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eddiernunson · 8 months

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The Taste of You | Modern Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader | 18 +

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: after attending a successful and rather sweaty concert from Corroded Coffin, you send the front man a rather thirsty DM on his instagram. You wake up to his response...and an offer to go backstage to follow through.

Warnings: lowkey unrealistic, alcohol, oral (f + m receiving), marking, begging (both), no protection, cream pie, use of aftercare

MINORS DNI

Based on my friend @bebe07011 going to a concert and DM'ing one of the band members (who looks a lot like Eddie) about how much she was enthralled by his performance and him responding back. This one's for you <3

Thank you so much to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you again for editing, you're my lifesaver.

You lean on the counter at work, distracted by your Instagram feed. Well, not distracted, per se. There are several more productive things you could be doing, but with your manager out on an errand and no customers to serve, there isn’t really anything stopping you. A post from Corroded Coffin comes up, a few images from their latest stop on tour. You can hardly prevent an excited squeal from escaping your lips, scrolling through their images, and rereading the end of the post over and over. ‘See you next, Indiana!’

You’ve been looking forward to this since buying tickets at the announcement of their tour nearly four months ago. It’s been a summer of anticipation; each post a countdown to your own concert date.

You discovered Corroded Coffin through suggestions from Spotify, the algorithm having picked up on your tastes in rock music and suggested a more modern band. Their music is good, you discovered. Their first album Freaks in the Streets came out about two years ago, and it’s raw in its talent but their latest album, Hell’s on Fire (And So Are You) shot them into stardom. You had it on repeat for months, and their lead guitarist being hot as he was had nothing to do with your fixation.

Okay, discovering Eddie Munson, (said lead guitarist) the main lyricist on the album, had everything to do with your fixation. Every late-night TV host offered a slot for them to play their music and Eddie’s charisma as he cheekily answers questions about his off-putting lyrics drove you into over-excitement mode. You can still hardly believe you're going to be able to watch his sweaty chest perform live.

Your concert date is tomorrow, and you have everything set up. You booked it off from work, got the perfect outfit, and the tickets are waiting on your apple wallet. You set your phone down, locking it. As always, the phone lights up when it faces up and you catch the image of the glistening sweat on Eddie’s chest during a performance from a tweet that went viral a few weeks ago, a photo you immediately saved for your phone. God, he’s mouthwatering. There were several hundred women in the retweets praising him as well, so, of course, there’s no chance in hell.

But it’s nice to fantasize.

You sit comfortably in the level 100 seats, dressed in a somewhat alternative outfit, high waisted black shorts with a fringe hanging off them, a chain on your belt loops, and a ripped crop top with the bands logo you found in an urban clothing store. You hold a beer in one hand and your phone in the other, recording the opening act as they sing to an audience that is only half paying attention.

Luckily, you know some of their songs on their short 8-song setlist, half-heartedly singing along but saving your voice for the main act. Though, you know your heart isn’t in it when you notice the placement of the jewels you glued to your temple is awkward. When you squint your eyes in a certain way they seem to threaten to fall off. Whatever, they were dollar store jewels, anyway.

The band finishes their less than overwhelming act, thanking the audience, and teasing them with the fact that the main act is backstage and apparently excited to put a show on for their home state. Somehow, it keeps escaping you that you happen to live about 60 miles away from where Eddie Munson grew up, Hawkins, Indiana. That place certainly had a reputation for itself.

You make small talk with your best friend, who is as excited as ever, if anything, to see your face when you melt to the floor. Natalie isn’t into their music like you are, but she can admit that their music is objectively good. Free concert and the power to tease you? Natalie is SO in. “What outfit you think he’s gonna wear tonight?” You shrug, sipping some wheat water. You don’t like beer, but the venue’s options when it comes to alcohol are…limited to say the least. Natalie leans in to you. “You think he’s gonna wear a shirt this time?”

You elbow her, your cheeks heating up. Some places he wears a shirt, and it’s a day of tragedy. Some places he comes out with his chest already bare, and it’s pure heaven. Although, he is known to rip a shirt off occasionally, and you have far too many videos of that saved on your phone. “I don’t know. We’ll find out when he comes out.”

You’re in the middle of a conversation about the politics of the latest show you’re watching together and the lights go down. An electric guitar is heard but out of sight. Subconsciously, you grab your friend’s forearm as your eyes widen in anticipation, your ass literally hovering on your chair as you’re at the edge of your seat. You hear her laugh, but you can’t focus as the lights on stage dramatically light up two at a time, and out of nowhere you can see the four band members, Eddie second to the left. Oh god, he’s wearing an open jacket with a metal chain. Holy shit.

You’re on your feet and screaming lyrics before you even know it.

The night goes by in a blur, and none of the videos you’ve seen online do Corroded Coffin any justice. Their online stage presence is unstoppable. And while Eddie was a large part of the crowd draw in, you watch as he interacts with each band member, using their energy to amplify his own. He really couldn’t do this without them, which is why he’s so insistent in every interview he’s given. Halfway through the show, Eddie does a quick run backstage, claiming his jacket was ‘too fucking hot’ and when he comes out in a fishnet shirt, the crowd goes absolutely nuts.

You sit in the back of a cab, buzzed and rewatching the multiple videos you’ve taken repeatedly, smiling giddily to yourself. “That was such a good show.” You mumble to yourself, sipping from the drink you promised to the cab driver you wouldn’t spill from. You’re so drunk you barely even notice the taste of the beer anymore.

The cab driver pulls up to the hotel and you drunkenly climb out, handing him four 20-dollar bills on the way, making sure he’s tipped well for having to put up with your drunk ass. He doesn’t seem to mind too much, but then again, you’re too busy rewatching your thirst caught in 4K to even notice. God damn, the video really doesn’t put his glistening chest any justice. It was even better in person. If you could just lick up his chest, you knew every problem in your life would be solved.

Your best friend laughs behind you, escorting you to the hotel room. As the hotel room door opens you just want to climb into bed and scroll through your phone, but Natalie makes you wipe off your make up and get dressed into some pajamas. You check your Instagram, Corroded Coffin’s post from tonight at the top of the feed. There were some high-quality shots of him in his fishnet shirt that you immediately save, going over to Eddie Munson’s personal Instagram from where he’s tagged in the post.

God, he must get hundreds of DMs in a day. One raindrop doesn’t affect the ocean. I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance. Your thumb hovers over the send button, but you’ve sent several messages to celebrities before, and they never respond. So, you hit send, and you’re asleep within minutes, your lamp still lit next to you as the water from the shower in the bathroom less than ten feet away from you lulls you into a deep sleep.

Your 10AM alarm rings, yanking you out of a deep sleep. If you could, you’d spend the next ten hours sleeping to shake off the hangover, but you've gotta get up to have time to pack up and get changed before check out. You can shower tonight at home. As you sit up on your bed, dismissing the alarm, the headache kicks in, making you groan. Oh, fuck, are you hungover.

You check your phone quickly, and as you scroll down your notifications, you triple check a notification just to make sure you’re reading it right. At first, you’re confused. Why would he be messaging you? Your eyes widen as you promptly yeet your phone to your friend's bed when you remember what the fuck you sent to him last night. You curl in on yourself with your knees up against your chest and your hands over your mouth in disbelief.

Natalie comes out of the bathroom after hearing your phone bounce off the bed and land on the floor. “Whoa,” Natalie breathes, seeing your stunned stature. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, shellshocked.

“Okay, can you at least tell me what happened? You’re kind of freaking me out here.”

“I sent a really, really thirsty message to Eddie Munson last night and I saw a notification saying he responded.” You admit, no higher than a whisper.

“What?!” Natalie nearly shouts, a bit loud in the quiet morning of the small hotel. “Well then open it and read it! What did he say?”

“I’m scared too look!” You admit, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to your chest.

Natalie grabs your pillow and tosses it to the side, her wet blonde hair shining prettily in the morning sun. “Get up, you big baby! Open the goddamn message!”

Fuck, Natalie’s right. Doesn’t mean you liked it. You bend to pick your phone up, sitting next to her on the bed as you open your Instagram notification. Fuck, he responded only fifteen minutes after your message. “Oh you sent him a very thirsty message.”

“Look what the fuck he wrote back.” You whisper, eyes wide as your heart pounds out of your chest.

apricothamster147: I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance.

eddiemunson: Well, damn baby, are you still in town for tonight’s show? Come backstage and we’ll see about making that happen. (Send me ur email for tix)

“Holy shit.” Natalie mutters out loud, her eyes bugging to his response as well. “Well? Are you gonna accept?”

You chortle, holding your hand out to her comically. “Do you have enough money for another night?”

Natalie shrugs. “I have my dad’s credit card.”

“Are you allowed to use it?”

“Only when I need it.”

“Shit.”

“Honestly, girl, you need it. Go ahead, send him your email, I’ll get us another night.”

Your thumbs move fast, hoping his offer wasn’t due to a lack of sobriety or a glitch in the Matrix. If you’re still accepting my offer, my email is [email protected]. You add a heart emoji just to be safe and send off a message to him.

Your best friend is in the middle of a phone call with her father to get him to call the front desk. They would only accept the credit card if they could speak to him. “Thank you!” Natalie hangs the phone up, looking at you. “Hotel is taken care of!”

You’re lying on your bed at this point, still in your pajamas with your palms stacked on your forehead. “What the fuck am I even gonna wear?”

“You brought multiple outfits, right?” Natalie asks you, sitting on her bed and laying down now that she no longer has to get ready to leave.

“Yeah, I brought some back-ups.” You sit up quickly, eyes wide. “I need your expertise in styling it, though. I have to look hot.”

Natalie sits up as well, serious as she can be. “Oh sweetheart, he won’t know what hit him.”

An hour into her crusade, styling your hair, your phone lights up in a notification. Your phone is closer to her, so you ask her to check it, Natalie knows your passcode, anyway. You know what it is immediately based on the expression you see on her face in the mirror. “Did he respond?”

“Yes!” Natalie answers, placing the hot tool down and putting the freed hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, gimme that!” You respond, too impatient to wait for her to calm down.

eddiemunson: See you tonight (with a winky emoji)

“Oh my fucking god.” You let out, and suddenly it occurs to you that you’re seeing him in concert again. There’s even a slight possibility of you meeting him, however slim that he may remember to even do it.

A notification from your gmail rings, and you see ticketmaster. You hit it hard, seeing First Name, ‘Unknown’ Last Name, ‘Stranger’ has gifted you two VIP Floor Tickets with Back Stage passes, apparently just scanning the barcode will get you backstage. No. It wasn’t…no. This isn’t real. You stared off into the distance, eyes up from your phone. This doesn’t happen…

“Babe!”

You’re snapped out of it, realizing you zoned out in disbelief. “I’m just…a little in shock.”

Natalie smirks at you, tilting your chin on her fingertips gracefully. “Well now we know it’s fucking real, so let’s party hard, babe!”

Your eyes roll at her antics, but you love them. “Thanks for asking your dad.”

“Bitch, what’s a rich daddy good for if not for my friends?” Natalie laughs, starting to use the iron on your hair again.

Your makeup is done, rhinestones on the inner corners of your eyes, and you're wearing fishnet tights under a jean skirt and an oversized Corroded Coffin band tee. You usually used it as a sleep shirt, but Natalie insists it would work its magic.

Butterflies invade your stomach as soon as your black boots hit the pavement outside the hotel, the sunset cascading across the sky in a beautiful haze of orange and pink. As your thighs feel uncomfortable against the fabric of the cab, you hope your insides will feel as nice as the outside looks right now.

You pay your cab, all on the card, and get out, your stomach in knots. Well, it's now or never. Hesitantly, you hold your phone out for your ticket scanner on the main floor and she approves, giving you the thumbs up. “Wait.” the ticket scanner holds her hands out when she notices the big red letters, BACKSTAGE PASSES. You think you’re in trouble when you’re both handed the Backstage Pass Lanyards, decorated with the Corroded Coffin logo.

This is where you start to believe that you might’ve died last night with alcohol poisoning because there’s no way in Gods’ Green Earth is this real.

You both thank the attendant and walk to your seats, front and center, third row back. You could see the scratches on the sticker on the speakers from the inspector in the factory. Damn, were you close. “We’re going to go deaf.” Natalie comments, a half smile on your face. “Need a drink?”

“Please.” You answer, eyes wide. Natalie laughs and gets up to walk towards the bar, which is much less crowded around in the VIP section of the floor. Fucking wild.

You hold your phone and sing along to some more of the opening act's songs tonight, now gaining some familiarity with it. They’re great musicians, but they’re just not on Corroded Coffin’s level yet. They definitely have the potential to get there.

Their set list ends, and you notice that the lead singer is close enough for you to see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Oh god, you’re going to die.

Natalie tries to keep you entertained by chatting about anything she can, but it does so little to prevent time from crawling by at a snail's pace.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and it’s a message from him. Wish Me Luck! You swear up and down it’s immediately after when the lights go down and the guitar starts playing off stage. Did he really just text you right before he started his show? Did that really just happen?

If there’s one thing about being in the third row with little to no one to block your view, it’s that no amount of high quality photos on twitter will ever amount to the real thing less than ten feet away. The sweat that drips down his leather vest for the night is mouth watering, the dark eyes in his expression as he performs hypnotizes you. You sing the lyrics, and jump and dance and occasionally drink, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t tear your gaze away from him.

And for a few moments, it’s like he holds your eye contact. No, that’s crazy. Nothing is happening. He has a million other girls to choose from, why would he choose you?

The concert happens in a blur, Eddie flings off the vest about halfway through the show, splashing some of his hair with his sweat. Your friend laughs at the sharp inhale that leaves your chest as you watch it. Man, he really had you in his clutches.

Eddie holds his arms out for his band as they close off the last song, all bowing together. “Thank you, Indiana! You’ve been a fucking fantastic crowd, thank you!”

“You ready?” Natalie asks you, holding out her lanyard cheekily.

“Nope.” You admit, taking a large gulp of the beer you barely touched. “After another beer I might be.”

“You really wanna meet him tipsy?” Natalie asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“I don’t wanna be afraid to say anything!” You shoot back, leading her to the bar. You buy another one, and it’s down your throat within five minutes. You inhale deeply, wiping your face off from the excess beer around your mouth. “Does my mouth smell like beer?” You ask, suddenly worried.

“If you have to ask, I think you already know.” Natalie tells you, patting your back and leading you to the sign that says BACKSTAGE in all caps with an arrow pointing left.

A big security personnel blocks the big black curtain to the backstage area. You hold out your lanyard to him, and he gruffs as he holds his hand out for it. He takes a scanner to check out its legitimacy, and once both lanyards are in the clear, his face breaks into a smile, stepping aside to allow you through. It's almost comical.

