfect man," you laughed, looking at your document again and humming. "Okay, so, lemme just cite my sources and turn this in."

"Then you wanna have date night?" He smirked.

"No, no, I'm so tired - "

"I meant we can stay in."

"Oh, then count me in!"

"Change into something cozy when you're done, we can watch a movie with dinner. Yeah?"

You agreed, accepted his kiss of encouragement, and then took his leave to reheat the dinner that had surely cooled off. It didn't take long to cite everything when you used an online citation source website - that IS N O T plagiarizing! It's a handy-dandy tool you discovered your undergraduate freshman year by an actual professor. It was as simple as choosing which style, APA or MLA, and then to either paste the URL of the website you need sourced or you type in the book's information. Hit the generate button and BAM! A perfect citation for your bibliography every single time.

Or if you didn't like that, you could always just Google citation examples and do your best to write it out yourself. But the website, Citation Machine dot net, was a great tool. After perfecting your in-text citations and saving your work, you uploaded it to your university's assignment portal, crossed the essay off your to-do list, and stretched on your feet.

Cleaning up your space minimally, you hustled to your bedroom to get a quick hot, relieving shower, change, and then met Carmy in the kitchen. "Hey," you sighed with a soft smile.

"Hey, doll. All done?"

"For tonight," you groaned, "but tomorrow's a new day with new assignments."

"That's a future problem we'll handle at a later time," he eased, showing you your dinner plate. "Ta-daaaa!"

You grinned, "Oh, baby, this looks amazing!"

"Yeah, well, I kinda figured as a full-time student right now, nobody was gonna remind you what incredible job you're doing, so, I'm more than happy to step up to the plate. And what better treat than your favorite meal, huh?"

"Thank you," you whispered, pecking his lips.

You often thought his love language was "food", but then you realized it was technically under the acts of service and quality time. He loved cooking for you - it was like a gift. He loved cooking with you - it was time spent bonding. He loved introducing you to new dishes - it's a present! He loved when you let him give you a culinary lesson - it was time well spent.

"C'mon," Carmy lead you to the living room, both crashing on the couch you had been gifted from your grandmother's house when she was put in a nursing home. Normally, you wouldn't have splurged on something like this, but considering it was free, you and Carmy were happy to use it. Settling together on the couch, you got cozy under a shared blanket and Carmy flicked some movie on for background noise, but instead of watching, he just asked you about your coursework.

You told him what you could, shaking your head and huffing about how annoying your program was. How hectic. How jam packed and fast-paced it all seemed to be. How your head felt like it was spinning. How you couldn't nail down workable coping mechanisms and just felt totally out of control. You were spiraling.

You needed this rant session.

Carmy listened intently.

He never once tried to say, "oh, but if you had time management," or anything like, "if you do THIS instead..." or some bullshit, "my way works better." His bright and wide blue eyes watched you the entire time, sighing when you got to the end of your meal and vent session.

"It just feels like, I turn in one assignment, I get three more right after. Turn in those three, and all of a sudden, there's another 10!"

"Does the syllabus say anything about that?" He wondered.

"No, it just said what our reading schedules were and when major assignments are due. But those dates all got shuffled around that it feels like a train wreck. You know, if the original schedule was kept from the syllabus, I wouldn't feel so worked up! It's the rearrangement and added assignments without warning that's throwing me off."

"That doesn't sound easy," he validated. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No, you're doing more than enough," you whispered, pecking his lips. "Thank you for dinner."

"I made dessert, too."

"No!" You gasped with a grin.

"Mhm - wait here. I'll grab it."

"Wow, dinner, movie, and dessert?" You teased, "I'm being spoiled tonight."

"You've been working your ass off for weeks now," he smirked, standing from his seat to pick up your plates, "this is the least I could do. I know I said it, but you know how good a job you're doing, right? Damn, baby," he chuckled, "ain't no way I could ever handle shit like that on the regular."

"I could't do what you do, either."

"We all balance our crazy different. Want some tea? Wine?"

"Tea would be great."

"Comin' up."

When Carmy returned, you pulled the blanket back to let him sit again with the dessert plate between you both; two steaming mugs of tea sat on the coffee table. "What's this?" You wondered, seeing a sort of pastry.

"Marcus told me 'bout this," he chuckled. "Kinda like a poor man's version of this one thing he makes. So, look, it's Pillsbury Crescent Rolls, right? In the middle, there's raspberry preserves - or jam if you want that instead. It's baked then drizzled in melted white chocolate."

"Wow, you got all fancy on me," you beamed.

"Hardly, more like I was a little impulsive after hearing your essay. Figured you could use some dessert - you really earned it, baby. You always earn dessert," he grinned, "but tonight, you were kickass. Know that? Hear me?"

You shook your head, "This is nothing compared - "

"Hey, hey, nah," he interrupted, "nah, nah, don't do that, don't try to invalidate or downplay yourself. Look, shit is always hard in college, right? But you handle it so well, I can see the work you're putting in and the little reward you receive in return, and know that shit's gotta add up for you. But my baby just keeps cool, does her work, and does what she can to earn the grades she does. Right?"

"I mean, I try to..."

"You succeed. C'mon, lemme hear you say it. 'I kick college's ass.'"

"I kick college's ass."

"'I work hard.'"

"Carmy - "

"Saaay it!"

You huffed, "I work hard."

"'I'm an incredible hard worker.'"

"I'm an incredible hard worker."

"'I am only human.'"

Another breath in, repeating, "I am only human."

"'I am a success.'"

"I try to be a success."

"That wasn't the quote."

"Well, I don't know if I'm succeeding because grades aren't finalized yet and I have - "

"No, no, no," he smirked again, "you're still successful 'cause you're doing such a kickass job. You could get a fucking 'D' on something, and guess what? You're still successful 'cause you don't let this tear you down, you learn from mistakes and apply whatever lessons you learn to your upcoming assignments. Some people say you might even learn more from losing and failing than from undisputed success. Look, I'll be honest, I thought my job was hectic as shit, but hearing your essay tonight? Goddamn, you're not just beautiful, but so fucking intelligent, too. Baby, I was shook - that sounded like some academic paper that college kids need to defend their thesis or some shit. Something scholarly, not some assignment you gotta hand in by a deadline so you just wrote down whatever. So, give yourself credit and tell yourself you're a success."

With a long, deep breath, you answered earnestly, "I'm a success."

"Good girl," he muttered, handing you a fork finally. However, unlike Mikey all those years ago, you didn't launch your utensil at anyone and used it to cut off a corner of pastry.

You moaned when you tasted the gooey goodness. You managed through a mouthful, "Mmhhh! Mhm! Mhm! If you make this every time I have some assignment pissing me off and stressing me out, I'm afraid I'll get used to this treatment."

Carmy grinned, "You deserve whatever dessert you want, whenever you want. Huh? Yeah? Lemme hear you say it."

With another grin, you mused, "I deserve whatever I want, when I want it... And however I want it!"

"Atta girl!"

"You're so fucking corny," you laughed lightly, feeling as if you were falling in love with him again, "but thank you, my Affirmation King."

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader gets a bit hurt in this chapter but only briefly.

notes: y'all we are officially 50k words in omg what a milestone. we are almost there--they are going to meet soon... but technically.... well you'll see. there are THREE special cameos in this chapter

A WARM WELCOME

“Now is not the time, doctor.”

