#Graphite Nightstand

[zillifurniture]

Graphite Nightstand: Modern Elegance for Your Bedroom | Zilli Furniture Elevate your bedroom decor with the Graphite Nightstand from Zilli Furniture. Crafted with sleek lines and a contemporary design, this nightstand offers both style and functionality. With its spacious drawer and open shelf, it provides ample storage for bedside essentials while adding a touch of modern elegance to any bedroom setting.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Hint of Lovely Oblivion

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After a week of sleeping terribly, Frank makes an effort to help you get the rest you deserve.

warnings: Swearing, fluff, caring Frank, this is not medical advice

a/n: I wrote this for my lovely bestie @madschiavelique who wanted some Frankie comfort. As someone who deals with insomnia pretty regularly, this was very cathartic! I hope you all enjoy. A huge thank you to my other bestie @gracethyomen for beta-ing and helping me plan this fic!

w/c: 4.6k

Inhaling deeply, the frigid air of the room made your nose twitch. Sliding as deep as you could into the blanket pile while maintaining your seated position, you bit your lip, shifting the pad of paper on your lap and craning your neck once again. While your duvet provided an excellent shield to lock in heat, your shoulders inevitably poked out whenever you weren’t fully horizontal, leaving your body to sit in a temperature regulation purgatory; your consciousness rumbled uneasily as the hair on the back of your neck refused to flatten, your brain torn between making you shiver or letting you sweat. The position was far from comfortable—but being awake all night made comfort an unattainable goal for you anyways.

It had been days since you’d slept through the night. You were no stranger to insomnia, you’d been cursed with it your entire life, but lately it had dug its malicious claws into your chest with the violence of a starving feral animal. Your bed, which used to be a haven of rest and relaxation, was now a space that you avoided at all costs—the wonderfully soft pillows and warm blankets mocking you as they sat untouched well into the night, fatigue never overtaking you when you needed it to. For the first few nights of your ongoing battle with sleeplessness, you’d crawl under the covers anyway, praying to any deity listening that the weight and heat of the fabric would force your eyelids to close—but it never did.

Sighing as your pencil tip snapped, you closed your eyes, letting your breath rest in your lungs for a moment before exhaling again; apparently your frustration with your own hormone production created a physical pressure on the lead of your pencil. Picking up a fresh one from your nightstand, you did your best to clean up the smear of graphite from the impact of the broken point.

Turning your attention back to the subject of your sketch, you chewed your lip to stifle a smile. Despite the thick curtains your partner had insisted on, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the massive man slumbering beside you, quietly snoring away—completely oblivious to the inspiration he'd given you. The feather-light moon beams shone through his tousled hair, creeping down over his face, which was adorably mashed against his singular pillow. Considering that he'd turned up a handful of hours ago drenched in other people's blood, it was downright ironic to be calling him “adorable” as he slept—but you couldn't shake the giddy feeling that always bubbled up when you saw his face so lax with sleep. His expression was so uncharacteristically peaceful, it never failed to make you happy.

Sure, not sleeping sucked. You'd be plagued with jaw-cracking yawns and mild memory loss in the morning, just like yesterday and the day before that. Having the opportunity to watch Frank sleep soundly, didn't make up for the fact that you'd accidentally put orange juice in your coffee yesterday, but it made the build up of irritation much easier to bear. Which is why you'd decided to memorialize it in your sketchbook.

Studying the map of shadows on Frank's handsome face, you scratched the pencil over the thick paper, the rasping sound soothing the constant buzzing in your brain. Scrunching your nose as you tried to smooth out the sketch in front of you, you nearly jumped out of your skin when he spoke.

“Why're you up, darlin'?” His voice was rough with exhaustion. Noticing your wide eyes and ragged inhale, a large hand slid up to rest on your thigh. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya.”

”It's alright, Frankie. I wasn't paying attention.“ You tried to laugh, but the sound died in your throat.

His hand stroked over your leg as he waited for you to answer his question. Instead, your eyes remained trained on the book across your lap, pencil moving fluidly through the silence. Tracing a thumb over your warm skin, Frank frowned. “Ya didn't answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” Your tone was innocent, but the way your eyes remained glued to your work was enough to tell him you had definitely heard the question.

Squeezing your thigh with a yawn, Frank tried not to groan as he dragged himself up to sit next to you. His movement finally captured your attention, your brow furrowing as you set your pencil aside. “What are you doing?”

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, Frank slid an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. ”Sittin' with my girl. That a crime now?“

Smiling despite the guilt flaring in your chest, you shoved at his solid torso feebly. ”Go back to sleep, Frankie. I'm sorry I woke you. I can—“ Shuffling in your seat, you tilted towards the edge of the mattress, fully intending to relocate to a different room so that Frank could go back to bed. Foiling your plan, Frank's arms held fast against your teetering, pulling you flush against his chest.

”Don't you dare.“ He growled, chin resting atop your crown.

