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intotheskamverse · 5 years ago

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I’ve been blossoming alone over you

@virisbitch requested: Noor x Engel | Pink in the Night by Mitski

It’s in the slope of her cheekbone, just barely in view as she’s turned away, opposite cheek pressed to the pillow. It’s in the freckle on her back just beside her shoulder blade, revealed by the way her racerback tank top falls toward the mattress. It’s in the way her short hair falls against the sheet, exposing her neck, exposing the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, that space that crackles with life, with a warmth and a softness and a promise if only Engel could tuck her chin there. It’s in these details, but it’s also in the way Engel notices them, that she realizes.

Engel used to have these sleepovers with Noor all the time when they were younger, before Noor moved to Belgium for her mother’s job. They slept in this same bed, Engel’s bed, just a few inches apart, time and time again. They fell asleep to the sounds of each other’s breathing, the sounds of the summer showers against the window’s glass, the sounds of each other’s whispers trading secrets. They fell asleep as friends. They don’t fall asleep like that anymore.

It’s four years later now, and Noor is visiting for the summer to put some distance between herself and an ex. During these summer nights, Noor falls asleep first, the hazy glow of a streetlight behind her illuminating the peaks of her body, outlining her silhouette. The light’s warm, somewhere between yellow and orange, but for some reason, in this room, it glows pink. Engel lies awake, hovering in a state of reckoning, seeing these parts of Noor as if for the first time. She knows what Noor’s shoulder feels like against her cheek; she’s rested it there plenty of times, in all kinds of contexts—after shared confessions, when she needs comfort; during a late-night movie watch, when her eyelids start to grow heavy and she can’t quite hold her head up anymore—but never in a context like this. It would feel different, she thinks. She wants it to feel different. But she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to feel it in the way she longs to.

Noor stirs then, and Engel tenses, squeezing her eyes closed. A sharp flash of guilt and fear shoots through her abdomen and tightens her chest. Was Noor awake? Could she sense what Engel was thinking, or feel Engel’s gaze trained on all the pieces of her that she wanted to know differently—to know better? She couldn’t, Engel knows, but that doesn’t calm the rush of panic that cuts off her breath and sends her heart racing.

Noor tosses some more, shifting her weight so the mattress shifts beneath Engel, pulling her more towards the center. Engel stiffens to resist, and she only opens her eyes again once the slow, steady breathing she knows so well convinces her that Noor is still sound asleep. In all of that commotion, Noor had turned to face her, the distance between them cut in half. Engel could brush her nose against Noor’s, if only she let herself fall into the dip in the mattress that cocooned Noor’s body. This close, Engel had no choice but to take her in piece by piece. She couldn’t look at the whole of her even if she wanted to.

There are her eyelashes, fluttering slightly through a dream. Then, the two moles on her cheek, two points in a constellation Engel searches for every night. Her septum piercing, which Engel had only ever seen through Instagram photos before this summer—a reminder of the years they spent apart, of the lives they lived alone. It suited her more than Engel would let herself admit.

There’s also Noor’s pouted lips, stained pink from red lipstick, only a breath away from Engel’s own. They remind Engel of the days those lips were stained pink from popsicles long before the dark red lipstick became her signature. The taste of sugar and smiles and sneaking around. Scents of sunscreen and cherry syrup. Her racing heart and fits of giggles. She remembers one day from their last summer together, just a few days before they both heard the news. They had already eaten far too much sugar for their thirteen-year-old bodies to handle, but Noor had snuck a bag of Strawberry Laces—one of Engel’s favorite candies at the time—from her house and brought it with her to the park where they usually met. Engel couldn’t resist. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass, the bag of sweets between them, as Noor unraveled a long strand of the candy and dangled it above her mouth.

“Wait!” Engel exclaimed as she grabbed Noor’s wrist to stop her. “We should do that scene from Lady and the Tramp. Like with the spaghetti.” Her excitement was unabashed.

“Wha-?” Noor pinched her brows together in confusion as she lowered the hand holding the candy, Engel’s fingers still wrapped around her wrist.

“Haven’t you ever seen Lady and the Tramp?” Noor just shook her head. “But have you heard of the kiss? Like where they’re eating different ends of the same noodle without knowing, until their lips touch in the middle?”

Noor gave her a skeptical look. “I’ve never heard of that,” she said with a laugh. It sounded a bit mocking, and suddenly Engel felt very childish.