The backstage area is busier than you had expected, arrows pointing you to where the visitors go, narrowly avoiding the crew as they bustle around. You both walk into a large area where several band members talk to friends or family, all sporting towels to dab their sweat away.

“Oh my god thank you for sending that DM.” Natalie whispers to you, looking around while starstruck. “I’m sure half these people aren’t even celebrities, but this is so cool! I’m going to go and mingle, you stick around for—”

You grab her by the collar, “Don’t you dare leave me alone here.”

“Ok, how bout we both grab some food? Maybe sober up?”

“Only because I’m hungry and free food tastes the best.”

You’re slowly picking at the fruit tray when you hear someone near you call out, “Eddie! My man!” You turn around to face him, the half-eaten strawberry you drop landing on the plastic tray loudly. You quickly finish the fruit and watch as he hugs his bandmate. “What, no shower, bro? You stink!”

The room echoes in laughter, and you join them. He does stink, and he stinks marvelously. The very scent makes you salivate. His laughter, it’s even better in person. He’s never laughed like this in any interview, all calm and toned down for the camera. This is genuine, heartfelt laughter.

You turn around to lean on the table, Jesus you need to calm yourself. Seeing him up close is sending a heat to your center that you're going to need to resolve quickly.

“Fancy seeing you, here.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, barely five feet away. You turn and face him, your breath knocking out of your chest. Words cannot describe how little all of the photos in the world do him any justice. He is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Thanks for i-inviting me.” You answer, gulping at the slight shine his sweat still gives him. “You’re a really great performer…” You find yourself distracted by his chest. He’s probably going to get all sticky soon… he smelled even better up close…

“I’m gonna go mingle.” Natalie says, pointing towards a crowd of people talking to the band members. “Text me to let me know if you’re meeting me at the hotel.” Natalie gives a shy smile to Eddie and walks away before you could answer.

“Thank you.” He nods his head, giving you a smirk. Then, the unthinkable happens as he uses his thumb and pointer finger to lift your chin to capture your eyes with his own. How are they so pretty? “Are you going to make do on your promise?”

You gulp, your eyes flickering down to his pink lips. You’ve stared at his lips, how many times now? You nod slowly, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more quiet, then.” He offers, extending his hand for you.

You take it silently, his rough hands feeling warm and rough, but perfect. He leads you about ten steps down the hall, a doorway marked with his name over the words Dressing Room. As the door shuts behind him, he locks it, flinging his towel across the room. “C’mere.” He offers, extending his hand to you. You follow his instructions, sitting next to him on the couch. “You haven’t said a goddamn word, yet your message said fucking everything. Is the pretty girl shy?” He asks, thumb caressing your cheek.

You nod your head, gulping as his touch lights your skin on fire. “I—I was six drinks in when I sent you that message. …I wouldn’t have even remembered unless you replied.” You admit, leaning into his touch.

“C’mon baby, let’s see it.” You raise your eyebrows, inquisitively, wondering what he meant. “Your message! Couldn’t stop thinking about my after-show treat all day, a pretty girl begging to lick up my sweat. Show me.”

You nod to him, your near trembling hands reaching out for his chest. Eddie nods, a wild look in his eyes that nearly has you passing out. A loud exhale leaves your body as your hands reach out and reach contact with his chiseled, tattooed, chest, some sweat beads still lingering. How, you weren’t sure. Your eyes rake across his chest, taking in every tattoo you can, your heartbeat racing faster as you lean in, to finally, finally, rake your tongue up from his stomach to his chest, breathing heavily when the taste of the salt and his pure essence is even better than you imagined.

“Holy shit, she’s a fucking freak.” Eddie mutters, you feel his breath getting shallower under your mouth working on him.

You lean in again, nails digging into his skin as you give another long stripe across his skin, the taste of salt and delicious B.O. on your tongue and you let out a sigh of contentment. You crawl up to his collarbones, having noticed a pool of his sweat there gathered while he was performing.

Your tongue slides into the dip, moaning at the salty taste. Your teeth graze the bone, nibbling a little to leave little tiny bruises. You can’t wait to save the HQ pictures with these marks.

You leave one last long stripe on his treasure trail, having stared at many photos where his pants sit low. You’re nuzzling at it, breathing it in when you can feel him. Holy shit, Eddie Munson’s cock is only inches from your face.

You look up at him, and the back of his palms are connected to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, and his chest heavily breathing. He looks down to meet your gaze, and suddenly he sits up, grabs your face and plants a wet kiss to your lips. Your entire body tenses up, barely able to believe that it's real. Your brain eventually catches up, responding in kind, crawling so your bodies fit closer. Eddie pushes you back lightly before you get too close, having you lie down on his couch.

“Can I, sweetheart?” He asks, moving down to where your cunt has been begging for attention.

“A-are you sure? I don’t mind just sucking you off.”

He chuckles, leaning in for another kiss. “Oh baby, you just earned so much more than that.”

Eddie trails down your body, placing kisses on your exposed neck, lifting your shirt lightly as his hands move to cup your tits. You whimper in kind. “Baby, do you know what it’s like having the most gorgeous woman in the world offer to lick sweat off you? If you just give her a chance? I saw your picture you posted from the concert and fuck, you’re a goddamn smoke show. Those eyes, your gorgeous tits, your thighs, oh my god, baby, your thighs.” He talks through wet kisses trailing down your body until he’s face to face with your jean skirt.

He pulls twice, asking permission. You place your hands on your button to undo it and Eddie playfully swats your hands away. Your skirt is pulled off your body, leaving the fishnet tights and your thoroughly soaked panties. He leans in between your thighs, and your thigh muscles slightly convulse as you feel his hot breath against it. “Shh, haven’t even touched you yet, baby.” He hushes you, his big hands gracing your thighs gently. He leans in and you can’t tell what he’s doing until he starts pulling down, and you notice one of the strings from the tights in his mouth. He can’t seem to pull them off like he wants to, and after a last try he gets frustrated, ripping them off, instead. “There, that’s fucking better.”

You let out a tiny giggle, and then you feel so exposed to him, your lacy panties drenched as he stares between your legs.

If you told yourself this would be happening 24 hours ago you’d call yourself insane…or a silly goose. You were incredibly inebriated.

He flings the fishnets across the room and reaches out to touch your soaked panties, the touch inducing a whimper from you. “You’re soaked, huh, baby?” He murmurs, petting along your panties gingerly. You whimper in response, your hips lifting to meet his delicate touch more firmly. He chuckles, watching your face all scrunched up. “If you want me to touch you, beg for it.”

“Eddie, fucking touch me please, want it so bad.”

“Yeah, you want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?”

You nod, starting to hopelessly grind your hips up. “So fucking bad, please.”

He smiles, watching the outline of your pussy as you get wetter. Without warning, he hooks his fingers around your waist band and tugs it down, and suddenly you find yourself exposing your pussy to the man who took most of your gallery's storage space on your phone. The way he looks at your pussy is damn divine. His eyes darken with lust, pink lips shine with spit, and his cheeks flush; it makes you want to close your legs in embarrassment.

They stay open, because you’re afraid to move, this must be a dream. This is too fucking good to be real.

“Fuck, I knew your pussy would be pretty, but I didn’t know a pussy could be this fucking gorgeous, look at you.” He rambles, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. He places a thumb gently on your slick, stroking lightly up and down, the sensation sending fire rippling across your skin. He sees your thigh shake the littlest bit. “Feel good?”

It does, but you want so much more from him. “Mmm hmm.” You answer, toes flexing with anticipation.

“Do you need something?” He asks, stroking your lips too lightly, not necessarily getting closer to anything. He just narrowly avoids your clit, watching you squirm as your eyebrows furrow lightly.

“I need more-I need more.” You choke out, your hips desperately rutting against his fingers. “I want you to touch me harder, or move faster, I need more.”

Eddie chuckles, hardly believing how much better you had turned out to be. “You need more? Okay, sure. I can give more.” He leans in to lick a stripe right on your neglected clit, and your hips rut up in surprise, a yelp of pleasure jumping out of your throat. It doesn’t even phase Eddie, now that he's tasted you, he doesn’t want to let go. “How do you taste so fucking good?” He asks, his voice low and husky. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense, this should be a fucking crime.”

You moan, hips grinding up against him, head back in pure ecstasy. “Your sweat shouldn't taste so good. I could bottle it like ketchup and eat it on everything.” You admit, your fingers flexing as a wave of heat runs right through you.

Eddie barely lets up, even as the sentence makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. He pumps one of his digits into you, a ringed finger, no less. Your jaw drops as he fucks into you, the hot pool of pleasure in your stomach starting to form. It's the best this has ever felt by a long shot.

Eddie continues to attack you, adding a second finger as his tongue swirls over your clit repeatedly. “Eddie…fuck…so good.” You can barely talk, your bliss radiating in every extremity. “K…Keep doi’ tha’…”

He stares up at pride at your cocked out expression, panting heavily as you feel yourself on the brink. Out of nowhere Eddie picks up his speed into hyperdrive, and you fucking keel over him, high whines escaping your throat as one hand flies into his hair and the other on the couch’s arm rest to keep you grounded.

The orgasm hits you slowly but leaves your thighs shaking underneath him in its wake. It's the best goddamn orgasm you’ve ever had. Eddie continues to place kisses on your pussy, licking up your cum from your entrance, seemingly quite satisfied with his hard work.

You're breathing heavily, looking up at him desperately through half open eyes. “You have to let me suck your cock, please Ed.”

He gives you a half smirk, you’re barely recovered and you’re begging to suck his dick? Did he win the lottery? “No, I need to feel that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock before I cum from the sounds you’re making, alone.”

You lift your heavy head up in confusion. “Sounds?”

“Have you heard what you sound like when you cum? If I had the patience, I’d be making you cum here, all night, but I fucking don’t. I need to know what the fuck your pussy feels like.” Eddie admits, and his voice sounds desperate.

You let your head fall back down, your legs falling down in unison, spread eagle. You shoot a smirk at him. “What if I told you to beg for it?”

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, and you see a light flicker on in his eyes.

“Beg for my pussy, Eddie. Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

Eddie grins widely, fuck, you just keep getting better. “Please, baby. Please. Let me fuck that tight, perfect pussy of yours. Please let me feel those hot, warm walls fucking pulse around me while I give it to you hard and well, just like she deserves.”

It's more than you could ever hope for, but you find yourself feeling greedy. “Hmm…not desperate enough. You don’t really sound like you want to fuck me all that badly.”

To this Eddie actually whines and groans in frustration. “C’mon, baby, please. Let me fuck you, I will do anything to feel that perfect cunt around my cock.”

Your legs hitch around his hips, pulling him in so his hard on in his jeans meets your bare pussy. You lean into his ear, inhaling his shampoo. “If you let me mark up your neck so I can have all those petty bitches be jealous of me at your next show, then go right ahead.”

“Oh, fuck, deal.” Eddie yanks his belt and his jeans and underwear off in one fell swoop, and the sight of his cock is better than anything you could’ve imagined. He kicks them off smoothly, lining himself up with you again in a matter of minutes. “Shit, you want a condom?” He asks, used to fucking bare back.

“I’m on birth control.” You tell him as he hovers over you.

“Oh that’s a good girl.” He mutters, leaning in to kiss at your neck. “You ready?”

“Fuck me, already, Ed, I’ve been ready since this morning.” Eddie chuckles and he slides himself in, the head of his cock burning only slightly, but feeling fantastic. “Oh, oh my god.”

“Fuck…” He grunts, waiting for your go ahead. “Better than I thought you’d feel. God, is this heaven?”

You giggle in response, your pussy pulsating around him in beat. “Your cock…so fucking full.” Eddie lifts his hips experimentally, and you let out a gasp at the burn and the pure pleasure it sends through you. “More.” You choke out when he doesn’t continue right away.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to listen to your request, your arms wrapped around his back as you clutch onto him for dear life. He ruts into you harshly, his hips snapping as it hits your g spot intentionally at every rut.

Your mouth seems like it’s trying to form words, but your head is so foggy by the time you open your mouth, the sentence is nowhere to be found. “Look at this cock drunk little slut.” Eddie laughs, watching your fucked out face.

Your hands tug on him, forcing his chest closer to your mouth. He lets his arms buckle down, slowing his pace down as his face finds refuge in the smell of your hair, while you start sucking lightly on his chest, leaving little bite marks. As you suck on his chest, your pussy sucks him in simultaneously, causing Eddie to moan from both sensations you were giving him.

Eventually, you have purpled your way across his chest, admiring your hard work as he continues moving slowly over you. “Eddie, can you go faster again?”

“Sure, baby. Be a good girl and turn onto your hands and knees.” You listen and turn around, tilting your ass up so it’s easy for him to slide in. “Oh, thank you, baby. Now lift your head up.” You do and he yanks on your hair, pulling a good chunk at the root. “That’s good.” He puts himself back in you, causing a guttural moan to leave your lips.

“Eddie…” You gasp out, the first hit surprisingly harsh against your hips. Not a part of you remotely minds, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as Eddie seemingly fucks you as hard as he can.

“You wanna still blow me, baby? Because I’m about to blow…” Eddie doesn’t have to say another word, you getting up and onto your knees on his animal carpet to wrap your lips around his cock and bob your head. “Use that pretty mouth…”

The feeling of you choking on it, your mouth desperately trying to take his whole length sends him over the edge. Eddie moans loudly, and you do everything you can to memorize this moment for the rest of your life, because nothing will top this.

Your mouth is overloaded with his thick cum, and one last load shoots out of him onto your face as your mouth pops off him, and ok, now nothing will top this.

He’s breathing heavily, staring down at the white shiny substance that made it’s way all over your nose and lips, some dripping down your chin to land on your tits. You start to gather it on your fingers, dipping it onto your tongue like it’s donut frosting. You hum to yourself at the salty taste, looking up at him through your eyelashes for approval.

“Shit, ain’t that a sight.” Eddie mutters, watching as you hopelessly attempt to clean yourself up before his cum goes everywhere. “Here, hold on.” Eddie yanks on a pair of low sweats and grabs something, walking towards the sink in the dressing room. He walks up to you and cleans his mess off your face and your tits, his hands behind the warm cloth gentle. He tosses it to god knows where and grabs one of the waters from his mini fridge.

He hands you the water and watches you as you slowly come back to yourself, the haze in your eyes raising. Your phone buzzes on the table next to the couch, and Eddie picks up the phone to give it to you and you call out to stop him a moment too late.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at your choice of wallpaper, it couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than thirst. The sweat glistening, his hand holding the microphone delicately, his face looking rather passionate about what he was singing about. Damn, that's a good photo, Eddie thinks. “So, did I just check something off your bucket list?” He asks, holding your phone out before tossing it to you.