”Frank! I didn't even finish my thought,“ You wriggled against his hold, your brain torn between reacting with endearment or annoyance over being imprisoned by his strength. “Let me go, you...you...butthead.” Whining at your own lackluster insult, you buried your face in Frank's neck as he chuckled.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Ain't gotta go for my throat like that.” Frank murmured smugly. You could envision his shit-eating smirk despite it being out of your line of sight.

”Shut up,“ You muttered, a tiny smile gracing your lips against your will. Your body trembled as Frank shook with rumbling laughter. Drawing you into his arms, Frank set your legs over his lap, positioning you towards the windows. The gusting heat from the vent closest to your bed ruffled the fabric covering the panes, the pale glowing rays of moonlight fluttering over your knees as the drapes shifted. It created a mesmerizing dance of light and dark, captivating you.

”Ya gonna tell me how long you've been sittin' here starin' at me or did ya wanna keep pretendin' you were asleep?” In defense of your ruthlessly persistent boyfriend, it has been said that the third time’s the charm. His tone was as delicate as his gruff voice allowed, the muscles of his jaw and throat rippling against your scalp as he spoke.

Eyes falling closed, you focused on the warmth of Frank’s body surrounding you as you willed the tears pricking your eyes to back down. Another unfortunate side effect of sleep deprivation—your emotions started to go haywire over the littlest things.

It wasn’t that you thought Frank would be angry. Well, it wasn’t the biggest anxiety on your mind, at least. It was more the fear of burdening him with your own issues at all hours when you knew a good night’s sleep was practically a miracle for him. The first night at home after a few weeks away always seemed to make it come easier, but other than that Frank rarely rested. The mere thought of forcing him to sit up with you, especially on the one night this week he’d get a full 8 hours, grabbed your guilty conscience by the throat.

Giving a halfhearted shrug, you caved. “Dunno. Slept for a few hours when we went to bed. Then I got up and...” Trailing off, you gestured to the bed in front of you, which was clearly not being used for sleep.

Frank withdrew from the embrace and your pounding heart sank. You set your jaw, waiting for the frustrated scolding…but it never came. Instead, one calloused finger landed underneath your chin, tilting it upwards as he spoke. “You been awake that long?” His eyes shone with concern, boring ferociously into yours.

Nodding miserably, you swallowed the overwhelming shame crawling up your esophagus before speaking. “I’m sorry, Frank. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t—“

Cutting you off with a tender kiss, Frank’s hand moved to cup your cheek. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, honey. Ya shoulda woken me up.”

Looking up at him with glossy eyes, you bit your lip, ”You deserve to sleep uninterrupted. I didn't want to be the one to take that away from you.“

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek as he was overrun with waves of adoration and sympathy for you. How he'd managed to end up with such a considerate partner, he'd never know. Especially when he didn't consistently return the gesture.

He'd come home yesterday and practically collapsed into your arms—ignoring how unsteady your balance seemed when you dragged him into the apartment, blaming it on his own weight. You'd patched him up sweetly, as you always did, and Frank hadn't thought twice about the fact that you'd had to leave the room three times to get the gauze, assuming your memory had just been shaken by his battered appearance.

Was he truly so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he hadn't noticed the sunken crescents underneath your eyes? They were so prominent now, stark sepia bruises on your otherwise even skin. It must have been days since you slept properly. Beside himself with worry, his thumb traced the indent under your left eye. ”Shit sweetheart...“

”I'm—“ You started to apologize, but it stuck in your throat when Frank shook his head.

”Hey, none of that. Don't wanna hear it, ok?” You nodded in response to his gentle command, sitting there quietly as he schemed. “Are you tired at all?”

The pitiful shake of your head seemed to make up his mind.

Unwinding from you, he raised his arms above his head in a stretch, moaning as his back popped with the movement. Your face scrunched in disapproval, making him grimace sheepishly. “Sorry, honey. Guess I was stiff from drivin' all day.” Without waiting for your response, he slid out of bed. Your brow furrowed as he strode over to the dresser, pulling a shirt over his rumpled hair.

“Get dressed, darlin'. I have an idea.” He called to you over his shoulder as he rummaged for a clean pair of pants. Sighing, you abandoned the bubble of heat surrounding you in bed and headed for the closet.

Despite your grumbles and evident confusion, the two of you were dressed and on the road before the sun even peeked over the horizon. With one hand settled in yours, Frank kept his gaze trained on the road ahead, trying not to laugh at your exasperated questioning and adorable pout. Dragging you out of the house at this hour might not have been his brightest idea—since he normally tried to remain on your good side—but hey, he’d gotten this far without you chewing his head off.

Frank could hardly be considered a morning person, but you were practically nocturnal. Leaving the house before dawn was probably high up on your list of personal hells, but staying in bed when you couldn’t sleep wasn’t a good idea. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Curtis’s agitated tone.

“For the last time, Frank: staying in bed will make it worse.”