Pantalone didn’t even raise his head to look at Dottore as he scribbled away at whatever parchment he was writing on. Dottore pressed his lips together, eyes cold beneath his mask as he watched Pantalone, unmoving. The windows of his office creaked against the winds outside, fireplace crackling to keep the room warm but other than that, silence rang loudly between the two of them.

Finally, when Dottore made no move to leave, Pantalone looked up. “What is it? I have a week to prepare for the induction of the Eleventh. I don’t have time for petty complaints.”

Dottore should be insulted, he could feel his irritation rising at the man’s comment but he forced himself to push it away. He had more important things to deal with, notably, his soulmate and as much as he hated to admit it, Pantalone’s resources were necessary if he wanted to find her before someone else did… before she got herself and by extension, him, hurt.

“You offered me resources a few years ago,” Dottore finally said, watching Pantalone carefully for a reaction. “I would like them now.”

The Regrator was a sharp man. Dottore did not have to go into detail for purple eyes to flicker down to his thumb, where the red thread connected him to his soulmate. He watched as Pantalone’s brows furrowed, as he tried to figure out why the sudden change after years of Dottore denying her very existence to him. 

“You have terrible timing, doctor,” Pantalone murmured, pushing the parchments aside as he leaned back in his seat to look up at Dottore. “My resources have been all but expended between the upcoming event and trying to track down that menace to the east who has been slaughtering our underlings.

Dottore’s lips twisted. “It is not my timing that is terrible,” he said coolly, Pantalone raised his eyebrows and Dottore exhaled. “It’s hers. I believe she is here. In Snezhnaya.”

Pantalone exhaled, turning his head to the side to look out the window. “That’s not good,” he murmured. 

“I know that,” Dottore said shortly.

“Why not send one of your segments?” Pantalone asked after a moment, pen tapping against the wood of his desk in an unsteady manner that had Dottore’s eye twitching in annoyance.

“They’re busy,” Dottore answered tensely. 

A lie. Both Epsilon and Rho were back in Snezhnaya City with nothing to do until Dottore decided what research he wanted them to continue on after finishing a round of successful experiments in Archon residue down in southern Liyue. Dottore just didn’t want to send them after her. 

Epsilon was Epsilon. He could not trust that the segment wouldn’t do something foolish driven by the emotions that the rest of them did not have or were not capable of understanding. He was the one that Dottore worried about the most ever since the thread appeared, fearing that he would do something that would irreparably strengthen the bond… like forcing Dottore to meet her because he thought it would be best for them.

And Rho had been the one most vocal about at least letting the kids meet her and if the kids met her, he knew it would inevitably lead to Dottore meeting her and that was the last thing he wanted. 

He had a feeling that Pantalone could read right through the excuse if the unimpressed look on his face had anything to say about it but Dottore did not waver, raising his chin and staring down at where the man was sitting. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to look for her right now,” Pantalone finally said, shaking his head and scooching his chair back to ruffle through one of the drawers of his desk. “If you can send one of your segments to take out the threat in the east, I might be able to conjure some up and have them keep an eye out but right now my hands are tied.”

“Fine,” Dottore said sharply. “Give me the information you’ve gathered. I’ll send a segment to track him down and kill him.”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows again, this time not even bothering to ask the question that Dottore knew was dancing through his mind: I thought your segments were busy, he could hear the mocking words just through the man’s expression. 

Instead, Pantalone just slid a thick folder across the desk to give to Dottore. He snatched it and tucked it under his arm, intent on passing it off to Rho before he returned to his labs, waiting for Pantalone to confirm that he would look for her.

“We don’t want him dead. We want him captured,” Pantalone warned. “Pierro wants information from him… then I’ll convince him to pass him off to you. Another test subject, you’re welcome.”

Dottore only smiled thinly. “And the girl?” he pressed.

“I’ll do what I can,” Pantalone said. “What do you know about where she is? Western or Eastern Snezhnaya? The border? I need to be able to narrow down the search, I can’t send men all across Snezhnaya with the upcoming event. I need them in the city to prepare for the arrivals of the aristocrats.” 

“I know that she is in Snezhnaya,” Dottore told him. Maybe he would know more if he would swallow his pride and reach out to her, but that simply was not an option. 

Pantalone stared at him, irritation thinly veiled behind his purple eyes. “You do not like making things easy, do you?” the corners of Pantalone’s eyes crinkled in annoyance at Dottore’s words before he finally sighed, shaking his head. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally repeated, “but with nothing to go on, I can make no promises that I’ll find her before someone else does… so, for all of our sakes, I suggest you try to narrow that down.”

It was cold. 

You knew that was something you should have expected and you thought you prepared adequately for it but now, you thought that no amount of preparation could have made you ready to face this. As soon as you had crossed over into Snezhnaya, the temperature had plummeted, the sheer cold was beyond anything you had ever felt before--cold enough to crack the stones of the buildings in the small villages littered throughout the countryside, cold enough to freeze you from the inside out.

Traveling during the night simply wasn’t feasible, as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, the already bone-chilling temperatures plunged further. You had been lucky the first night when you were traveling down the main road deeper into the northlands--you had bumped into an older man traveling back to his home from the one of the villages, he had ushered you back to his place and he and his wife had looked after you, warning you that you wouldn’t live through the night without shelter in Snezhnaya.

Since then, it’d been a game of survival. The deeper you got into Snezhnaya, the more winding and confusing the roads became, the harder it became to track down villages to find inns to stay at and the more nervous it made you about finding shelter for the night. You thought that Snezhnaya was a trap laid out for foreigners, only those who were born and raised there knew how to navigate the lands without meeting an untimely end. 

The tundra of the east appeared endless, a daunting venture you dared not make, and the forests of the west were dark and maze-like with dangerous creatures prowling about and the threat of getting lost and not making it to an inn before night fell was high… but the forest was the only way through to the mountain range south of the Snezhnayan capital city. If you wanted to get to the heart of the Fatui, you would have to trek through the forest and pray you stumbled upon one of the villages before the sunset. 

You exhaled, leaning back in your seat at the bar of the inn you were staying at as you swirled your empty glass between your fingers. You had reached the end of the main road, the only way further into Snezhnaya was through the forest now but the thought of entering it made you anxious. A part of you thought you might be better off heading back home. 

“Another?” the bartender questioned as he walked by you but you only shook your head, thanking him quietly as you remained lost in your own thoughts. 

You couldn’t turn back. Not now, not yet. You had promised yourself and your father that you wouldn’t return home until you had ample evidence to bring this to court… unless you died trying to get it.

Your grandfather didn’t want you going north. He thought that no amount of evidence would be worth you risking your life for but you disagreed. You didn’t think there was any world in which you’d be able to live with yourself knowing you didn’t even try. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed that he was looking at you again--the man sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You couldn’t see his face, there was a hood masking it from view but you could feel his eyes on you, he’d been watching you for nearly thirty minutes now. A part of you wanted to confront him, grab your stuff and head over to his table and demand to know why he kept staring at you but… the more logical part of you knew you shouldn’t. You didn’t know why he was staring at you and all of the worst possibilities were running through your head:

Does he know what you’re here for?

Is he Fatui?

Is he planning on attacking you?

Your vision vibrated from where it was hidden beneath your cloak, warning you to prepare for a battle but you were not the battle type. You had never learned how to wield your vision in a combat manner and you didn’t know if he had a vision or not, you only knew that he had a large claymore set down on the seat next to him and all you had was a small blade that couldn’t even be called a sword. You had only learned to use your vision in the way your father and grandfather taught you when you were younger and it was not something you enjoyed doing to people. 

