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flowerandblood · 29 days

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Writing the Long Series

How I manage to do this for @troublesomesnitch

I often get questions about how I write and how I structure my work. If you are a perfectionist and like to have everything organized and tidy, this guide is not for you, because most of my work is chaos. However, I know that there are people like me who are tired of having to make lists, think about beta-readers, etc., so for all those who don't like to plan, here's how I write long series.

1. Never assume that your series will be long

When I write a oneshot or the first chapter of my story, I never assume how many chapters it will have − I do this very rarely when I have a specific plot in mind for a mini-series, but I often change my mind anyway, adding or shortening the series as I see fit. It's usually only when I've written the first two chapters that I have a sense of whether or not the story itself for me is asking to be longer.

With The Impossible Choice I thought I would close it in 20 chapters, and ended up with 55 chapters and 3 Alternate Universes. I had no idea when I wrote the first chapter that this would happen. Putting the pressure on yourself "okay, this is my moment, it's time for a long series, I want to make it 30 chapters" will make you shy away from writing at the thought of how much work lies ahead. Don't think about it, just write.

2. You don't have to have an ending

In none of my long series I knew what the ending would be. I usually know what's going to happen a maximum of 2/3 chapters in advance. I believe, but this is just my personal opinion, that writers pay too much attention to the ending, and if we are not writing a crime story, or the ending itself is not supposed to be a big breakthrough, it doesn't really matter. Even whether everything ends well or badly. Sometimes what's more important is the journey and what's in between.

I come up with the ending at the very end, when I have all the chapters. Then I know exactly what happened and what ending to the story will make sense in the context of what has happened so far. What's the point of coming up with a super-thought-out ending if it doesn't seem to fit the whole? This is starting from the wrong side. We are supposed to feel emotions throughout the story, not just at the end.

3. Don't predetermine how each chapter will end

This is suicide. Because what if you have a couple of scenes at the beginning, an end scene and a blank of what to write in between? It makes no sense!

When I write a chapter, I just go scene by scene and look at the number of words. Once it's over 2'500, I'm already thinking about slowly closing the chapter and I usually end it with some kind of breakthrough sentence or a character's thought. That's enough.

You don't always have to come up with a cliffhanger at the end. It's more important that the story reads smoothly and with breath, not to have someone gasp in surprise at the end but feel that what they were reading was just a bunch of scenes that weren't necessary.

4. Accept the fact that you won't use all the scenes you've imagined

I know we often think we have fantastic ideas, that this and that could happen, but sometimes we find that when we write, they just don't fit anywhere. There's no need to get upset then. If it's not a key scene for the whole story, it should be omitted or modified completely. Having said that, I'm against planning scenes ahead, except for the ones that matter most and push everything forward. It then makes such a pattern with holes that aren't there when you write everything in sequence.

Some people say − don't know how to do it? Leave it, move on to the next scene! I say no here! Don't keep writing until you know which way you want to go! And even if you do know, if you can't make it happen with a scene or dialogue, ask yourself if that way is good. Maybe just because you came up with it doesn't mean it makes sense in the context of the whole story you've created so far?

Maybe it's worth taking a different course, surprising yourself, choosing a different solution? Don't be a prisoner of your own decisions, let the creation of the story be fluid and changeable according to what you feel will be most viable for the development of your character!

5. Write other stories between chapters

Write oneshots or other mini-series in between chapters of your big project. Allow yourself to take a breather and not think about it all the time. I always intersperse my long series with my other work and it has helped me a lot. Sometimes, you just lose the verve for that concritical story and feel like writing something else − you should do exactly that. Don't think 'oh no, I'm starting a new story and I haven't finished that one'.

Even if you don't finish that one, nothing will happen. By controlling yourself in this way you are killing the fun you should be having with it. When you feel like it, read your long series again, or at least the last chapters to get the mood and then try to sit down to write a new chapter. I've found that when I take breaks and come back to stories like this after a few days, good new ideas come to me which keep me engaged in creating this story.

6. Play with characters, not scenes

Sometimes we come up with a scene that doesn't resonate at all as well in the story as it did in our mind when we wrote it. The reason I knock such scenes out is usually because they don't fit the character I'm writing about.

In my series The Fall from The Heavens originally when Lady Strong and Aemond are sitting in the library years later and Aemond tells her about having his first intimate experience with a whore, I wanted him to have tears in his eyes, get up from the table and walk over to the bookcase, Lady Strong was going to approach him and try to draw out of him what had happened.

However, as I wrote this, I felt somewhere in the back of my mind that something was wrong. I realised that while the scene itself was interesting and poignant, it didn't fit completely with my Aemond in this series. He would never allow himself to show weakness in this aspect, he would never have tears in his eyes at the thought, at most he would feel disgust, discomfort and anger.

I thought I would change this to a scene where her question reminds him of what happened and he tries to put it out of his mind and pretend he was content, drawing sastifaction from her jealousy. This, in my opinion, was definitely better suited to his spiteful, sullen character.

7. Do not ignore the thoughts of the protagonists

Some authors forget that only they know what is in the characters' heads − readers do not. Putting everything in dialogues makes no sense, because ordinary people don't say everything they think about.

Each of us thinks about something constantly, even when we just look at someone, when we sit alone or when we don't say anything. The characters' thoughts, so often overlooked, are a gateway to entering various scenes and events without the need for dialogue or additional events.

In The Knight & The Judge, readers would hate my Aemond if it weren't for the fact that they know his thoughts, how he regrets his actions, what he goes through, why he does certain things. Events do not happen by themselves, but are the result of what is happening in his head, even if he does not say much to other characters.

8. Don't be afraid to use side characters to show your couple's perspective

I often swap perspectives, once showing the perspective of a female character and once of a male character, but I also often use the eyes of side characters like Aegon, Daemon or Alys to show what their relationship looks like from the side.

Although some people dread this (like being afraid to write a chapter without smut because no one will read it because there won't be spicy scenes − that's nonsense) such a pov often gives a much wider view of how our characters are perceived from the side, what others think of their behaviour, what their decisions lead to, how they affect other characters.

If these side characters are an important part of our story, we can use such an extra chapter to build up what they will do in the future, engaging with our couple's story.

9. Confrontation does not always mean violence

I notice that often when there is a conversation between the main characters, many authors do their best to make both characters as sassy as possible, throwing fanciful insults at each other, threatening each other, considering it a good prelude to sexual tension. Of course, in one or two scenes this will work, even more so when, in fact, the two parties are very much at odds and practically hate each other.

However, it can't be that even though the characters are getting closer, they act as if they haven't gone through any development, haven't had any thoughts. It amazes me when someone writes an elaboration on the appearance of a gown or a room, on how someone raises a hand or performs an action, but does not lean into the fact that their character's behaviour is unnatural.

People say unpleasant things to each other in anger, but usually, forced to be in each other's company, they also have calmer discussions. Sometimes one word or sentence can make someone's perspective change, make them understand something that was unclear to them and new feelings emerge that can push the plot further − compassion, grief, longing or even understanding.

Creating templates out of our characters who have specific characteristics and always behave identically makes the whole story unbelievable.

10. Be kind to yourself

At the moment, there are no series from my first months of writing here written by me that I would consider good and I edit most of them, or I just left them as is and will never come back to them. I just know they are bad. But that's the way it is, in order to develop we have to make mistakes and not always be satisfied with ourselves (although at that moment I thought I had created my life's work).

Be understanding and kind to yourself. I managed to create so much work, not always good, mainly because I did it with passion and joy. I am very proud of many of my stories now and I like them even when I come back to them after a long time, I feel my progress and I know that it was worth it. Give yourself a chance and don't block yourself.

#writer thoughts #fanfiction writer #writer prompts #woman writers #female writers #creative writing #fanfic writing #writing community #writing is hard #writing struggles #writing #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #writing advice #writing about writing #fanfiction prompts #fanfiction #fanfiction author #fanfiction advice

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writing-promptsss · 15 days

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When you have so many ideas and you keep daydreaming about them and planning them out in detail, but then you remember that you have to write them down.

#writers #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writerscommunity #writer things #random #writeblr #writing problems #author problems #the struggle is real #writing prompts #prompts

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petiolata · 1 month

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Decided I'll just block people I see tag their art with "not ship art" "don't tag as ship" and the like.

It's not that I care whether it's ship art, or whether the artist intends it platonically or romantically.

It's that it shows a deep, fundamental misunderstanding of how art works. Art is not meant to be interpreted to the exact dictation of the artist. Art is meant to evoke thoughts and feelings *beyond* what the artist intends.

The audience, viewing, completes the experience by supplying interpretations based on their own unique experiences.

If someone doesn't get that, then they're too mentally shallow for me to waste time on their art. Why would I? There's nothing for me in it--I'm not permitted to have my own thoughts or feelings about the art after all.

Viewing art as complete, immutable product that the audience exists only to "consume" without thinking is the mentality that enables the hideous conversion of "artist" to "content creator".

Besides, the artist has admitted they can't clearly communicate ideas or scenes, since they feel the need to clarify something that should be obvious 99.9% of the time.

#fandom #artist problems #fandom discourse #discourse #death of the author #reader-response theory #op #personal #it always surprises me how ignorant many creatives are about their own supposedly beloved method of creation #“I love to make art! now I'm going to learn absolutely nothing about it 😃”#“I'm never going to bother thinking about the audience's role or art's purpose and what it gives humanity! 😃”#it's just a very complacent and shallow attitude #altho tbh it's a common failing generally. so many ppl never bother to think critically or analytically or have any curiosity about anythin #i know i probably shouldn't bother voicing these opinions but pseudo-intellectual rants are just part of my content-creator “brand” baby #along with my struggles with various household objects #if you can't be a little insane and pretentious on your own tumblog then where can you?#btw the art that prompted this wasn't even about a “problematic” ship which is what made seeing it so bizarre and jarring? like it wasn't #even an attempt at advertising the artists' values #just “You [the audience] are clearly all idiots so let me clarify this scene for you and spell everything out”#but even aside from that particular piece I've seen plenty of posts with similar tags. stop treating your audience like they're dipshits #also trying to forcibly control how your audience interprets your work is control freak BS

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a-silly-they-who-writes-shit · 3 months

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Help me decide what I wanna write first

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moondvncer · 6 days

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my roman empire is that anon saying "I wish I knew how to draw because I would spend my days drawing fanarts about your fanfics" and like that happened... two years ago. this is just another proof that feedback does matter.

#thoughts #― rea's thoughts 💭#fanfic #fanfictions #prompt #author struggles #fanfic struggles

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yersina · 2 years

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If you have the time, there’s this no powers soulmate AU idea that I have. In a regular world, where everyone has a red string around their finger, that connects to their soulmate at first contact, Han Yoojin has a pink string. Anyway, I think it’d be funny if regular construction worker hyj got stuck together to CEO/stupidly rich Sung Hyunjae by the hot pink string forcing them to be around each other, and all the fights and funny things that happen because of it. Neither of them can catch a break, and I think it’d be hilarious.

(I headcanon Han Yoohyun as aromantic, so in this AU he doesn’t have a string, but idk how relevant it it would be if you decided to write it)

Yoojin doesn’t actually figure out what the strings mean until he’s out of high school, because for a long time there doesn’t seem to be any pattern to them. His own dark blue string connects him to Yoohyun, but not all of the siblings in his classes have the same string. Sometimes, he sees a golden thread connecting a classmate with their parents, but neither he nor Yoohyun have any tying them to their own. He sees red strings most commonly, which sometimes connect parents or married couples, but sometimes the strings lead away from the person’s spouse. Not a single person who boasts that they’re dating in his class has a red string that connects them to their significant other of the week.

Yoojin hasn’t seen anyone with a bright pink string like his, either.

Despite the ambiguity, though, he does work out a few rules:

Strings that float off into nothingness and disappear a foot or two away from someone’s body means that they haven’t met the person on the other side yet. The entirety of Yoohyun’s string stays visible no matter how far away Yoohyun goes, but even when his end of the pink string bobs and moves, it never seems to point anywhere specific.

The whole string materializes when the people on the two ends touch. It doesn’t have to be skin-to-skin contact—as far as Yoojin can tell, it’s more about the symbolism of the meeting than the actual touch.

The color of the string is related to the relationship. Yoojin hasn’t worked out all of the colors yet, but he knows the blue string connecting him and Yoohyun has to be for siblings. Gold seems to be parental and red is romantic, but there are other, rarer colors that Yoojin still has yet to puzzle through.

For a while, Yoojin worries about Yoohyun’s lack of strings. Yoojin is already at the low end with only two, and Yoohyun has even less than him. But Yoohyun never seems to be worried about it, even when Yoojin tells him about the strings, and Yoojin gradually stops asking. Maybe Yoohyun is happiest with his one string, and whatever being is tying the strings between people got it right for him.

He does wonder, sometimes, what the pink string means for him. He doesn’t trust the red strings, not really, not when one tied his parents together and didn’t leave room for a single golden thread between them and him or Yoohyun. But the pink… Maybe it’s something better.

Yoojin boards the bus that’ll take him home, squeezing in between the people already on board until he finds a space around the middle of the bus, standing next to a row of seats.

He’s prepared to spend the ride staring out of the window like he usually does, watching the blur of buildings and trees pass by outside, but this time, when he lifts his head, his eyes catch on the strings tied to his pinky finger. More importantly, his eyes trace the pink one, which no longer drifts off into space like it used to.

Instead, it’s attached to the man in front of him.

What.

Yoojin stares in disbelief at the businessman sitting in the seat in front of him, pale hair slicked back perfectly and dressed in a neat and obviously expensive suit, even to Yoojin’s inexperienced eye. A leather briefcase is propped up in his lap and Yoojin is pretty sure that the watch he spies on the man’s wrist costs more than Yoojin’s monthly rent.

Their shoes are touching.

Yoojin has never seen a person that he is more convinced doesn’t belong in his life. How is Yoojin connected to this man? The whole idea seems absurd.

For the first time, Yoojin doubts the accuracy of the strings.

“Can I help you?” Yoojin winces. Apparently his staring has caught the attention of the man.

“I—” His breath catches in his throat as he abruptly becomes overwhelmingly aware that this is his chance to get to know the person on the other end of his string. This person, who wears uncomfortably expensive clothes, looks proper and put together in a way that Yoojin will never be able to manage, and looks like he hasn’t done a second of menial tasks in his life. “No, sorry. Excuse me.”

He dips his head hastily in apology and spends the rest of the bus ride staring out of one of the windows to his right, refusing to take a single glance at the man. He thinks he might feel a gaze on his face during the ride, but the man never speaks up, and Yoojin steps off the bus at his stop, convinced that he’ll never see the man ever again.