“Oh. Okay,” she said as she finally released Noor’s wrist. “I just thought it’d be funny.” She turned her face away from Noor then, hoping to hide the embarrassed flush that spread across her cheeks.

“Let’s try it anyway,” Noor encouraged, handing Engel one end of the long candy rope. “I’ll follow what you do.”

So thirteen-year-old Engel placed the end of the sweet between her lips and watched as Noor did the same. They locked eyes and giggled as they slurped their ends farther and farther into their mouths, chewing as they went. It was silly and awkward and Engel felt her cheeks flame, but what surprised her the most was the way her eyes dropped to Noor’s lips and wouldn’t look away, the way her stomach started to twist and flip in ways she hadn’t known it could. She wasn’t sure when to close her eyes as the length of candy between them shortened and shortened and shortened. It wasn’t until the very last second that she saw Noor’s flutter closed, but Engel couldn’t make hers do the same. Their lips touched only for the briefest of moments. Engel’s body warmed and Noor’s eyes shot open. They laughed it off as they laughed off most things, pretending it was nothing, pretending it was something they would have done with any of their friends. Engel didn’t know then that she wouldn’t have done that with just any friend. She didn’t know how to read her body yet. Or she didn’t want to.

They were just kids goofing around, Engel had told herself afterwards as she replayed the kiss over and over again. But then Noor was leaving and she barely said goodbye and they didn’t stay in touch, and Engel wondered if it had been more than an innocent thing, and she worried that she had shattered the thing she and Noor had always shared as soon as their lips brushed against each other’s. She didn’t realize their friendship could be so tenuous.

As Engel recalls that kiss now, she wishes she could try again. Not while Noor is asleep, though. Not like this. She wants to kiss her intentionally, and not as some innocent scene recreation. She wants it to mean something between them, and she wants Noor to kiss her back like she’s missed Engel as much as Engel’s missed her.

Suddenly, Noor’s hand slides between their faces, palm up. Her fingers are loose, relaxed, arm bent at the elbow. Engel knows she can’t, and she’s afraid of “what if,” but it’s calling her, taunting her. Noor’s hand is a Venus flytrap, daring her. She surprises even herself when she accepts. She places her hand gently against Noor’s, sliding it along until it fits perfectly snug, interlacing their fingers and folding hers around Noor’s hand.

Engel expects a quick movement from Noor, a startled reaction, a rush of shame. Instead, Noor’s fingers curl slowly, ever so slowly, closing around Engel’s, holding them in place. They finally seal around Engel’s with a squeeze that ignites something deep in Engel’s abdomen. Noor tucks their joined hands beneath her cheek, murmuring “Engel” with a soft, lazy smile. Engel doesn’t know if that’s Noor’s dream or reality talking, but her cheeks glow with a pink flush at the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she’ll get to try again.

#beewens #wtfock #skam nl #noor bauwens #engel beekman #wtfock fic #skam nl fic #beewens fic

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intotheskamverse · 6 years ago

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Catching Snowflakes

After spending so many blissful nights tucked beside Robbe, Sander has started to learn that he never sleeps quite as peacefully as he does when they have their arms around each other, breathing in time with one another. Still, he finds himself waking up far too early each morning, long before Robbe wakes up on the weekends. His body is too used to the hours he spent reveling in the caress of the early morning light and the reprieve it brought to his dark night thoughts, his restless, haunting insomnia, to actually sleep peacefully through these hours.

These days, he usually spends them reveling in Robbe’s softness, chest pressed against his back. He allows Robbe’s slow, steady breaths to lull him into a love drunk daze. Usually he hates being trapped in his own mind, with nothing to do with his body, his hands, but when he is laying with Robbe, unable to move so as not to disturb him, he finds his mind drifting away on the happiest of daydreams, and in these moments, he doesn’t want to be anywhere other than his mind, his body engulfing Robbe’s warmth.

On this particular morning, his eyes drawn to the light seeping in through the windows, he notices that it had started to snow at some point during the night. He’s mesmerized by the leisurely dance the snowflakes make as they drift down from the sky. Slowly, carefully, he slips out from under Robbe’s arm and climbs off the bed, moving slowly towards the window. He picks up his various articles of clothing strewn haphazardly along the floor as he goes, hopping softly as he pulls his skinny jeans on. He would stay in just his boxers, as he usually does, but Robbe’s room is a little too chilly this morning.

The snowflakes are starting to fall in fat clumps, sticking together, finding a friend or three in their freefall. One cluster lands on the window and starts to melt, the crystals turning to droplets of water. Sander loves the way the light makes the snow shimmer on its way down. He stands like this for a while, feeling like he’s nestled in a painting.