Finally, you forced yourself to stand up. Your gaze caught the window on the far end of the room as you rose to your feet--it was dark already, night had fallen and the hazard of the cold had become even more real. 

With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel to make your way over to the table the man was sitting at. You watched as his head turned to follow you as you approached him and you watched as his body tensed, gloved fingers gripping the edge of the table tight as you slid onto the bench across from him.

“Is there a reason you keep staring at me?” you finally asked. You leaned back against the wall that the bench was placed against, feigning ease, but your legs were tense, ready to move at the first sign of an attack.

“You’re not from here,” the man said after a moment of silence, you caught a glimpse of red beneath the hood he wore. His accent was foreign--unlike the Snezhnayan dialect you’d become used to throughout your travels. 

“Neither are you,” you retorted. He shifted back in his seat, the lighting of the inn revealing equally red hair hanging in his eyes, cold and empty with something dark thinly veiled behind them that made your skin crawl--eyes that had witnessed massacre, eyes that promised vengeance. Vengeance for what? You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, you knew it would lead to nothing good. 

You suddenly felt as if you had made a mistake. 

“There aren’t many foreigners this deep in Snezhnaya,” he noted cooly. “Just merchants… are you a merchant?”

Somehow, you felt as if ‘yes’ was the wrong answer. 

He was accusing you of something, you could feel it in your bones but you didn’t know what he was accusing you of. Being a spy? Was he Fatui? 

“I’m not a merchant,” you said, taking in a small puff of air when you caught the blood smeared across the man’s chin and neck as the hanging lights in the middle of the tavern swayed a bit. His lips pressed together subtly at your words and your vision was becoming even more erratic--danger, danger, danger, it warned you.

Somehow, you knew now that ‘no’ had been the wrong answer too. 

“It’s hard traveling through Snezhnaya without knowing what paths to take, you can get lost easily… all of the paths on the old maps have been snowed out,” he responded. “How’d you make do?” 

“An older couple living off the main road pointed me in the right direction,” you told him. “How about you? Are you a merchant?”

You knew he wasn’t. No merchant traveled with blood staining their faces and a weapon the size of the average person. He had no goods that he had arrived with, he’d shown up at the inn a little after you had with only his sword in tow and his eyes were unfriendly and glacial, unlike the faux charisma that painted the expressions of merchants as they tried to get you to buy their products.

The man stared at you for a moment and then he said, “No,” with no further explanation.

The Fatui usually traveled in groups or as pairs. He had a foreign accent. He wore no mask or sigil that affiliated him with the organization as they usually did. Who the hell was he?

And then you remembered the hushed whispers of the elderly couple you had stayed with--warning you that the Fatui had become more active in their area because of a belligerent wreaking havoc throughout central Snezhnaya who had been spotted at a nearby inn. They told you to take care because they didn’t think that the Fatui would take kindly to any outsider in the area so long as the hostile remained terrorizing their strongholds but…

Was this…?

You watched him carefully, trying to figure it out without having to ask. You were several miles from where you had been staying with them now and it had been two and a half days. Traveling through Snezhnaya was slow and arduous, the wind fought you with every step and half of the time you were dragging yourself through snow that reached your knees. 

If this was him, then maybe… 

You didn’t even have a chance to finish the thought, head snapping to the side as the door to the inn slammed open and cold air rushed through the tavern at the entrance, blowing out half of the candles keeping the room lit up. Your stomach churned uncomfortably and from the corner of your eye, you watched as the man you were sitting with reached for his weapon. 

Who the hell was traveling in the dead of night?

Your throat felt tight as you watched another hooded figure step into the inn. You couldn’t make out his features in the dim lighting, you couldn’t even tell if he was armed or not but there was an odd vial that glowed blue even in the dark hanging from his right ear.

The bartender had paused in making a drink for one of the other patrons of the tavern, a wary look visible on his face that you caught as the chandelier swung dangerously beneath a harsh wind. You let out a shaky breath, the cold from outside was already creeping beneath your cloak and freezing your skin. You wondered why no one was shouting at him to close the damn door like they did to other people who arrived until the bartender finally spoke up, voice shaky: 

“Lord Harbinger,” he breathed out. “How can I-”

The man’s head turned in your direction--no, you realized, not your direction, his--and that was the only warning you got before the world around you exploded. 

The entire right side of his body felt like it was on fire. Dottore let out a spew of curses as his hand spasm and he dropped the vial he had been studying right to the ground, watching as the glass shattered and the silvery liquid splattered all over the floor, dissolving the tiles and eating through the ground.

Dottore exhaled, briefly shutting his eyes before looking down at the mess on the floor. His lips twisted in annoyance as he realized he was going to have to restart what he had been testing but the annoyance very quickly faded, instead shifting into confusion as the pain persisted. His gaze drew over to his arm--nothing was wrong with it on the surface level but it was a blinding type of pain that had him gritting his teeth, like a jagged blade was tearing through his bicep.

It was…

He hadn’t felt anything from her in nearly two weeks. No anxiety, no fear, no anger or sadness and certainly not any pain. He stared down at his arm, where the pain was coming from, and not for the first time since the accursed thread showed up, Dottore had no idea what to do. He thought that he should reach out to her, figure out what was going on and get a general idea of where she was so he could send one of his segments to find her. The pain was more than anything he had ever experienced through her and he wasn’t sure if it was just because she had a low pain tolerance and he was feeling what she was, or if it was because the pain was actually that bad. 

Neither boded well for her. 

But if he reached out to her, if she was fighting someone, it could distract her. 

Dottore’s teeth grit together. He didn’t know what would happen to him or the segments if she died. He didn’t know how it would affect them. Logically, he thought it shouldn’t affect them at all. They hadn’t met her yet and if the bond worked anything like how they believed it did, it shouldn’t take effect until after they met, which wasn’t going to happen… but after two weeks of silence, Dottore was unsure. Every day that passed, an odd, unfamiliar feeling expanded through his chest. He didn’t know how to describe it besides overwhelming and unwelcome but he knew it was because of her silence and the lack of communication through the bond. It caused an emptiness that made him question everything they had learned about the bond. 

And if mere silence could cause that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk knowing what her death would cause.

Are you okay? 

He asked it before he could decide against it, taking a seat back down at the lab table he had been working at as he waited for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, he could hear the silver liquid still eating through the ground below, sizzling and cracking as the floor dissolved wherever it touched the substance. 

He wondered if she would just ignore him like he did to her for years on end.

But then, his forearm stung--a familiar feeling that he hadn’t experienced in two weeks now. He hated how that empty feeling he hadn’t been able to get rid of since he had pushed her away immediately disappeared. It made him feel weak… as if he had no control over his own emotions like a puppet on a string being commanded by a stranger. He glanced down at his arm, red eyes flying over the words that had appeared.

Does it feel like I’m okay?

At once, he rolled his eyes, regretting reaching out to her. He rose to his feet again, pacing across the room to get the tools he needed to clean the mess of his mistake but before he even got halfway there, the pain tripled and a creeping fear began to spread through his chest. He grimaced as he leaned on a nearby counter, trying to regain control over himself but he found that he couldn’t--her fear and pain was simply too intense.

What happened? 