“No, you don’t understand, he was wearing a suit,” Yoojin emphasizes. “Can you imagine me with someone wearing a suit?”

“Hyung.” Yoohyun’s exasperation is loud even over the phone. “I wear suits.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.” Yoojin tests the ripeness of a tomato carefully. Hm. He sets that one down and picks another one up. “I look at you and all I see is the kid who used to pick his nose and wipe it on my shirt.”

“Hyung!”

“It’s true! My clothes went through the wash at least twice as often as yours did because of it.” Yoojin puts the third tomato in his basket and moves on to the green onions.

“Hyung, that’s not true.”

“You can’t tell me it’s not true because you never did the laundry.” Yoojin manages to browse through the selection of green onions and make his pick without a single word from Yoohyun. “See, you know I’m right so you’re not saying anything.”

“No, I’m speechless from how wrong you are.”

“You just won’t admit it—” Yoojin’s attention snags on the way his pink string suddenly jumps in the air, pulling taut just in time for the businessman to walk through the sliding doors of the grocery store.

“Hyung?”

Yoojin turns his back to the door, heart pounding. “He’s here,” he hisses.

“Who’s there?”

“The guy!”

“What guy?”

Yoojin groans. “I’ll call you back.”

Yoohyun hums a note of confused agreement. “Talk to you later, hyung.”

Yoojin ends the call right as the businessman joins him near the produce. The businessman is still dressed too formally—he isn’t wearing a suit jacket anymore, but Yoojin doesn’t know anyone who would wear a dress shirt and slacks to poke through the green peppers available at the nearest grocery store.

Whether it’s out of innocent or morbid curiosity, Yoojin stays rooted in his spot, watching the man pick up a cucumber and turn it in the fluorescent lighting like it’s a scientific specimen. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” he can’t help but say when it looks like the man is about to put a bruised zucchini into his basket.

The man turns to him, eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

Yoojin, cursing himself all the while, reaches over and points at a scratch in the skin of the zucchini. “It’ll go bad more quickly if you choose one with scratches. Also, it’s better if you pick one with shinier skin.” Yoojin inspects the available zucchini quickly and picks one that he’d buy for himself. “See, this one is better.” He presents the zucchini to the man.

The businessman slowly puts the one in his hand back on the shelf and reaches out to take Yoojin’s. “Thank you,” he says. Yoojin feels the brush of the man’s fingers against his palm down to his bones.

“If you want to buy good cucumbers, you should choose the ones that are more firm,” he adds, not sure what else to say. He subtly shakes his hand out by his side, trying to rid himself of the lingering sensation of fingertips on his skin.

Thankfully, the smile growing on the man’s face pulls his attention away from his hand. It’s the kind of smile that people use when they’re trying to hide amusement, and Yoojin’s hackles automatically rise at the thought. “This fellow customer has been so helpful,” he says amicably, tucking the zucchini that Yoojin handed him into his basket. “Perhaps you’d be willing to help me with the rest of my groceries as well?”

Yoojin makes a face. “I have my own things to shop for.”

“Then we can accompany each other.”

“There’s no need—”

“Where do you suppose the aisle with noodles is?”

His pink string is, Yoojin finds, a complete asshole.

Unfortunately, Yoojin can’t figure out a proper excuse before the man begins herding him in the direction of the opposite side of the store, so he resigns himself to his fate. “You’re going in the wrong direction,” he says once they pass the noodle aisle.

The man hums with interest. “Am I?”

Yoojin revises his assessment. His pink string is actually insane.

The man ends up dragging him down the sauce aisle. Yoojin leaves him to stare blankly at the array of soy sauce while he grabs another container of gochujang and a bottle of rice syrup. Yoojin watches him stare at the shelves of bottles for a very amusing twenty seconds before reaching out and snagging the brand that he uses at home. “Here,” he says, pressing the bottle into the man’s hands. This time, it leaves less sparks. “Have you never cooked before?”

“Knowing how to cook and shopping for ingredients seem to be two different skills.”

Yoojin snorts before he can stop himself. “This ahjussi is good at talking around the topic. Whatever he means, he should say.”

The raised eyebrow is back. “And this customer isn’t very polite to his fellow customers.”

“The other customer was impolite first, so it seems both are at fault.”

The man rolls his shoulders in an aborted shrug, like it’s true but he can’t be bothered to acknowledge it. “What is this impolite customer’s name?” The interest in his expression feels genuine.

“If that’s what you want to know, then you should give your own.”

“I’m Sung Hyunjae,” the man says easily, though the way he looks expectantly at Yoojin afterwards makes Yoojin think that he should recognize the name.

“I’m Han Yoojin,” he says, despite the very Yoohyun-like voice inside him that says he shouldn’t give his name to strangers that he’s known for all of two minutes.

“Would Han Yoojin-ssi like to help me choose a bag of somyeon to buy as well?”

And Yoojin should say ‘no’ and continue with his own grocery shopping, but he feels the incorporeal weight of the string around his finger and finds himself saying, “Will Sung Hyunjae-ssi be able to choose without my assistance?” instead.

Sung Hyunjae smiles.

When they go to check out, Yoojin finds out that Sung Hyunjae already paid for his groceries when he goes to hand over his card. “That was unnecessary,” he protests once he’s caught up to Sung Hyunjae at the entrance.

Sung Hyunjae hardly even blinks. “What if I wanted to pay for Han Yoojin-ssi?”

“It’s still unnecessary.”

“Then see it as someone paying for their junior.”

Yoojin pauses. “Should I call you hyung, then?” he says, trying not to laugh. It feels unwieldy and informal in his mouth, and even without asking, he knows that Sung Hyunjae would agree.

“Let’s get closer first,” he says, as expected.

Yoojin chooses not to linger over the choice of words—when are they ever going to meet again?—and instead nods politely to Sung Hyunjae. “Thank you for your assistance today,” he says, even though he was the one to help Sung Hyunjae choose his items and having him pay for Yoojin’s groceries felt more like a favor to the other man than himself.

“It was my pleasure.”

Yoojin leaves Sung Hyunjae at his car and heads towards the bus stop, doing his best to convince himself not to look back as he walks away.

(He gives in eventually while he waits at the bus stop, watching the pink string bob and shift as Sung Hyunjae drives back to wherever he must live. It’s much more active than it ever had been before, and unfortunately just as attention-grabbing and annoying as the person it’s connected to.

Maybe that’s what the pink color stands for, Yoojin thinks wryly as he boards the bus. Annoyance.)

Yoojin really, really expects to never see Sung Hyunjae again. Seoul is a big city, and it looks like they run in completely different circles. Why would he ever meet the man again?

Unfortunately, Sung Hyungjae does not seem to have gotten this memo.

“Ah, Yoojin-gun,” Sung Hyunjae greets when he steps up to the counter. He’s wearing his full business suit again, and Yoojin has a brief flash of worry that his workplace is near this coffee shop. Will he have to see Sung Hyunjae all the time from now on?

Yoojin shoves this impending spiral to the side in favor of giving Sung Hyunjae a dry look. “If Sung Hyunjae-ssi will call me Yoojin-gun, then I will continue to call him ahjussi.”

Sung Hyunjae, the bastard, just smiles. “Would you prefer Yoojin-ah?”

Yoojin can’t help the shudder that runs down his spine, face twisting like he just took a bite of a lemon. Coupled with that expression… “Yoojin-gun is fine,” he says reluctantly. “What does ahjussi want to drink?”

Sung Hyunjae just orders a black coffee, which seems terribly in-character for him. “Does Sung Hyunjae-ssi not have a coffee maker to make coffee for himself at home?” Yoojin asks, handing Sung Hyunjae’s card back to him and beginning the incredibly arduous task of filling a travel cup with coffee that has already been brewed.

Sung Hyunjae follows him around the counter. “Either way, I’m here to see Yoojin-gun, of course.”

Yoojin frowns. Sung Hyunjae would’ve had no idea that Yoojin works here, if this is his first time visiting the coffee shop. Has Yoojin just not seen him?

He fits a lid over the cup and hands it over to Sung Hyunjae. “Have you been here before?” he asks curiously. It’s possible that he came in during a rush hour and Yoojin just didn’t have time to register who he was, though that seems unlikely.

Sung Hyunjae smiles and takes the coffee. “No. Thank you for the coffee, Yoojin-gun. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

Yoojin frowns at Sung Hyunjae’s retreating back. Surely he’s just imagining how foreboding that sounded.

“No.” Yoojin stops in his tracks and gapes.

Sung Hyungjae waves. “Hello, Yoojin-gun.”

“You—” Yoojin looks around wildly, not sure what he’s expecting to see, but it’s still just the walking path next to the Han River that he was strolling along before, and still just Sung Hyunjae sitting on a bench to the side of that path. “Are you stalking me?”

“Why would I stalk Yoojin-gun?”

“That’s the question I should ask my stalker.”

“I’ll wait here until you’ve contacted them.”

“Then I’ll ask again: why are you here, Sung Hyunjae-ssi?”

Sung Hyunjae just smiles. Yoojin wonders how he always manages to make the expression so that it perfectly gets on Yoojin’s nerves. “I’m just here to enjoy a walk along the river.” It’s a completely reasonable explanation, but somehow Yoojin doesn’t believe him. “It would be more enjoyable if I could join Yoojin-gun.”

Yoojin doesn’t even pause to think about it. “No.” He spins on his heel and heads back the way he came, never mind the fact that he really did come out here to take a walk.

Walks can happen any time. Avoiding Sung Hyunjae takes priority.

A week later, Yoojin spots Sung Hyunjae standing outside of a high-rise building, looking down at his phone.

Yoojin crosses to the other side of the road.

“No,” he whispers to himself, looking in through the window of the coffee shop he was prepared to step into, and resigns himself to going without caffeine for the morning.

“I cannot believe you.” Yoojin frowns at Sung Hyunjae.

They’re back on a bus.

He resolutely does not make conversation for the entire, twenty minute commute to the stop that he gets off at. He also resolutely does not look at Sung Hyunjae, who, based on what Yoojin can see out of the corner of his eye, spends that time smiling at Yoojin.

He does see a young woman sneaking peeks at the handsome businessman sitting a few seats down from her and wishes that he could live in her blissful ignorance.

“So you’ve never spoken?” Yoohyun frowns and puts a hand out for the bowl of cut potatoes that Yoojin passes to him for the pot of doenjang jjigae simmering on the stove.

“We spoke once,” Yoojin corrects. “Twice, if you count the coffee shop. Wait, three…?” But do any of those meetings really count as talking to Sung Hyunjae?

“And you know for certain that he’s the one who’s connected to you?”

Yoojin shakes his hand at Yoohyun even though he can’t see the string dangling from his pinky. “It’s hard to miss.” It’s actually rather eye-catching when Yoojin is standing next to Sung Hyunjae, since it contrasts so sharply with the man’s entire look.

Yoohyun shoves Yoojin’s hand out of his face with an exasperated look. “Fine, fine. I just thought I’d ask. Can you get the eggs from the fridge while I cut the mushrooms?”

Yoojin does as he asks, grabbing the container of gyeran jangjorim and bringing it over to the table where they’ll be eating. “Like I said, I see him around everywhere, but I don’t want to talk to someone I don’t know.”

“You don’t know anything about him, then?”

“He’s probably rich,” Yoojin says, wrinkling his nose. “He said that his name is Sung Hyunjae. He drinks his coffee black.”

Yoohyun stops in the middle of putting mushrooms in the pan to turn around and stare at him. “Sung Hyunjae?”

“Yes?”

“You’re sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yoojin impatiently gestures for him to turn back to the stove. “Yah, Yoohyun-ah, if you have something to say, just say it.”

Yoohyun slowly turns back around and gives the mushrooms a few half-hearted swipes. “Hyung, if you’re right, the Sung Hyunjae that I’m thinking of might be one of the richest men in Korea. Top one hundred, at least.”

That can’t be right. “He rides the bus,” Yoojin points out reasonably.

Yoohyun gives him a look. “Rich people can’t ride the bus?”

“Why would they?” Sung Hyunjae does seem like the type to have a chauffeur drive him around everywhere. It fits his arrogant, handsome chaebol look.

“Hyung, can you…?” Yoohyun gestures vaguely to the pan before raising his phone. “I’ll see if I can pull up a picture of him.”

Yoojin sets his hands on his hips in indignation. “You’re asking your brother, the person who raised you, so rudely?”

“That only worked on me the first two times you did it,” Yoohyun says, raising an eyebrow. “Eventually you have to run out of ways to guilt me into doing things for you.” Yoojin keeps staring. Yoohyun sighs. “Hyung, could you please make sure the mushrooms don’t burn while I look up this person to help you?”

“Sure, Yoohyun-ah.”

Yoohyun snorts and steps to the side so Yoojin can take over at the stove. “Whoa, he has a lot of overseas investments, apparently,” he hears Yoohyun mutter after a few moments. “Mostly in technology—oh, here we go.” He tilts the phone in Yoojin’s direction. “Is this him?”

Yoojin’s not sure what he was expecting when he looks over at Yoohyun’s phone, but it’s still not a professional picture of the same man who may or may not have been stalking him for the past month. “Huh. Yes, that’s him.” He returns to cooking the beoseot bokkeum, but for some reason, the only thought that runs through his head at that moment is that the Sung Hyunjae he saw once in the grocery store, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and looking confusedly at the shelves of soy sauce, looks much better than the one that smirks at him through the screen of Yoohyun’s phone.

Yoohyun elbows him out of the way of the stove so he can begin adding seasonings to the pan. “You said that you’ve never seen a thread in the color that you’re connected with before?”

“Pretty much.” He has seen the pink before once or twice, but it’s hard to tell what it might mean when it connects two strangers. He catches Yoohyun’s concerned look and shoves him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it so much, Yoohyun-ah. Let’s focus on dinner, okay?”

If his current track record with Sung Hyunjae is any indication, he’ll be forced to figure it out soon anyway.

When Yoojin next spots Sung Hyunjae at a crosswalk intersection, the most he can muster is a deep sigh of resignation. “I’ve seen Sung Hyunjae-ssi more often than my own brother recently,” Yoojin says, waving to him in greeting. It’s somehow reassuring to see Sung Hyunjae look equally startled to see him this time, rather than infuriatingly smug. Of course, his version of startled is a delicate raise of both eyebrows rather than just one, but Yoojin takes it as a victory.

“Yoojin-gun,” he greets. Unfortunately, Yoojin has no other option than to join him at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Yoojin-gun does seem like an older brother type.”