You get up from your knees on wobbly legs, still needing some water, apparently. “Uh,” you take a sip, wondering how to answer as a wide smile settles on your face. On the one hand, you’re embarrassed. On the other, he had to know how viscerally thirsty you were after him. “No. I just did my bucket list.” You answer, taking another sip of your water as you stand in front of him, still head to toe naked. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Eddie laughs at this, the same genuine laughter you heard from earlier.

You walk around the couch, bending over to locate your skirt.

“Lookin' for something?” Eddie asks, playfully pushing your buttons.

“My skirt…” you answer, peering across the room at this point.

“Can I be honest?” He asks, peering over your shoulder comically as you look around.

“Hmm?”

Eddie’s hands land your bare hips, tugging them backward so his boner hits your ass. “I could go for round 2.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” You whisper, turning around to face him. Eddie guides you, your steps messy as you back up to his vanity, a few brushes and the eyeliner he sports scattered. He lifts you easily onto it, your legs wrapping around his torso, pulling him in. You can’t tell when he removed his sweats, but the head of his cock unexpectedly against your heat already pulls a high whine out of you, sighing in relief. “Put it back in.”

“Fuck, don’t need to ask me twice.” He mumbles, lining himself up.

Your jaw drops as he pushes himself in, watching with a heavy chest as Eddie stares down at the sight of his cock entering your slick, a gulp leaving his mouth. “Holy shit, baby.” He mutters, exhaling as he bottoms out, his eyes closing. “How have I already forgotten how good your pussy is around me?”

Your breathing is shallow, watching with heavy eyelids as Eddie closes his eyes to seemingly gain his composure. “Eddie.” You whimper, your legs around his torso tightening. “You’re the…the hottest person I’ve literally ever seen in my life. Nothing will compare to this.”

You can feel his cock twitch in response, and you flutter around him as if to second it.

“Good.” Eddie grunts out, moving ever so slowly, eliciting a whimper from you. “Nothing better fucking compare, your pussy is too good for that shit.” His tongue sweeps a long lick in the crook of your neck, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as it feels dirty, in the best way. “May I return the favour?”

You’re about to ask when you realize his question is rhetorical, and you feel his teeth start to nibble, bite, and suck hard at your throat. He feels you suck him in as you breathe out little whimpers, the relief of his tongue against your skin followed by more stinging of his teeth working on you was everything, your nails scratching down his back in an involuntary response.

“Eddie…” you moan, head tilted back in ecstasy, nearly colliding with his mirror. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Baby, fuck.” He mutters, his breath hot against your neck. “I wanna mark you up everywhere.” You fucking tighten up in response, drawing a nearly cruel laugh from him. “Yeah? You like that?”

“Uh huh…” You admit, the feeling of his hips slowly drawing in and out of you and his hot breath on your chest becoming too much, but perfect at the same time.

His tongue makes its way further down to your tit, one hand rubbing your sternum desperately as his teeth work expertly on your bud. He’s not too harsh with it, knows the exact amount of pressure to make it hurt in the best fucking way. “So fucking pretty, baby.” He mutters, his hips starting at a faster rate. He lets off your tit with a pop after sucking on it gently, admiring the bruising that’s starting to take shape across your sweaty form.

You can do nothing but cling to him, all coherent thoughts gone the moment he started sucking on your collarbone sharply.

“Got any…any summer plans?” Eddie asks, out of breath. He moves a leg over his shoulder to get a better angle, deeper than before.

You let out a gasp of pleasure, the sound nearly feral. “Y-you.”

Eddie laughs, his ringed hand rough as he grabs at your thigh on his chest. “Oh fuck baby, I’m close again, your pussy is so fucking good.”

“Cum in me.” It almost sounds like you're begging.

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead, his jaw dropping comically as he takes in your request. “Fuck, you sure?”

“Want you to fill me up, Eddie. Please.” You plead, and who is he to deny such a pretty girl?

“Gonna cum with me, pretty girl?” He asks, watching in marvel as you look more and more cocked out. You pull on him, yanking his lips to yours. You kiss him wantonly, deeply, all teeth and tongue as you do your best to express what you cannot with words. You don’t have a big enough vocabulary for the moment, anyhow. Eddie takes the lead and tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a high whine out of you. “Gonna answer me?”

The edge is so close, an all encompassing heat invading your lower stomach as a palm of his hand toys with one of your nipples. Suddenly you’re aware this could be the last time you ever get the chance, so you sweep one last lick on his chest, lapping at the fresh coat of sweat like it was your first drink of water after a long week in the desert.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—” He doesn’t even finish his sentence, his hips stuttering as you feel his sticky ropes of cum fill you up so deliciously.

In his haze, his fingers latch to your clit, expertly working on it in small circles to send you over your edge as well, your pussy fluttering perfectly around him.

The smell of sex in his dressing room is evident, the air thick as you both catch your breath. Your leg falls down off his shoulder like a weight is stored in it, your foot landing harshly on the linoleum tiles of the stadium. Your head rests against his chest, eyes closed as you breathe in the stench of his sweat. You need to memorize everything you can, sure you’re about to be escorted back to the main party.

Eddie surprises you, his hands soft as they cup your face, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. His mouth is gentle as he works it against yours, the light taste of pre-show alcohol on his breath. He methodically uses the kiss to distract you as he pulls out, but you still whine desperately into his mouth from the loss. A laugh escapes his lips, and you swallow it, still needing his gentle kiss. He finally separates from you, kissing your forehead as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“So…are you?” He asks, taking in your fucked-out face. Maybe you’ll let him take a post sex selfie if you reject him to remember you by.

If. There’s no way on this earth you would ever reject him, but of course, Eddie doesn’t know you’ve been stalking his Instagram.

“Hmm?” You ask, not a thought in your head for the moment.

“Doing anything this summer?”

You shake your head no, gulping. Eddie saunters around his dressing room, grabbing his sweats and another white cloth. He returns to situate himself between your legs, sporting his sweats, the hot cloth causing you to yelp in surprise.

He laughs quietly, a fond smile on his face as he continues to clean up the mess he left in you. At least, you think it’s fond. “You feel like following a ragtag band of misfits around for the summer?” He asks you, voice soft as he holds your eye contact while his hand moves idly.

“Ragtag?” You ask, remembering their electric energy. They’re rockstars, no doubt about it. There’s not one person who can deny that they earned their spot on the stage.

Eddie breathes another laugh, tossing his cloth to the side. “We are as ragtag as it gets, doll.”

You sigh, searching those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes for any signs he was joking. “I-I will quit my job…are you serious?”

He laughs, caressing your forearm. It occurs to him you’re still naked, so he walks to the couch to gather your shirt and skirt. “Dead serious. I can’t let a face like yours and a pussy like that go very easily.”

“Okay…” you answer, your heartbeat loud in your chest. You were so sure this was just a one-time (two rounds) thing that the idea of him wanting more of you never even occurred to you. It’s just too good to be true, no one is this lucky. “If I quit my job, I can’t afford to pay my own way…”

Eddie smiles, handing you your clothes. “If you don’t want to wear that skirt, I can get you some sweats from the merch table.” He offers, before sitting on the chair a few feet down from you. “Baby, I’m on the cover of Rolling Stone. You’ll be fine.”

Your jaw drops open, staring openly at the man as he watches your facial expression. “I’ll need to go and pack up…”

“Babe.” He stops you, getting up to hold your shoulders with his hands. “I don’t even know your name, yet.”

“Y/N”

He lets out an exhale, fuck, that makes sense. “I didn’t even know your name, and all I know is if I let you go then I will never be able to get you out of my mind. Whatever is stopping you, I can throw some money at it or call someone to get it done. Do you want to stay with me?”

“Yes.” It leaves your body in a sigh of relief, like coming home. Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead; you can feel his lips moving upward into a smile. “Also, sweatpants sound really nice.”

Eddie saunters over to a walkie you hadn’t noticed. In fact, you start to look around his dressing room, noticing a duffle bag by a rack with empty hangers, half opened bottles of water, and his phone sitting faced down at a table nearby. When he asks for your size, you provide it, putting the graphic tee over your head. He plops down on the couch, waving you over to sit right next to him. “Need to text your friend?” He asks, teasing you.

“Actually, can I invite her in? Natalie’s my best friend and she won’t let me live this down if I send her back without bringing her in to introduce you.”

Eddie shrugs, starting to pat his pockets for his phone. You grab it on your way to sit next to him, falling easily into his arm. “Yeah, sure, if you’re ready for her to tease the shit out of you.”

“Are you kidding?” You ask, somewhat giddy. “I’m about to go on twitter after your next show and see dozens of people asking where the hell you got your hickeys. Nothing can bring me down from that right now.”

Eddie chuckles, crossing one leg over the other in an L shape. He plants a kiss on your lips, his tongue sweeping against yours delicately. “Fuck, I’m so glad you fucking DM’ed me.” There’s a knock on the door, your sweatpants from the merch stand are delivered.

“You have no idea how much I keep thinking I’m about to wake up.” You confess, your fingers playing with the light stubble on his chin. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.” The laugh that escapes him is melodic and gorgeous. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.”

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read comments and replies and tags and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar! eddie munson

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Text

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Based on the poem Wishbone by Richard Siken. Lines taken directly from the poem are in bold. If you're interested, you can read the full poem here.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - 18+ - blood, cursing, guns, sexual content. this is a little dark. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Word Count - 3617

Author's Note - my god I had fun writing this. wishbone is my favourite poem ever, and I reread it a few days ago and had a vision of nomad steve and bucky on the run and just had to turn it into something. if you haven't read the full poem, I'd highly recommend!! this is darker and a bit more jagged than my usual fluff but you know, versatility and all that. I strongly believe that Steve was feral while on the run - he has to crack at some point. I mean you can only be squeaky clean for so long, right? as always, thoughts, questions or requests, send them my way! feedback is massively appreciated always <3

Masterlist. Requests.

You saved my life he says I owe you everything. You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just get gone.

You met them on a bridge in the middle of the night somewhere in Europe.

All three of you running from your sins.

Steve and Bucky had bolted the minute they refused to sign the accords. They were under the impression they’d all go together – Team Cap, side by side.

Wanda and Vision left them first. Natasha next. Lastly, Sam.

Steve and Bucky were the only ones remaining. It started with just the two of them. It would end with just the two of them.

Your ankle cracks and splinters as you barrel forwards over the bridge. Gunshots rain down around you, like some sort of lethal meteor shower. You don’t know how they found you. These remainders of the past won’t leave you alone. They’re shooting at you, four of them, these grown men firing their guns at this runaway girl.

The broken bones finally give way, and you slam into the concrete, head bouncing off the surface. The road is warm under you, and you relax into it, ready to surrender to your fate.

A fate which never comes. A strong, metal arm grabs you by the bicep and pulls you up, your ankle sending strokes of pain lashing through your whole body. You’re screaming, and you’re thrashing, and there’s blood pouring into your boots. Your cries for help are ignored as the man throws you over his shoulder and starts running at an inhuman speed.

He keeps sprinting, heavy shoes hitting the ground with every step, the impact rattling up into your bones. Everything is hazy and nothing makes sense and the lights of the city are blinding you as you’re carried by the stranger. You don’t know if he’s saving you or kidnapping you or both or neither.

A blond man appears, running next to the brunette with the metal arm. You’re thrown from one man’s shoulder to the others, as if you weigh nothing. As if you’re worth nothing. Just a girl caught in the crossfire. A victim. If only they knew.

Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood.

You passed out sometime on the journey, the men’s heavy steps lulling you into unconsciousness.

One minute, you’re being thrown around like a ragdoll, and the next you’re waking up on the floor of a dingy motel. You think you might be in Berlin. Or was it Brussels? It didn’t matter anyway. Doesn’t make a difference.

The carpet is sticky and caked in dirt and patterned like it was made in the 70’s. You wake with a jolt, gasping for air. The blond man is nowhere to be seen. The brunette is sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with careful blue eyes.

“Why am I on the floor?" you ask, venom dripping from each word. “You couldn’t throw me down on the fucking bed?”

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Your boots are filled with blood,” he spits. “Better on the carpet than the sheets.”

He crosses the room and kneels down in front of you. He cautiously unties your left boot and pulls it off. Then he unties the right one, the broken one, and yanks it off with a careless hand. You grit your teeth and hiss, hand flying out to fist into his shirt.

“Asshole,” you mutter. “That fuckin’ hurts.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he replies. “It’s fractured. Smashed to pieces, actually.”

He grabs your boot and walks over to the tiny sink in the corner of the room. Turning it upside down, he watches as your blood pours out.

“Shit, girl,” he mumbles. “How are you still fightin’?”

You think you hear a New York accent. Brooklyn, maybe. It seems to come out in waves, a slight twang every now and again. His raspy drawl vibrates through your stomach, right into your core. He’s handsome. He’s battered and bruised, clothes ripped, hair mussed. But he’s handsome.

“I’m tougher than I look,” you retort.

He chuckles, and it makes you want to rip your clothes off.

He comes back to your place on the floor and yanks you up by your arms. He throws you onto the bed unceremoniously, ignoring your groans and protests. He grabs you by your chin and forces you to look at him.

“Stop fuckin’ wincing,” he snarls. “I’m trying to help you.”

You figure his help is better than nothing. You go pliant, and let him assess you, only whining when he presses his thumbs into a sore spot.

I’m always saving and you’re always owing and I’m tired of asking to settle the debt.

Steve has always loved playing the hero. It’s the role he falls into naturally. Bucky does too. After everything he’s done – been forced to do – it makes him feel good to save people now.

Maybe that’s why they saved you.

They watched you run from those men, four vigilantes out for blood. Bucky and Steve had gone out to kill them, to get them off their backs. As soon as Bucky had seen you fall, he was moving at the speed of light, barrelling across the bridge to scoop you up and out of the crossfire. Steve just watched, shaking his head. Buck had always been a sucker for a pretty girl.

They don’t question why you were out there, fighting men with your bare hands. They don’t wanna know. Frankly, they don’t care.

“What the fuck?” Steve asks when he swings open the door to the motel room. “She’s still here?”

“Her ankle is all messed up,” Bucky replies. “There’s no way she’s walking. We can’t throw her onto the street. The rest of them will come for her.”

Steve’s rolling his eyes as he walks over to where you’re unconscious on the bed. He grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you up level with him. You startle awake, and stare daggers into his pretty face.

“What did they want with you?” he spits.

You glare at him for a solid minute, but he doesn’t crack. He wants answers.

“Pissed them off, I guess,” you snicker. “They tried to hurt me. Hurt them right back but harder. They didn’t like it.”

Bucky’s watching the two of you interact, his head tilted to the side. He’s not quite sure how this is going to play out. He can’t wait to see.

Steve surveys you, eyes scanning your face methodically. God, he’s tired of playing nice.

He grabs your chin firmly, forcing you to open your mouth. He stares into your soul, as if daring you to defy him, before he spits onto your tongue, never once breaking eye contact. You swallow, holding his gaze – goading him into making another move. He slams his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth, claiming you as his. You suppose you owe him this, at least. He did save your life, after all.