He slid down against the counter he was leaning on until he was sat on the floor. He watched the silvery liquid from the corner of his eye, watching as it ate through the ground closer and closer to him as he waited for a response from her. He despised how he couldn’t compartmentalize her feelings. He had learned how to separate them from his and the other segments but he had never figured out how to store them away and convert them into something that was easier for him to process. 

Attacked. 

Dottore felt cold. His gaze drew over to the window on the opposite wall of his lab--it was dark out, the sun had long set and the wind was harsh. He wondered if the coldness was a result of the damning realization that she was in trouble or if it was because she was outside. Either way, Dottore needed to act--if she was still being attacked, he had to get one of the segments there and if she was stuck in the cold running after being attacked, she would die to nature.

Dottore tried to push away the rising anger--the fury that never failed to appear whenever he was put into an impossible situation because of this bond, whenever he felt like the gods were looking down at him and laughing as he played right into their sick games. 

Who attacked you? Where are you?

He shot out questions to her at a rapid speed, the pain was getting worse on his end. He could feel a light-headedness and a fuzzy feeling beginning to seep through his body and mind. She had to be losing blood and too much of it. If she passed out, that would be the end. She’d be killed by the attacker or she’d be killed by the cold, there was no other fate that awaited her. 

Don’t know. An inn at -------

Dottore stared at the indecipherable words branded onto his forearm--he wasn’t sure if they were scribbles or an ancient language that he just couldn’t understand, another way for the gods to laugh at him by dangling the answer wants right in front of his face but making it so that he couldn’t understand it. 

What do you mean you don’t know? Figure it out.

Dottore wondered if she could sense his irritation at her response. He didn’t really care if she could, maybe it would make her think harder. 

Fatui, finally scrawled itself on his forearm and Dottore thought he might want to throw something because he had called it the moment that he had realized she might be coming north, he knew that between her being a foreigner and their subordinates being anxious over the masked hostile running through their camps that something would happen. They called him Lord Harbinger. 

Dottore stared at the words trying to piece together what was going on. Lord Harbinger? Pulcinella and Pantalone were rarely, if ever, sent on missions that would end in combat. As far as he was aware, Brighella was at Zapolyarny Palace working with Pierro on something. Capitano was traveling north from Natlan for the initiation of the new Harbinger in a few days, he’d be on a boat traveling the western sea. Scaramouche? It could-

He had a blue earring, it was bright.

A blue earring, he was acutely aware of the one hanging from his own ear, mind racing as he tried to remember where each of the segments were. Lambda and Theta were in Sumeru. Zeta was in Mondstadt. Delta and Iota were on the Fontaine border. Gamma, Epsilon and Kappa were all hanging around his labs. 

Rho, it dawned on Dottore suddenly. He had sent the segment south to track down the belligerent because their subordinates had proved incapable. He had mentioned that he was closing in on the man. Had she gotten caught in the crossfire? Was she traveling with him? 

No, that wasn’t possible. All reports had claimed that the hostile was traveling alone.

Rho, Dottore spit out, reopening the connection with the segment, intent on having him find the girl and drag her back across the border into Fontaine. Where are you?

Not now, Rho responded, voice cold and angry. It took a lot to anger Rho, he had tight control over his temper unlike the Theta and Delta segments. Dottore could feel something stinging his cheek, a cut--he wondered if the hostile had actually managed to land a blow on him, no matter how small. It would explain why he was so angry. 

Get back to where you came from. Now.

Now? Rho demanded, livid. I’m on him. 

She was there. At the inn. The reaction was instantaneous as Rho’s resolve wavered. If she dies because of you, you won’t even get the relief of deactivation.

Dottore rose to his feet again once he was certain that Rho had turned back, pacing across the length of his lab, careful to step over the melted ground where the substance had fallen. 

Once he found her, this would all be over. He’d have Rho bring her back to Fontaine whether she liked it or not, and once he knew where she lived, he’d make sure to send one of the other segments to keep an eye on her so something like this would never happen again.

Finally, he would have some semblance of control over the bond for the first time since it appeared. He’d no longer be hanging onto her whims, he’d no longer have to stress about her getting herself hurt or killed and how it would affect him, he’d no longer be bound to this mess and he’d never have to worry about accidentally running into her because the segment would keep her confined to the city and he would stay far from it.

He’d send the Zeta segment. He couldn’t send Theta because he didn’t trust him not to do something rash. He couldn’t send Delta, Rho or Epsilon because the younger segments were attached to them at the hip and they would press to meet her. Lambda was an option if he could ensure that the segment wouldn’t try to ‘handle her’ as he threatened to already. 

Relief began to inch its way through him—too soon.

He had jinxed himself.

She’s not here, he heard Rho tell him. I don’t know-

Dottore closed the connection, biting back vile curses as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of the nose and tried to think. 

Where could she have gone? It had only been a few minutes. She was hurt. She couldn’t have gotten far. 

Where are you? He finally decided to ask her and he waited, and waited, and waited for a response but was only met with the empty silence he had become accustomed to the past two weeks. 

“Where am I?” 

Your eyes followed the cloaked figure carefully, trying to keep your breath steady as the pain coursing through your arm gradually subsided. Your gaze flickered to the side, watching as the red, bubbling skin of your right arm began to smooth and clear beneath whatever substance that had been smeared over the burns. 

“What is this stuff?”

You had a lot of experience with using elemental energy to heal wounds. Fontaine City had some of the best medics throughout Teyvat--Wriothesley’s family’s special trait could call upon hydro energy to heal even the most fatal and grievous of wounds. He had never been able to wield it the way his family wanted him to but his grandfather was the best of the best, he had helped you when you had broken your arm and leg ten years ago after falling down the steps of the clocktower when exploring with Wrio.

This was not elemental energy. It was odd and cool, like gelatin, but it worked as fast as any medic--in no time, the pain was gone and the burns had vanished, leaving the skin of your arm unblemished again.

“Old magics,” the person responded. Their voice was low, androgynous. You couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.

“Why did you help me?” you asked. “Who are you?”

You didn’t know where you were now--it was a dark room, a stone building with a fireplace on the opposite wall. The last you remembered, you had been in the snow. You had started to lose consciousness, the cold and the pain too much for your body to bear. You could barely even remember what had happened: you could picture the hooded man who you had been sitting with brandishing his claymore and the man that they had called Lord Harbinger meeting him blade for blade, pale fire coating his weapon and eating away at the wood of the inn, burning through your cloak down to the skin. You could hear the screams of the other patrons of the inn as they got caught in the crossfire of the battle between the two men. 

And then you were here, in this room… with this person. 

“Who are you?” you demanded, more insistently this time when you didn’t get a response.

Finally, a reaction from them. The flames flickered across their face as they turned to face you and finally, you got a glimpse beneath the hood… but it was not a human face that stared back at you. It was a mask, dark with a spade-like pattern around the eyes, a smile painted onto the plastic. 

“No one,” they replied, “just a trouper.”

What? You thought to yourself, confused. Your nose wrinkled and your brows furrowed as you mulled over the word. A trouper? Like the entertainers at the Grand Theater? 

“Why did you help me?” you tried again, raising your chin to meet the two voids in the eyeholes of the mask. They hadn’t tried to bind you or restrict your movement, they hadn’t even taken your weapon--just a bit of concentration and you could put yourself in control of the situation. 

They tilted their head to the side, you couldn’t see their eyes or expression but you knew they were smiling, “Is that how you treat someone who saved you?”

You hadn’t even moved, you stared at them, unmoving, forcing your body to relax. How had they known what you were thinking? You weren’t a person that was easy to read--if you were, you would’ve been put on trial for treason a long time ago. 