Yoojin eyes the man next to him and tries to imagine him with any siblings. Not any younger siblings, surely, but perhaps one that’s older? Though the thought of Sung Hyunjae calling anyone hyung or noona… “Sung Hyunjae-ssi is an only child,” he declares.

“Yoojin-gun seems very confident about this.”

Yoojin is, strangely. “Yes.”

“Hm,” Sung Hyunjae hums. “I have a sister who’s older by thirteen years.”

“Do you?”

“Certainly.”

Yoojin narrows his eyes at Sung Hyunjae’s guileless expression. “Sung Hyunjae-ssi doesn’t have any siblings,” he decides.

The light changes. “My sister will be so disappointed to hear this when I tell her,” Sung Hyunjae says mildly as they cross the street.

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi shouldn’t lie to strangers.”

“Yoojin-gun is so cold for calling me a stranger when he said himself that he sees me more often than his brother.”

“Don’t make up strange meanings to my words, ahjussi. I can always just look up the real answer on Naver.” Once they reach the other side of the crosswalk, Yoojin takes two steps before he realizes that no one is following him. “Oh, are you headed somewhere else, then?”

Sung Hyunjae’s pause lasts for another second before a corner of his lips lifts. “The best place for me to be is by Yoojin-gun’s side.” It’s a statement, but there’s a question buried beneath it as well.

Yoojin throws his hands up in surrender. Perhaps if he and Sung Hyunjae get sick of each other, the universe will grow tired of pushing them together. “Fine. Fine! If you do anything suspicious, I will call the police,” he threatens. “I’m going to go eat dinner at that restaurant over there. Come on.”

The dinner, surprisingly, goes no worse than any of their other interactions. Sung Hyunjae, in his collared shirt and slacks, should look out of place amongst the worn tables and chairs of the family restaurant that Yoojin and Yoohyun have been going to since they were children, but instead he looks… comfortable. Softer.

Yoojin glances down at his string once during the dinner, throat crawling with some thick, unnamed emotion. It’s still there, swaying gently in the air between them.

Maybe he can give Sung Hyunjae a chance. Maybe there’s something more to their chance meetings, a reason why the string connects them.

When he looks up again, there’s a there’s a split second where he’s convinced that Sung Hyunjae’s eyes are unerringly trained on the base of Yoojin’s pinky where the string is tied, but between one blink and the next, he has his infuriating smile plastered back in his face and Yoojin uneasily brushes it off as his own mistake or a trick of the light.

Strange.

“Ahjussi,” he says once they’ve finished their food. “You’ll be paying, right?”

“I should get something in return for paying for Yoojin-gun so often, shouldn’t I?” Despite his words, though, Sung Hyunjae puts down his card without waiting for a promise.

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi seems like he has the money to spare.”

“Is Yoojin-gun so confident that he’s what I prefer to spend my money on?”

“I trust that Sung Hyunjae-ssi is polite enough to pay for the person in need in front of him instead of waiting to purchase another unnecessary accessory.”

“Yoojin-gun should be my next accessory, then.”

Yoojin makes a face. “What nonsense is this ahjussi saying?” Is he just an item to this rich person? Thankfully, one of the restaurant employees interrupts to return Sung Hyunjae’s card and that line of conversation is dropped.

Yoojin takes a deep breath once they step out of the restaurant, feeling like there might be something different, something changed in the air. The sun is just starting to set on the horizon, and the rays of golden light reflecting off of metal and glass are equal parts warming and blinding.

“I’ll see Yoojin-gun again, hm?” Sung Hyunjae hums, turned away from the direction that Yoojin will be going. He still doesn’t know anything about Sung Hyunjae, much less have his contact information, but he believes it. He’ll have time to unravel all of this man’s mysteries in the future.

They’ll meet again.

“See you, Hyunjae-ssi.”

#definitelyhuman10 #can I just say that I find your username so funny #sina writes #sctir #s classes that i raised #red string of fate au #I hope you don’t mind that I kinda played around w the universe concept a bit?#this is really only abt half of what I originally planned to write #but I was reaaaallly starting to struggle w the story towards the end so you get this halfhearted cliffhanger instead orz #my headcanon is that pink is for qprs #but that doesn’t have a huge bearing on the story as it is rn lol #also btw it’s fun to hear that someone else headcanons yh as aro haha #happy pride month from this aroace fanfic author to you all #I’m still working on prompts btw!! it’s just taking me a bit to get thru them

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filmcourage · 1 year

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World's Greatest Myths About Being A Writer - Christian Elder via FilmCourage.com.

#writing #screenwriting #writers #writers life #artistic struggle #artists on tumblr #authors on tumblr #screenwriters on tumblr #writing a screenplay #scriptwriting #writing life #tumblr writing society #tumblr writing community #tumblr writing prompt #indie artists #creators on wordpress

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andy-skull · 2 months

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When people post Sylki prompts and one hits close home and it's yelling at me to write it but then I remember it's probably gonna be petty and lame, so I don't claim it

#this writer struggles #they're probably gonna hate what I write #or will be very disappointed #new fear unlocked: to disappoint the prompt's author

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pyroprincessaxandrela · 1 year

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Me: I can use the prompts from my Creative Writing class to work on my WIP series that's aimed at 10-14yos

The Prompts: Your character wakes up covered in someone else's blood with a bloody weapon in their hands

Me: ...OK... maybe I'm gonna need to censor and edit some of these prompts before they make it to my books...

#literally every dark or heart wrenching scene i had planned/in the works has been fleshed out #and then some #from the prompts in this class #author problems #writing prompts #creative writing class #university struggles

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2soulscollide · 1 year

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tips to level up your writing skills

1. read, read, read

okay, I know, everyone keeps saying it... but it's true, and I truly believe the more you read, the better you write, because you come across different writing styles, different voices, new characters, and worlds. This applies to every writer, from amateur to professional.

2. practice makes perfect

another cliché, right.

but hear me out: I feel so much more confident about my writing skills when I write daily, rather than when I write a bit occasionally. you get lots of work done, see your book coming to life, and get better at it.

3. create an outline before you start writing

guysss, I know many people like to go with the flow, but I would recommend planning your novel before writing it, especially if it is one of your first projects.

when I started, I refused to plot my novel because I thought it was a waste of time, and I couldn't plan it all ahead. turns out that I could never finish my novels, because I started to get lost in the plot. as most of you may know, I LOVEEE to plot now!

4. use active voice instead of passive voice

passive voice is alright sometimes. I like to use it, too. but to create an immersive experience for the reader, you should go for the active voice since it creates more impact.

see something like this:

"the letter was written by Marcus who had tears in his eyes." VS "Marcus wrote the letter with tears in his eyes."

such a basic example (don't judge me!!)... but can you notice the difference? it seems so much more expressive.

5. avoid using overly complex language

repeat it after me: short. sentences. are. valid.

don't overcomplicate it! I know it's tempting to write huge sentences sometimes and make your book seem more complex and professional, but sometimes it just doesn't come out as expected, and we end up exhausting our readers.

6. don't just for yourself

this can be a polemic topic. it's quite common to see people saying you should write for yourself, but let's be honest here: if you're trying to get your book published, you should have your target public in mind while developing your book. knowing your audience to know what works and what doesn't work is extremely important. but hey, you must also enjoy what you're writing!

7. use dialogue!!!

I find dialogue so important, and I love it so much! ensure you develop a distinctive voice for your characters to make them seem real to the reader. also, if possible, read the dialogue out loud and imagine if it would work out in real life.

8. don't be afraid to use metaphors

metaphors will turn a "basic" work into something more sophisticated when applied in the right places. you might want to avoid overusing it because it can ruin the experience, but it's something up to you, and what feels better to you.

9. research your topic before writing

okay, this is pretty self-explanatory. if you're writing about a topic or a location you don't know much about, avoid making assumptions or clichés. instead, do some research, take notes, or even ask chatgpt questions to help you.

10. don't be afraid to experiment and try new things

I was a fanfiction writer for a long time and was so scared to try original fiction because it seemed so much different from what I was accustomed to doing. however, once I decided to try something new, I discovered I liked to do it more than fanfiction. you'll never know until you try it!

11. never give up on your writing, keep practicing and learning to improve your skills

it takes time to acquire new skills, so if you're new to writing, please don't give up! It's fun and a long path, and I promise you'll love it, even more, the more you write!

I hope this was helpful! <3 have a nice day

also, i just released a new freebie!!! it's a free workbook for writers with over 90 pages to guide you through the process of plotting a novel. you might be interested in checking it out!! :D click here

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winterarmyy · 8 months

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Welcome Home, Daddy

The aftermath of when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Bucky was over the moon when he discovered that Y/N was pregnant with his child. But, when the danger that lurks in dark threatened to steal his family away, a fellow soldier decided to come home.

Note: Highly recommend to read 《 Welcome Home... Soldat? 》 for backstory. But, you can also read this as a stand alone (though you might miss some call backs on the soldat's behaviour if you skip)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Words: 7.1k++ (bare with me, please)

Warnings: graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, sudden fluff, tiny bit of angst, google translated russian, and just so much detained anger exploding around, soldat is just deadly yet adorable in this one (i can't even handle it, and i'm the author), this event takes place far in the future after what happened in 《 Welcome Home...Soldat? 》

A/N: Looks like we have the winner for the poll 👀 Who's ready for our lovely soldat to make his appearance again? I know I'm not, but here we are. So, strap in and let's do this!

P/S: Also, I might as well make this as my submission for the seven writing event hosted by @nickfowlerrr 💌 Check out the event masterlist and support the writers by reading and reblogging their stories!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

They say the wrath of a fighter may threatened a heinous war but the wrath of a lover will let the earth drenched in bloody gore. And if a fool was daft enough to tore a lover from his other half, then they might just court themselves right into the hands of death.

And this couldn't be more true, especially if we consider the crime that the soldat was currently committing. Surely, the blood pooling on the floor will forever leave a grim mark that'll haunt the people who ever witness it.

"Where is she?" the soldat prompted the frail woman, limping on the chained chair. Despite the horrid situation, he sounded rather calm when he spoke.

How unfortunate it was for Elle to be associated with Hydra yet to also be so exposed to the dangers of the ghost himself, the Winter Soldier. Hydra may have their suspicion about the soldat making a move, but she didn't expect that she would be involved in the mess of this ordeal.

The cold metal of the soldat's vibranium fingers, particularly his index and thumb, latched themselves on another one of her nails. Her mouth slacked open but no sound was able to be formed when the soldat mercilessly ripped her nail right off her finger.

And oh, the pain was beyond any kind of injury that she had ever experienced, not a even a bullet through her flesh could be compared to this agony of a torture.

He harshly grabbed Elle by the back of her neck, forcing her to watch the blood leaking from the reddened flesh of her fingers, "I asked you a simple question, су́ка (bitch). Where the fuck is she?" The soldat's patience had been running thin and rage had clouded his judgements.

He needed to find her. His precious Родная (darling).

No matter whose neck he needed to slay or whose blood that have to be shed dry. He had to bring his darling home; no matter what it takes.

Unfortunately, it had been almost a month since he lost her.

And no one saw it coming.

Who would've thought that the old Hydra compound that the team raided were meant to be a part of a plan to weaken the Avengers. It was just a distraction filled with unexpected traps and triggers. By the time they flew home, the team were already tired and injured as the result of the raid.

So imagine the desperate struggle and utter panic that Bucky had to go through the moment he stepped his foot into the comfort of their home and had to witness Y/N's exhausted figure fighting for her life.

Hers and the baby's inside.

After hitting the 2 months mark of pregnancy, Bucky decided that Y/N shouldn't be involved in any high stake mission anymore. At first, she only laughed to his statement, thinking he was surely joking but when his stern expression didn't flatter, that was when she reliazed Bucky was not open for negotiation.

Y/N knew it was way too early to settle into her maternal leave but after having a long conversation with Bucky, they both agreed to keep her missions strictly on low-risk stakeouts and desk works at the tower.

It was supposedly be some kind of a precaution for her, to keep her and the baby safe, away from any type harm that might come their way. But, that certainly back fired.

When Bucky's burning anger had pumped him full with high stream of adrenaline, it was as if he went into an auto pilot; a murderous one at that. And soon enough he managed to take down half of Hydra's best agents that joined the mission of collecting Y/N from the tower.

For a moment, it seemed like luck was on their side, at least it felt like it.

It lasted only until Bucky saw how harsh the kick of the enemy landed on Y/N's hip, and how she managed to shield her stomach seconds before her body slammed down to the ground.

That was when fear crawled into his pumping nerves and the roots of it ran extremely cold.

And that was all it takes for Hydra to distract Bucky then immobilize him on the spot with a replica of the Sonic Taser developed by Stark Industries a few years back.

Bucky grunted painfully in protest of the high pitched sonic frequency from the device that overloads his nervous system. His body couldn't help but to slowly paralyzed its movements as his skin turned pale and the strain in his blood vessels became visible.

On the opposite side, Y/N could be seen being forcefully dragged away by a few of the Hydra agents that was left. There were couple of nasty injuries torn all over her body yet she was still stubborn on fighting back.

While she was being pulled farther away from him, she shouted his name loud and desprete, "Bucky!" Hot tears broke from the corner of her eyes as she desperately reach out her hand.

It felt as if she was right there when Bucky's hand was reaching back towards her. Like, a little bit of a push would've been enough to catch her but alas fate was not planning to be merciful.

Bucky's menancing eyes never left her wavering ones as Hydra tortured Bucky by stealing a part of his soul from him; and no one really knew how his heart clenched and torn to the fact that he was helplessly useless when Y/N needed him the most.

And when he only managed to scream back Y/N's name, he was forced to watch her wailed as she was unwillingly being taken away.

The moment when Bucky drowned himself in regret and rage, that was when the Winter Soldier took over his consciousness.

Unfortunately for the soldat, his mortal body was already worn out from all the intense fight that happened prior; he was knocked out right after he took over the body.

But in those few seconds before the darkness consumed him, the soldat managed to catch a glimpse of his darling. He saw the image of her; teary and bruised in the hands of those who created him. The very same monsters who uses him for despicable things.

That was all that he needed to see in order to break those chains around the dark pandora residing deep within his being.

The team was absolutely not ready to deal with the soldat again, this time without Y/N to tame him. Especially when his demands were unrealistic for them to fulfill.

It's been nearly 3 weeks since the incident and they had failed to locate Y/N; repeatedly. Even if they did manage to get some kind of an intel, all the of bases they had raided were basically bunch of abandoned spaces that Hydra used to occupy.