I say I want you inside me and you hold my head underwater, I say I want you inside me and you split me open with a knife.

This is how it always goes. Your new normal.

The three of you run from city to city, country to country, never staying in one place for too long.

They marked their claim on you that day. All of you without a place to call a home – so you found it in each other. And what a fucked up home it was.

Somewhere along the way, you realise you’ve changed. Not just mentally, or emotionally. But physically. You’re taller, stronger, able to run faster. You’ve gone through some sort of metamorphosis and you don’t know what it is but you like it.

You’re in Colombia, in a motel room, naked from the waist up and sat in Bucky’s lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins. Just the way you like it.

“I’m different,” you tell him, and he nods his head.

“Why do you think we saved you?” he replies.

He straightens up to sink his teeth into your shoulder, right next to the bite mark left by one of them the day before.

“You are different,” Steve tells you as he walks through the door. “It’s our fault. Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, with no real apology in his voice.

Both you and Bucky turn to look at him. Where did that cut on his cheekbone come from? Blood is dripping down his face, and your mouth waters. You want to lick it off.

You crawl to the end of the bed and rise onto your knees, before grabbing Steve, both hands twisted in the front of his shirt. You run your tongue from his jaw to his temple, savouring the taste of copper. Fuck, he tastes so sweet. They both do. You’d drink it if you could.

Steve moans, and the sound makes your legs weak. He fists a hand into the back of your hair and yanks, exposing your throat to him. Then, with no gentleness whatsoever, he scrapes his teeth along the side of your neck, bruising as he goes. You’re purple and red and tender and sore and your big doe eyes are looking at him like you want him to eat you alive. It takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

Bucky doesn’t possess the same amount of self control.

He yanks you back by your wrists, pinning you underneath him. He crawls along your body, and catches your underwear in his teeth, dragging them down and off. He looks hungry. No, he looks feral. It’s animalistic, this connection the three of you have. It’s sharp and bloody and jagged and raw and it makes you want to cut them open from head to toe so you can live inside them forever.

You hate this life and the fact everything is temporary and you hate that you have nothing. Not really. You’re not even one hundred percent sure that these two men wouldn’t leave you if they got offered something better.

But for now, you let them get lost in you. In each other. It’s all you can do to stay sane, in this life spent running and hiding.

Will you let me kiss your neck, baby? Do I have to tie your arms down? Do I have to stick my tongue in your mouth like the hand of a thief, like a burglary like it’s just another petty theft?

You’re in another motel room. This time, Argentina.

The three of you are sat on the bed. The wound in your side is gushing, and Steve has his hand practically in your rib cage, trying to quell the opening.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs. “It’s alright, it’ll stop soon. The advanced healing will kick in any minute now.”

Advanced healing.

It’s something you’d known for a while. Something you’d never brought up with them, just in case. But here he was, telling you like it was nothing.

“I’m a super soldier, aren’t I?” you gasp out between raspy breaths. You’re not actually in that much pain, you’re just panicking. No one should be able to lose this much blood and heal like nothing ever happened.

Bucky nods his head from where he’s sat behind you, chest pressed to your back. His strong arms are keeping you still while Steve plays doctor.

“We didn’t mean for it to happen, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear.

“It was probably Brazil that did it,” Steve chimes in.

Brazil.

Bucky had been shot and you’d been stabbed and Steve was bleeding for some reason too.

You’d crawled to Buck, throwing yourself on top of his body. Your wounds were both open and your blood was mixing together and you couldn’t tell whose flesh was whose.

You’d stuck your tongue in his mouth and he drank you down, blood and dirt and sweat be damned. Steve yanked you both up and threw an arm under each of you, practically dragging you to safety. You were painted in crimson and dripping with the evidence of your love.

Yes. It was definitely Brazil that did it.

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” you utter in disbelief.

“Honestly, neither did we,” Steve replies.

“But now you’re one of us,” Bucky murmurs. “The three of us. The same.”

He’s kissing your shoulder and you’re squirming because you can feel your skin healing, patching itself back together slowly.

“Let him kiss you, baby,” Steve urges. “Do I have to tie your arms down?”

“Yes,” you beg. “Please. Do it. Please.”

Bucky twists your arms behind you and locks them into place with his metal hand. You can’t go anywhere. You don’t want to.

Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in?

One day, somewhere in Alaska, Steve finds you crying in the bathroom.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognise what you see. You have scars scattered across your face, your hair is darker than it’s ever been, and it’s shorter from where Bucky took the scissors to it. Who are you? What have you become?

“Now isn’t the time to have an identity crisis, darling,” Steve says when he enters the room in his boxers.

You nod, and smile, and sniffle, taking a deep breath.

Steve walks over to you, placing you effortlessly to sit on the counter. He stands between your legs and cradles your face in his gun calloused hands.

“Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he reassures into your mouth.

Leaning forward, he runs his tongue up your cheek, catching the tears as they fall. He grabs your chin with one hand, and tugs your pants off with the other.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry.”

It feels like love when he sinks his teeth into your neck so hard, he draws blood.

and with this bullet lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because it’s all I have, because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.

You crack on a random Tuesday afternoon in Bulgaria.

You’ve been shot at one too many times. It’s not something anyone should ever have to endure. The bullets have carved you out and left you hollow. There’s only so much blood you can lose.

The three of you are sat with your backs against the door of the dingy motel room. Just minutes prior, there had been men banging on the wood, demanding to know where Captain America was hiding.

You hadn’t heard that title in a while.

America’s Golden Boy. If only they knew.

If only they knew how he craved the taste of blood now.

If only they knew how he’d lick the sweat from your neck and keep on going.

If only they knew how the fear turned him on.

Being on the run had taken Steve’s golden blood and turned it black. He didn’t mind. Neither did Bucky. Neither did you.

This was out of your wheelhouse, though. Bucky had gone through wars, been on the run more times than he could count. Steve, too. You, however, were different.

You weren’t 100 years old. You’d been a super soldier for a matter of months. You’d gotten into trouble, pissed off the wrong guys, and it had spiralled out of control. Now, you’re hiding from six armed men with Captain America on your left and The Winter Soldier on your right. How times change.

It all explodes suddenly, and you can’t contain it anymore. You jump up, gun in hand, tears sprinting down your cheeks. You’re pointing the weapon at them, and you’re not sure why. But you’re angry. And upset. And so in love with the both of them it’s driving you crazy.

“Tell me you’re not going to leave me,” you threaten, pressing the barrel of the gun against Steve’s chest.

“Sweetheart-“ he starts, but you cut him off.

“No. Tell me you’re mine. Promise me you’re not going to leave me.”

You’ve still got the gun pointed at Steve, but now you’re grabbing Bucky by his hair, forcing him to look up at you.

“Both of you. Promise me.”

They aren’t looking at you like you’re crazy, or unhinged. They’re looking at you like they’re proud of you. Like they want you. Like they love you.

Steve kicks you hard in the shin, making your legs give way. You’re flat on your back now, and Bucky’s moved to pin your arms above your head. His full weight is pressing into you, and his blond counterpart has crawled to yank your head into his lap.

“We’re yours, baby,” Bucky murmurs against your lips.

“We’re not leaving,” Steve adds from where his forehead is pressed against yours.

“And you look really fucking hot pointing a gun at Steve,” Bucky smirks as he kisses along your neck, sucking a bruise as he goes.

“Asshole,” Steve retorts, but he’s smiling. Not that golden, Captain America smile that everyone’s used to. No, this is different. This is a dark, jagged smile, that’s equal parts cunning and broken. It makes you shiver. But you’re not scared. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this bullet inside me ‘cause I couldn’t make you love me and I’m tired of pulling your teeth.

Somewhere in Croatia, you watch Steve and Bucky almost die.

Bullets are raining down, and you’re surrounded on all sides. You can’t see past the swarms of armed men, and you’re bleeding but you’re not sure where from. Steve and Bucky are trying their best, but they’re losing. You’re all losing.

You don’t know where it comes from, the rage. One minute, you’re down on your knees, breathless and sweating. Next minute, you’ve elbowed a man in the face and stolen his machine gun. You’re gunning down men left and right, ignoring their pleas for mercy. The ceiling is raining blood and you’re dripping crimson. You’ve never looked more beautiful.

By the time you get to Bucky and Steve, the abandoned garage looks like a slaughterhouse. You’re stepping over bodies like you’re in a cemetery, your eyes glued to the two people you did all of this for. They’re looking at you like they’re scared of you. Finally, you think. They see me.

If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand. Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now? There’s a bottle of whiskey in the trunk of the Chevy and a dead man at our feet staring up at us like we’re something interesting.

The three of you hijack a cabin in rural Canada.

You’ve been walking through the forests for days when you come upon a small wooden lodge with smoke pummelling out of the chimney. Respite.

Bucky shoots the man point blank when he answers the door. You leave him dead on the porch and make your way inside. It’s cosy, all flannel patterns and fur rugs. You could get comfortable here.

You shower while Steve cooks you dinner. Buck finds decent whiskey in a cabinet, and the three of you take turns drinking it straight from the bottle. You all sit on the floor, legs tangled, warming up by the fireplace. Steve falls asleep, and you step outside to get a breath of fresh air.

The dead man is still on the porch, staring up at you.

“He looks peaceful,” you say to Bucky, who’s appeared silently behind you in the doorway.

“He probably is,” he replies. “God knows anything is more peaceful than this life.”

You charge at him, and bite his lip so hard he whimpers. He takes you right up against the front door, frosty cold biting into your back. Steve watches through the window.

This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish.

When Steve and Bucky get called back to SHIELD, you get scared.

You’re not exactly an upstanding citizen. You’re the furthest thing from an Avenger. SHIELD are going to take one look at you and lock you up for the rest of your life, you’re sure of it.

The boys won’t let that happen.

The two of them argue about going back for days. You get caught in the crossfire. You’re used as an excuse, a bargaining chip, a distraction. You’re a tactic, both of them trying to use you against the other.

Eventually, Bucky cracks. Maybe it’s because your lips are on his neck and Steve’s are on his stomach. Maybe it’s because he’s tired of fighting.

“Fine, Stevie. Fine,” he sighs. “But if it all goes wrong, I’m taking her, and we’re running. I ain’t dealing with all that shit again.”

Steve nods in agreement, and shoves his tongue in Bucky’s mouth.

The three of you decide you’ll go back together. You make a deal – you’ll refuse to be separated. If you have to fight, you’ll fight as one. No one’s going to tear you apart. Not even death.

Steve cuts his palm first, then yours, then Bucky’s. You join hands, and promise that no matter what happens, you’ll always choose each other.

Blood drips down your wrist, and Steve catches it with his tongue.

Both men look at you with their big blue eyes, and you know nothing is ever going to hurt you as much as love does.

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skyward-floored · 3 months

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I think I’m coming down with a cold again and possibly have a fever but I’m here to scream about the update some more anyway! (and analyze a bit but mostly scream). Dawn part 7 here we go!

(All images belong to @linkeduniverse <3)

First off I have to say this was my favorite panel I think, it’s so pretty. The faint glow! The colors! The cape over his shoulder! Amazing. This truly was Sky’s update, I loved every bit of focus he got. Jojo fed us well :D

So it looks like I was wrong about Sky reading everyone’s mail. He just immediately took off after the mailman instead (and spent all morning chasing him ha!),

Side note but I love the npc guy. He’s simple but still Zelda-y. the character design in this comic is just👌

Looks like the mailman has a list of who he’s supposed to deliver to, or at least that’s my guess. It could be a map maybe, but that probably wouldn’t do much good since he’s time traveling?? How does he do it. Don’t question the magic of the postman I guess.

*green hill zone music intensifies*

Shoutout to Sky’s face here, I make the same expression when I’m trying to chase after my nephew and stop him from eating crayons

This looks like a postcard no joke, I'd frame this and put it on my wall. Plus the way the trees were done in the background is really neat, there’s something just really pleasing about this panel. Also the return of Sky: Just Standing There

They’re all bein silly <3

...except for Four. Because I think him and Warriors both realize that Sky isn’t just telling them what he was doing all morning— he’s got something important to say, something they all actually need to know.

(Downfall duo laughing together I love them)

Also I agree with everyone saying Warriors is close to snapping— they’ve all had a pretty stressful 24 hours, but Warriors has been breaking up arguments and repeatedly checking on everyone while they’re struggling, and... I don’t think he’s had a break. Take a nap bud, please?

SKY TALKING TO FI MY BELOVED he's hoping there’s enough of her aware to help him dowse hhhhh. And then he’s so sad she didn’t seem to hear him waahhh 😭

It doesn’t look to me like she truly helped much, but maybe Fi gave just enough of a nudge for Sky to find the postman’s footprints? Even in her sleep? She is glowing just a bit there... Interesting to think about.

It’s confirmed that the postman uses the portals! And that the Shadow is alive and kicking! Uh-oh! (Also does anyone else think this one seems more... firey? Then the last one? Maybe it's just me).

And the chopped-off darknut head is still there too.... and I’ll bet you twenty rupees somebody is going to kick it when the Links go through the portal later. (My guess is Wild but I’d put my money on Legend or Wind too).

I’m also really curious where that portal leads... My guess is either Twilight’s Hyrule or Sky’s, based on what hints we’ve been getting, but I really don’t know. It’ll be fun to see!

*Wind rapidly thinking of at least three conspiracy theories*: SUS

Also an amazing expression from him I’m laughing so hard, he really said 3:<

Tag yourself I’m Four

Also Sky just chugging away at the stamina potion, poor guy XD he must be beat from all that running around, I hope he has some more time to sit before the Links get moving.

(And I mentioned this in another post, but Legend looks so alarmed at this information, as does Wild... it’s not going to be pretty when they cross paths with the Shadow again, that’s for sure)

I love when Time breaks out the dramatic language... makes me remember that this guy is going to be the Hero’s Shade someday (who’s speech is 99% dramatic things).

Now the Links just have to decide what to do next... will they stay another day at the inn for Twilight’s sake, or get moving right away? Is Four going to confront Twilight about the dark magic he uses to turn into Wolfie?

So many questions... but in the meantime I will gladly continue to reread this amazing update, I really loved this one :D

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe analysis #lu sky #and a bunch of other guys I don't feel like taggig #update spoilers #rambles from the floor

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rrxnjun · 1 year

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i'm not bitter anymore (i'm syrupy sweet) ;; ljn

pairing: lee jeno x fem! reader genre: slight band au, college au | fluff, hurt/comfort wc: 4.8k (4.817) warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing

a spin-off to my fic i'm not angry anymore (well, sometimes i am) where jeno gets a redemption arc <3

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. Now, rather than a piercing echo, he holds himself to you like a soft melody.