Way back in the day, during his first trip home after going overseas, he’d bugged Curtis relentlessly about his own sleep issues. Maria was tired enough raising a wandering toddler and an imaginative kindergartener, she didn’t need to worry about a restless marine to boot. He’d tried every suggestion under the sun, but sleep still evaded him. Tour after tour, night after night, he’d lay beside his wife in their bed and stare at the ceiling until his alarm went off. After his family died, well…it didn’t exactly get easier to rest.

Despite scouring the internet, a few libraries, and the expanse of Curt’s brain for any possible cures, his sleeplessness persisted. It was a torture he endured for years, and an anguish he wouldn’t wish on anyone but his worst enemies.

Finding out that you also dealt with insomnia was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, not having to explain his fickle moods and constant absence from the bedroom was a welcomed relief. On the other, seeing the symptoms of sleep deprivation in someone he cared about was an agony worse than an infected bullet wound.

He knew what you were going through all too well, which meant he was determined to try and help. Getting you out of the house was just the first step of his admittedly too-detailed plan.

His lips twitched with a smile as he spotted the building. Turning into the ragged asphalt lot behind the restaurant, he turned his attention to you.

“We’re here, darlin’.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you remained unimpressed. “A diner?”

Letting out a bark of laughter at your obvious disdain for the activity, Frank pointed a finger at you in warning. “Hey, don’t knock it til ya try it, sweetheart.” His exaggerated stern expression broke through your apprehension, your lips turning upwards into a fond smile.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Frank pressed a kiss to your temple, heart swelling as you leaned into him. “If ya wanna go home, just say the word.”

Biting your lip, you glanced out the window at the electric blue awning extending from the glass doors. The yellow lamp lights lining the sidewalk reflected in your wide eyes as you stared. “No, we can go. I, just…can I ask you a question first?”

“Course, honey. Anythin’.”

“Why here?” Your question was soft, but genuine; your curiosity was outweighing the contempt you’d previously shown for his choice of destination.

Running a hand through his hair, he gave a one-armed shrug. “Fuck, well... ya know I’m no stranger to the whole…not sleepin’ thing. And, uh, back in the early days, when it was real bad for me, I’d come here. We– er– Maria and I, we took the kids here a couple of times. Dunno, wanted to remember the good times, I guess, and it became a sort of tradition. Thought it might help you too.”

With a stuttering inhale, you reached for his hand, stroking a finger over his knuckles as you looked up at him shyly. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I didn’t mean to be rude about it, I’m sorry.”

Squeezing your fingers, he could feel heat creeping up his face. “It’s nothin’ sweetheart. Ain’t gotta worry about that.”

Glancing back out the window for a moment, Frank could see the gears turning in your head as you turned back to him with a tiny grin.

“Lead the way?” You asked tentatively.

“For you, sweet girl? Always.” He pressed a kiss to your hand, his stubble scratching at the skin of your fingers.

Frank ushered the two of you inside and into a booth in the back of the diner. The restaurant was lacking in customers, as could be expected given the early hour. While the inky black sky was broken up with dim streetlights outside of the building, the inside was flooded with fluorescent lights--so bright that you had to shield your eyes with a limp hand for a few minutes.

Once your vision adjusted, you had to admit that the energy in the diner was quite nice. The chipped linoleum tiles that lined the floor were a gorgeous cobalt blue. Along the ceiling, large chunks of the roof had been replaced with thick panes of glass, allowing you to watch the clouds float by, the darkness of the night contrasting beautifully with the intense lighting. You and Frank were seated on a worn vinyl booth, the strips of fabric alternating between silver and black. Similar booths wrapped around the space, almost twinkling as you looked at them.

“So,” Frank pushed a mug towards you. “Whaddya think?”

“It's nice.” You murmured, pulling the warm cup closer to yourself. Somehow you'd missed him ordering himself coffee and you a tea in your distracted state.

Frank cocked his head at you, lips turned up in a smug smirk. ”’S that so?“

Smiling into your mug as you took a sip, you retorted. ”Shut up.“

The drink was warm and, thankfully, unsweetened. It's crisp flavor relaxed your shoulders as you sipped, settling your anxious stomach.

“Hope mint is a’right.” Frank spoke quietly, a blush creeping up his face as he studied his own drink.

“You remembered.” You breathed out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly as your eyes prickled with emotion.

“Course I did.” Frank huffed, draining the rest of his black coffee. You shuddered in distaste and he chuckled, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand. “You hungry at all?”

Shrugging noncommittally, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. Frank sighed, but didn't push further on the subject, which you were very grateful for. You'd never explicitly spoken to him about the effect your insomnia had on your eating habits, but--being the observant partner he was--he'd clearly picked up on it anyways. Once your day started with little to no sleep, it was like all of your bodily functions forgot how to...function. Hunger and thirst cues were practically impossible to read, your body and brain battling each other ferociously at every turn. Which, of course, just exhausted you further.

Scrubbing at one eye with the heel of your free hand, you grit your teeth to keep from groaning. Dwelling on how miserable you were going to feel today wouldn't solve anything, it would just worsen your mood.