“Why did you save me?” you asked slowly, not letting them get out of answering the question. 

“Because I want to help you.” 

Yet again, they evaded the question. Your lips twisted in frustration, “Why?”

“Because I think we can help each other.”

There it was, you recognized, taking in a sharp breath. They wanted something from you. The air around you suddenly felt cold, as if the fire across the room had been snuffed out even though it was still burning bright. They were eerily still, almost like a statue as they watched you, waiting for a reaction. 

“Why do you think that?” you asked carefully.

“Do you really think you can infiltrate the Fatui on your own?”

You were on your feet in an instant, reaching for the blade sheathed at your side but your eyes widened when you realized it wasn’t there. You only had half of a second to react before you found yourself backed up against the wall, a forearm pressed to your throat and the tip of your own blade pressed to your side, threatening to puncture the skin.

It had just been on you. How did they get it?

“Well?”

Well what? You wanted to scream, mind panicked and racing as you tried to force yourself to calm down and think but it was hard to concentrate with your air being half-restricted and a blade pressed to your ribcage. 

They wanted you to answer their question, you realized, about infiltrating the Fatui.

“Yes,” you said but you weren’t even sure you believed it yourself. You kept telling yourself that you would figure out a plan once you got to the city and had a scope of the area and more information available to you but you had a feeling that nothing would change even once there. Zapolyarny Palace would be impenetrable. 

“How?” they murmured, not letting up on you. You wanted to turn your face away, unnerved by the proximity of the mask, but you thought that would show you as weak and you couldn’t afford to show weakness, not right now. “Do you plan to storm the palace? Face the Harbingers and demand retribution for your father? Do you think you will fly under the radar of the Knave’s webs of spiders? That you can simply walk past the automatons of the Marionette prowling the streets of the capital city? You will find yourself a victim of the Doctor’s twisted experiments or the Friar’s sick games before you even hope to find the evidence you seek.” 

You couldn’t mask your expression, not after hearing that. You stared at them, lips parting as if to speak but no words left them. You felt like a fish out of water--for the first time in a long time, you were fumbling for words, your tongue felt twisted and heavy.

How were you going to do it? The question laid atop you like a crown of thorns, tearing through your skin and scarring your face. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how you were going to do it. You used not being in the city as an excuse, convinced yourself that it was the only reason you haven’t thought up a plan yet but the truth was branded right on your face as you stared at the masked person: you simply didn’t know.

“I can help you,” they whispered, leaning in impossibly closer. “I can give you your in, the chance you need to find the proof.”

“How do you know all of this?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice cracked over your words but you were scared because if this person knew all of this then it could spell your end, just like that. All they had to do was send word to the Fatui and you’d have hell bearing down on your doors.

And if they knew about this…

“I know a lot,” they said cryptically. “Would you like me to help you?”

… did they know about your soulmate?

You let out another shaky breath, staring ahead. You didn’t know what to do. If you didn’t accept their help, would they sell you out to the Fatui? Or would they laugh and watch as you fumbled your way through Snezhnayan courts and fail to acquire what you had traveled all this way for? You could feel the pain ricocheting through your head, you could barely even think straight, much less come up with an answer. 

If you did accept, you finally forced your head back on track, what did they want in return? That was what you needed to know.

“What would you want in return?”

“We don’t know yet,” they said quietly but their tone was not hesitant--if anything, it was amused. Finally, they released you, taking a step back to watch you. The eyes staring down at you were empty, like looking into an abyss.

A dangerous, dangerous gamble. It gave them too much power.

“No, I want to know what you want in return.”

We. You suddenly recognized how they referred to themself--we, not I, they were not working alone. You felt all the more suffocated at the realization. 

“Then I guess we have no deal,” they said with a sigh, making a move to leave the room the two of you were in. Your heart leapt to your throat. “I cannot tell you what we do not know. Take the deal as is or fail, you will not succeed without help. You have no way of getting into Zapolyarny Palace. It is impenetrable.”

You should take that as a challenge, tell them fuck off and make them watch as you succeeded. Your blood boiled at the condescending tone and it took all of your willpower to not snap at them. 

This was not the time for pride. You had to abandon all vices and virtues if you were to get the evidence to condemn your stepfather, if you were to bring justice to your father… and if this person were to offer you the chance you desperately needed… then maybe it was worth whatever price they wanted you to pay in the long run. 

Committing injustices in the name of justice, the thought rang through your head loud. Wrio would love the irony. 

“You can get me into Zapolyarny?” you finally questioned, hiding the way your hands were shaking behind you as you sealed your fate. 

They hummed in agreement, “You will be on your own once you’re in there. Take care not to anger the wrong people… or draw too much attention to yourself.”

You could do that, you told yourself. Once you got in, you needed to find a place. Weasel your way in as an attendant so you could search for the evidence you needed. 

“Okay,” you finally agreed. The air suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, you thought that if you looked up, you would see the blade of a guillotine dropping on your neck. “Okay, we have a deal.”

You didn’t have to see their face to know that they were smiling, the voids staring down at you glimmered cruelly, you swore you saw red deep within the eyeholes of the mask.

“Welcome to the game, spadille.”

rbs appreciated!!

[tricksterringmaster]

my tiktok finally works, and my art got some traction and, ngl, i've never expected to ever see such numbers on my art.

i've been in this fandom for a couple of years and i have only one post with 1k likes and it's a thread of my comic on twitter.

to get a thousand likes/notes/whatever i need to sum results from several of my works (sometimes 2, but mostly, like, 5-10).

on tiktok i got 13k likes on just one of my works. 3k on another one. 5k on the next. also got my first shiphate but it was toothless.

idk for how long it will work like this, but i finally feel like i'm not delusional for liking my art and it's not "good for me and absolute shit for everyone else except maybe 10 people".

tbh i didn't have many hopes for tiktok, i felt very alienated from fandom for a while and thought of it as a "last try before finishing the comic and leaving fandom", but now i feel inspired to do things.

people like to say that numbers don't matter and you should do it for yourself, but idk. when you learn that if you show your art to 50k people 10k of them will like it, it turns from wishful thinking into real statistics and facts and it becomes harder to say "i'm a shitty artist and no one likes my shitty art".

10k people liked my art, so, hey, critical voice in my head, at least about this question you can shut it.

[not-poignant]

Stupid question, but I remembered seeing you mention having monthly minimum wordcounts on one of your previous posts and I wanted to ask if you're a professional writer? Because at first I was like "that sounds so stressful"* and then I realized that it makes a lot more sense if you're doing it for a living.

*Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.

I am a professional writer!

My original serials are my job, basically, and they're supported by generous folks at Patreon and Ream. That, in turn, allows me to do this in a more professional and focused way, vs. say just as a hobbyist who doesn't update for 9 months at a time. It also lets me share my works for free, in a fandom friendly manner, which lets me keep doing something I love in a way I love to do it, but in a way which is like...I guess more reliable than you'd necessarily be if you were only doing it for fun.

I can instead pledge high fidelity/loyalty to my main serials through thick and thin (hence my wild author's notes), which means folks following WIPs get to know they'll be finished, and I get to enjoy doing this for a living! It's hard, but it's a good hard. Except for taxes.

As for my monthly minimum, that actually started as a way to break out of the very ableist 'you should write every day' (as a professional writer) which is literally impossible for me and my chronic illnesses. I sometimes have big chunks of time where I can't write, sometimes weeks! And where it would be unhealthy for me to make myself.