Lee Jeno sits on his bed, chewing on his bottom lip as he nervously types into the chat he has opened, kicking his leg up and down in a steady, but fast rhythm. Looking around the room for one moment, trying to calm himself down with a loud breath in and out, he glances back at the phone screen and rereads the sentence he wrote over and over again, trying to hear it in his own head, desperately needing the tone to be just right.

hey i thought of you while making this haha

Furrowing his brows, he deletes the words he wrote, huffing out in frustration. He sounds too awkward. Too casual, even. He doesn’t know how these two even go together, but somehow, he managed to do it. He didn’t know he was able to get across two very different emotions in one sentence, but he thinks that this is perhaps his new talent. Maybe he can use it in songwriting someday… if he ever gets back into music, that is.

Fastly typing on the screen, holding in his breath, he changes the sentence from its base and finds himself reading over the new one, trying to figure out if it’s better.

hi! i made you this. listen to it if you have time!

His eyes scan over the words countless times again, hating the way it sounds in his brain. This is too enthusiastic. Too joyful, sounding piercing in his brain. This is not how he wants you to perceive him. Not after all this time, not after all the emotions you’ve awakened in him. Is this the same emotion he used to see in Ryusol’s eyes whenever she used to look at him last year? It’s scary to think that he let her down so much, but he finds comfort in knowing that Yangyang was there to catch her when he let her go. Maybe he wouldn’t be so stupid if he understood this emotion all this time ago. Maybe he wouldn’t have made so many mistakes…

Cracking his knuckles, he rolls his eyes at himself and deletes the message again, promising himself that this is going to be the last attempt. He either nails it, or he doesn’t– in this case, he will keep the whole thing a secret and never attempt to subtly hint you his feelings ever again.

hey y/n :) i made you a playlist

The message is simple. The smiley face gives it more sparkle, a sense of emotion, even. The tone it reads inside of his brain is casual, but with a giving undertone– he hopes it gets through to you in the same way. Adding the spotify link to the playlist he made for you, he finally presses the send button and throws the phone away to the other side of his bed, not wanting to see you react to it in real time. That’s too stressful. He’s not used to the frantic speed of his heart whenever he’s around you yet.

If he really thinks about it, this might be the first time he’s ever tried for someone. All of those times before, girls threw themselves at him at every step he took, every song he used to sing with his band, making countless hopeless hearts break for him when he only stayed with them for one night. He’s never had to try for anyone. He’s never had to do nice things for someone, he’s never had to pay attention to the conversations he was having, he’s never had to give gifts to girls to get them to be with him. They came naturally to him, and he never really cared about their emotions anyway. Love wasn’t something he was inclined to feel, and he never felt the need to have someone by his side for long enough.

Perhaps, he was battling loneliness more effectively– without having to try to make someone stay, he chose to have a different girl every night. It was easier. He never got attached, so it meant that he never had the chance to get his heart broken. Sometimes, he didn’t even realize he was breaking somebody’s heart– he never quite understood how somebody could feel deeper for him, when all they saw was the surface he chose to show to everyone at his concerts and after parties. The first time it dawned on him was when he broke Ryusol’s heart. Maybe that was the moment that opened his eyes.

Lee Jeno thinks he’s never tried for anyone before. In his eyes, this is the first time he’s openly caring for someone.

He doesn’t think about all those times he helped you with your assignments. He doesn’t think about all those times he assured you you looked nice or all those times when he went grocery shopping with you at 8pm, even though he was tired and you lived 20 minutes away. He doesn’t think about all those times he’s given you a ride home and about all those times when he walked you to school, helping you revise for your exams.

It doesn’t click for him when he breaks his habits, even. When he doesn’t try to get you to sleep with him the first night you sleep over at his house when you’re too tired to walk to your dorms, when he doesn’t leave you on read for three days or when he actually listens to what you’re saying, offering advice when needed and being the shoulder for you to cry on when you don’t really feel like solving your problems.

It only clicks for him when he sends you the link to the spotify playlist he made while thinking about you late last night, adding the song he recorded about you and posted to his new solo spotify account last week.

Perhaps Lee Jeno still only expresses himself through music.

Sitting in the university auditorium, Jeno finds himself to be hyper-aware of your presence next to him. You’re sitting in the very last row, accompanied by all of Jeno’s friends– Renjun, Donghyuck, Mark, Jaemin, Chenle and Hendery (even though the band isn’t active anymore and they broke it off for the best for everyone), hell, even Ryusol and Yangyang, even though the boy doesn’t even go to university. It’s kind of surreal how one year can change everything, Jeno thinks; what he thought was the best for him was now broken off, and the friendships he found himself to be mistreating now had stronger bonds than ever.

He wonders how you even ended up in the middle of it all, in the middle of his small galaxy. You two met in the club, where you were working part-time and he often went to drown his feelings away. After he had a falling out with his friends because of the way he was acting when he was too busy with chasing fame with his band, he found himself to be the loneliest he’s ever been, now that he didn’t have the support of others and the screaming rows full of girls that were all over him. Without the band, he often felt like nothing– worthless, not interesting.

But then you came– asking him if he was the Lee Jeno from the band, and if he was feeling alright after the band’s breakup. No one’s ever asked him about it before. It opened up a pit in him, made him cross all his barriers and finally let his feelings take over. It’s mainly on you that he managed to apologize to everyone and realize what he lost.

And ever since that night, he found himself not wanting to let you go.

Nervously kicking his knee up and down, he feels the contact of your hand on his thigh, trying to calm him down. Looking at you from above, he tries to fake a smile as you squeeze his flesh and intertwine your fingers with his, shaking your hands in enthusiasm. Leaning closer to him, you whisper encouraging words into his ear.

“You’re gonna rock it, Jeno.”

Snickering, he shakes his head. “It’s an acoustic set, Y/N. I can’t rock it.”

Rolling your eyes in mock annoyance, you shake your head. “You know what I meant. So stop stressing, you’re a professional.”

It’s been months since Jeno last sang on the stage. His band was no longer in service, but all of his friends and bandmates still encouraged him to join the university’s recital– he was a good musician with a good voice, and his songs had more depth this time around. He almost gets emotional at the growth he’s made, but there’s no time for that when he notices the person in front of him being done with their song, meaning that it’s now his time to shine.

Seconds before he stands up from his place and takes his acoustic guitar with him, you reach over to his hair and ruffle it with admiration. The blush that forms on Jeno’s face is hardly noticeable from the bright lights of the stage, but it still makes Yangyang and Renjun snicker from their seats– they know this state all too well.

Lee Jeno doesn’t realize that now, this is you trying.

No one’s ever tried so subtly for him before.

“So, which one do you wanna watch?” you ask as you stumble around his messy room, getting his laptop and laying next to him on the bed. You’ve been trying to make him watch your favorite movies with you for the last half an hour, and when you finally succeeded after giving him countless options, he insisted that he’s too lazy to get the laptop himself.

Sometimes, he’s a pain in the ass. But more than often, you don’t find yourself caring.

“Hm?” you poke his side as you turn on the computer and type in his password (that you helped him out with when he first got his new laptop. He didn’t know what to set it as and you told him to make it your name as a joke. He hasn’t changed it since.), waiting for him to reply.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “what do you want to watch the most?”

“I asked you first! I’ve seen most of them already, so I don’t really care much,” you mutter, opening Netflix and turning to him when the pincode comes up, raising your brows up.

“0423,” he mumbles before continuing, “why do you even want to watch movies that you’ve already seen? Isn’t that boring to you?”

“Your pin code is your birthday? That’s… so unsafe,” you mutter as you type it in, shaking your head at your friend’s antics, “and I like watching movies I’ve already seen, because it gives me a new perspective. And also, I like watching your reactions when you watch movies. Your face lights up and stuff, it’s adorable.”

Jeno feels his cheeks getting red again, but he tries to hide it by pulling up the hood of his hoodie, shifting a little in the bed to leave you more space. “Which one have you watched the most times?” he asks.

“Hmm… probably Dirty Dancing,” you muse, grinning, “I’ve seen it like 15 times already.”

“Can we watch that one?” he mumbles, seeing your fingers dancing along the keyboard already, typing the movie title in and searching through the page to find it.

“Why?”

“I dunno… ‘cause it’s obviously your favorite?” he says, not realizing the implication his words have, only stating what he truly means. When you silently click on the movie and let it play, laying next to your friend and putting the laptop onto his lap so you can cuddle into his side, he wonders if this is what all friends do on cold afternoons.

He wonders if there’s something more in the way you wrap your arms around him, if there’s something more in the way you look at him from time to time when your favorite scene of the movie occurs or when you hum the soundtrack under your breath, trying to make him join you just so you could hear his voice. He might have a lot of experience with girls, but when it comes to relationships, he’s utterly clueless.

And when he giggles at the scene with Baby’s sister singing, moving very sternly from side to side, hearing you replicating the scene into his ear almost word-to-word, he doesn’t regret choosing the most corny, romantic movie he’s ever heard of. He might even comply if you asked him to learn the choreography with you. He’s not opposed to anything.

When the movie comes to an end and the final credits roll, he feels a soft peck pressed to his jaw, keeping him from looking at you in fear of not seeing the admiration he so deeply desires to see in your eyes.

He wonders if this was you trying.

“What’s the deal with you and Y/N?” Jaemin asks one day, silent enough to not make the rest of the friend group hear, but loud enough to land in Jeno’s ears and make him look at his friend with shock.

“Nothing…?” he replies, but already feels his cheeks heatening. He despises how his emotions always show in his face. He wants to be cool about everything, but it’s hard to look unbothered when every small thing about you makes his heart race and makes his brain turn into a fuzzy mess.

“Sure,” Jaemin grins with a knowing smile, making Jeno roll his eyes. Of course Jaemin noticed. He always notices first, it seems– the boy has a good nose for human emotion. Perhaps it’s his very well developed sense of empathy. Jeno wonders if he’s good at relationship advice as well, but since you and him aren’t dating, he figures it’s too early to ask.

“Nothing yet, I guess? I don’t know…” Jeno mumbles under his nose, sensing that he can trust Jaemin. The boy knowingly nudges him into his waist, making the older one (by 4 months only, but that’s still something) grunt in mock annoyance.

“Oh would you look at that, our local player finally let his heart soften for someone!” Jaemin exclaims, still paying enough attention to not being too loud, leaving you deep in conversation with Yangyang and Ryusol in the back of the group.

“Stop,” Jeno rolls his eyes, but grins at the comment.

“I love this for you, though. Ever since you’ve known her, you’re different. You’re nicer, you’re paying more attention to others, hell, you don’t even drink anymore. I think this is a good thing,” Jaemin says with an encouraging smile.

“Jaemin, stop talking like my therapist, please,” Jeno mutters, trying hard to compose his expression.

“I mean it, though! It’s… it’s nice to see you actually trying for someone, you know. I hope this works out for you two,” his words are sincere and sweet, leaving Jeno in hesitance. He’s never heard any of his friends encouraging him in a relationship with someone before. He’s never been this close to anyone before, his emotions were never this deep– all of his past encounters with girls were purely sexual, and he can’t even imagine how he could ever live like that.

But before he can open his mouth to reply to Jaemin, he feels your warm hand in his (he doesn’t even have to turn around to know it’s you. He’s not used to the feeling of your hand in his– he just purely senses your presence.), catching him off-guard with the feeling of falling he gets inside of his stomach, suffocating a little.

Looking around at you, seeing you smiling, a sentence of “What are you two gossiping about?” uttered out of your lips, Jeno finds himself content with the state he’s in right now.

It feels good to try for someone.

Noticing you shivering as you two sit in the cafeteria, Jeno finds himself feeling like a worried mum for the first time. Squinting at the open windows, as if he could be mad at inanimate objects for the state they can’t control, he curses in his mind at whoever decided it was a good idea to leave them open in the middle of November.

“Are you cold?” he asks the obvious, seeing you look at him with wide eyes, reminding him of Bambi. A burst of admiration spreads on his insides, but when you reply, he can’t help but glare at you.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? You keep shivering. You should’ve taken a hoodie with you, you know it gets cold out here,” he mutters, seeing you roll your eyes at him.

“I forgot,” you peep, “but that’s okay. I was stupid and now I have to bear the consequences,” you say, making the boy’s protective instincts kick in once again, finding himself automatically taking off his large hoodie and throwing it into your lap.

“Wear it,” he says.

“But you’re gonna get cold-”

“I can bear the cold. Wear it or else you’ll get sick again, your immune system is more unstable than my mental health. I don’t need you stuck at home with a fever for two weeks again, I’d get bored to death,” he says, trying to reason with you, while also simultaneously trying to make it seem more casual than it felt inside of him.

“Jeno-”

“Can you please just wear it?” he asks, seeing you finally back down, smiling as you put the hoodie on and tug the sleeves down to make the most adorable sweater paws, making the boy coo on the inside.

You look absolutely adorable in his eyes. He never really knew how it feels to see someone you adore in your clothes– while he’s lent his jackets to random girls in the bar countless of times before, it never really held any significance to him. But seeing you in his jacket, drowning in the fabric as he likes his own clothes a little oversized, he can’t help but feel his heart swell with the sight. You should borrow his clothes more often.

Maybe he could “accidentally” leave one at your place once. Maybe you’ll wear it if you find it there. He won’t know about it unless you tell him, but the thought is enough for the boy to go crazy about the imagination.

“You look good,” slips out of his lips, making him instantly curse at himself on the inside. This might just be the corniest situation of his whole entire life– and he’s sent you a playlist before.

Looking at him from under your eyelashes, you almost look shy as you burrow your nose into the fabric of the hoodie, smiling at him. “Thanks.”

“You can… keep it if you’d like,” he hesitantly says, not knowing what’s gotten into him. If Jaemin was here, he’d scream and yell at him for being this awkward with you. He’s known you for quite a few months now– he should already be used to the way you make him feel by now.

You grin at him as you nod, looking away from his eyes and breaking the burning eye-contact. “Okay,” you say.

The table falls silent for a second, both of you too immersed into your own head to register the quietness, when you move in your place and reach towards your hair, dragging the scrunchie that was holding your hair up off your hair, letting your locks fall free on the gray fabric of Jeno’s hoodie. Running your hand through your hair to shake it off a little and give it volume, you turn to Jeno and take his hand into yours before sliding the light-pink scrunchie onto his hand, giggling at the contrast of it against his all-black outfit.

Jeno looks at you with furrowed brows. What’s this supposed to be? Why is your hair tie suddenly on his wrist?

When your eyes lock for a split second, you must notice his confusion. “Keep it,” you say.

And he will. He’s convinced he would keep anything you give him, even if he found no interest in the thing, or if he found the item to be the most unuseful thing in the whole world. It’s from you, so it’s important.

He doesn’t know what the whole action means– he’s too clueless to understand the girl code. He doesn’t know that this was him marking you his, and you letting the world know he’s yours. The item exchange was solely a game of your hearts. A slight push forward to giving this whole thing a new title.