”Head botherin' ya?“ Frank asked, brow folding in concern as he watched you knead at your forehead.

”No more than usual.“ You cracked a small smile, hoping that didn't sound as sad as you thought it did. “Just...frustrated with myself.”

“I feel ya, sweetheart. Not sleepin' ain't any fun. But I have some ideas, so don't you worry your pretty little head about it, ok?” Frank tangled his fingers with yours, his gaze earnest.

“You get ideas?” You scoffed, grinning when Frank rolled his eyes in return.

“Ya know what? Just for that, I ain't gonna tell ya about 'em.”

“Nooo,” You whined, taking Frank's massive hand in both of yours and pouting at him. ”I was just kidding. Please tell me.“

”Hmm, I dunno. First you insulted the diner, then my intelligence. Seems like you don't want my help, sweetheart.“  Frank withdrew from your grasp, pretending to sulk into his coffee.

Giggling at Frank’s pout, you reassured him. ”No, I do! I do!“

With a sad little shrug, Frank glanced forlornly out the window.

“Please Frankie,” Pleading with your gaze, you tried to keep a straight face.  “You're my only hope.”

Dropping his startlingly believable moping act, Frank cackled. “Ya think you're real clever, don't ya?”

Smirking into your tea, you gulped down the last remnants with a shrug. ”Maybe.“

After your countless apologies for insulting his intellect, Frank finally explained why he'd encouraged–forced–you to leave the house before sunrise. Apparently he'd heard that staying in bed while awake could perpetuate the cycle of sleep deprivation. And, though you were loath to admit it, it seemed to help.

The little excursion definitely lifted your spirits, if nothing else. You were able to admire the sunrise and mess around with Frank without your anxiety skyrocketing because of the city crowds.  It was nice, and you told him such–even at the risk of over-inflating his ego.

His next activity, however, was not as pleasant.

“Are you going to have me carry you around the apartment next?” You groused, hefting the bedframe up so that you could adjust your rapidly loosening grip on the cold metal. This much physical labor on an empty stomach and no sleep was not what you’d had in mind for a relaxing day with Frank. He, however, was insistent on moving the furniture in your room immediately upon your return home. 

“You offerin'?” Frank smirked at you, pretending to set the bed frame down. His eyes glinted with a humor you didn’t share over the current situation. 

“Fuck no.” You muttered, glaring at him until he lifted the majority of the weight once more. Frank laughed deeply. 

“Set it right over here, darlin’. We gotta move your dresser and then we’re all done.”

“You know, if you hated the layout of my room so much, you could’ve told me months ago.” Instead of waiting until I was already reaching my limit. You thought to yourself, not vocalizing that particular vulnerability. 

“And have you put me out on my ass for bein’ so forward? I’d never, sweetheart.” Frank chuckled, adjusting your bed as you collapsed against the mattress with a huff. “I’m teasin’, honey. It’s an old trick Curt told me about. All the rearrangin’ is supposed to help your brain remember how to sleep, or some shit.”

Rubbing at your forehead as the ache that had been plaguing you all day made a sudden resurgence, your limbs instinctively curled into fetal position as a small whimper escaped your lips. 

“It’s helping it remember to bother me is what it’s doing.” You grumbled, gritting your teeth as the pain ebbed and flowed. You knew the more you thought about it, the more it would torture you–but the stabbing sensation was all that your fatigued brain could focus on right now. 

Frank snorted, sitting beside you gingerly and caressing your hunched back with an open palm. “‘M sorry, sweet girl. Let me get ya some meds and you can lie here while I finish movin’ shit around.”

Your body felt like it was aimlessly floating, untethered to the Earth and hurrying to escape the pain so viciously attacking it at the moment. You were so tired. Every blink was a reminder of the heaven that had been ripped from your delicate grasp hours ago because your body couldn’t even function in the way it was designed to. Brow scrunching, you burrowed under the covers with a sigh.

“Ya better not be sleepin’ on me, honey.” Frank murmured as he stepped back into the room. 

“Course not,” You mumbled. “Would never…”

“I know you’re tired, darlin’, but ya gotta stay awake until it’s dark. Naps will just make ya feel worse, trust me.” He trailed a finger down your arm, taking your hand and placing some painkillers into it. Waiting patiently until you begrudgingly dragged yourself into a seated position, Frank smiled softly at you as you popped the pills into your mouth. Holding the glass of water out to you, the Marine squeezed your leg as you drank, tucking his chin over your head as you collapsed wearily into his side.

“The big bad Punisher takes naps? Hard to picture, Frankie.” You teased, your voice morphing into a satisfied hum as he threaded his fingers into your hair. 

Frank scoffed, kissing your crown before returning the jest. “Maybe I should take the vest off before closin’ my eyes next time.” 

You giggled, burying your face into his neck. His warm flesh felt wonderful on your pounding head, soothing the pain behind your eyes with each measured breath. “Do you cuddle your guns like teddy bears?” The question was overtly ridiculous, but Frank loved you enough to entertain it anyway. 