Eventually, he hears Robbe start to stir, making grumpy grumbling noises as he rolls over in bed, trying to relocate Sander’s warmth as he pulls himself from his sleep. When he rolls over again without bumping into the body he expects to be there, he bolts awake, sitting up and reaching for where he thinks he left his phone the previous night. Before he can find it, he catches the silhouette standing in front of his window out of the corner of his eye, and he exhales, the deep, heavy sound full of relief. “There you are,” he murmurs with a lazy smile, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Here I am.” Sander, grinning, walks back over to the bed in a few long strides and bends down to give Robbe a good morning kiss, pressing his lips to his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Robbe makes a sweet noise in the back of his throat, and Sander smiles as he finally kisses Robbe properly, cupping his hand around the back of Robbe’s neck and lowering himself onto the bed beside Robbe.

Parting from the kiss a few moments later, lips hovering just a couple inches away from Robbe’s, noses just barely touching, Sander tilts his head back, looking at Robbe through narrowed, mischievous eyes. “Hey,” he says to get Robbe’s attention. He still had his eyes closed, his face relaxed, content, awaiting the next kiss under Sander’s sleepy spell. “It’s snowing.” His words are almost a whisper.

Robbe opens his eyes slowly, looking inquisitively at Sander. “Okay,” he replies, turning the word up at the end as if it’s a question. He can tell Sander has an idea.

Sander grins at Robbe’s hesitation. Their faces are still close, and Sander flicks his gaze from Robbe’s eyes to his lips and back again. “We should go outside.”

“Sander.” Robbe says it on an inhale, the name just a breath, almost inaudible. Like he’s breathing Sander in. Like maybe he just said the name to hear it himself. “But it’s cold outside,” Robbe groans, pouting. He wraps his arms around Sander’s neck and falls back on the bed, pulling Sander with him so they’re both lying down again. “Let’s just stay here, where it’s warm.” Robbe’s words are muffled because he says them with his face buried in Sander’s hair.

Sander struggles to break free from Robbe’s vice-like grip, kicking his legs in the air to get momentum while Robbe giggles madly in his ear. Soon, they’re both laughing, hard, and the more Robbe laughs, the weaker his arms become. Finally, Sander unlocks Robbe’s hands, and as he starts to sit up, Robbe weakly grabs at Sander’s shoulder, his forearm, his fingers, any part of him to pull him back down on the bed. Sander shakes his head as he stands up, smile growing even bigger.

He beams down at Robbe, murmuring “come” as he starts to walk towards Robbe’s bedroom door. He doesn’t break eye contact as he offers another soft “come,” an invitation, not a demand. He opens the door and disappears.

Without any more hesitation, Robbe is up from the bed and bounding across the room before he realizes he’s wearing only his underwear. “Wait, Sander, I have to get dressed,” he calls, sticking his head out of the doorway to try to see how far Sander’s gotten. Sander’s waiting at the top of Robbe’s stairs, arms crossed.

He smirks at Robbe and teases, “Or you could go naked. You know, so we’d be even.” Robbe rolls his eyes and retreats to his room to quickly throw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. His shoes and coat are downstairs.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says as he passes Sander atop the stairs and starts to pad down them in his socked feet. Sander grabs him by the hand and pulls him to a halt so he can catch up to him and give him a quick kiss. As Robbe stands, a little bit confused, a little bit smitten, on the stair where Sander stopped him, trying to snap back to reality, Sander bursts ahead, clomping down another four or five stairs. Robbe’s fingertips are still clasped in his hand, so he pulls him along with him until he feels Robbe circle his arms around his neck. Before he knows it, Robbe’s wrapped his legs around his torso, and he descends the final stairs with Robbe on his back, nibbling at his neck and ear as Sander laughs. They’re giddy with the thrill of the snow day, feeling like carefree kids who are so, so in love.

At the door, they both try to wrestle their shoes on in record time. Robbe, used to slipping on his sneakers, struggles with his boots for the snow, and Sander, as always, has to work extra hard to get his Docs on. They use each other for balance, leaning against one another and falling over each other. Neither of them has the patience for their shoelaces. Robbe throws Sander his jacket before putting on his own, and before they duck outside, Sander snags Robbe’s beanie and puts it on Robbe’s head for him, kissing the top of his head through the fabric.