He doesn’t know that this was you trying. But he feels he’s too impatient to keep waiting for signs any longer.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out.

You never really liked your job at the bar. It was too loud, you came in contact with too many men with high egos that thought they could make your day any better, and you also had nothing else to do than to observe people the whole night. Observing the guests of your bar was one of your favorite activities. Sometimes, you make up a whole story about them in your brain, puzzling the pieces together with a bit of fantasy; sometimes, they come to you and tell you all about their problems and why they chose to drink them away at the bar tonight.

Jeno was no different. You knew about him– because realistically speaking, who didn’t? He had quite the reputation in the town, and you can’t say that the one he had amongst girls he slept with was a good one. You heard all about him from your coworkers– he’s a showstopper, a bad liar, drama starter, a player, fuckboy… you name it, he’s probably been called that name before. And you can’t say you didn’t believe those words, not when you saw him at the bar with that confident smirk of his every other night, but this one evening, when you actually came in contact with the boy, you thought they might have been lying about him just the slightest.

He came to you with a dark look on his face, ordering himself a drink. He seemed out of it– like most days, lately– and you suddenly thought about all the rumors that spread around the town when his band broke up, wondering if they were true and if he really was such a dick everyone made him out to be. His expression is remorseful, the look never leaving his face, and you suddenly catch yourself asking him if he’s okay, met with surprise in his eyes.

You think you must be the first one to ever care about how he feels.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. When you get to know him, the contrast between his inside and the act he puts out for everyone to see gets harsher and harsher.

You learn a lot about him over time. They said he was overly-confident when he was starting the band– you just think he was ambitious. They said he was a liar– you just thought he never really had the full picture. They said he was a player– you just thought he never really thought he was playing with anyone’s heart. They all said he would hurt you– you told them you don’t see that happening any time soon.

Nobody believed in him until he put himself back together. Nobody but you.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers into the dark one night, his face illuminated by the show he put up on Netflix to just mumble in the background, when you’re too tired to go back to the campus and choose to stay over at his place, because you sleep better by his side anyway. His words don’t surprise you, if you really think about it– they just fall into place, filling you with a soft harmony, making you 100% content.

Turning your body to him, his expression is nervous and he keeps biting at his lower lip, the habit of pulling at his chapped skin making itself known again like in any situation like this. You don’t even realize there’s a smile spreading on your face, a soft one, to be exact– because that’s how everything with Jeno was so far.

“Can I kiss you?” you reply with a question, catching the boy off guard. Breathless, he nods, letting you completely in, breaking all the walls he’s spent ages building up around himself.

He’s had a lot of experience with girls and you’re sure as hell he’s kissed more than a couple of them in his life before, but when kissing you, he’s as nervous as the first time, a shy boy looking at you from under his eyelashes as you lean closer to him and nudge his nose with yours before connecting your lips together in what feels like a seal of something new.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. When you first kiss him, he’s the softest entity.

There’s something unexplainable about the contrast of his dark hair, harsh jawline and the chains on his clothing with the unbearable softness of his kiss, the movement of his lips against yours almost hesitant to get more, afraid of going too far and messing up the moment. The humming of Netflix is no more than a background noise when you pull away from him for just a second, gasping for air and going for more, this time deeper, letting the boy know that he doesn’t have to fear you, that although you’re fragile, in his arms, you have no chance of breaking. His palm, adorned with cold silver on his fingers, comes in contact with your jaw, steading the movement. The touch burns you up, makes you yearn for more, but he still holds you like you’re the finest piece of porcelain, treasuring you so much more than anyone ever before, the drunkenness of being in love with someone completely changing his brain chemistry.

Pulling away from him once again, the state of him takes all air out of your lungs. In the white glow of the TV, Lee Jeno looks up at you with eyes an endless pool of serenity, all wide and glimmering, his lips swollen and parted, aching for more. His cheeks are a little tinted, his raven hair falling into his forehead a little disheveled, his strong features shining with a softened glow, inviting you in for more. You want to keep this image of him forever.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he whispers again, into the dark, making the pit in your stomach deepen. He must have felt like everyone gave up on him– like there was no other script for him and he was left with nothing at all. You wonder if he truly thought he would never get a second chance again. You wonder if he really thought he messed it up this bad.

Something about his words makes you want to kiss him again. You lean into him, catching his cheeks into your palms– almost feeling like you’re holding your whole world– and see his eyes flutter close when your breathing fans over his lips, softly taking him in again.

His hands are a little cold when he covers yours, still sitting at his face. “I’m in love with you,” you whisper against his lips, thinking to all the times you wanted to say it but couldn’t, knowing it’s too soon and he’s not ready for it yet. You took things at his pace– he’s never been in a serious relationship before, and you didn’t know if he was prepared to have one, prepared to get attached, prepared to let you stay, when all everyone ever did was leave him. You wonder if the trajectory of his life would have gone differently if his father was still present– even though it’s still only an explanation, not an excuse– but you think you’re perfectly content with watching him grow by your side.

When your lips grow tired of the kissing, you smile against each other’s lips, holding each other close. The vulnerability of it all breaks you into pieces and glues itself together in one swift moment, wanting to treasure this moment forever.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. Now, rather than a piercing echo, Lee Jeno holds himself to you like a soft melody.

You’re the first person Lee Jeno ever tried for. But even now, that he’s so sure you’re his and you’re not leaving any time soon, he’s convinced that for you, he’ll always keep trying.

#nct #nct dream #lee jeno #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #jeno x reader #jeno fluff #jeno imagine #jeno angst #jeno drabble #nct fluff #nct imagine #nct angst #nct drabble #nct dream scenario #nct dream drabble #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff

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yazthebookish · 1 year

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I absolutely get some readers not liking the potential of Az and Gwyn or even not wanting it to happen because they root for another couple which is absolutely valid. We let off a lot of steam in the past two years but I think we're at a stage where each side should mind their own business.

But this is also a post for the pro-Gwynriel crowd so if that's not your cup of tea, ignore this post. I'm not responsible for you getting upset over reading something you know you won't be happy with.

Disclaimer: I wrote this post based on my own interpretation of the text and the opinion I formed.

Like I said, I absolutely get why some don't see it or won't like it but I do get puzzled as to why when people explain why they see it's potential, it's immediately shot down.

My number one question would be: from a narrative perspective, why would SJM introduce a new female character and place her within Az's circle when there is that whole Elain and Mor thing going on? She absolutely did not need to do that. She did anyways. Whether you think it's platonic or romantic, the book does shift a little focus on Gwyn and Az in some scenes where they are present.

First, let's talk about their history. So it's pointed out that Az is the first person to reach Sangravah and he was the one to save Gwyn. I'm not saying a romance sparked there and it has nothing to do with romance at that stage but it is part of their history. Sarah could've said it's Rhys, it's Cassian, it's Mor, but it's mentioned multiple times that it's Az who saved Gwyn.

We also have the Valkyrie subplot, it's not only Cassian, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie that are involved in it but Az is part of it too. Az is brought in to train other group of priestesses since Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie are under Cassian's charge—but what does eventually happen? we start to notice in some of the scenes that there are subtle or not so subtle attention to how Az or Gwyn observe or react to each other. He even trains her personally and I assume on their own at one point.

“Gwyn let out a high-pitched noise that was nothing but pure excitement. Azriel, on the other side of the ring with the rest of the priestesses, half-turned at the sound, brows high.”

One example is this, was this something necessary for the reader to make note of? did we need to know that Az, who was occupied with the other priestesses, turned at the sound of Gwyn squealing from the other side of the ring with an amused expression? this is one of the examples of how the narrative makes sure the reader makes note of this. The argument is not whether it's romantic or not, but these reactions are pointed out to the reader in particular.

So back to the Valkyrie subplot, Az is part of that but not only that, he actively had a part in training Gwyn. Not Nesta, not Emerie, but Gwyn. Why establish that between them? Why make him play a part in her becoming a Valkyrie? That to me is also another connection SJM established between them.

We could have gone the entire book without Az being involved in any of this. But SJM chose to have him involved with the Valkyries' training and Gwyn's in particular, especially knowing that the ending of ACOSF tells us not only Cassian but also Az will continue to train them. He will still be in close proximity with Gwyn and co.

No matter how many times I reread the book it's clear to me that there is a set up. It made me think they're compatible for each other in the way they both are lightly bantering and challenging each other. It did create a potential future for both of them where they develop romantic feelings for each other and I definitely would rather see that happen on page—given that the two females Az have feelings for were abrupt in a way (especially for Elain) and to me there is no organic development to it. He fixated on certain things that seems might make him feel worthy of someone, but they also feed into his self-loath. I think the idea of 3 sisters and 3 brothers reinforced that because like I have said before, it would've been more romantic for me to see him accept Elain with or without her bond to Lucien rather than resent and question it. Because him accepting it makes me think he wants her for her and a bond to another male won't stop him from being with her, but he does make a big deal out of it even though neither Elain or Lucien acted on it so there isn't someone in his way stopping him from being with her (pre-Rhys pulling rank) because he knows Elain has no interest in Lucien (to him).

SJM could have absolutely make Az form no connection or have any sort of interaction with Gwyn the same way he was indifferent and never spoke to Emerie. But that's not what we got so let's talk about the elephant in the room: his bonus chapter.

This is something I've always said, why add Gwyn? the chapter personally confirmed to me the crumbs I picked up on while reading ACOSF and noticing how the narrative shifts my attention sometimes towards Az and Gwyn. Not that there aren't any for Elain and Az, but as I said the bonus chapter confirmed to me what likely Az's storyline is going to involve and focus on.

Theories aside, reading the bonus chapter for what it is and moving past that sad but also miserable first part and finding Gwyn there with her part, it was a breath of fresh air. The wording and Az's emotions during her part made them much more appealing to me because their interaction started out awkward, and then sweet and more light-hearted. She gives him an out he does not take, she smiles at his shadows, his shadows feel calm and content to watch her, the mating bond language (which parallels other mated couples), him going from being frustrated and pissed to him laughing and feeling settled down at the end of his scene with her.

One major thing we got was: he sings. Why does that matter? because she also sings. Theories aside, there is a similarity there that was not needed to be made. But the author made it.

Also, out of all the characters we get after her scene, it's Clotho who shows up. And who is Clotho? Gwyn's guardian in a way. We all agree the necklace move was not a great one but that ending to me had a light romantic coding (theories aside).

Clotho's pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.

Something sparked in Azriel's chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn's teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason... he could see it.

But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly.

A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

What started as a depressing and hopeless chapter for Az ended with a beautiful hopeful ending. It ended with him thinking about Gwyn's joy and burying that image deep in his chest where it glows quietly.

To add, Gwyn is the only character in the entire series from what I've read where Az's shadows reactions to her specifically are totally unique. Interpretations of this will differ, but it's there. Why go as far as to make them unique to her?

I will say this again that I'm okay with people not seeing the hints or not liking it, but I do wonder sometimes even when readers highlight all of this (which, everything I mentioned here is from the books) it's met with so much resistance to the point people's reading comprehension is questioned. There is always room for different interpretations, not liking one does not invalidate it and this is something I also try to personally remind myself of.

But my question will always be: why did Sarah have to place Gwyn within Az's circle? even if your answer is they'll probably be platonic it means I'm correct in saying that the narrative did truly establish a connection between Az and Gwyn in ACOSF and his chapter whether they'll be a romantic pairing or platonic friends. There is something there.

#acotar #acosf #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #notice how I didn't have to name call or make fun of any shippers?#a civil conversation is possible

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bettsfic · 2 months

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I don't think you've been in this exact scenario but I'd love your advice anyway -- I'm trying to patiently work through a writing dry spell that after 3 years is only getting worse. The worst thing is my previous body of work (20+ years, 1M+ words) which used to bring me so much joy to reread even in dry spells just seems mostly labored and clunky now, and I can't think why I thought any of it was very good. I still value the work I put into it, and I know I improved over time, but it's even harder to motivate myself out of this slough when it no longer feels like there's anything I want to get "back" to. How does one just... start over?

i think starting over means focusing on the basics again. revisit sentence diagramming, rhetorical and literary devices, books you read when you were young that left a strong impression on you. then, if you're compelled to write fiction, great. if not, write about writing. write about why that specific book left a strong impression on you. write a letter to your past self or your future self. write letters, period. i think letter writing and journaling, self-and-other writing, are two of the most natural and accessible written forms, and when you have no idea how else to get going, that's where you start. and it's sad, and hard, because at one point you were much further along, but writing isn't like riding a bike. it's an endurance sport. and so over time you can lose that strength and skill, and you have to build it up again.

the silver lining, i think, is that this is an opportunity to dig into things you maybe skipped over in your 20+ years of writing. people with high verbal reasoning and a natural aptitude toward writing sometimes skip over hurdles that other people get stuck at, and now is a great time to find those and spend some time there, and either learn some new stuff or revisit things you've forgotten. you can take the slow road this time, you know? you've got your million words down and the next couple million might be harder and take longer and honestly might be worse than the first million. but they will be more intentional, and you might be able to find a new kind of joy in them.

and if none of that works, try writing from a different, maybe stronger, base emotion. if you go out and read something that really pisses you off for whatever reason, that makes you go "I CAN DO THIS BETTER" that's going to ignite some inspiration. conversely, i think admiration is also a good place to write from, work that makes you go, "i want to write this way." try to find a new feeling to write from rather than old subject matter or aesthetics.

#writing advice #writers' block

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liliumsabyss · 1 year

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Hello I have once again found myself rereading the Newt fics and my love for them continues to grow. However thoughts have been thunk and I need protective Newt in my life. I’m happy to let you run wild with whatever ideas you want, if you can’t think of any here are some ones that have been floating around my mind:

Newt protecting reader while they escape the maze. Newt protecting reader at the WICKED facility (probs not what it’s called but can’t stop and think about that right now). Newt protecting reader from himself while he has the flare. Newt protecting reader from Teresa/WICKED after the betrayal.

Anything you want, I’ll take it all.

All the love for you and your work ❤️

Protecting and Patching

FEM DNI, I SWEAR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

Newt(TMR) x Male Reader

Word Count: 1.96k

Tw: Maybe OCC Newt, Blood, Injuries, Mentions of Death, WICKED, Swearing, Weapons, General TMR Violence, Film Newt, Based on Both Novel and Film

A/n: Hey again! It makes me so happy that you enjoy the fics so much! I really like the idea of Newt protecting the reader at the WICKED facility especially since my love of that scene in both the films and novels is just <3<3<3 I love that scene so much of course I love Newt more and he’s just so great in the scenes even if it’s very subtle he does a lot of the shit in the scenes. I had so much fun writing this to the point that I rewatched the scene like eight times to include all the little detail things that happen since I just wanted to capture the feel of the scene and Newts character in that scene since it’s like their first time with face to face peril of WICKED. I had a load of fun writing this and I also learned that Thomas Brodie-Sangster the guy who plays Newt is one of the voice’s of Ferb from Phineas and Ferb I don’t know if I love this fact or if it makes me want to cry. Anyway I hope you enjoy and all the love to you! Thank you so much!