“Course. What else would I do with ‘em?” He asked coyly. 

Looking up at him, the corners of your lips lifted as he pressed a line of gentle kisses down your nose until he reached your lips. 

“If I turn on the TV, are ya gonna pass out on top of me?” He murmured, his stubble scratching your face as he spoke. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, love.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his sturdy jawline before he stood up to grab the remote. 

If someone would’ve told you a year ago that your next boyfriend could make a bad insomnia week feel tolerable, you never would’ve believed them. But here you were—lying on your stomach completely topless as Frank massaged a lightly scented lotion into your back—feeling pretty comfortable with the whole arrangement. 

After you’d failed to stay awake during the movie you’d picked out, Frank had carted you around town on various errands: picking up groceries, going to the bookstore, and even taking a quick walk around the park to feed the ducks, which he knew you loved. Your body still ached, and your mood still waned, but overall, it was a good day. And all the credit belonged to your incredible partner. 

Groaning appreciatively, it felt like you were melting into the mattress as Frank tenderly stretched your taught muscles, unraveling the knots of stress that had been building up all week. 

Chuckling, Frank pressed a tiny kiss to your bare shoulder. “Glad it feels good, sweetheart.” 

“No, it’s awful,” You lied. “You clearly need more practice..” 

Frank snorted, “Noted. How’re ya feelin’?” 

“Tired.” You sighed, rolling over as Frank handed you one of his tees to sleep in. 

“I bet. We’re on the last leg, sweetheart, almost there.” Frank’s large hands eagerly wrapped around you as you nestled into his side. Cupping your face with one palm, the fingers of his other hand threaded into your hair, detangling it carefully and brushing it off of your face. 

Biting your lip in frustration, and to keep from sighing again, you nodded. Attempting an understanding smile, you poked him in the chest. “I know. Thanks for putting up with my cranky self today.”

“Sweetheart, you can be snappy with me as much as ya want if it means you’ll sleep through the night.” Frank smirked, squishing your cheek as your eyes suddenly blurred with tears. 

“I love you.” You whispered, going limp in his hold as he settled against the pillows. 

“I love you too, darlin’. So much.” Resting your foreheads together, he kissed you delicately and your lashes fluttered. 

“Frankie?” You looked up at him with your practiced ‘doe eyes’ expression that he could never resist.

“Yah?” He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Can you read to me?” Batting your lashes, you watched with satisfaction as Frank’s expression softened, your eyes taking in the exact moment he caved to your whims. 

Straightening his posture stoically, he reached over to grab your new book from the nightstand with an exasperated huff. “Oh, I see. This was all a scheme of yours to get me to read to ya? ‘S that it?”

“No…” You giggled, nuzzling into him as he cracked the novel open.

“Sure, sure. You’ll be hearin’ from my lawyer, sweetheart. Think ya owe me compensation.” He winked at you, eyes lingering on your face.

“Honey, before ya drift off, jus’...” Sighing, he stroked a thumb over your cheek. “Just know, if all this doesn’t work, cause it ain’t a cure all, ya know–”

Laying your hand over his, you gave him an encouraging look. He inhaled sharply, thinking about how he wanted to phrase the sentiment. 

“I want you to sleep, darlin’, ya know I do. But if it doesn’t happen tonight, we can always try again, ok?”

Startled by the affection in his tone and his beautiful promise, your face went slack as you nodded. Eyes flitting over your gaze, he nodded curtly once he decided you understood. Returning his attention to the book in his hands, he cleared his throat before beginning to read. His rumbling velvet tone soothed you, your eyes falling closed almost immediately. Here, in the safety of Frank’s arms, surrounded by his beautiful voice and reassured by his adorable promise, you finally felt at peace. Though you knew sleep might continue to evade you, the anxiety you’d felt about your insomnia didn’t feel quite as all-consuming tonight. Whatever happened, Frank would be there. And, for now, that was enough.

Thanks for reading!!

[rrxnjun]

portrait of a blank slate. huang renjun

pairing: huang renjun x fem! reader genre: college au. fluff, smut, and the tiniest bit of angst. warnings: swearing, alcohol, angry man renjun, very bad dialogue, this is the most un-renjun fic i've ever written, dry humping, a heavy makeout session, unfinished blowjob word count: 5.8k playlist: no specific one this time but i listened to a lot of keshi while writing this, so have this playlist of mine to fit the vibes a/n: inspired by that one tweet describing how someone's art professor met his wife the same exact way, lost the screenshot and also the og post im so sorry!

turns out all it takes to save a life is a bad, bad college party, a few shots and a weird, magical coincidence back in a girl's dorm room.

It’s hard to believe that Huang Renjun is currently finishing up the art portfolio he needs for his summer internship program after procrastinating and angrily stomping at every single bad stroke of his paintbrush for the last few months.

Because he’s not.