So of course the soldat was agitated. He had every right to be, more so when he thought of the increasing risk of his darling getting hurt in the hands of Hydra. And at this point, those scumbags were just messing with their minds. Especially with his.

"Listen, we're doing our best here, soldat." Steve tried to reason with him but it only fueled the burning flames within the soldat, "ты делаешь недостаточно! (You're not doing enough!)" He spat harshly that he didn't even noticed that he uses Russian language. It seemed like the unkempt irritation had conquered the chaos of his mind.

So that very night, the soldat decided to do this on his own; thus he ran away from the tower in search for his darling. He had to. Especially when he knew precisely why the Avenger was not able to find Y/N as quickly as they should be.

It was because they were the good guys. They were the heros, they were the light. And the soldat was not. In fact, he was the very opposite.

Unlike the Avengers, the soldat was not planning to play nice and soon enough he managed to find a lead.

Which bring us to this very moment in which he successfully snuck into a Hydra agent's home to interrogate her.

But, in contrast of those Hydra troops that attack the Avengers Tower a few weeks ago, Elle was not even involved in the mission of retrieving Y/N. She was actually on a solo mission to infiltrate a certain high school to collect informations on Peter Parker. Hydra suspected that he might be involved with the new hero appearing in Queens.

However, even if she was not a part of the team mission, she knew bits and pieces of the overall plan, especially the whereabout of the main character herself, Y/N.

However, the appearance of the Winter Soldier in her temporary house was completely unexpected.

It felt like it was just few moments ago that the intel on Y/N's location reached her ears. Then, she distinctly remember the glimpse of those murderous eyes glaring into her soul. Next thing she knew was everything went pitch black.

Even if it was temporary, however it felt so surreal.

The darkness surrounding her.

The bone rattling cold.

It felt like death itself.

But unfortunately for her, the soldat was far from stopping.

Elle was fraying at the edges while the soldat crouch to her level. Even if she could barely reconstruct the unclear and blurry images through her dazed eyes, however, that didn't stop the soldat from maiming the dying woman's soul through his unforgiving gaze.

"Wake up..." he growled as he yanked her face upwards, "...we're not done yet."

It took a while for Elle to finally adjust to the light, after being in the dark for – how she felt like – so long.

After the light hits her vision, the striking pain came next. The pulsing pain surrounding of her right eye, her broken nose, her busted lips, her bleeding skin; neck, chest, arms, and almost every part of her limbs.

Everything were – slowly but surely, in each cuts and bruises on her skin – blooming its pain into existence.

How can she skipped all of this when she lost her consciousness?

Perhaps that was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. By running away from the misery; from her reality.

Elle whined in pain but her voice suggested that she might already torn her throat apart when it sounded more like a broken grunt. Her disoriented gaze fell into her aching fingers, each were missing its nail; the tips of them was where the icky blood trickled from and had shaped a pool of blood on the floor where she rested.

The dim lighting from the room reflected on the surface of the deep-red puddle, revealing the resemblance of it to a mirror. And the blurry image looking back, was the soldat, with a sinister expression on his face.

This game, that they're playing.

It hardly seems fair to one of them. To be tortured if not speaking the truth? That's simply unjust; but if we're talking about fairness, then none of those injuries could ever be compared to the pain Y/N might be going through at this very moment. Every second of Elle's useless stubbornness was costing Y/N's safety.

And the soldat didn't like that. Not one bit.

"You mentioned Spain? Where exactly?" In one swift, harsh motion, the soldat thrust his knife through her thighs, "FUCK!"

The loud scream of pain that tore from Elle's throat was probably the last coherent word that she uttered as the torture continued.

The soldat pulled the knife out and stabbing it into the open wound, he listened to Elle's gasp for a moment, relishing her breathless pleading and the tears now openly streaming down her face.

He stabbed again, twice, each was quick and deep, not caring about the blood that spurted out across his face.

At this point Elle was just a puddle of blabbering mess; streams of saliva pouring out her mouth, sobbing, gasping for air; mixture of grunts, moans and whispers of curses and pleas were all spouted incoherently.

Anger.

Frustration.

Rage.

Wrath.

Even hatred.

The soldat was feeling it all.

It was consuming him, devouring any sanity that was left of Bucky's moral values. The eerie glint in the soldat eyes suggested that he was not planning to stop until she gave him what he wants.

God, if it wasn't for chilling atmosphere around her, Elle might just mistook that she was actually in hell.

"Pyrenees!" She cried out. The soldat instantly stopped when she confessed. He waited for an answer and right on cue, she spoke again, breathless and almost silent as the fear that engulfed her prior refused to release her from its haunting grip. And truthfully she doubt that it will ever let her go, "T-there a secret base n-near the Irati forest."

She exhaled a shaky breath as she pleaded, "S-so please. Please stop this." The was tired of the pain and the numbness that came after. And the soldat knows it.

The room was left silent momentarily, as if he was actually considering her plea but alas he already had plans for her all along, "Shame. You should've killed yourself before I came here."

As he finished the last word, the soldat viciously plunged his knife deep into her neck, digging the sharpness of it through the delicate flesh until it reach the base of the blade.

Elle gasped in response, her hands scrabbling around in effort to break free, to stop all of this. But considering the situation she was in, there was nothing she could do about it other than to take it as it was given to her.

When the motion finally stopped, the soldat simply walked away from the scene as if it was a complete norm for him to behave as he was. He didn't even thought of cleaning the mess he left behind. Or hide the corpse somewhere.

Isn't he afraid that he might leave his tracks for the police to find?

Why would he?

This has been his life for decades on end. His sole purpose of living was to kill. So best believe that the authorities will never be able to link the soldat or Bucky to this crime.

Not today, not ever.

Through the days that Y/N was locked deep within Hydra's base, she hadn't been treated the worst. In fact, the sick and twisted agents and residents in the facility was more than willing to care for her.

This was all because they wanted her baby.

It was always sickening to hear them referring her child as merely a tool for their success. And the way they worship Y/N like she was a gift from God to fulfill their purpose, was beyond insanity.

"Oh, to have the privilage of bearing the offspring of the Winter Soldier. To be able to create the perfect weapon, unlike the father. It is just honorable."

It made her stomach churned with pure disgust whenever she heard those types of comments floating around her.

Besides the eerily digusting behaviour of the agents, there was also the regular check-ups and the lab tests that she needed to attend. Out of all the things she had to endure these past few weeks, the medical check-up has always dreaded her the most.

There was this constant debate within her troubled mind; of the possibility of Hydra manipulating her baby's health and genes by inserting unknown substance into her.

"Come on, mama. On the bed." The doctor said as he patted his rubber gloved hand on the surface of the rigid single bed.

She always found it vile that the people here calling her by that nickname. It tickled her throat in a way that she wanted to puke all the tasteless gunk that they had fed her with.

As she laid on the bed and let the process went on as it usually do, the doctor suddenly stopped everything that he was doing. At first she was weirded out by the irregular act of the man, but when she felt the vibration on the ground and the rushing footsteps from the floor above her, she knew exactly why the doctor suddenly froze on his spot.

And the emergency siren that shortly blared after, had only confirmed her speculation.

But mostly, it was the panic in the doctor's eyes that gave him away; then when Y/N noticed the man scrambled to search the drawers from one of the cabinet, she knew that he was up to no good.

The second that the doctor's hurried his steps towards her with a syringe in his hand, Y/N's body immediately recoiled. She quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist and twisted it back until the syringe dropped from his hold.

The man cursed under his breath and decided to take her by force when he grabbed a handful of her hair, almost dragging her out of the bed. Y/N shrieked painfully while her hands blindly grabbing the silver tray by the bed next to her.

She then slammed it hard against his head, and watched the contents on the tray fell and scatter onto her. She took quick skim over all the tools and saw a potential weapon for her defence; a scissor.

"Stay still, mama. Or the baby will get hurt." The doctor foolishly threatened.

Maybe it was her defence mechanism or maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in but something just snapped inside of her when he said those words. There was this incredibly strong urge to either fight or take flight.

Of course she could easily slipped away and make a run for it but she just couldn't risk it. Especially when her baby's life was currently at stake. So, after a short moment of hesitation, she swiftly grabbed the scissors and surge it through his ribs. The man wailed in pain as he staggered off the bed and fell onto the floor.

You'd thought a single yet firm stab through the guts was enough to quench Y/N's need of fighting back but no. Apparently, the haywire of her nerves had drove her feral and she needed him to be soulless by the time she walk out the room.

That had forced her to nearly jumped on him like a predator pinning on a meek prey and the lack of struggling on the victim's side had only gave her full control to dominate him.

Then all of the sudden, the doctor felt another strike of the pain, digging into the flesh of his chest.

He woefully cried in extreme pain while Y/N did not utter a single word or let out any sound, she stayed silent as she thrusts the scissor in and out his flesh.

Each surge was vicious than the previous. Each stab was gradually speeding up as the motion increases it's number of repetition.

She completely let her emotions took over her sanity.

Until what's left in the room was only the sloshing and splashing sound of blood seeping through every thrust, as she continued to violate the body of the corpse.

Until the calm puddle of blood on floor rippled as the tears that broke from her eyes dropped on it's surface.

And when she realized that the doctor was long dead, that broke Y/N out from her feral state. Realizing what she had done; she shakily loosen her grip on the scissors and scrambled off from the lifeless body.

Her breath was near erratic; it was a chaos of unsteady rhythm as her words was lost at the tip of her tongue. She jolted in shock when the commotion in the facility got louder than before, reminding her that Bucky was there to save her.

Y/N felt a sob choking in her throat as her hands searched her stomach to coax the child in her womb, "It's okay sweet bean, daddy's here for us."

Have you ever heard how ear-ringingly loud it is when it's hailing? How the sounds of the frozen raindrops hitting – the top of your car or the roof of the shades of an outdoor café table – can completely mute your words for anyone to hear?

That has nothing compared to the thundering sounds that echoed throughout the whole facility. The shots were fired from multiple range of stolen guns, all were coming from one moving figure.

The once clean grey and white painted walls of the hallways, were now stained and splattered with the color of crimson. The usually empty hallways, were occupied by the dead bodies of fallen Hydra agents. And the distinct scent of well-kept lair, were effortlessly replaced by the unpleasant and pungent smell; a mixture of blood and sweat.

It was a clear trail of the Winter Soldier's deeds.

This place was supposed to be pristine, but now feels more like how it should be; hell.

While the enemies were roaring into their death, the soldat on the other hand was very much the opposite.

Unlike his foe, it took him very little work from the tips of his tongue and much more on the tips of his gun. When the enemies barked like a dog, the soldat pounced like a wolf; silent and resilient.

By nature, the soldat had never been a patient man, especially when it comes to people harming his darling.

Sure, maybe he can tolerate and play along with people who messed with him, but if one were to touch even a strand of hair of his beloved, then they practically reserving themselves a first class ticket of a one-way trip to hell.

And that unhinged tendencies of his only worsen when wrath was the one reigning his mind while hatred was its ruler. His mind was nothing but a chaos of rampage and vengeance. Seeking nothing but blood and death of his foolish foe.

At this point of time, with the amount of life he had taken from the moment he step foot into the gate of the base, to the very stairs he was currently climbing, one could probably matched his heart rate with the rhythm of the shots formed by the bullets he shot.

Magazine upon magazine he reloaded his gun and waste no less than zero bullet as every shot made was accurately deadly and terrifying fatal to his prey.

As the soldat's feet reached half way up the stairs, a Hydra agent's voice spoke from the lower level, "She's on the LG2, we need a team to come and collect her as soon as poss--" A bullet went straight through the top of his head before he could finish his sentence.

And that was the soldat's last ammo.

While he mentally took note on the intel, his feet was quick to jumped into action and made his way down to LG2. As he entered the hallway, his wild eyes wondered around to steal another gun from a dead man's body.

But he rose into a stand, he felt a tip of a cold steel nudged at the back of his head.

Some would call out the soldat's mistake for letting his guard down in the middle of a battle, but another would definitely ridicule the stupidity of that fool's guts for even thinking that the soldat couldn't counter-attack his weak threats.

However, none of the two man managed to made any move towards each other when there was a faster, more accurate trigger was pulled from someone else, from across the hallway.

And that action left an aftermath of the fool's body to drop flat on the floor, quickly finding it's perfect spot with between the other pile of corpses scattered around.

When the soldat turned around, the sharp of his gaze softened almost immediately.

There she was standing there, in the pastel blue of her 'prison' attire. Her hair was a bit messy even if it was tied, and her complexion looked slightly pale with fatigue but to the soldat, she was glowing like angel; despite the blood on her clothes or the gun in her hand.

She was right there.

His heart.

His love.

His darling.

Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. Her pouty lips trembled when the soldat stepped closer and closer towards her, tears threatening to fall as if she haven't done that during all the weeks that she had been here.

The soldat's steps grew faster.

So does Y/N's.

Tap taping until they were almost running towards each other.

Until the moment they reunited in the middle.

Catching each other's lips in a desperate and insatiable kiss, the soldat pulled her body tight around the waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Both whimpered in a yearning moan, both still had their guns hanging on one of their hands.

So many feelings at once, relief and grief, with each of them had a different story to tell.

The couple kept breaking and mending the kiss ever-so-passionately as if they weren't in the middle of the grave-less cemetery; as if they weren't in the center of the piling corpses.

Briefly opening his eyes, the soldat could see a shadow running towards them. When Y/N heard the footsteps from her back, she knew they need to pull away, but the soldat was firm and stubborn with his hold.

So instead of letting her break the kiss, he groaned in disapproval and pulled her lips back to his. An angry growl vibrated against her lips as he continued to explore her wet and warm mouth.

Caught off-guard she melted to his silent demand, almost forgot that the enemy was right behind her. But, she should've know better when the soldat loosen one of his arms from the embrace and pointed his gun towards the target.

His finger pulled the trigger almost as easily as his teeth tugging into the bottom of her lips. And suddenly the sound of a body collapsing behind didn't matter anymore.

When the soldat felt that he had enough of the sweetness of her kiss, he finally pulled away, at least for now. He whispered dearly, "Родная (darling)..." he cupped her face in his large hands and rested his forehead on hers.

She thought she heard it wrong, but did he just called her darling? It took her a few second to piece it together and realized that this man was not Bucky, that he had relapsed into the Winter Soldier again, "Soldat?"

The soldat smiled and leaned forward to steal a chaste kiss on her lips, "Yes, it's me, мое Родная (my darling)" he cooed as he swept her by her feet, off the bloody ground and carried her in his arm, "I got you, Куколка (little one). You can rest now."