The boys flooded out of the vent into a dark room that was made of dark concrete floor and bright white concrete brick walls that were decorated with metal pipes winding and weaving into the florecently lighted hallways. The group stood antsy waiting for Thomas to give the next instructions, (Y/n) rocked on the balls of his feet, Newt quickly stepped closer to the other. Thomas started heading down the hallway.

“ Wait, go ahead I’ve got something I need to do” Aris calls out to the rest, one replying they will go with him.

The boys started sprinting down the hallway, Newt making sure the (h/c) haired male was beside him. The sound of footsteps pounded through the wall and the group turned the corner only to be met with a lady in a lab coat. The blonde quickly stumbled back making sure to put himself slightly in front of his lover blocking him subtly from the woman.

“ What are you kids doing-“ The lady started before being cut off with the howl of sirens projecting from overhead siren lights flashed yellow. The lady’s face quickly contorted as the boys seized her holding her hostage as they continued their sprint through the corridor. They turned a corner (Y/n) being in front of the blonde when the ones who had passed the corner skidded to a stop. A man in all black with what appeared to be a large gun shouted a hey before raising the weapon and opening fire. Newt grabbed the (h/c) haired arm pulling him back clutching onto as they started to sprint the opposite way.

“ Are you ok!” Newt tried to shout over the chaotic shouts and pounding of footprints but it didn’t reach the other as he froze looking away towards where the man had come from. The blonde turned to see what the other was looking at, Minho was stopped several feet away with his fist tightly clenched, some let out calls questioning what he was doing at a time like this. Minho turned around letting out a yell as he sprinted full speed hurtling towards the wall as the man came around the corner. He kept through the air his knees close to his chest as he soared into the man taking him off guard knocking him into the concrete walls rendering him unconscious or dead. (Y/n) couldn’t exactly tell as the group surged forward Newt grabbing his arm dragging him along. Thomas had picked up the gun leading the group of boys through the winding hallways as they still kept the woman in the lab coat hostage.

A large metal door stood in front of them quickly being opened as they surged in seeing five very startled people in lab coats. Thomas holding up the large gun waving it between them screeching ‘where is she’ repeatedly. Newt turned to see (Y/n)’s face, he was biting his lip trying to push down the fear but the blonde could still see it in his eyes which had widened at Thomas’ sudden act of aggression. Newt quickly stepped in front of the other pulling his own arm behind his back to grab the (h/c) haired male's hand looking back raising his eyebrow. (Y/n) just gave the other a nod. Thomas had passed the gun to Minho who continued to keep the WICKED employee’s at gun-point. Newt ran forward grabbing a long strip of cloth attempting to tie their hands together as Thomas retrieved Teresa from the medical bed. Then suddenly someone standing next to the (h/c) haired male shouted ‘they’re coming this way!’ (Y/n) looked petrified turning towards the window in the door right where he had been standing.

“ (Y/n) get back!” Newt screamed, his eyes widening in fear as he pushed through the crowd in the room towards the door. (Y/n) quickly sprinted out of the way, the blond pushed over a nearby metal examination table it made a loud clatter that shuddered through the already clambering room. There was a loud screech as the table was pushed by Newt up against the door barricading it.

“ BACK EVERYONE GET BACK!” Someone shouted as a loud crash was heard, reinforcements crashed into the door trying to bash it open. (Y/n) turned at the sound of the panging of glass only to see Thomas thrusting a stool into the glass attempting to break it only to be unsuccessful. Newt looked with terror at the door as the WICKED guards were so close to breaking in so close to getting them all and then what would happen would they be killed like their so called rescuers or would only some of them be killed, would one of them be himself or even worse (Y/n), that future could not exist, he picked up another stool hurdling it towards the glass with Thomas. The loud sound of a shatter filled the room as the glass rained upon them. The boys leapt through the empty window frame that still had remnants of glass. Newt kept turning as the (h/c) haired male shakily attempted to climb through with the blonde spotting him, he however stepped on a piece of glass piercing through his foot the tip covered in blood appearing at the top of his shoe. The male let out a quick yelp falling forward onto Newt who luckily caught him.

“ Can you walk?” Newt said worriedly looking between the other’s shoe that was covered in blood.

“ I think so…” (Y/n) seethed, clenching his teeth. The blonde slowly lowered the male's legs to the ground still keeping his arms around him to take some of the weight of his foot. Newt looked up at (Y/n), (Y/n) giving a curt nod, his arm still stretched around Newt. Then they hear a loud crash. The (h/c) haired male didn’t even get a chance to look back before Newt had started sprinting, still supporting some of (Y/n)’s weight. The group sprints through the hallway being led by Thomas, Newt and (Y/n) towards the front of the group running on pure adrenaline. They all ran through a door. A man in a black ski mask with blank eyes stood there with a large gun which must have been the standard for WICKED. Thomas with little hesitation shot the man with the weapon he had been holding. Suddenly they hear the thundering footsteps echoing down the hallway from the WICKED employee’s. Someone yells shit as they race off again, they finally get to the access door all of them clinging desperately to the large industrial door. Thomas frantically swipes the ID card into the access slot, the door buzzes and a red light flashes denying access. The doors metal jaws stay clamped, some slap Thomas’ back yelling word’s of rush such as ‘c’mon’ and hurry up, but once again Thomas tries are futile as he once again frantically swipes the card it fails buzzing a sound of denial and flashing red. They hear the heavy footsteps of guards looking down the hallway and they see Jason surrounded by guards in tactile equipment heavily armed and holding up shields. Newt quickly pushed (Y/n) into the corner of the wall as gently as he could keeping in mind his injured foot shielding him from the rest as he turned to face the guard’s. Thomas quickly started walking towards Jason ready to open fire shouting at him to open the door only for him to respond with a threatening ‘you don’t want to do this’. Newts head whips behind him making eye contact with the (h/c) haired male whose hands were placed on the blondes back shaking, Newt looked away avoiding making the other more terrified he looked desperately back at the card slotted only one thought pummeling through his head how were they going to get out of this. Then as if a higher power heard Newt’s thoughts the heavy metal door screeches open its heavy jaws. Newt gives a cry of relief like most of the group as he throws (Y/n)’s arm around him, (Y/n) lets out a hopeful smile before they stumble through the door. Thomas lets out a few shots before his gun becomes jammed, throwing it at Jason and his security personnel. The metal door starts to shut slowly sliding down, everyone is screaming for Thomas to get there and in the little gap between the metal teeth of the door and the floor Thomas slides under. Jason hits the window of the door angrily as Thomas flips him off. (Y/n) still clasping onto Newt sticks his young out briefly mocking him as wide smiles spread onto the boy’s faces. They start at full speed sprinting through the large warehouse-like room stopping when they approach the large metal gate that stood a steel or iron giant whatever material it may be in front of them towering twenty feet standing between them and their freedom. Thomas quickly pulled a red lever allowing the doors to steadily open heavily, dragging open a greyish-blue smoke swirled past the door as the group flooded out.

Once they got to safety Newt and his lover separated from the group. The blonde still supported the others' weight as they hobbled to a corner where the two could sit. Newt carefully helped the other sit on the floor hoping that the pain had decreased and the bleeding stopped. He looked up at the other for permission as he went to take off (Y/n)’s shoe the (h/c) haired male nodded. Newt tried to take his shoe off as carefully as he could looking up at the other male who was biting his lip trying to not show how much pain he was in. Newt slid off the shoe to see a several inch wide gash going straight through the (s/c) skin of (Y/n)’s foot . It was bloody but didn’t appear to be bleeding as much as it was, being mostly caked in dried blood. Newt quickly took a flask of water that he had picked up earlier pouring the water on the wound. (Y/n) squirmed clenching his fists in pain.

“ I'm sorry love, I'm sorry.” Newt apologized, trying not to look up at the other in guilt. The blonde quickly tore apart part of his white cotton shirt’s sleeve, he gently held up the (h/c) haired male's foot using the cloth as a makeshift bandage wrapping the wound tightly letting the foot go carefully. The blonde then slid next to his lover putting an arm around him.

“ This hurt’s like a shucking bitch!” (Y/n) whined to Newt waving his leg in the air.

“ It looks like we will be limping together for the time being.” Newt chuckled slightly making the rare joke about his leg only for (Y/n) to give him a bewildered look and a slight nudge. (Y/n) grabbed Newt hand interlacing them, Newt pulled their hands towards himself raising them slowly to his lips kissing (Y/n)’s hands as he peered at them with his honey brown eyes he gave out a short amused hum seeing the others bashful face.

“ We should get some sleep.” The blonde said hugging his lover slightly more into him, the (h/c) haired male leaned his head against Newt's shoulder with Newt reciprocating the action leaning his head against the others head.

“ Goodnight Newt”

“ Goodnight (Y/n), love”

The two drifted off into sleep in each other's embrace, the other boys shaking their heads at the lovesick couple leaving them alone as they continued to their shifts making sure not to wake the pair.

#x male reader #male reader #newt x male reader #the maze runner #male reader insert #gay #newt tmr #the maze runner x male reader

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fyeahnix · 1 year

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so the last few weeks I've been horribly obsessed with a little game called Project Zomboid. I initially bought it during the Steam Winter Sale as a game to chill to on my Steam Deck. I thought "ok zombie apocalypse survival RPG, I'll try it out, sure" and I was also wondering how tf a game was still in beta for 10 years

LITTLE DID I FUCKING KNOW....

this game is so ridiculously detailed it's unreal. you have to manage your hunger, sleep, thirst, mood/happiness, stress, prep for the water and power shutting off, prep for rising zombie populations, prep for winter, etc. OH yeah SEASONS. the game is very realistic seasons that mimic real life. there's so much to talk about just in the mechanics alone that I don't know where to start.

anyway, I started playing this on the deck, and eventually moved to PC because I saw how much more controls and shit you can do with a mouse and keyboard. and I like it so much better.

so the game straight up tells you that at some point, you will die, and there's nothing you can do about it. and that's fine. I died SO MANY FUCKING TIMES when I first played. I played on Apocalypse mode initially (which was very stupid as it's the hardest preset difficulty lol), and then moved to Survivor when I found that out. but the more YT videos I watched on this game, the more people really encourage you to play Sandbox mode and figure out what your preferred playstyle is.

so that's what I did when I moved to PC. I found out I do no like zombie infection so I turned it off. zombie infection happens 100% of the time when you're bitten by a zombie and there's literally no way to stop it, you get sick and die a slow death over the course of like 3-4 in-game days. if you get scratched or lacerated there's a percentage chance of that happening too. I just didn't like making progress and then having it stripped away because I got unlucky.

I finally made a character that survived more than a month in-game, made the firehouse in Rosewood a base, had a lot of shit set up for water, farming, electricity, etc, and then I fucking DIED trying to clear out a grocery store. now when you die, you can choose to respawn another character in the same world, but all your skills are reset. I chose this option instead of starting over completely because I had a good thing going and I enjoyed that setup. what I didn't like was the skill grind. I managed to get most of my skills back up to where they were before death in the span of a few hours because I had all that set up at my base. anyway, I said "this grind isn't fun" and installed a mod to craft a skill journey where you can manually record your character's experience progress and if they die, you can read the journal and get those skills back.

that came in clutch because last night, my second character died trying to clear zombies out at the kentucky state prison in Rosewood. that kinda upset me, but I just reset in rosewood, went to my base to gear up with backup gear, and trekked it on foot to the prison to reclaim my lost shit:

that red circle is my second character's dead body I had to drag outside and loot because there were too many corpses inside. (btw if you stay around corpses for too long your character will get sick). in the bottom right corner you can see my truck that got abandoned. thankfully I got in an out pretty quickly and got my truck back.

now you're prob saying "wtf that takes the fun out of the game" to which I reply "to you" lol. the survival and combat aspects of this game are fun as is the exploration, but the skill grinding takes forever for some skills and I didn't wanna redo that again. the downside of this is that I STILL have to go retrieve my shit and if it's too far away from my base, then I might be SOL. these two deaths were lucky because they were within walking distance of my base. also I still have to reread skill books for bonuses and that takes DAYS in-game to accomplish because I took the slow reader trait....

anyway here's some of my base. it's a fucking mess I am currently trying to clean up:

the patch of grass to the right of the water barrels is where I farm food. but I have a ton of food in the freezers so I'm holding off on farming again until I get close to low on fresh food. I have canned food as a backup.

bottom two pics is my messy ass storage and workshop area. I got a shit ton of guns and ammo from the prison that I hauled back in my pickup truck and I need to organize everything. the problem is that I need a skill book to learn how to make metal crates and neither the bookstore nor the school library has it so I have to venture out. second problem is that I may have to go to Muldraugh or March Ridge to check those bookstores and I'm DREADING it. the prison furthered humbled me and I don't wanna die again lol esp not that far away from my base. but I gotta do it. all for metal storage crates. you're prob wondering "why metal? just make the wooden ones and you're golden." and you would be correct but fuck it, 80 storage space compared to 40 and 60 for the level 1 and 2 wooden crates is just so much more appealing and I have a ton of shit that needs to be stored.

anyway that's my adventures in PZ so far. there's more to talk about like how I tried to go to the lone shack out in the woods one day to find an antique oven, almost got stranded, and had to make the trek back because the road there was covered in trees and not good for car travel. speaking of, the map is absolutely fucking gigantic. don't play this game without the map on another screen. it makes planning and traversal so much better

but yeah. it's about to be winter in a few in-game days, which means I'm gonna be struggling to forage for food, fish, and grow crops from December-February. I have food and water saved up and I think I can make it but maaaan it's gonna be a time.

thanks for coming to my tedtalk lol

#Project Zomboid

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zepskies · 5 months

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Hey Zep!

I love your writing, especially been enjoying the Soldier Boy series stuff and the latest with Smoke Eater!

(Btw are you taking inspiration from One Chicago (Fire, PD, Med) with it? If so kudos and I love it, big fans of those series myself 😊)

Anyway! I’ve really been enjoying your works, been pouring through them and the stuff you have on AO3. I also thought your tips for writing were super helpful!

I’m back to writing myself after a long ass break, but always struggle keeping inspiration so a lot of my work sometimes goes unfinished. I’d like to ask how you keep motivated and continue a fic even if sometimes you’re not into it? Do you have any tips or tricks?

Thank you and again, love your work!

Hey there, lovely!! ❤️

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked Break Me Down and are enjoying Smoke Eater too! ❤️‍🔥

(Oh yes, indeed I am! 😊 I love all things Law & Order and One Chicago. I based firefighter!Dean on Lt. Matt Casey in Chicago Fire, with a little Severide flair lol.)