He’s looking at the canvas with stern eyes, the smudges on the white linen so messy he could cry just by looking at them, and the more he tries to save the disgrace currently scribbled in front of him, the worse it gets and makes the levels of frustration in him turn into rage and fury, because let’s be honest– what is Renjun’s primary emotion if not anger. 

And he tries hard to fix it again, he really does– he sighs heavily while doing so as he takes a smaller brush and tries to paint on a few hairstrokes to the portrait of Frida Kahlo he wants to execute– and in honest reality, it doesn’t even look half as bad as it does in the poor boy’s eyes when he takes a step back after holding in his breath and carefully piercing together the artwork. Maybe if there was someone else in the room– everyone but his annoying roommate Donghyuck, because that fucker always manages to make things even worse– they could talk him out of it, offer some words of consolidation, even, hype him up and tell him that with outsider’s eyes, the canvas looks beautiful and very well put together. But the truth is that there’s no one present right now, not a single soul in what feels like the whole campus right now, that could ease Huang Renjun’s frustration from what seems to be art block, when he throws the paintbrush to the wall (he’ll worry about the stain of acrylic paint later, when he gains consciousness) and puts a fist through the middle of the painting.

If he was a character in a comic book, his hand would go through the canvas and create a quite satisfying hole. He’s a real person, though– a weak one as well, to be quite honest– and his fist is stopped by the stretched-out fabric, making his hand bounce back, but now stained with all shades of brown and tan, which somehow only makes him even more mad and turns him into a furious animal roaming around free and causing uttermost chaos in his all true sense.

Nothing can stop Huang Renjun when he opens the drawer he keeps all his artwork in, taking out all the graphite sketches and colored pencil drawings, and then the next one containing the watercolor paintings and various other acrylic paintings done on expensive sheets of paper, stacking all of those onto one pile in the middle of the table. Not one thing is safe– except from the digital artworks he keeps in his iPad and his big A4 sketchbook he forgot about in the heat of the moment, since he keeps it on his nightstand– when he takes the big, heavy stack of art and runs, chimes towards the entrance of his and Donghyuck’s miniature dorm room, luck only standing by his side once in this whole evening when his said roommate opens the door and clears the way for him, looking at the poor boy with mouth agape in a slight shock.

“What the fuck are you doing right n–”

Donghyuck doesn’t get an answer. When he asks stupid questions, Renjun doesn’t tend to pay him much mind, settling on not engaging with the discourse if it doesn’t make much sense, so Hyuck should be used to the ignorance– he thinks this was a very valid question to ask at this moment, though. If he was curious enough, he’d even follow his roommate down the hall and watch him in his endeavors only to find out what’s the intention behind his angry stomping and the fierce look on his face. The truth is, though, he doesn’t care all that much.

That doesn’t stop Huang Renjun, though, as he chimes down the hall of the boy’s dormitory, kicks the glass door open (thankfully not the actual glass part, because that would for sure be expensive) and practically runs the rest of the way towards the bins at the end of the street, dumping the papers into the bin (forgive him for not recycling in his current state of mind) before he angrily kicks the poor object twice for good measure and turns on his heel, slowly, but still as angrily making his way back to his dorm room by stomping all the way up until the entrance.

The dorm guard doesn’t even ask for his dorm ID like he usually does– Renjun must have been quite memorable as he ran out of the building with 5kg of artwork of various sizes in his arms– but the truth is, the man isn’t as old and he saw the boy going out just a few minutes ago, so he doesn’t think it’s necessary. Renjun would appreciate the memo, although, when he remembers that the man always asks for the dorm ID, especially on the nights out when he comes back slightly intoxicated and too disoriented to look for the little slip of paper in his pockets, and on the nights when he forgets his dorm ID as well– the man was set on letting him sleep on the front porch of the dormitory once and it took Renjun 15 calls to get ahold of a sleeping Donghyuck and another 15 of him walking down the hall in slippers and pajama bottoms with his roommate’s dorm ID in hand before he could warm his bones from the cold slowly seeping into his bones on the January night– and that whole thing makes Renjun somehow even more angry at the whole situation.

And so when he comes into his room again, Donghyuck now sitting on his bed still in his outside clothes (something Renjun hates and would murder for), and his eyes land on the damaged canvas still waiting for him in the corner of the room, he wastes no time in opening his window and throwing it down from the second floor, not really caring where it ends up or if he’s gonna get a fine for violating one of the dormitory rules– to never throw stuff out of the windows..

“Dude, what is–”

“Don’t ask.” Renjun huffs as he closes the door and peels his clothes off, taking a towel that’s still hanging from the top bunk of their bed and aims towards the bathroom door. A true tantrum can only end in a cold shower, and that’s what Renjun’s gonna do as he washes his dreams down the drain and ends up silently crying himself to sleep tonight in agony.