(More about my writing process beneath the Read More!)

Alongside that, I have quite severe dyscalculia (think dyslexia but with numbers and directions and left and right lol) so I can't keep a 'running wordcount' because the numbers confuse me too much. Luckily, because my writing life is defined by chapters completed (and not novels), I count the wordcount of every finished chapter only. Unfinished chapters don't count! My growing wordcount per month grows only when that draft is finished (my drafts are clean, so chapters only tend to grow or shrink by about 100-150 words per edit, so give or take it all evens out).

It's not how any other author I know does it, but it works so well for me that I've been doing it for nearly a decade now.

I started the monthly minimum (which currently is 25k words per month) because I tend towards being a workaholic, and so my therapist and I established a minimum not as an unreachable goal that's hard to meet, but as an easy goal that's generally effortless for me to reach in good months, and average months, and even many bad ones. After I hit 25k words per month, if I crash, feel burnt out, feel awful, or life gets Life-y in a bad way, I have permission to stop writing. I can just stop. Everything else is gravy. (Though secretly I always want to hit 30-35k but shhh).

When I hit 50k words, I also have to stop immediately and take a mandatory 3-5 day break from writing even if I want to keep writing. Because I don't know it yet, but I'm probably exhausted on at least some level, lol.

I didn't hit 50k at all last year and there is at least one therapist who would be really proud of me about that even though I feel kind of guilty about it, lol.

Here's an example of my tracking:

You can see the chapters I've written, which dates I've written them. They're colour coded, so I can see at a glance if I'm writing enough of a story or not. And then on the far right is an addition of every month's wordcount.

April was so low because I took an intentional writing holiday (which I'll be doing again ideally in March this year). December was so low because December sucks.

And then I erase it all at the end of the year and start again. The blank whiteboard is actually very motivating to write that first chapter because I always feel like I haven't done anything until then.

This whiteboard is two feet away from where I write quite literally, and is never moved etc. so I have a yearly tracker basically that's extremely visible (super helpful to my ADHD brain, because if I put this in a spreadsheet I'll stop updating it after 3 weeks and then forget it exists). The colour coding gives me dopamine, so does adding chapters.

Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.

This is true! This is actually the least stressful way of doing things for me.

That being said, anon, it's still super stressful. Being a serial writer is one of the most stressful things you do, because you have constant and never-ending deadlines for years. Novelists can kind of escape this, in a way, because they can't release novels as often as I release chapters. But I have to be mentally switched on at least 8 times a month, re: putting work out there, making sure it's at least semi-polished, making sure I let everyone know, and tracking responses because obviously, unlike a novel, if you lose interest you can't just "skip ahead" you simply lose your readers. A lot of novelists couldn't live or work this way, a) because they couldn't write a hooky serial and b) because many realise that having to update all the time is really exhausting actually. There's a kind of social labour to updating a serial, and getting it Right every single time. One of my greatest fears that I have nightmares about

Serial writing is the most stressful kind of writing I've ever done (and I've done a few different kinds), I just happen to like the adrenaline rush of this kind of writing, and I happen to work well under a controlled level of stress! I know that, because I've been doing this for over 10 years, refining it, figuring out how to make it healthier (it was really unhealthy at first), getting better at it, figuring out my weak points (some of them are still weak points) etc. I actually think I'm pretty good at it now!

I'm also getting better at not thinking my entire career is over if I take 2 weeks off.

I went from being entirely dependent on a Disability Pension, and like, sometimes having to skip meals and doctor's appointments and even medication due to money issues (the Disability Pension is ironically not enough if you have mental health issues because our subsidised healthcare doesn't cover mental health adequately and Australia has no food stamps system), to being able to live a bit more freely and support my chronic health stuff a bit more because of writing this way!

For the first time ever through these stories I was able to afford a psychiatrist, and a few other things I really desperately have needed since I was a teenager. So being able to write like this, even when it's really hard and I'm really tired, feels still like a miracle to me. I've never been well or healthy enough to work a full-time job with typical 9-5 hours, and always kind of was stuck imagining a life where I'm just...never knowing how to afford certain things, to being in a position where I'm fairly confident I can get my meds every month, or pay for my dog's pet food, etc. It's really nice.

But yeah honestly serial writing is the most stressful form of serial writing there is as soon as you lock it in as a professional job where you must meet nearly 10 deadlines every month and you happen to have pretty intense ADHD so deadlines make you scream a little.

Sometimes what is extremely stressful and sometimes even distressing for someone is also extremely productive and rewarding for them too. We probably wouldn't have a lot of emergency surgeons if that were the bar for how we decide what we do!

[thelarriefics]

OFFICE FIC REC: Below you will find find that take place in an office, have Harry and Louis as coworkers, or just in general have to do with work.

📖 if it kills me by @nobodymoves (110k)

Harry and Louis have worked together in a difficult office environment for three years. They're best friends; Louis is the bright spot of all of Harry's days. But Louis is in love with Harry, and Harry's engaged to someone else. And that's only the beginning. The Office AU. More or less follows the first five seasons. A lot of pining and misunderstanding the depth of feelings and rejection and angst, until there isn’t.

📖 Baby, Won't You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis (50k)

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive. Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

📖 Secrets, Santa? by @indiaalphawhiskey (19k)

Right, okay, so Harry had confessed his deepest, darkest, dirtiest secrets to a stranger who turned out to be his boss. No big deal. This was probably just the beginning of Harry’s own hilariously heartwarming, wildly romantic Hallmark Christmas movie, come to life, right?

📖 Hike Up Your Skirt (And Show Your World To Me) by @twopoppies (17k)

Louis has a very hands on approach to training his new secretary. How else can he make sure Harry realizes his full potential?

📖 Through the Warning Signs by @ireallysawanangel (12k)

Harry and Louis have been best friends for years, but when Louis suggests they become friends with benefits, how will Harry handle that while also being in love with Louis?

📖 Make Him Want to Sin by @becomeawendybird (9k)

Harry is a curatorial assistant at the London Museum of Natural History, on the day of the big annual gala he catches a glimpse of someone unexpected.

📖 Blame It On Christmas by @larrysballetslippers (7k)

Life was good until a new coworker showed up. It’s a little insane but not even a little bit funny how much Harry instantly despised the new guy. He’s always late, but always shows up with the most charming smile so nobody can get mad. His desk is a mess and he doesn’t seem to have ever learned the words ‘thanks’ or ‘sorry.’ And as if a bad employee isn’t bad enough, this particular bad employee is none other than the CEO's nephew, Louis fucking Tomlinson. Or, Harry is the six-time winner of the yearly Christmas sweater competition, but it all changes when a new coworker shakes up his whole world.

📖 On That Note by @allwaswell16 (6k)

Louis’ office job on an omega only floor would be absolutely fine, if not for the alphas he and his friends have to deal with in the building. But although they’ve never met face to face, the friendly notes sent between him and Harry in Purchasing help him get through the day.

📖 i swear i could give you everything by @alwaysxlarrie (5k)

Louis Tomlinson was not a morning person, so he really should have known better than to start leaving secret notes on coworker Harry Styles' desk before he arrived at the office at 7:30 each morning. But he did have to admit that hearing Harry's reaction everyday was definitely worth it. Not being a morning person might be his downfall in this situation, though. Talk about self sabotage.