"We're just wanted make sure she's alright."

"You can follow us if you want so just please--"

"Soldat! You're going to hurt her."

The familiar voices leaked through Y/N's ears as she was drifting through her dreamless slumber. Soon enough, the loud commotion of her surrounding woke her up from the deep sleep.

The words that the Avengers were yelling out became clearer as she gained her consciousness, and the ever-changing movements of the soldat, evading every step the Avengers made to get closer to him, made her aware of the way she was resting in his arms; perfectly cocooned in a form of a bridal carry style.

The soldat halted on his spot when Y/N opened her eyes to see what was going on, "Soldat?" She blinked multiple times as she adjusted to the lights. The menacing frown of the soldat melted into a much softer expression, "Родная(darling), you shouldn't be awake yet." He craddled her closer to him as he cooed.

Where is she? How long was she out? When did she changed her clothes?

"What is happening?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder to see Natasha sighing in relief, "Sweetheart, thank god you're awake."

Y/N then looked over to Steve, "You've been gone for weeks, y/n. We got news about your rescue yesterday, and you guys just arrived home. Now, if we could just to take you to the medbay and get you check-up, that'll be great." He briefly explained.

"Yeah, that's all we want isn't it? But, someone just had to be sappy and refuse to let anyone touch you. You know, how it is with the soldier." Tony quickly intercepted.

The soldat didn't pay them any attention now that his darling was awake. He was merely focusing on whispering the sweetest things as he traces delicate trails of kisses on her forehead, her nose, her cheek, basically all over her face.

Sam took it as opportunity to get closer when the soldat was distracted on suffocating Y/N with kisses. But he should learn by now how alert and agile the soldat can be, especially when he have Y/N close to his proximity.

So, when Sam took a step closer, the soldat recoiled almost immediately, putting quite of a distance between them.

"Man, if Bucky has a staring problem, then the winter soldier over here has a hogging problem." Sam accusingly pointed at the soldat, only getting grunts as a reply.

Looking at the current situation, Y/N pondered for awhile. As much as she wanted to get herself check-up, it was also wise to not pressure the soldat to give her away.

Considering what she witnessed at the Hydra base, Y/N knew the risk that comes when we let the soldat dwell in anger for too long.

So she consulted the rest of the team to back down for now, and let the soldat do what he wants. Y/N promised them that she will conviced the soldat to let her get a check-up as soon as possible. But for now, they really need to trust her words.

At first every one of them was reluctant to let her go but in the end they agreed to her suggestion.

When the team spread out and gave some space for the soldat, he didn't waste any time and marched straight to where their bedroom supposed to be. As soon as they arrived at their safe space, the soldat almost threw Y/N onto the bed and swiftly drew a knife from the holster of his thigh as his predatory eyes searched the room.

He refused to move even an inch away from where he stood and remained close to Y/N; shielding her figure with his own.

It was very faint, but the soldat could sensed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Y/N eyed him curiously, wondering why the soldat was still on edge when he wasn't supposed to. So, she hopped off from the bed and stood on her feet before reaching out to hug the soldat from behind.

"You can put the knife down, soldat. It's just us here." She coaxed but the soldat refused to believe her. He pulled her by the arms, breaking her hug in the process and hold her close to his chest, "There's someone else here."

His actions was rather rougher than he intended it to be; even Y/N was startled by the sudden movement, "Oooff, careful there, soldat. You might give the little one a fright." She chuckled softly as she give her belly a loving rub.

And suddenly his attention was completely focused on Y/N now. Usually his frown symbolized irritation, but this time there was a clear confusion in his eyes. The amount of appalled blinking of his eyes increases when the puzzle pieces in his head started to merge.

The soldat knew that he heard a third heartbeat in the room; that was why he was on alert for threats but apparently he had been closer to the source than he thought was.

In fact, it was right his arms. Or maybe a little bit lower, somewhere around his torso.

Y/N didn't say anything, she simply nodded and smiled up to him as she continued to rub her belly.

When the conclusion finally hits him, the soldat dropped the knife in his hand at the same time he fell on his knees. His gaze never broke from hers, not even a split second, until he was face to face with her tummy.

The soldat leaned one side of his ear closer to her and the thumping sound of the third heartbeat got louder. The discovery had caused him to jolt away as shock decorated his features. He titled his head upwards to Y/N with the same wide, confused look in his blue eyes.

"It's okay, love." She giggled amusingly when the soldat repeated his previous actions. He leaned in and jolted back again as if he couldn't believe what he just heard was real, "Is it... his?" The soldat asked as he implied his existance to be separated from Bucky.

There was a hint of sadness in Y/N's expression when he said it like that. There's been many long conversations that she and Bucky had about the soldat after his first relapse.

Though Bucky was still unsure of his own dissociating self, Y/N on other hand believed that the soldat, this particular man whose drenched the earth with blood just to save her, the same man whose currently on his knees to hear a heartbeat of an unborn child; he deserved a little kindness in his life.

"Yes..." Y/N answered truthfully before she continued, "...and he's yours too."

And that surely knocked the air out of the soldat's lungs, he couldn't tell if she was telling him the truth or was just trying to kill him; either way the butterflies in his chest was suffocating him from the inside.

The soldat couldn't speak a single word; because he didn't know what to say. But there was this beam on his features, light in his eyes, softness on his smile when he dreamily stared at her growing belly.

Y/N took him by his flesh hand and place his palm on her stomach, then she spoke tenderly to the baby inside her, "Wanna say hi to daddy, sweet bean? Say, 'Welcome home, daddy.' "

She knew it was silly, because obviously the child in her womb shouldn't be able to speak, and he was not yet developed enough to be kicking his feet. Hell, they don't even know his gender yet.

But how could she not say it when the soldat looked so damn happy when she did. He looked so peaceful and has this daze and some of those twinkling hearts in those steel-blue eyes of. The soldat sighed in pure joy before he leaned to kiss her stomach.

And as it turns out that was all she needed to do to persuade the soldat to letting her see the doctors. He was there through the whole process, refusing to let go of her hand. It was such a good news to hear that the baby was healthy and there wasn't any foreign substance that might contaminated her during her times in Hydra.

After getting proper medical care and some food in her system, the soldat immediately carry her back to their room to settle down. While she laid on the bed, making up for the lost time to finally get the mental rest she desperately needed, the soldat on the other hand, had made himself comfortable by lying his head on her stomach.

He just couldn't stop; as if he was hypnotised by the melody of the baby's heartbeat. His hand snuck under her shirt, lifting the fabric up to reveal the belly where their miracle resides.

Y/N's droopy eyes followed his actions as she watched how carefully the soldat approached her. Out of habit, her hands absentmindedly rake through the softness of his hair as she held him by the head.

The soldat dotingly caressed the child's sleeping chambers as he leaned closer to it, "...Hi there, little one." he greeted with a quiet and loving whisper.

Immediately, a smile beamed brightly on Y/N's face when the soldat proceed to pamper her belly with countless of tender kisses, "...it's daddy." he introduced himself, as if the baby was able to understand him.

The silence that came after was so sweet and comfortable. And Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to have this without the soldat. She tucked a piece of his loose strand of hair behind his ear when she spoke gently, "Thank you for saving me, soldat."

He briefly lifted his head and smiled up at her, "You know I can't live without you Родная (darling). I will always need you." He declared a truthful confession before turning his attention away. His lips grazed on the skin of her belly as he mumbled against it, "And you too, little one."

Y/N could burst into tears just from this interaction alone but she try not to. She doesn't want to look back at this moment and remember how much she wept, so she blinked her tears away while she watched the soldat spoiled the little buddle of joy inside her with so much endearments.

Even though it was always a happy memory for the soldat when he spend time with his darling, but this... this was rare. And he wanted to cherish it for as long as he could.

The soldat laid on his ears again when he peered from where he had his head rested, his deep gaze captured her attention, "Has he been taking care of you good, darling?" He asked.

The soldat probably had no idea how Bucky adored her; if anyone paid enough attention they might even caught him worshipping the very ground she stepped on.

A breathy chuckle escaped from her mouth as nodded with a drunken grin, "He's the best." She hummed approvingly, "Best husband, and best daddy too." She exclaimed brightly as she glanced at the ring on her finger; it was barely visible through the thick of the soldat's hair.

Surprisingly, the soldat didn't react negatively to her remarks, instead, a proud smile curved on his lips as the pride in his chest overflowed and leaked all through his very being, "Good." He simply said.

The smile lines on the corner of his eyes didn't flatten even when he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to silenced everything else around him and focused on the fluttering sounds of the baby's tiny heart.

It might have been the thick haze of lavender smoke in their head or the swarming butterflies in their chest, that they didn't even notice the fatigue that had been slowly taking over them, until the tenderness of their caresses were barely moving.

When the heaviness of her eyes weighted the lids, she sleepily asked the soldat, "Will you still be here when I wake up?" Truth to be told, she was afraid that all of this was just a dream; an escape from reality of the cruel captivity.

The soldat briefly opened his own tired eyes and cooed softly, "I'm always with you, Родная (darling)." And Y/N took it as a promise for her desprete soul to cling on; a ray of hope for her to hold onto, if she ever wakes up in that cell again.

Not long after, both of them lost to the lure of somnolent and their soul quickly drifted into the peaceful dreamland. Soft snores were filling the quiet of the room as their mortal body continued to entangled themselves with each other.

It was safe to say that if Steve would ever barge into the room, he'd probably maxed the storage of his phone with photos of the soldat smushing his face on Y/N's belly as she perfectly curled around him.

Maybe it was the sunlight leaking through the window or maybe it was the intense gaze she felt burning on the skin of her face. Eitherway, it certainly disturbed her from her sleep.

When her body stirred, Y/N realized that she didn't need to open her eyes to know that last night was not a dream, especially when she can feel a pair of familiar arms wrapping around her waist under her shirt.

Y/N slowly peeled her eyes open to see a recognizable ceiling. Her eyes then trailed to her side and met a pair of blue of eyes staring back at her. Her gaze searched for the soul within him and found the semblance of Bucky reflected in his eyes.

Still dazed from sleep, she continued to watch him blinking at her, slowly and silently, like a cat declaring their love to their human. But even then, he couldn't hide the afterglow of the tears on his face.

"Bucky, honey. Have you been crying?" Her voice rasped from lack of use, yet her tender fingers find themselves crawling across his wet cheeks.

It was as if her voice was a trigger, and tears quickly reformed in Bucky's eyes again. Y/N gently pulled him to her chest, one hand threading his hair and another rubbing his back as he sobbed in her arms, "It's okay, Bucky. We're okay." She continued to coax him lovingly.

They spend most of the early morning holding each other close and dear. Then when the tears started to lessen, Bucky finally pulled himself away from her. Y/N wiped the excess tears on his cheeks but he caught her hand underneath his; he relished in the relief of her presence when he sighed to her touch.

Bucky's gaze wobbled in the pool of tears in his eyes but he was still determined to speak his mind "I'm so sorry, doll." He apologized, "I couldn't stop them. Even with this damned serum in me, I still couldn't protect you; both of you." If his defeated voice didn't convey his truth, then the tremble of his touch should be enough.

And Y/N's heart simply shattered for him; what did he meant by that? He did save her though. The winter soldier or Bucky. It didn't matter who but she was here now because of him. She was safe; they both were, "But you saved me, did you not?"

"But, I didn't. The sol--" Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, Y/N quickly cuts in, "The soldat is always going to be a part of you, Bucky. And if he saved me, that means you saved me too." She reassured him.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she continued to persuade him, "And if I could speak for our child, which I absolutely can because I'm his mother, then he would say that he is proud that his strong daddy managed to beat the absolute shit out of those bad guys."

Bucky blurted out a hearty laugh, "I don't think it's good to teach our baby to curse when he is still in your womb, mama." His laugh gradually reduced to a chuckle when he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

Y/N simply shrugged to his suggestion, "It's not like he wouldn remember this anyway." She smirked playfully.

Another chuckle managed to slip through Bucky's lips before he lowered his face to her tummy, "And you? How's your play date with Winter, hmm sweet bean?" He mumbled as his lips planted on her skin.

Besides the heartbeat of his child, he could also hear the tiny twitching of the baby's limbs moving ever-so-slightly, "Yeah, I bet he spoiled you with lots of kisses and cuddles, huh? Like he did your mommy?" He continued to coo against her belly, unaware of the shock on his wife's face.

"Winter?" A small smile cracked from the corner of her lips. Yes, she was shocked but that doesn't mean she wasn't pleasantly surprised by it.

Bucky didn't even bother to look up at Y/N's face as he was busy blowing raspberries on her stomach, "If he's going to keep popping up in our lives then we might as well call him something else other than 'soldat', don't you think?" He simply said, marking one last kiss on the small growing bulge on her belly, before working his way back up to her face.

Y/N's heart swelled to his gesture and when he laid his head next to hers, she carefully took him by his cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, "I think he'd love that, Bucky." She whispered against his lips, feeling his smile in return.

Bucky nudges forward to catch her lips again; kissing her slow and sweet as if his whole world has been waiting for this moment. And when the kiss naturally broke, he tempted her with something he knew she couldn't resist, "Now, how about we grab you both something to bite, hmm?"

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The use of the title in the fic is suprisingly wholesome despite the insinuation of it, don't you think? Lol. Btw, thank you so much for stopping by and read my work. Leave your thoughts behind for me, I'd love to hear from you!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #the seven writing event #nickfowlerrr’s writing event #winter soldier!bucky #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fluff #bucky fluff #nickfowlerrr's writing event

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taintedcigs · 3 months

Text

i slept with someone from corroded coffin and all i got was this stupid song written about me.

ROCKSTAR!FBOY!EDDIE X READER

summary: fooling around with a famous rockstar who's a notorious playboy sounds perfect on paper, until you catch feelings for him. that's why you decide to end things, to not get your feelings get hurt, and its all going perfectly, until eddie releases a song, written all about you.

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising?, lovey dovey, kinda angst and arguments, drgs & alcohol mention, swearing? idk this is kinda cheesy n cute with a mix of fluff sprinkled honestly!

author's note: the indented parts are texts between steve and reader and thenn reader and eddie. they look confusing as fuck im sorry i just wanted to make them look unique but they look stupid. also yes. i patted myself in the back after i found this title (thank you fob). and yes the lyrics are inspired by i don't care im on a fob kick sue me! and ofc fboy!eddie isn't actually that much of a fboy bc if i can't write lovesick eddie ill die. this is super cheesy so i still struggled a lot but UGH. not proof-read ignore all mistakes

also credits to @dumplingsjinson for the prompts! (i changed them but still!) and @saradika for the dividers! pls like + rb + interact w me in anyway to support my writings!! ty!!