It’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party since the days of ‘megaparties’ of Johnny Suh, the senior that’s slowly halting his party performance due to stilling in life. Renjun was dragged to Lee Jeno’s party by his roommate Donghyuck after he mourned in his bed for approximately two days before it got too much for the poor gemini, promising and honestly thinking that alcohol is truly the best solution for the poor boy’s misery. Again, it’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party of the year when he listens to the loud EDM music piercing through his eardrums and he swears he catches a glimpse of a couple dry humping on the couch.

Because he’s not.

He’s at a college party, sure. He’s also getting some alcohol into his system– because why not, am I right? He’s not the one paying, and that’s always enough of a reason to drink. Is it the best college party he’s ever experienced, though? Absolutely not.

It’s quite literally the worst party he’s ever been to. The music is too loud and the whole house smells of cheap vodka, people are pushing each other around and with the amount of alcohol in his system, the whole room feels like he’s on a boat, his stomach weak and his eyes hazy. Renjun must admit Hyuck’s therapy skills are kind of paying off– because at least now he’s not thinking about the wasted opportunity of a summer scholarship and is instead looking into the eyes of his cute classmate from History class across the room– but at the same time, he’s not thinking much of anything in this moment, and the glint of your eyes is the only thing he can focus on when you get closer.

That might be a good or a bad thing– depends on how the encounter goes. There’s a fine line between the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to get rid of his usual shyness and speak to other, much more attractive human species, and the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to black out and puke on the floor, efficiently making it impossible for him to chat up the cute classmate he’s been eyeing the whole semester and ruining his chances of ever being seen in a good light in front of the said person ever again. He prays intensely that he hasn’t crossed the line yet when you open your mouth and speak to him in the crowded kitchen.

“Renjun!”

“Y/N!” he tries to mimic your tone, a flashy grin settling onto his face when you approach him first. You two aren’t strangers, after all– you’ve sat together in class during various exams and also accidentally bumped into each other in the cafeteria, but what were your courageous attempts in making conversation with him and efficiently trying to make him more interested in you didn’t lead to your desired goal of getting invited out by him, instead leading him to think you’re just that friendly to everyone and not just him, making the chances of him taking the next step that much slimmer. Not tonight, though– he really must have had too much to drink.

“How are you?” you ask, clearing your throat as you bump into someone and decide to shift closer to Renjun, making the boy’s breathing hitch in his throat.

“Wonderful,” he gasps, and for some reason, the response laced in irony makes an excited laugh escape your throat, and the more he listens to your bubbly giggle, the more he wishes he did music instead of fine arts, because maybe if he was competent enough, he could mimic the sound in one of his songs and replay it over and over even when you’re not around. 

“That sounds very genuine,” you note, which makes the boy laugh in return, making him wonder if maybe he could have the same effect on you– if you’re smiling wider now because of the sound of his laughter, or if you’re just amused at something completely else. 

It’s pathetic, really– the gloomy boy that was trailing to this party behind his roommate Donghyuck is nowhere to be seen now, instead replaced by the cheap imitation of a ray of sunshine that you brought out of him only with the magic of a few words and the few drops of alcohol on his tongue.

“Oh, trust me, it was genuine,” he teases, and you only nod to his attempt at masking his obviously saddened composure from before.

“Having a rough week?” you ask, and you sound truly interested– something Renjun hasn’t found in the tone of his roommate when he insisted on dragging him here– and maybe that’s the reason why he just shrugs and decides to come clean and be honest with you. You seem like that kind of person that wouldn’t make fun of his troubles, the kind of person that would genuinely want to help– although he’s not seeking counseling tonight, he figures he can talk a bit about his shitty mood if it means that it gets the conversation flowing.

“A rough life, actually,” he snickers before he sees you eye him with a concerned look, “just joking,” he adds before he retracks back and fixes his initial answer. “Some things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to, so I’m kind of moping around for a bit.”

You seem to feel empathetic towards the boy, nodding and pouting at his confession. “Well, I hope things get fixed for you, Jun,” you mumble, tone of voice encouraging– and maybe he could dwell at the caring nature of you a little longer, only if it wasn’t for your use of a nickname for him that just oh so sweetly rolls of your tongue and Renjun wishes he could legally change his name to the nickname so he could listen to the way it sounds forever– scratch that, to the way it sounds from your mouth forever, which means he won’t change it, just so it’s reserved for you and only you to say.

“What about you, though?” he finds himself asking in the midst of his inner screeching.

“Me? I’m great, totally fine, having the time of my life,” you emphasize, the over-the-top expression on your face making the boy burst into laughter as you wave your arms around as if to show him your surroundings. “I am a party person for sure, you know, so this is perfect,” you joke, and Renjun seems to get the memo. If he’s being honest, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you at a party before– not that he goes to many himself, which might honestly be the reason, actually– you could just be at different parties in different times that hadn’t overlaid, but by the way you’re currently tensely sipping at the alcohol in your hand, he figures you’re not too familiar with the scene of college partying.

“Who forced you to go? Was it your roommate?” Renjun remembers the girl from another one of his classes– you two were always walking around together and often got to class at the same time. Figuring out that you two lived together wasn’t as difficult, and she surely seems to be the more extroverted one.