📖 Hello Darling by @zanniscaramouche (5k)

As CEO, Mr. Tomlinson is used to spending more nights curled on his office coach than his bed, but this time it isn't an impending merger or new client deal keeping him hibernated on the fortieth floor this Christmas Eve. A city wide blizzard warning, a power outage, and a dismal lack of tea leaves him hours away from what he expects to be one of the more pathetic Christmas mornings of his life. That is, until the new bright eyed intern scares the living crap out of him.

📖 baby you're the boss at home by @loveislarryislove (3k)

Louis sets up a camera in the master bedroom, so she can watch over her wife while she's at work. But it doesn't take long for Harry to notice -- and to decide to have some fun with it, at the expense of Louis' sanity.

📖 Sweeter Than Fiction by @lookslikefairytale (2k)

With that, Louis channels every single Drama lesson he ever took in school, and starts walking towards Curly Angel, as his drunk brain has dubbed him in the past twenty seconds. It sounds at least a little less biblical than His Saviour. And then, in lieu of a great conversation opener, he does the only thing his drunk brain can come up with. He grabs Curly Angel, pulls him close and kisses him. or, the one where Louis has to attend the most boring work party and Harry might be his way out of there.

[runawaymarbles]

9-1-1 fic recs

because if I do nothing but read 9-1-1 fic for a month solid I feel like I should. Since my bookmark notes are all spoilers. Buck/Eddie unless specified otherwise.

to your front door by hammersmiths | G | 3k

Buck and Pepa are bridge buddies and Pepa is happy to arrange everyone's lives.

i'm headed to the mountains by hammersmiths | 8k | G

a.k.a. Abby Clark does deserve rights

pick me, choose me, love me by trysetmeonfire | T | 9k

It is some kind of hell, it seems to me, to be forced to choose one irreplaceable thing over another. Buck and Chris get stuck and Eddie has to get one of them out first.

brick by spqr | E | 10k

9-1-1 fic I read and loved before I knew anything else about 9-1-1. Post lightning strike, Buck and Eddie are not at all on the same page.

i love you, ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard? by rarakiplin (gmontys) | T | 10k

"Because, Evan" is actually a love confession, but Buck's with Taylor. They handle it great.

the stick-around by derryfacts2 (winchysteria) | T | 10k

Buck is bleeding out. It's surprisingly funny.

Ace of Hearts by glorious_spoon | T | 10k

The poker night was a date but Buck doesn't realize it until later.

darlin', i'm just tryin' to tell ya by archerincombat | T | 10k

The station adopts a dog that has cancer and Ravi has some feelings about it.

still by brewrosemilk | T | 10k

Eddie is standing on a bomb.

the light's been out though, baby by hattalove | M | 15k

There's a video of the shooting.

like a hole in the ground by clytemnestra | T | 15k

Buck shares his feelings but they still don't know how to communicate.

maybe love won't let you down by sibylsleaves | M | 15k

Buck tells Eddie he loves him; Eddie thinks he himself is terrible at relationships and so he dodges the question. Things are OK until they aren't.

False Start (timing’s everything) by Morgane (smilla840) | E | 16k

Buck and Eddie hook up, and then Buck gets back together with Taylor. Ouches all the way down. It's great.

i would like a place i could call my own by maybeamystery | E | 17k

Buck and Eddie hooked up at the end of season 3. It does not make things better.

find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson | M | 20k

Buck doesn't realize he has feelings for Eddie until Eddie lets Linda set him up. They both suck at coming out.

stay soft; get eaten by eddiediass | T | 20k

Ramon Diaz is dying.

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by withmeornotatall | M | 20k

Buck is being reckless, Eddie's pissed about it, and Natalia is asking a lot of questions about everybody's trauma.

where there's smoke, there's fire by wakeupnew | T | 24k

You're really not supposed to be secretly dating your coworker. Luckily, they have a union rep.

into the fire by brewrosemilk | E | 27k

Cheating fic (complimentary); Buck and Eddie sleep together. It's messy.

Tick Tick Boom by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky | 30k | T

Buck's having a breakdown; he's not talking to his parents; he doesn't tell Maddie this but he does go to drag brunch.

I Kinda Fell Half In Love (And You're To Blame) by orphan_account E | 33k

Eddie is dating Ana and Buck can't figure out why he doesn't like it. Also, Chris is trying to return to school after COVID and they're really stressed about it.

the going water and the gone by trysetmeonfire | T | 30k

Eddie is lost at sea and presumed dead. The logistics of death are complicated and custody isn't as easy as saying you want your platonic bro to raise your kid without telling anyone.

i don't swim and you're not in love by hattalove | T | 30k

Eddie is dating Ana, Buck tries to get over himself, and there's a sewer leak at Abuela's.

listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Yavilee | T | 40k

Buck goes down in an earthquake and is missing, presumed. He and Eddie leave each other voicemails.

everything (nothing) has changed by bizarrestars | E | 50k

Buck goes to therapy, tells Eddie that he's in love with him but he's going to get over it, and Eddie has a meltdown for 50,000 words except this is from Buck's POV and Buck's an idiot.

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) by catchingpapermoons | M | 50k

Buck and Eddie go to couples therapy in s5 and I? Cry.

a blaze in the dark by woodchoc_magnum | E | 117k

Buck gets caught up in Natalia, Eddie starts dating someone else, it goes about how you'd expect. Hurts in a delightful way.

tell me about despair by hattalove | M | 150k

THEEEEE Eddie Diaz fic.

just to be with you by woodchoc_magnum | M | 150k

Buck and Eddie keep their relationship secret for months and it turns out it's hard to come back from that.

The things we lost in the fire by SunSpell80

Buck's uncle molested him when he was a kid. Buck's relationship with his parents is complicated in a way that doesn't villanize them, but is still messy as fuck. I am rotating it in my brain. (Note: the author presumably wrote this before we met Buck's parents in canon, but got tired of changing the names a couple chapters in.)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Stephhh,

Im looking for some good post s4 fix-its, friends to lovers. Preferably smutty obvs, and under 50k (if its reeeeeeaallyy good but long ill read it but its gotta be like an 11/10)

I believe in you 🙏 thank you in advance lol

Hi Lovely!!

I've a lot of Post-S4 fics, and if I can say so, I think all of the fics on my lists are fantastic and MORE than 11/10's, but subjective, hahah.

I'm also needing a list for the weekend, so I'm using your ask as the one I'm posting the next part for, so I HOPE some of these appeal to you, as well as the fics on the additional lists!! I put word counts next to all my fics which should help you out!

And if y'all have S4 fics to suggest, please do, as usual! I've another part I'm compiling of MFL fics, so I will add them to that as well! Enjoy!