DINGUS sent you a spotify link. did you listen to this? yeah. its kinda romantic. no. the lyrics are insane. n all about u okay? are u at the party rn? yeah. u comin? soon he’s there too u already knew that, didn’t u? false accusations r rude, steve.

You click your phone off with a groan, but he was right. You couldn’t stay away from him, and maybe, just maybe, this was your way of running into him, accidentally.

Because ever since he released the song, the tabloids had gone crazy with it, half of the lyrics screamed you and all of the old headlines pointed at you, the mystery girl Eddie used to be seen with, and you really were growing tired of seeing your name next to “Munson’s new girl.”

Because you weren’t his new girl, you weren’t his anything. He was a cocky asshole who was good with a guitar and was even better at fucking. And that was something both of you could relate to, the only thing you had in common with him. Or, so you thought.

But of course, as with everything else, the things between you changed, you started staying over, he started staying over, and the two of you even went on fucking dates, disguising them under ‘we were just hungry, is all.’

You tried to keep up the cool girl act, like you could fuck someone and not catch feelings. Every inch of you itched not to care, to act like it was all fine, but it was all fucking bullshit, you cared, so fucking much that your chest ached. The more you got to know him, the more you fell for him, and the more you fell for him, the more you realized there was no fucking way this would work.

Cocky rockstar who spent more time doing drugs than sleeping, with girls all over him? The imaginary red flag bells rang in your ear, even now. He wasn’t looking for a relationship and you knew that. That’s why you ended it two months ago. Or at least, you started ignoring him two months ago.

Yet, he had been calling and texting you, wanting to meet up, drunken slurs of nonsense, gibberish voicemails, and yet you never answered, because if you did, you knew you’d be back to pathetically swooning over him.

Until today, just because of that stupid song, like it meant anything. That douchebag probably wrote songs about every girl he fucked.

You weren’t special.

Another ding sound from your phone almost startled you, the contact name made you groan even louder. “don’t FUCKING answer.” That didn’t mean shit. It was just something stupid to make you feel better that you couldn’t stay away from him, because you knew, deep down that if you really didn’t want him to contact you, you would’ve deleted his number, and blocked him. You were too chicken shit to do that, and still desperately wanted to hear from him.

So you settled on that contact name. Like it made a difference, like it changed anything.

DONT FUCKING ANSWER did you listen to the song?

Don’t fucking answer. The contact name should be enough to convince yourself that.

Too late.

no. don’t lie to me, sweetheart. why would i lie?

You sink into the couch, a much quieter corner of the party, not even bothering to socialize. Your brows furrow, index finger flying to your lips anxiously, as you chew on it to patiently wait for an answer.

You sip on your drink with a nervous gaze on your screen, barely noticing the way the couch sink further when someone else took a seat next to you.

“Hi.” The gravelly voice pulls your attention away from the screen, making you set your drink aside as you look up, finding yourself face-to-face with him.

Shaggy bangs cascade onto his forehead, and with your exaggeration, it looks longer than the last time you saw him. Black jeans cladded with chains. A graphic tee messily thrown over his heavily tatted chest, that you could still imagine right about now—pathetic. He looked just about the same, the deep dimple adorning his soft cheeks had seemed to disappear, wearing a scowl instead, that tiny voice in your head told you that was your doing, that maybe he was just as miserable as you. Maybe your feelings weren’t fully one-sided.

Shit.

“Eddie?” Squeaky, and annoying, you were sure that’s how your tone sounded, yet he didn’t seem to comment on it.

“‘m glad you remember my name, sweetheart,” he scoffs sarcastically, leaning further into the plush couch, elbow propped at the side, eyeing you with frustration.

“W—what the hell are you doing here?” You stutter as if you weren’t expecting to run into him. Full of bullshit.

“Did ya really think you could ignore me forever, huh?” He tilts his head slightly, almost expectedly, earning an eye roll from you.

“I wasn’t ignoring yo—”

Eddie tuts quickly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that cuts through the ambient noise of the party, “I thought we said no more lies, huh?”

With a huff, “Why are you here, Eddie?” you mumble.

“Am I not allowed to party?” He banters, brows slightly raised, making you huff out an exasperated breath, your eyes bore into him, almost to signal him ‘Take this seriously.’

“I wanted to know what you thought.” He shrugs like it was normal to just come running after everything just to know what you thought of the song.

“The song?” He nods in confirmation.

“Didn’t like it,” you confess, avoiding his gaze, but your brows betray you, lifting ever so slightly.

He tsks, shutting you off quickly, “You see that little quirk your brow did? That only happens when you lie, you can’t help it. You do that when I ask you if you ate the last pizza slice, or when I ask if you watched the next episode of the show we were supposed to watch together, or when you—”

“Fine, fine! I liked it,” you groan, interrupting him and suddenly standing up from the comfort of the couch, being so face-to-face with him immediately making your nerves bubble.

“Just liked?” He tilts his head slightly, a smirk curving on his lips.

A deep sigh of breath, “what do you want, Munson?”

He stands up with you, making you back away from him with a heavy footstep, the entire party was too loud and crowded, yet, in this stupid corner, it was just the two of you. “For you to admit that you loooved the song, and how much you missed me,” he sing-songs, taking a step closer to you, musky smell invading your senses, making you take a deep breath.

Both of you stand near the wall, and it should be awkward, it should be enough to make you leave, but all it does is draw you closer to him.

“You’re annoying.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t avoiding—” He tuts, with his stupid index finger up, rejecting your lie.

“I—I don’t know what you expected.” You shrug, so nonchalantly that his gaze narrows, chest aching with the implications of your words.

“We both knew this wouldn’t last forever, didn’t we?” You chew the inside of your lip to stop those tears that had been begging to flow ever since you listened to the song, wiping off that smirk on Eddie’s lips.

“Would’ve been nice if I got a reminder, and not have been just fully ghosted, huh?” The brunette grumbles with a downturn of his lips, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Oh, don’t act all high and mighty, isn’t that what you do all the fucking time?” you snap, gaze narrowed, and arms crossed against your chest.

“Fuck girls and then leave them? Did it crush your ego this fucking much that I did before you could?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” He retaliates.

“It means I was smart enough to pull myself away from your bullshit,” you rasp, disdain written all over your face.The room seems to shrink as the distance between you decreases.

Another step closer to you, and you didn’t realize your back had hit the wall now. “My bullshit? God, that’s fucking rich, if I seem to recall correctly sweetheart, you were in this as much as I fucking was!”

“Oh, was I?” You bark out a chuckle, cruel, mocking, “I don’t remember being okay with you fucking half the city.” Realization of how bitter and jealous that sounds, dawns on you much later than the words leave your lips, and thankfully, Eddie’s too fucking immersed to realize the double meaning of your words.

“Are you fucking kidding? No strings attached! Non-exclusive! That’s what you fuckin’ signed up for!” His voice echoes, mirroring his frustration, and you open your mouth.

But he doesn’t let you speak further, cutting you off sharply. “Is this all because of that new guy you’re seein’?”

“What? What guy?”

“The one who was all over you earlier,” he bites out, jaw clenched, and you can almost taste his bitterness in the air.

“The same one you fucked at Jeff’s party.”

“Are you stalking me, Munson?”

“Did you just want an excuse to end things? Are the two of you serious or somethin’?” His voice wavered between anger and desperation, gaze pathetically searching for yours, to gauge your reaction.

You scoff. Did he really think you’d end things because of a stupid fling you had which in the first place occurred just so you could forget him? He was so goddamn clueless it drove you insane.

But what you didn’t realize was that you were just as clueless, if not more, because why would he write a song all about you, if this was just about sex? Because who would get so jealous of someone they didn’t care about?

Say my name and his in the same breath.

I dare you to say they taste the same.

The lyrics from his stupid song swirled your thoughts, yet you were still too stupid to see it, weren’t you?

Another step closer to you, a dangerous game the two of you liked to play. He smelled alluring, a fucked up mix of nicotine, his musky cologne, and that damn leather jacket. “Do you really think, he could compare to me, sweetheart?”

Say my name and his in the same breath.

“Tell me he’s fucking better, and he’s actually what you want, and I’ll fucking leave, I’ll bury all the other songs I wrote, tell me, and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

I dare you to say they taste the same.

And just like that, all the defenses you put up, all the times you ignored him, they are cracked, disappearing into thin air. You hate it, you hate that he has this effect on you, you can feel your mind getting hazier, eyes blinking rapidly to process what the fuck is going on, and his face is mere inches away from yours. You knew their names didn’t taste the same. And you knew he could never ever compare to Eddie.

“Tell me,” he encourages, dares you to. You fail to notice how much emotion his gaze carries, how the corners of his lips twitch, just at the thought of you finally admitting you don’t want him. His stomach turns at the thought, this is his last chance, he knows that, and he can’t fucking lose you. He can’t.

And you don’t know any of that, but you knew, know that no one else could compare to him. And you hate yourself for thinking that, you hate yourself for falling for him, the world stops rotating on its axis when he’s in your peripheral vision, and it’s fucking disgusting. Pathetic. Stupid. Because you know the two of you have no chance. But here you are.

“H—he is b—” Of course, your brow quirks up almost immediately, betraying you quicker than you can even attempt to lie.

That dawning smirk appears on his lips again, it’s mocking, and just as much smug. You want to wipe it off of his stupidly pretty face. “Tell me,” he dares you, again. This time much cockier and confident, and you suddenly realize how small you feel under him.

“He isn’t,” your meek voice is barely audible.

And you don’t register the shaky breath he draws when the words leave your lips, giving him the confirmation he needs. You wanted him, he had no fucking clue why you ghosted him, yet you still wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.

Both of his hands were placed on the wall now, towering over you, making your breath get caught up in your throat. “Speak up.”

“No, fuck! You know he’s not, you know he could never fucking compare to you, you fucking know tha—” He shuts you up with a rough kiss, lips pressed against yours messily, letting the petty comments die down your throat. Because this is all he wanted, needed to hear anyway.

“Up,” he grunts into the kiss, tapping your thighs, hoisting you up from your waist to help you wrap your legs around him, tight, he wants you at his mercy, locked to him.

You wrap your legs around him, barely, the melty sensation in your knees making you so shaky that he barks out a laugh into your lips, holding you close, firm, the butterflies in your stomach traveling all across your body.

He lifts you up as if you are weightless, arms wrapped around you strongly as he carries you to the nearest empty bedroom, impressively without hitting your back anywhere, so roughly that your core throbs at the feeling of his arms around you.

“Baby,” he mutters as he lowers you down on the bed swiftly, smooth, gaze darkened and pupils blown wide, all the pent up desire waiting to explode.

“Eddie,” you beg, shaky voice sounding purely angelic to his ears once he got rid of his shirt, shrugging it off with a huff, his fingertips grazing against your top, feeling your hardened nipples, causing gasps out of you, he’s quick to pull it over your head while you run your fingers up the grooves of his stomach, the tip of your fingertips almost burns everywhere you touch.

He groans at the sight of your bare breasts, “missed thi-you,” he corrects himself, because that’s all he wanted anyways, you.

He nips at your nipples, tongue good at giving attention to both of them, all wet and warm, making you squirm under his touch, you’re quick to get rid of everything else, leaving you in your panties, making him grunt.

The pad of his thumb rubs against your left nipple, leaving goosebumps in its wake, while his other hand travels down your chest, then your stomach, finally drawing circles when it stops between your thighs, ghosting over your panties before he tugs them down your legs, spreading them apart with a slight hum, pupils blown so wide that you can’t admire those chocolate hues anymore.

He visually drinks in that sight of you, laid down on the couch, eyes squeezed shut, back arched, and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You’re completely at his mercy and his chest aches with need. “So pretty like this f’me,” he coos into your chest, pushing his middle finger inside of you. Making you feel so good that you can’t stop the gasps coming out of your lips.

Pleasure shivers through everywhere he sucks and touches, his finger eases into you when he adds another one, a moan escaping you quickly. “Need to be in here, sweetheart, d’ya have any idea how much I missed this?”

You don’t. You don’t know about the sleepless nights, the drunken ones, the drug-induced ones in an attempt to recreate the high you gave him. It’s fucked up, it’s insanely toxic. Yet, he can’t get enough of you.

His gaze upon you is dangerous, maybe it’s because he had missed you so goddamn much, or maybe because he didn’t know where this would lead, but it felt fucking sentimental, different somehow, and he could feel you, everywhere on his skin.

Your hips start rocking up against him when the pad of his thumb flicks over your clit, making you arch your back, whines, mumbles leaving your lips. And all he can muster is, “so goddamn beautiful, look at you whining for me.”

You can feel his bulge rub against your thigh every now and then, it’s distracting, almost agonizing. You desperately need it inside of you, you had missed him, missed his touch, missed the feeling of him filling you to the brim, you missed seeing his face contort in pleasure when he was inside of you, you wanted him to never forget you again.

That’s why you feel so numb, can barely speak, and of course, Eddie notices, how unusually quiet you are, and he wants to make this unforgettable, just so you have another reason to come back to him. Just so you don’t leave him, just so you stay forever.

“Gone too quiet on me, honey, tell me what you need,” he coos down at you, thumb still caressing your pussy, and all you can fucking do is chew down on your bottom lips, eyeing his bulge that was begging to get out. And he barks out a goddamn chuckle, “P—please, Eddie.” Pathetically leaves your lips.

And normally he would make you beg, tease further, but he reaches to tug down his pants quickly, because fuck, he had missed you. And he can’t bear the thought of not being inside of you any longer.

Thinking is not your strongest suit right now either, your brain is mushy, all the nights and days spent thinking about him, about this explodes into your body. Your pussy aches when you finally see his cock again, a sound of need leaving your lips as you eye his length, so big that pleasure ripples through you, especially when you see his gushy tip, glistening with pre-cum.

You want every fucking inch inside of you, and Eddie’s more than ready to oblige, “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

“Need you, Eddie,” you moan, all fucked out, his fingers slip in and out of you still, but it isn’t enough for him. He needs more, he craves your validation like he never has before.

“God, you’re soakin’ my fingers, princess,” he grunts, wedging himself between your thighs, weeping cock drips onto your inner thighs, making you moan breathlessly. “Tell me exactly what you fuckin’ want, honey.”

“Eddie.” His name sounds like silk, even when it’s so lewd, Eddie decides, and it makes him let out an impatient huff. “P—please. Need you to fuck me.” It’s so goddamn desperate that you can feel heat rise to your cheeks, but it’s everything to him.