Sander pushes Robbe through the door first and tumbles out after him. Instantly, he wishes they had remembered to grab gloves, but they were too distracted by each other to think about such matters. Now on the sidewalk, Robbe turns around to face Sander, cheeks already tinging red from the cold.

“Now what?” he asks, snowflakes collecting in the brown curls that flop over his forehead.

“I don’t know,” Sander admits with a shrug.

“Sander,” Robbe scolds despite his smile, falling against Sander’s chest so he can tuck his bare hands in the space between them, hoping to keep them warm.

“Did you ever try to catch snowflakes on your tongue when you were young?” Sander asks, wrapping his arms around Robbe and rubbing them up and down his back to heat him up.

Robbe pulls his head back to look Sander in the eyes as he nods his head. “Yeah.”

“I bet I can catch more than you.” Sander looks at Robbe with a smirk.

“No way,” Robbe says as he pushes away from Sander. “I’m great at this,” he says, even though he can’t remember the last time he’s done it.

“Yeah, okay,” Sander replies, voice mocking, full of disbelief. “First one to five wins.” He raises his chin at Robbe, challenging

“Fine. Starting . . . now.” They both turn their eyes to the sky and stick their tongues out as far as they can. Sander sneaks a peak at Robbe out of the corner of his eye, and he’s momentarily caught off guard, taking in the sight of Robbe, giddy, competitive, grinning around his tongue, eyes squinting as he tries to track the snowflakes that fall, maneuvering his head to try to get under the ones that catch his eye. All concentration and determination, mixed with a little bit of glee. Sander lets himself smile, retracting his tongue without even realizing. He breathes a shaky breath around the fluttering feeling just beneath his lungs. He feels lost in this moment, overwhelmed by the way Robbe affects him, takes over him. He loves these moments, but he’s also terrified of them. Pulling himself out of it somehow, he sticks his hand out to shield Robbe’s tongue from the falling snowflakes, trying to throw him off since he lost so much time in the game as he was staring.

“Stop cheating!” Robbe exclaims, garbling the words because his tongue is still out. He swats Sander’s hand away and shoves his shoulder, flicking his eyes to the side to give him a good-natured glare. Sander laughs and focuses on his own snowflakes.

“Got one!” Sander announces, and soon after, calls “Two!” A few more seconds pass, and still nothing from Robbe. “Another!” Sander glances back at Robbe and sees his face pinched in frustration.

“I can’t catch any! What am I doing wrong?” he asks, turning to face Sander.

Sander gives up the competition and turns to Robbe. Laughing, he teases, “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just really bad at catching snowflakes.” With a shrug, he adds, “Or I’m just really good at it.”

“Yeah, okay, Jack Frost.” Robbe rolls his eyes and looks back to the sky.

“You have to find one falling above you with your eyes and track it all the way down to the tip of your tongue,” Sander tries to coach, but just as he does so, one of the bigger clusters of snowflakes drops onto the tip of Robbe’s nose. His mouth falls even farther open in shock before shifting to a pout, and he crosses his eyes to watch as it starts to melt against his skin.

“You got one on the tip of your nose but you can’t catch one in your mouth?” Sander taunts. His eyes soften as he looks at Robbe like this. He knows instantly that this is a moment he’ll draw later, when he’s back in his room with his art supplies. It’ll capture how the cold had kissed his skin pink across his cheeks. How the snow dotted the brown curls around his face. How his eyes crossed and his lips pouted. He knows how he’ll draw the snowflake, right at the tip of his nose, each of its crystals intricately defined, melting like that one on the glass of Robbe’s bedroom window earlier that morning. He can’t wait to cement this memory in grayscale with graphite or charcoal. But for now, he decides to enjoy this moment for what it is. The pencils will be there when he gets home. Robbe is here now. Life is happening now.

Without thinking, just acting, pure instinct and desire, he licks the snowflake from Robbe’s nose, hands cupping either cheek, eyes closed, and when he opens them again, Robbe’s moved his gaze to Sander’s eyes, but the pout is still there.

“Hey, that was my only snowflake,” Robbe complains, moving closer to Sander, toe to toe, chest to chest. “Give it back.”

“Okay.” His voice is soft and deep, and quickly, he closes the distance between them, kissing the pout from Robbe’s mouth, slipping his tongue between Robbe’s parted lips to return the snowflake to its proper owner. They’ve forgotten how cold their bare fingertips are, but it doesn’t matter, because they don’t last much longer outside anyway.

#wtfock #wtfock fic #wtfock ficlet #sobbe #rosander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen

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