POST-S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 5

See also:

TFP Is Canon

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 2

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 3

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 4

S4 Rewrites

S3 / TAB / S4 [FIX IT] Fics (March 2019)

Post S4 and Mental Health

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4,  5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

fulfilling for other people by missselene (E, 3,957 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, Unhappy Fic, Unrequited Love Confession, Virgin Sherlock) – When Sherlock decides to act on John’s advice regarding romantic entanglements, the results are far from what John expected. Part 1 of fulfilling for other people

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Winter’s Storm by LoloLolly (M, 51,812 w., 11 Ch. || Canon Compliant Through TFP/S4 Is Canon, Alternating POV,  Established / New Relationship, Parentlock with Rosie, Explicit Torture, Mentions of Sherlock’s PTSD, Mentions of Human Trafficking, References to Child Abuse, Violence, Kidnapping, Captivity, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Case Fic, BAMF / Soldier John, Sherlock Whump, Mycroft and John Work Together, Marriage Proposal, Autistic Sherlock, Lestrade Finds Out, Polyglot Sherlock, Aftermath of Serbia) – Sherlock had buried the past. Shut Serbia away in the attic of his mind palace. Muddy footprints at a heinous crime scene, however, have led him right back to old enemies. And right back to captivity. For God’s sake, Mycroft. Part 2 of the Earthly Pomp (Is But a Dream) series

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Swallow the Night by ArwaMachine (E, 87,873 w., 15 Ch. || TSo3/Stag Night Fix It, TAB/S4 Divergence, Toplock, Mutual Pining, PWP, Drunk / Public Sex, Anal Fingering/Sex, Alcohol-Induced Amnesia, Everyone Knows Except Them, Emotional Love Confession, Demisexual Sherlock, Internalized Homophobia [John], Parentlock with Rosie, First Kiss, Drug Relapse, Infidelity, Texting, Masturbation, Oblivious John, Emotional Love Making, Angst with Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares) – “Do you know how long,” John panted, his cheek scraping against the wall, looking back at Sherlock through half-closed eyes, “I’ve wanted this?” Sherlock pressed himself against John’s back, biting at John’s ear. “Not nearly as long as I have,” he whispered.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (E, 109,272 w., 60 Ch. || S4 Compliant to TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock’s Italian Adventure, Sherlock/OC and Johnlock, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Idiots in Love, 3 Part Story, Slow Burn, Inexperienced Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Introspection, Multiple Alternating First and Third Person POV, Separation and Reconciliation, Emotional Love Making, Love Confessions via Letters, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being.  Part 1 of the Drawn to Stars series

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) –Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

[crguang]

violinist au masterpost !! ghuahsdgl i always think annoting music is very personal, since it's just like notes for urself esp if ur doing it with someone else idk, and handwritings together with the doodles on the side. i hated annoting music right before i quit tho. off-topic but ik kafka looks rlly hot while she's tuning her instrument. like she has her head cocked to one side to listen to the note so she can tune it, she's very focused... btw kakfa has a spider tattoo on her rib rage or her hip. idk yet the vision i recieved was unclear. also very hilarious to me that kfr got together 21 years after they first met meanwhile acheswan are hs sweethearts that are still together.

also that kafka fic you released, you need to put a warning. i would die if i was with kafka, i wouldn't be able to handle her w my abandonment issues. like she's not open, she's elusive for no reason, would kms

and the valentines day fic odahgl kafka is always yearning she's so stupid. the last paragraph tho....</3 "nor any desire to be known, to be picked apart without the guarantee of being glued together afterwards. Her feelings have no name and her body rejects their existence within her like unknown bacteria. Despite it all, once in a while, a repressed corner of her mind bears its ugly head and demands that you look at her." like fucckkk. she's so terrible at feelings.

also i'm building my aglaea rn shes v fun but i'm acc considering pulling sunday for her...like she hits 50k max w out sunday buff but i used an assist and she hit 130k like...

dsfhksdh i have more to say about kafka but i'm very tired and i still haven't gotten new sleep meds. but that is (hopefully) happening tmrw. but i did go to the art museum today and i got dim sum. since it was my birthday a little bit ago i should totally buy a kafka print, or a plush perhaps. also am considering buying tickets to hadestown but atp I'll have to spend all of it on the fucking doctor. really glad my midterms got delayed because of a snowstorm tho because i was not ready. anw i think I'll try sleeping but if i can't i'm watching "kafka all scenes 1.0-3.0" and yell abt her ur inbox. if my doctor's appointment doesn't go well you'll see me on the national news tho <3

-🌠

youre so right abt annotating music sheets together being personal… in a sense it represents them approaching their ambitions/dreams together despite them having different notes for themselves on certain parts and its so cute. kafka’s childish doodles ughhh and they all sit in a corner of r’s bedroom somewhere.

i will never disagree that kafka looks hot with a violin in hand… she could be doing anything but her focus is so attractive to me hfjsjsnf ugh i need her so bad. when she blocks out the outside world and focuses on herself and her instrument phewww. also the spider tattoo idea is a yes from me idk if you saw that one art of her as shizuku (? i don’t remember her name) from hxh but she literally has a spider tattoo on her abdomen and its so sexy, so i approve!!!!

in acheswan’s defense they tried so hard to get kfr together as teens but kafka wouldnt listen and r was oblivious as hell bc they couldn’t believe k would ever want them that way so its not their fault they got their high school/lifelong romance while kfr were miserable…… 21 years is insane though i hadnt done that math dhjdkfkg

i had to think for a minute what fic u were referring to but yeah… i love writing about kafka leaving idk what that says about me but her elusive ways are really part of her charm to me in some way hdjfjfmg i would def end my life if she left me but

kafka yearning <3 so subtle yet not. so easily overlooked because of the way she presents herself. so good.

aglaea is very very fun to play but yes you need sunday so she doesnt underperform 😭 50k for her enhanced basic atk is like 1/4 of what she can hit consistently with my sunday and hes not even well built, so i would def recommend pulling for him, i dont think he’s only good for her either so its a nice investment

ahhh im answering this so late but i hope you got new sleeping meds and that you enjoyed your birthday and that you did get the kafka print or plush bc you deserve it and its ok to treat yourself. hope your doctors appointment went well too !!! i’ll be rewatching k’s scenes soon im having withdrawals…

[writernopal]

So I did it...kind of! 😅

Well, my friends, it is the last day of Nano, and I survived! Now let's see how I did by the stats...

That's 25,032/50,000 or 50.06% if screenshots aren't your jive. Which means no Nano win 😢

HOWEVER

I REFUSE TO COME OUT OF THIS CALLING MYSELF A LOSER

I am so fucking proud of myself. Not only do I have 25K more words than I did at the start of the month for AASOAF 3, but I also wrote 8,789 words for M.O.W, bringing me to a cool 33,821 words for November.

That is like actually insane output for me, especially because I have never worked on more than one WIP at a time. Frankly, I didn't think it was possible yet here I am doing it! And I learned and refined so much about my writing, editing, and ideation process!! I used writing sprints for the first time. I implemented new productivity practices, like making little phone prisons (pic below the cut bc they turned out so cute haha). I sharpened up my style and spruced up the bits that make it special. I read a passage from AASOAF 1 the other day bc I was feeling nostalgic and compared it to AASOAF 3 HOLY MAMA the difference is INSANE.

And all of this while still dealing with life 😭 Family commitments, stressful work deadlines, trying to prevent burnout (which hit me anyway rip), unexpected job hunting (resume and interview prep can fuck right off, but wish me luck it's still in flux), and trying to find time for myself (rip my BG3 solo campaign. i miss my computer boyfriends lol). It also occurred to me that I should stop drinking coffee (still going strong btw!) bc it was meshing VERY poorly with my SAD so I've been having more cranky days than non-cranky ones 😅.

Oh, and *shuffles through notes* did I also mention that I've been working on the AASOAF 3 companion material which is all uncharted territory that I am figuring out by the seat of my pants lol? Yeah, that too.

SO

Would I have liked to hit 50K? hell yeah

Did I win nano? no

But did I WIN nano? FUCK YEAH

ps: everyone is a nano winner in my heart. have a medal and a hot chocolate (or any warm beverage of your choice) 🥇☕

^ phone prison