Thank you again for reading my work, both here and on Ao3!! I'm also glad that my writing tips have been helpful to you in any way. I came back to Tumblr and writing in general after about a year break myself, so I feel you there.

I absolutely LOVE your question though...

Because it's something I still battle with myself. I think all of us writers and artists struggle to stay motivated, no matter how much we love our craft. I do, however, have a few tips that help me immensely.

5 Tips to Stay Motivated to Write:

Be organized. Create a realistic, attainable schedule. ✍️

My brain works in checklists, bullet points, very methodical. I can't write chapter five before chapter 1. I can't write a series (even a mini series or a long one-shot) without outlining first.

So my first step is creating a schedule for myself: from sketching the premise, to bullet points/outlining, to actually sitting down to draft, to then editing. When I'm working on a series, I write the first 3 to 5 chapters before starting post it.

This means I have a head start. I commit to writing a chapter per week after that until the series is done. This give me lots of time and wiggle room for editing before posting each chapter afterwards. For example, I wrote the first 5 chapters of Smoke Eater before I started to post. I'm now in the middle of drafting Part 19 out of 20 even though I just posted Part 11.

Now, this doesn't mean I don't slack off lol. If I don't follow these steps I lose my discipline. I can get lazy. (We won't talk about And So It Goes. 😅 I've been sitting on writing the last 5 chapters for a painfully long time.)

But I have other tips that help me get my head back into the game.

2. Revisit the thing that gave you inspiration in the first place! 🍿

Rewatch, reread, revisit the episode, movie, book, story, artwork that stroked your muse and had you daydreaming and brainstorming about the WIP you're working on. That can be a good way to revitalize you when you feel your motivation lacking.

3. Create a music playlist. 🎶

I love doing this, especially for a series. I often create a playlist of songs that remind me of the setting, the characters, the romance I'm trying to create. Whether it's the words or the tone/rhythm that get me going, music inspires me greatly.

(For Break Me Down, for example, I listened to songs like "All My Living Time" by Radio Company for the vibe of the plot, and oldies like "If I Didn't Care" and "You're Getting to Be a Habit With Me" by Mel Torme for nostalgic 40s vibes/the romance.)

4. Go for a walk. ☀️

I walk for exercise, but it also gives me time to daydream and run scenes in my head while vibing to my music (sometimes looking like a crazy person as I nod and make hand motions lmao). This helps me clear my head, get some fresh air, then come back to my laptop with a little more pep in my brain, ready to write.

5. Encouragement and feedback from others. 💞

This really helps, of course. Whether it's someone you trust to read over your work, or seeing how people react to your initial chapters after you post them. Both can be very motivating to keep going, at least for me!

And I'll be transparent, I've gotten a bit fatigued while writing the back half of Smoke Eater. I have a lot going on at work and my personal life at the moment. But seeing how people have been commenting and giving feedback on each chapter -- the mystery, the connection between Dean and the reader, the various storylines happening -- it's been incredibly motivating for me to read those back and remember that people are enjoying what I'm coming up with. It helps give me the push I need to get the rough draft out.

And a rough draft doesn't have to be perfect on the first try. That's why it's rough. I call it the "throw up draft." Just get it on the page. The editing process is where I truly find the nuance in the dialogue, refine the plot, exposition, etc.

Anyway. I'm long-winded again, as usual. 😂

I hope this helps you! If you have any other writing questions just let me know. I love talking about this stuff! 💕

#ask me stuff #reader appreciation #writing is hard #writing tips #staying motivated #tips for writers #support writers #support artists #smoke eater #break me down #dean winchester #soldier boy #spn #the boys #zepskies answers

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acourtofantumbra · 11 months

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Where Have All the Dragons Gone?

☆ All SJM spoilers: ACOTAR, CC, and TOG ☆

It's been quite a while since I put my SJM tin foil hat... I've got the attention span of a squirrel and moved onto other things.

Anyway, over the past 3-4 months I decided to start my first true re-read of all of SJM's books while a bunch of my friends were beginning the series for the first time. This week I finished Crescent City (just in time for my insanely beautiful Fairyloot editions to show up 1/2 a year later) and plan on moving onto TOG this week... but I have so, so, so many scenes that have been bothering me that I fully skimmed over in my first reads.

This scene above from HOSAB, chapter 46, with Ariadne has been fueling my intrusive thoughts lately. On my first read of CC2 I was so distracted by that insane ending that I could probably sum up my thoughts about Ariadne as "Well, that felt like a waste of time?" But upon further review (and now having read TOG in its entirety as well)... I'm starting to feel like she might be one of the most easter egg laden chess pieces placed on the board.

Per usual, I don't really have answers as much as I have some glaring parallels that feel important... But ultimately I think our "long, lost dragons" are not so lost and have been waiting patiently to enter the chat.

Ok, let's go back to the (extended) scene from HOSAB:

“Exactly,” Flynn said, as if the Fae lord weren’t taunting a dragon. A fucking dragon. A Lower, yes, but … fuck. They weren’t true shifters, switching between humanoid and animal bodies at will. They were more like the mer, if anything. There was a biological or magical difference to explain it—Ithan vaguely remembered learning about it in school, though he’d promptly forgotten the details. It didn’t matter now, he supposed. The dragon could navigate two forms. He’d be a fool to underestimate her in this one. The dragon stared Flynn down. He gave her a charming smile back. Her chin lifted. “Ariadne.” Flynn arched a brow. “A dragon named Ariadne?” “I suppose you have a better name for me?” she shot back. “Skull-Crusher, Winged Doom, Light-Eater.” Flynn ticked them off on his fingers. She snorted, and the hint of amusement had Ithan realizing that the dragon was … beautiful. Utterly lethal and defiant, but—well, damn. From the gleam in Flynn’s eyes, Ithan could tell the Fae lord was thinking the same. Ariadne said, “Such names are for the old ones who dwell in their mountain caves and sleep the long slumber of true immortals.” “But you’re not one of them?” Ithan asked. “My kin are more … modern.” Her gaze sharpened on Flynn. “Hence Ariadne.” Flynn winked. She scowled. “How did all of you”—Declan cut in, motioning to Ariadne, her body similar to that of a Fae female’s—“fit into that tiny ring?” “We were bespelled by the Astronomer,” Sasa whispered. “He’s an ancient sorcerer—don’t let him deceive you with that feeble act. He bought us all, and shoved us into those rings to light the way when he descends into Hel. Though Ariadne got put into the ring by …” She trailed off when the dragon cut her a scathing, warning look. HOSAB, Chapter 46

It needs to be said, the difference between magical beings feels like it has only barely scraped the surface at the end of CC2 and I have not one clue how Sarah is finally gonna break all that shit down for us. But during my reread I finally got really into the Mer plot for this exact reason as well... clearly quite a bit going on there. Also... with the sprites magic not being first light-based??? Ok, back to the task at hand.

So Ariadne is identified as a dragon, which according to the front of both Crescent City books, is part of the House of Flame and Shadow. Perhaps our most controversial collection of beings in the CC world, our Slytherin house lol.

But, according to Ariadne herself, there is a difference between the kind of dragon shifter she is and a dragon that is a true immortal... and allegedly sleeping in a cave somewhere?! —> remember this. Ok, so what is a true immortal? Aren't the Vanir and fae immortal for the most part?

Well, we've been getting corrections through SJM's series that there is a difference between long-lived, which is what the fae and Vanir are, and true immortals.

Particularly in the ACOTAR series we've had Death Gods explain the difference between their true immortality aka "[they have] no death awaiting them." And suspiciously, the Bone Carver claims that his sister, the Weaver, is not only truly immortal, but she's found a way to "eat life itself" so that's remains youthful. Interesting... can think of around 6 folks allegedly able to do that in Crescent City, but I digress.

So true dragons — the ancient ones — seem to be true immortals as well. There is "no death waiting for them." Interesting considering we've had references in both TOG and CC that dragons are either no more or MIA. We actually get references at least once to dragons in each of SJM's series. Let's dig in a little more.

So TOG is our series with the most obvious inclusion of, at the very least, dragon-like creatures (we love you Abraxos) aka Wyverns. Wyverns we learn were made by the king - in a process Manon claims to not know much about... but happens in a mountain. But let's not skip ahead.

We've known since early on in TOG that dragons once existed in Erilea, but wyverns remain and are even the symbol represented on Ardalan's royal seal.

Celeana is surprised to see dragons depicted on the doors to the palace's library - because of course... libraries are at this point one of our most consistent, important, and often lost/destroyed, settings/plot points across worlds. Followed up with her feeling "a shot of lightning" about this dragon-adorned library... my spidey senses are tingling, how about you? Have dragons been associated with lightning in mythology? Yes. Yes they have.

First, what is the difference between a dragon and a wyvern? In fact lets take a look at all the varietals, some of the names might be familiar.

Who could forget the Wyrm from ACOTAR? Characters (amren) have been referred to as drakes, and I think we can argue that we've encountered a couple others from this list (perhaps sent from Hel?).

Anyway, what happened to the dragons of Erilea? It seems that they were defeated during a conflict and people largely believe them to be gone and whole societies (the mycenians) lost hope and fight once the last dragon disappeared/was killed.

But it's Maeve who gives us the clearest picture as to what happened to the dragons.

Glass is obviously significant in Throne of Glass and brings new meaning to the now destroyed glass castle, which I now assume was made from dragon glass.

But Maeve having "ensured" dragons were eradicated is particularly interesting knowing what we know about dragon fire from CC2 (we'll get to that). What this "ancient and bloody conflict" was we can guess at, but much like ACOTAR and CC we've got a wealth of wars to choose some and some we have more information about than others... anyone else suspicious about the sprite rebellion?

But Maeve mentioning Aelin's own "fire-breathing heritage" gave me pause... is she suggesting Aelin has any relation to dragons? Especially when Aelin starts to feel pangs of empathy for reasons she can't explain (a lightbulb moment in any SJM book - she uses this easter egg tactic a lot), her overwhelming sorrow while she's actively being tortured feels notable. Especially mentioning dragons "would never again been on this earth." Perhaps they can be found on another?

But Maeve destroying dragons is important because Bryce learns from Jesiba in CC2 that the strongest weapon against a Prince of Hel is in fact... dragon fire. Seems like an important tool to have in the arsenal... and why mention it if there are no dragons left anyway?

It contained an analysis of dragon fire, dating back five thousand years. It was in a language Bryce didn’t know, but a translation had been included. Jesiba had scribbled Good luck at the top.

Well, now she knew why the Astronomer kept Ariadne in a ring. Not for light—but for protection.

Among its many uses, the ancient scholar had written, dragon fire is one of the few substances proven to harm the Princes of Hel. It can burn even the Prince of the Pit’s dark hide.

Yeah, Ariadne was valuable. And if Apollion was readying his armies … Bryce had no intention of letting the dragon return to the Astronomer’s clutches. HOSAB, Chapter 50

Granted, this alludes to there being a few substances that can harm a Prince of Hel, but with the introduction of Ariadne and "the ancient ones"... dragons have just shot to the top of my personal list of "things that are probably coming for us in CC3 and beyond" especially in this fight against the Big Bads.

Granted we learned when Bryce breaks into the Dawn room at the Crystal Palace (dragon glass too???) that the warring factions of Hel united to oust the Asteri and Thanatos is only now saying he doesn't give an f about his brothers' plans... maybe we don't want to roast Apollion, but just some of his brothers? And maybe dragon fire has some ability to take down an Asteri too? Who can say?

But that brings me back to Ariadne's conversation about the difference between the kind of dragon she is an the kind of dragons that have allegedly gone missing... she doesn't say they're gone.

“Skull-Crusher, Winged Doom, Light-Eater.” Flynn ticked them off on his fingers. She snorted, and the hint of amusement had Ithan realizing that the dragon was … beautiful. Utterly lethal and defiant, but—well, damn. From the gleam in Flynn’s eyes, Ithan could tell the Fae lord was thinking the same. Ariadne said, “Such names are for the old ones who dwell in their mountain caves and sleep the long slumber of true immortals.”

Hm... sleeping in mountain caves? We've definitely had some not super subtle hints about some giant presence slumbering below mountains — in both TOG and ACOTAR. And while TOG has clearly mentioned their missing dragons... ACOTAR explicitly references dragons one time.

When Lucien gives Feyre a cloak UTM she notes Amarantha's coat of arms isn't just a dragon... but a sleeping dragon. Can I fully say I understand all the implications here? Certainly not. But it was an "oh damn" moment when I saw it. Especially considering how convinced I am that Hybern was possessed by a Valg. And if Maeve (Valg) and Princes of Hel (??) fear dragon fire... that... is an intriguing parallel.

But ok, so we've got a coat of arms with a sleeping dragon... what else has been referenced as a massive sleeping force?

Cassian wondered if his brother had ever told her what dwelled in these mountains. Most had been slain by the Illyrians, or sent fleeing to those Steppes. But the most cunning of them, the most ancient … they had found ways to hide. To emerge on moonless nights to feed. Even five centuries of training couldn’t stop the chill that skittered down his spine as Cassian surveyed the empty, quiet mountains below and wondered what slept beneath the snow...

Cassian soared toward it, unable to resist Ramiel’s ancient summons. Different—the mountain was so different from the barren, terrible presence of the lone peak in the center of Prythian. Ramiel had always felt alive, somehow. Awake and watchful....

Ramiel rose higher still, a shard of stone piercing the gray sky. Beautiful and lonely. Eternal and ageless. ACOFAS, Chapter 3

Now I'm not saying I'm 100% confident a dragon is sleeping beneath Ramiel... but I am saying I feel confident we've gotta find dragons sleeping somewhere and the planet that's retained the most magic seems like an obvious first place to look.

I also wonder how much connection there could be between lost ancient dragons and the rare thunderbird line — a CC plot point that has been breaking my brain even more the second time around (all thoughts, no real conclusions). But with the inclusion of lightning + dragons (Aelin at the library, the Great Rite, etc.)... thunderbirds are looking even more suspicious in my eyes. Even more suspicious is our dear Hunt Athalar... lightning wielder of our dreams...

Her teeth shone, her canines long enough to shred flesh. “Did Bryce Quinlan tell you what occurred when she stood in this chamber twelve years ago?” His blood turned to ice. “That’s Quinlan’s business.” That smile didn’t falter. “You do not wish to know what I saw for her, either?” “No.” He spoke from his heart. “It’s her business,” he repeated. His lightning rose within him, rallying against a foe he could not slay. The Oracle blinked, a slow bob of those thick lashes. “You remind me of that which was lost long ago,” she said quietly. “I had not realized it might ever appear again.” HOEAB, Chapter 33

That's all I got for now... stay tuned for a potential descent into madness about Thunderbirds. We'll see.

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