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh, that’s easy, sweetheart,” he grunts, lining his cock through your entrance, coating himself in your slick, enjoying your mewls before he doesn’t hesitate to push his cock inside of you, inch by inch, relishing the way you cry out for him.

Greedily, you rock your hips into him, making him let out a frustrated groan. “Have no fuckin’ idea how much I missed this greedy cunt, sweetheart, shit.” He thrusts in a few more inches, and breathless moans and babbles of his name fill the air.

“Suckin’ me right in, baby, fuck, you’re so pretty like this, mhmm.” His cock moves inside of you, and your hands are wrapped around his back, desperately clawing at it, the fullness making you want more, “you like that, baby, like bein’ full of me?” A heavy sound leaves his lips, pathetic and you pulse around him.

“S’so good Eddie, and s’big,” you barely manage to let out, and he watches you with that burning amber gaze, thrusting all the way in without hesitation. Those plushy lips that hang open, that filthy mouth, the prettiest fucking features—you, were going to be the death of him.

Maybe it’s because you had missed him, or maybe because you hadn’t experienced this in a long time, or fuck, maybe, just maybe that the song had created a new type of need between the two of you. Using sex as a sort of connection that the both of you desperately needed. But, shit, was it this different this time.

He felt different—his lips, touch, skin as it slapped against yours, it was different.

Full. You feel so fucking full that your back involuntarily arches against him, fingers clenching desperately, your screams and cries filling the room the more he plunges inside of you, deeper, hungry, and just as greedy as you.

“Yeah, better than that asshole?” It rolls off his lips so bitter and jealous that you can barely register it. Not being used to this possessive side of him, and it’s glorious, especially when he’s pounding his frustrations and insecurities into you.

“Mhmm, so much better.” You clawed at his back, every thrust of his hip making you feel higher and higher, mind filled with nothing but him.

“So pretty like this when you say my name, sweetheart… so goddamn beautiful, and all mine, yea?” He wants a confirmation, and wants to hear you say it, his head ducking between your breasts again to kiss, taste, suckle them. Make sure he never forgets it.

“Wanna hear you say it.” He hums, the vibrations reverberating through your chest straight into your core, cock plowed so deep inside of you that you can barely speak through your cries, hitting that sweet spot that every other asshole misses.

You’re too scared to give him what he wants. But you feel him, everywhere, and you still want more, of course, you’re his. That’s all you fucking wanted anyway. Plushy lips shake as you gaze up at him, his amber hues are so sticky-sweet that you still struggle to process it, words come out in a ramble “All yours, Eddie.”

His mouth crashes onto yours roughly, desire coursing through both of your bodies, almost interconnected. “Shit, fuckin’ hell sweetheart, ‘m not gonna last long.” His thrusts are getting sloppier, yet you feel the ravaging desire coursing through your veins.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, the kiss he lays on your lips just as relentless, not letting you breathe or think for a goddamn second, you’re so goddamn close.

And you wonder, how the fuck did you even go two months without this? Without him?

“Eddie!” You cry out once you feel the pad of his thumb rubbing against your clit, eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm washes over you. Pure bliss overtakes you while you claw at his back, his body tenses, and cock flexes as he cums inside of you, groans and curses left in your hair.

Minutes pass of you lying next to each other, breathless, processing everything that just transpired. And you should feel guilty, embarrassed, and should run to the hills for doing this with him again.

But you’re obsessed, addicted. He’s like an excitement that you’re sure you’ve never felt before, running through your veins, like a fucking drug.

Both of you get dressed in silence, the party booming outside is quick to bring the two of you back to reality, and out of the trance that he pulled you in.

He breaks your bewilderment with a slight “Fuck.” Standing on the opposite side of the bed before he fully turns to you. “This wasn’t—I was supposed to talk to you.” He mutters, fingertips anxiously running through his tousled hair.

Caught off guard and awfully curious, you mumble, “About what?”

“The song…”

“I told you I liked it.”

His brow furrows deeper, and he shakes his head in frustration. “No, that’s not it—uh, did you not listen to the lyrics?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Your face searches his for some clarity, you take a step closer to him, the distance between the two of you was still awfully much according to him. “What are you asking of me, Eddie? Did you really think one song would just solve everything?”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“W—what am I supposed to get Eddie? You wanna have your cake and eat it too! And I just can’t fucking do that, not anymore.”

“That’s—that’s not it!” His voice wavers, with urgency, and desperation in his tone. He takes a step forward, attempting to bridge the emotional gap, feeling so fucking frustrated that he wants to rip his hair out.

“Then fucking explain it to me!” You plead.

“You want an explanation, fine! Fucking fine!” His frustration echoed through the room, pacing back and forth, making you take a deep breath.

Was he… actually gonna do this?

“You wanna know what the fuck I’ve been doing ever since you ghosted me?” He ran a hand through his hair, scared, gaze all mellow and vulnerable in a way you have never seen before. It makes your shoulders slump when you nod.

“I go to those stupid Hollywood parties, meet asshole rockstars—the most interesting shit, yet somehow someway the thought of you will pop up in my mind, uncalled for, might I add, and then I can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop thinking about you the whole fucking day.” Your eyes widen, trying to absorb his revelation, yet he won’t stop rambling and you feel your chest tighten with each word, fuck, he’s finally doing it.

“I—I never—shit! I never thought myself capable of feeling things like this, but fuck, you came along, with that goddamn smile, throwing a manicured middle finger right in my face, a—and just put up with my bullshit.” His voice softened, and he couldn’t help but trace the contours of your face, to desperately know if you were on the same boat, and you look at him with such glistened eyes that his heart leaps to his stomach.

“My world flipped upside down, and you have proven me, so goddamn wrong that I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore!” The tears almost welled in your eyes, because, fuck, there was no way this was real.

You reached out instinctively, the corner of your mouth twitching uncontrollably. “E—Eddie, please… please stop saying things you don’t fucking mean.”

“Things I don’t mean?” He gives you a breathy chuckle, ironic, and nowhere near funny. His eyes bore into yours, intense and searching. “Do you think I like feeling whatever the hell this is? I fucking don’t, you have me acting like someone I’m so unfamiliar with, to the point where it scares me. All I can think about is you, you, you, because you occupy every single space of my mind.” Your eyes soften, the room seemingly pulsing with his emotions, making you feel hot everywhere on your body.

He felt the same way.

Eddie felt the same way.

“B—but fuck I’m scared, honey, I’m so goddamn scared,” He admits, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the tension before he’s at your side, calloused hands grabbing you by the shoulder, so softly that you melt into him.

“Because what if—what if all of this comes crashing down one day?” His voice trembles, gaze avoiding yours, he was scared, so goddamn scared of losing you. Forever. He doesn’t want that, he couldn’t afford that.

“Just two months away from you fucking sucked. I didn’t—I don’t wanna feel these things, but you make it so hard not to.” His forehead rests against yours, making you suck in a deep breath, it’s all so fucking sentimental, and all you wanna do this kiss him, tell him you feel the exact same way. Tell him about your fears.

“And now I can’t fucking stop, fuck,” He confesses, admission punctuated by a frustrated sigh.

“I wrote you a song,” he gently caresses your cheek, and you’re so scared to look up at him, to meet his tender gaze, because you know you can’t hold yourself back.

“I came over to this party in a frenzy when I found out you’d be here,” he continued, his fingers tracing a delicate pattern along your jawline. “I—I just I haven’t even been able to touch another girl.” Your eyes snap open, you’re sure they’re almost heart-shaped now, with the adoration you look at him.

“And, do you actually fucking think I'd write songs for just anyone—” His question lingers in the air before you shut him up with a kiss, rough, sweet, and making Eddie feel dizzy all over, his head struggles to comprehend it all, breathless but he manages to react just in time.

The booming music becoming a mere background noise when he had you, mind swirling with all the possibilities and mouth begging to never stop tasting you. He wants to let you completely engulf him, feel you everywhere.

Everything he wanted and more.

He fucking hates himself for doing this, but he pulls away, mesmerized, eyes so wide that you can’t believe this is Eddie, he’s all flustered, salmon pink. And it makes a wider grin sit on your lips. “So… you—uh, what does this mean?”

You smile at him, lips widely stretching into a grin, as you shrug. “It means I feel the same, Eddie.” you admit, tone a tender reassurance. “That’s why I tried to shut you out… to try to move on, because I was scared—fuck, but I feel the same way.”

“So, does that mean we're dating now?”

“We can take things slow, figure everything out?” you mutter with a shy gaze, lips itching to twitch into a smile, again. “But I—uh—I like you, I really, really like you.”

“Gone soft on me already, sweetheart?” he mumbles with a stupid grin, making you elbow him softly, with an exaggerated playful huff.

He’s quick to flinch, rubbing his arm as if you even delivered a powerful blow. “Ow—what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You think I’m going soft? You’re the one who wrote his feelings as an exaggerated love song!”

He leans further slightly, his grin widening when you gave him those adorable eyes, finding you both equally amusing and endearing. “Oh… just you wait.”

You arched a brow, curiosity piqued, “What the hell does that mean?”

“The album is coming out soon, sweetheart. If you think this was an exaggeration, you should hear the whole fucking thing.”

That glint re-appears in your eyes just as quickly, gaze softening as you melt into his embrace.

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.” You tease, scrunching your nose at him, so adorably that he leans down and presses a gentle kiss onto your hair.

He's an idiot, a total complete fucking idiot, but he's all yours.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson

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3hks · 3 months

Text

Foreshadowing I

Foreshadowing is a literary element where the author hints at a future event without giving it away. However, if you're like me and struggle to actually include original, effective foreshadowing, then luckily for you, I completely racked my brain to find very specific types/examples of foreshadowing that you can include to your story!

Note: I specifically stated "very specific types," I'm not going to be detailing the separate types of this element that you learn in school, but more of prompts and ideas that are meant to spark your creativity!

Dialogue:

>> Threats - Threats hint at future negative events that may occur to your character(s).

>> Warnings - Warnings and threats are not necessarily the same thing. While they both suggest negative things, a warning does not have to come from aggression, but rather helpfulness!

>> Promises - Promises foreshadow two things: said promise being kept, and said promise being broken. However, most readers will assume the former, since the latter is typically less likely.

Item symbolism:

>> Flower language - Different flowers have different meanings, and while most readers will skip over that, it's a fun addition! You can use those meanings to hint at what might happen later. For example: Purple hyacinth represents a desire for forgiveness! With the idea of foreshadowing in mind, if a character gives the flower to someone they're close to, it suggests that they might do something they'll regret in the future.

>> A broken item - This is an example used to foreshadow future struggles, pain, and separation. To get the most effective result, choose an item that has value to your character and is connected to the future event. For example: A crack in a glass picture frame holding a picture of a character and their closest friends should hint at the idea that the group of friends will split up.

Miscellaneous:

>> History - You know what they say! History always repeats itself! Use this to your advantage! What people did a long time ago can still influence the current generation, and what happened in the past could most definitely happen again in the future. This could involve family, ancestors, wars, diseases, deaths, friendships, etc.

>> Weather and seasons - This is a pretty simple idea, different types of weather and seasons symbolize different things! Summer and sunny weather typically demonstrate joy and blitheness! Fall and similar weather exhibits a change or shift in things, and even nostalgia! Winter and cold/stormy weather can symbolize an ending, numbness, apathy, and darkness. However, winter can also symbolize beauty, comfort, and festivity! Lastly, we have spring! Spring represents a fresh start and change!

Alright! That's it for now, so here you go! Hopefully, these examples are able to give you some new ideas! There will be a part two, but in the form of dialogue prompts! So if that's what you're looking for, keep an eye out for that!

Happy writing~

3hks :]

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #writing inspo #creative writing #writing advice #forshadowing #examples of foreshadowing kinda

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monzabee · 22 days

Text

partition - lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Lewis are stuck in traffic in Paris, and decide to make the most of the situation.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: smut!! sex in a car, unprotected sex (because when have i written something with condoms lol), pwp, cringey ass nickname (blame beyoncé), manhandling, took me a long time to write it so it doesn’t make sense most part, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! this was a passion project for me and you have no idea how happy i am with the way it turned out. There’s only one slight issue and it is that i wanted lewis to call the reader something other than peaches, but it is in the song, therefore please if you don’t like it blame the mother, aka beyoncé. Also, i was very unsure of whether i wanted to drag it out, or leave it as it is, so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It took you forty five minutes to get ready – Lewis knows this because he’s been keeping time on his phone since the moment you’ve went into the bedroom side of your hotel room to get ready for the party he’s taking you to. You’ve always like to joke that he takes longer getting ready whenever the two of you have to go somewhere, but now that he is staring the timer on his phone, maybe he should use it as an evidence that you’re, in fact, wrong the next time you tease him about it. Not that he actually would do that, he is a gentleman, after all.

He’s just about to call out to you to hurry up when you beat him to it, “Baby, I need help, please!”

The nickname manages to bring the smallest of smiles to his face as he, without shouting anything back in response, gets up from his place on the couch and makes his way towards the bedroom. And that’s when his eyes land on you, in front of the full-sized mirror struggling to zip up your dress. In just a few more steps he’s right behind you, his fingers itching to dance against the smooth skin of your back. “I thought you were going to wear the suit you brought, Peaches,” his voice comes off muffled as he presses a few kisses to the expose skin on your shoulder.

“I forgot to bring the shirt that goes with it,” your voice comes off shaky as you feel his lips drag on your skin, and you can hear his soft chuckle. Craning your neck to give him a small smile, you join in his laughter, “Zip me?” With a yielding kiss, Lewis wordlessly grabs the small zipper between his fingers, and when the moves the zipper, it makes you shriek out another laugh, “Up, Lewis, zip me up please!”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, pulling the zipper upward with a swift motion. The dress seamlessly hugs your figure, and he makes a show of checking you out from the mirror in front of you before meeting your eyes. “There you go, all zipped up,” Lewis announces triumphantly, ignoring your disapproving headshake, giving you a gentle pat on the back. You turn around, facing him with a grateful smile, and he can't resist leaning in for a sweet kiss. The connection between your lips is brief but warm.

“You like my dress?” You ask him and his enthusiastic nod makes your smile widen in satisfaction, “You don’t think it’s too short?”

Instead of answering your question with words, instead Lewis tsks, letting his dissatisfaction with your question known. He gently takes one of your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours and prompts you to spin around to give him a better look of your dress. He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand still firmly intertwined with yours, and presses a kiss on your shoulder right where the strap of your dress meets your skin. “Wear any dress you want, Peaches, Miles and I can handle anyone who gives you trouble for it.”

Chucking at his protective, yet playful, response, you pat his arm around your middle with your free hand, “Speaking of the devil, we should probably get going if we don’t want him to kill us both for being late.” Lewis makes a sound of contest, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulls you closer to himself. “Lu,” you let out a faux-exasperated sigh, “there is being late, and fashionably late, and I’m afraid we are way past the latter.

“Oh, darling,” you hear his breathy voice whisper against your skin as he places a couple of open mouthed kisses onto your exposed skin, “maybe we should stay back, hm? I can show you just how much I like your dress.” With one of his hands splayed on your stomach and his lips greeting your skin ever so often, you gasp when his lips find that one sweet spot he knows that makes your knees week. “Imagine how much fun we can have on our own, here, in our room.”

Throwing your head back to rest on his chest, a breathy chuckle falls from your lips, but you give him a stern look. “As much as I would love to stay back with you, we promised all of our friends we’ll be there.” As you rise up to your toes to give him a soft peck on the lips, you manage to break free from his arms, leaving him with a perpetual pout on his face. “When we get back, Mister Hamilton, you can do whatever you want to me.”

With your offer, the look on his face changes from a pout to a smirk. “Is that a promise, Peaches?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, darling,” you emphasise the word with an exaggerated version of his accent. “It’s a fact,” you return his look with a small smirk on your own as you add, “sir.”

Needless to say, the walk down to the lobby to get into your car is full of tension between the two of you. It’s not like Lewis can’t hold himself back, because he can. He has proven under many circumstances that he can withhold sex from you if he decides to do that. The most recent incident was when he caught you lurking around the Red Bull garage during the last race you’ve attended, which ended with you quite literally having to beg him to fuck you after a week of Lewis not even touching you. The walk down to the lobby is filled with stolen touches and knowing glances, with him trying to get you to kiss him every minute, not caring whether the people around you can hear him or not.

You give him a sideway look when the receptionist tells you that your limo for the night is waiting for you. “A limo?” You raise an eyebrow, looking at him for response.

He simply shrugs a shoulder, leaning down to mumble his response into your ear, “Miles was in charge of the car,” with his fingers giving your waist a firm squeeze, he manages to earn a silent shriek from you, “I’m sure we could do with the extra space, darling.”

“Behave, Lu.” You chastise him, but the corner of your mouth upturns nonetheless and you let Lewis guide you towards the car waiting for you.

Because he is the perfect gentleman he opens your door and helps you into the limo, pressing a lingering kiss on your hand before joining you. The inside of the limo is darker than you expected, but the city lights of Paris do a good enough job of illuminating the car. The condensation on the limo’s windows has your attention and Lewis watches and you trailing your finger along the glass, tracing the line a raindrop left behind. He contemplates, for a second, whether being jealous over a raindrop for commanding your attention could be considered weird or not, but he decides that he doesn’t really care.

He places a hand on your thigh, his touch is both reassuring and possessive, but when you turn your head towards him to look at him, the way he smiles at you and his thumb caresses your knee is incredibly sweet. He is a duality in himself, Lewis is. And you enjoy the way city lights illuminate his face, his smile soft as he leans over the middle of the seat to give you a sweet peck on your lips.

“What was that for?” you ask him, giggling as you place your hand over his on your thigh. He doesn’t answer, only shrugs his shoulders and grins as he pulls away from you, instantly making you seek him out again. You’re about to comment on his suddenly playful mood, when you realise the car is slowly coming to a stop, and you let out a breath of frustration when the driver informs you that you’ve hit traffic. And traffic in Paris on a Friday night? It’s safe to say that both of you know that you are not going anywhere fast.

The overall wait is not that bad, you think. Even though the traffic is crawling at a snail’s pace, you’re more than happy to be in the car where you can be with Lewis without the overwhelming sound of EDM music and sweaty bodies pushing you around in a crowded club. The same, however, cannot be said about your boyfriend.

As time passes and you’re, still, stuck in traffic, you can see Lewis getting more and more frustrated with the situation. You try not to comment on how annoyed he looks and let him have his silent moment of irritation. You gently squeeze his hand, offering a reassuring smile. “It's alright, Lewis. We'll get there eventually.”

He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. It's just... I hate being late.” He lets out another frustrated sigh as he gently pats the empty seat between the two of you. “Can you just come closer, please?”

“Why?” you ask, eyes narrowed down in suspicion as he somehow manages to pull you closer to himself, not that you would try to get out of the situation otherwise – with the amount of times you’ve found yourself suddenly sitting in Lewis’ lap, it’s almost as if you can’t get away from him when he’s next to you. “We can’t do anything,” you whisper in warning when you catch him giving you literal bedroom eyes.

Smirking at the anxious tone of your voice, he lets his hand wander down to your hip as he quickly manoeuvres you into his lap, despite all your warnings, and calls out to the driver loud enough for him to hear his voice, “Hey mate, can you pull up the partition, please?” You hear the sound of the partition going up as Lewis fiddles with the couple of the buttons on the door handle, and soon after you hear the faint sound of music playing in the car. He meets your eyes when you give him a funny look, silently asking him what he’s up to, but he responds with a faint smile as he rests his hand on your lower back.

Rolling your eyes at the antics of the driver sitting, literally, under you, you turn your attention back to the scenery outside the window. Going back to tracing the raindrops falling onto the glass window, you choose to focus on the outside view as best as you can, given the current position you’re in. Although you’ve warned him against it, Lewis’ hand on the lower of your back drawing circles into your skin gives you other ideas you would otherwise choose to ignore in a public setting.

“What are you up to, Lewis?” you ask, lips twitching in a need to smile as you do your best to supress it.

He grins, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark as he gives you an innocent shrug of his shoulder. “Just making the most of the situation, darling.”

Letting out a resigning sigh, you try to focus back on the rain outside, but with Lewis’ hand getting bolder on your lower back and the fact that you find yourself shuffling in your seat with every subtle movement of the car makes it almost impossible to focus on anything but him. Deciding to find out just how much you can get away with, you tilt your head back slightly, your lips hovering near his ear. “Are you trying to start a scandal, Mr. Hamilton?”

He chuckles, the vibrations from his laughter sending a delightful shiver down your spine. “I told you we'd make the most of it, didn't I?” Hid hand continues its teasing dance, eventually dipping lower and even under your dress, and you have to fight the urge to let out a moan at the feeling of his skin on yours. “We can make it into a challenge,” he offers, his voice low as he suggestively whispers on your skin, “see just how scandalous we can be in the back of a limo.”

“What if someone sees?” You mumble, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

His lips graze the curve of your neck, sending another shiver down your spine. “I thought you liked being watched, Peaches.” You can feel his lips curling into a smirk and a gasp leaves your lips as his hand grabs your thigh, making you shuffle closer to him as a result. “Is that a yes?” Your eyes glance over at the closed up partition, but you nod your head nevertheless, though that doesn’t necessarily satisfy the man beside you. “Words, darling.”

“Yes, please.” The words escape your mouth and your hands slide down his body to work on the zipper of his dress pants. He gives you an amused look as you pull his zipper down, and kneel on the floor between his legs as elegantly as you can given the current situation you’re in. You hear him say your name in warning, giving you a way out, even though he was teasing you about your voyeuristic tendencies – and you might’ve considered taking it, if it weren’t for the fact that having him in your mouth is the only thing you can focus on at the moment. So, instead of pulling yourself up on Lewis’ lap and let him have his way with you, you carefully take his cock out, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on his during the whole process.

Giving him a few gentle strokes, you lean forward to lick the first few drops of precum that drips out of the head of his cock. The hiss he lets out when you take the head of his cock between your lips and suck on it gently makes you smirk, and so you swirl your tongue around the tip to get another reaction out of him. With the way his left hand grabs the door, you know Lewis is trying so hard not to just grab you by your hair and guide you the way he wants to. Humming at the taste of him, you widen your lips to fit more of him in your mouth and wrap both hands around his cock to pump the rest of his cock that you can’t fit into your mouth. As you slowly start bobbing your head up and down on his cock, the sounds leaving his mouth make you want to quicken up your pace, though you refrain from doing so. Maybe you shouldn’t be feeling so turned on by a mere sound of your boyfriend’s pleasure, but you can’t help yourself as you inadvertently rub your thigs together.

You continue the movements of your mouth, taking more of him every time you bob your head down, and Lewis gives in at some point, threading his hands through your hair and guiding you down until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. “Fuck, Peaches,” his low groan sends tingles down your spine, “just like that.” He looks so beautiful, you think, with his head thrown back and eyes closed.

Your hands work together with your mouth, picking up speed when you realise you have him at your mercy like this – it even makes you wetter, and you feel the wetness between your legs. Your eyes water as a sudden move from Lewis thrusting his hips causes your gag reflex to remind you both that it is there, causing you to pull back with a huff and send a glare his way. But he apologises by caressing the apple of your cheek and easing you back onto his cock.

Your power move, however, doesn’t last long, as Lewis lets out a groan, pulling your head off of him and leaning forward to lift you onto his lap. It’s not necessarily intentional when you grind yourself against his cock, causing both of you to moan simultaneously. Your head is thrown back when you feel his lips gliding on your feverish skin, and you even let out a breathy laugh when your head lulls to the side and you see the handprints he’s left in the mirror. “Lewis,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low, suddenly very aware of the driver sitting in the front of the car, “if you don’t fuck me now, I think I might explode.”

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, his hands on your hips lifting you up to position you over his cock. But you have other plans in mind. He lets out a breathy chuckle as you drag your lips over the skin of his neck, tracing his tattoos as you leave feverish kisses along the way. “What are you doing?” He asks, hands busying themselves to get you out of your underwear.

Nipping at his skin, which earns you Lewis squeezing your hip in warning in return, but you give him a pout as you pull back. “You didn’t let me finish you off, you impatient brute.”

“Brute?” He echoes, not able to stop himself from laughing at your choice of words, “Are you going to be a brat, hm?” He is more than happy to play along when you get into these moods, though he also knows how you can get when you don’t get something you want. So when you fix him with a glare of your own, he lets out a deep sigh as he wraps your hair around one of his hands and pull your head back to bare your neck to him. “And to think I thought you were going to be a good girl, I guess that’s my fault.”

The whine that leaves you would’ve been embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that he has you in the in the palm of his hand. “It’s not fair,” another whine leaves you, and you attempt rolling your hips against his erection resting against you in between your legs, but before you can find a rhythm, he halts your movements by tugging on your hair again. Curling your fingers around his shirt, you huff a breath of annoyance, whining out his name. “I’ll be good,” you promise, and let out a relieved sigh when he lets go of your hair to give you more freedom to move; you thank him with a few kisses.

“I know you will.” Lewis mumbles, hands finding your underwear again, but he quickly becomes frustrated when he realises the position you’re in will make it hard for him to get you out of them. So, taking an executive decision, he decides to rip them off your body. He gives you a look when you whine at the loss of your favourite pair, and he tries to salve the situation with a promise of buying you another pair. When you feel him between your legs, without any barriers this time, he is not surprised to see your immediate reaction. Though Lewis enjoys when you take control, he is impatient as he raises your hips, despite all your protest, and positions you over his cock.

You only have a few moments to adjust when he eventually lowers you onto his cock, and the initial stretch has you gasping out his name. He gives you a few minutes to adjust before slowly starting to move your hips, each move making you take him deeper until he’s buried to the hilt in you. One of your hands is pressed to the window for support out of reflex, trying to keep still as he uses the grip he has on your hips to move you in the rhythm he wants. It matches the mood pretty well, you think, everything is rushed and the sounds of the traffic and the music playing surrounding you becomes muffled as the pleasure takes over your body. You have to physically stop yourself from screaming every time he slams you down on his cock, faster and harder each time, relentless as he watches your face contort with pleasure.

Trying your best to match his thrusts, you grind your clit on every down stroke, making him somehow go even deeper, and making you moan even louder. There is an arrogant smirk on his face that you would love to wipe off, but with the way he’s making you feel, you decide to get him away with it. Dragging your hands down his shirt, you suddenly feel offended by the fact that he is covering his chest, and decide to get him out of it. This plan would’ve worked better if it weren’t for the fact that you end up ripping the buttons rather than being gentler with it. Not that Lewis complains about it, since this is most definitely not the first time something like this has happened. Your hands work on their own as you glide them through the smooth skin, slightly damp due to the warm temperature of the car, but every contact with his skin seems to make you roll your hips faster and harder.

He has to close one of his hands over your mouth since the moans that leave you get considerably higher in volume with every waking second. His lips curl up in a smile as you silently beg him with your eyes, your movements becoming sloppier with every down stroke. “I’m going to remove my hand and help you come, but you’re going to be a good girl and keep quiet, okay?” His voice carries a warning tone, and you frantically nod, assuring him that you’ll follow his instructions.

Keeping true to his word Lewis takes away his hand, making you take a deep breath as he grabs your hips. His hold on your hips is bruising, and you’re certain you’ll have marks to remember tonight for a while – especially with the way he uses his hold to move you on his cock in a rhythm he wants to. It doesn’t take you a long time to feel the overwhelming pleasure starting to build up in your lower stomach. “Please,” you whine, nails biting into his skin as your other hand is splayed over the window for support, “I’m so close.”

“Come on,” Lewis encourages you, hands working you over his cock even faster to get you where you need to be, “give it to me, I got you.” And with him looking at you like that, using your body however he wants to? It doesn’t take long for you to feel yourself coming around him, head thrown back and lips parted in a silent scream. With a last thrust, you feel him also spill himself into you, the act being greatly intimate despite the current predicament you’re both in at that moment.

A sound of surprise leaves the back of your throat when he begins to move under you, positioning you to stand on all fours as he positions himself behind you. “Wha– What are you doing?” You ask, craning your neck to look at him with hazy eyes.

“Oh, Peaches,” he coos, one of his hands caressing your skin down your thighs and up towards your hip again, “did you think we were done? We still have a long way back to the hotel.”

“But, the club?” You find yourself asking, cheeks burning when he uses his finger to push the wetness dripping out of you back in.

“We were never going to make it to that club anyway,” Lewis drags his lips up your spine until he reaches your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck before whispering, “what do you think? Should we make the most out of the way back?”

Your eyes slide towards the handprints left on the window, the Paris lights shining through the streaks both of your handprints have left behind. Maybe under different circumstances you would’ve insisted you go to the club to meet with your friends. But at that moment? You instinctively push your hips back onto his, and feel his smile on your skin as he runs his hands through your body, ready for another round simply because you two can’t keep away from each other.

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