“No, actually,” you say, eyes glimmering when he seems to remember the girl you share a room with, “to my surprise, honestly. It was another one of my friends– Na Jaemin, not sure if you know him– but the moment we got here, he disappeared and left me alone to deal with my thoughts,” you click your tongue and Renjun finds himself totally mesmerized with you– amazed with everything about you; the way you talk, the way you lean on the counter and watch him with stars in your eyes (which might just be the reflections of the kitchen lights, but don’t tell him that), the way you slightly lean into him when he cracks a joke and earns a laugh out of you…

“They always do that,” Renjun scowls, “they drag the introvert in and then force them to survive on their own…” he shakes his head in disappointment, clearly distraught over the situation. 

“Exactly! But if you ask them to come with you to a picnic, or to the library, they decline the offer. So much for being good friends,” you roll your eyes. Renjun finds himself smiling, and although he must admit that as every other college student, he himself would decline an invitation to a library if anyone asked, he’s like 99% certain that if it was you uttering out the question, he wouldn’t miss a heartbeat before joyfully jogging there with you. 

“Ask me next time,” he blurts out, a poor attempt at flirting, “I wouldn’t say no.”

And it seems like tonight is the night where you suddenly get the last kick of courage needed when you talk to Renjun– maybe fueled by his coy smile when he said the previous comment, maybe just acting out on pure hormones– tonight's the night where he breathlessly takes your offer, still not thinking much of it, but igniting a curious spark in his own heart nonetheless, when you scratch the back of your neck in the last residue of anxiety, scrunching your nose at him and mumbling under your nose, barely heard above the loud music resonating through the living room. “Do you wanna sneak into my dorm room, then?” 

Renjun almost chokes at your question– visitors in the dormitory are only allowed until midnight and as far as he’s aware, the clock is well after 2 AM right now, and he’s a male visitor, which is even more off the bounds in the eyes of the fierce woman guarding the entrance of the girl’s dormitory building. The more he stares at you, the more you seem to translate his silence into disagreement, which you panically try to undo with even more rambling. “I- I mean, since we both kind of hate this party and I think that if I drink more, I’m going to puke all over myself, so… My room is on the ground floor, so you can just climb in, if you wanted to. My roommate went home for the weekend, so there’s no one there, and we could– I mean, we don’t have to, honestly, but it’s kinda cold out and I thought we could both use a place more silent, ‘cause I really wanna head back now, but I don’t want to stop talking to you, y’know, and I don’t know if–”

“Okay, I’m down,” Renjun nods, efficiently shutting up your rambling, and when there’s a very apparent relief flashing over your face, he finds himself smiling in endearance at your antics, going as far as ruffling a hand through your hair in whatever kick the alcohol mixed with adrenaline gave him before you have him dragging his feet out of the house, both of your feet shuffling towards the campus.

The walk isn’t long, but he finds himself enjoying it. The condensation coming out of your mouths at the chilly weather serves more to the atmosphere when the both of you giggle out at absurd jokes and gossip, your voice breaking into soft hums when you sing a song under your breath in moments of silence that somehow feel both kind of awkward, but also kind of pleasant. He drags you by your hand to the other side of the sidewalk when a car passes by and you jump in surprise, eyes wide and glossy, mouth a little agape in an open-mouthed grin when his fingers stay intertwined with yours and you adjust your purse on your other shoulder, clearing your throat before you try to nonchalantly continue on with the conversation.

“I’ll go inside now,” you announce when you get to the girl’s dormitory building, breaking apart from the eager boy and coming closer to him when you confide the secret, “I’ll turn the light on in my room when I get there, so make sure to look out for the window. I’ll help you in, don’t worry,” you smile at him, and before he has a chance to reply, you disappear behind the glass door with a pep in your step. 

Renjun finds himself sighing– now is the moment when he should realistically get relief, the moment when he’s supposed to relax for at least a second and prepare himself for whatever might happen in your dorm room– but when he slowly walks over to the left wing of the building and squints at the dark squares of windows, he wonders how in the hell he’s gonna climb in. Escaping out will be an easy task– the windows aren’t that high up– but coming in will be the problem. He guesses it’s the same with the whole situation– he bets the easiest part of the whole evening will be jumping out and running to his own room– how to survive the night in your presence and not go completely insane, he doesn’t know and wishes he had a manual to before he agreed to do this in the first place.

When the light goes on in one of the rooms and you wave at him from the inside, he finds himself involuntarily jogging towards the window, gears in his brain turning faster than the speed of light when he reaches the wall and you grin at him, opening the window and offering him your hand. 

“If you grip the edge of the window and give me your hand, you can get in easily,” you say, watching as the boy cautiously looks around himself and scratches the back of his neck, mentally calculating his next movements.

“Have you done this before?”

“No,” you bashfully shake your head, “but my roommate did it twice, so I don’t think it’s that hard,” you note and nod at him, waiting for him to finally take action. 

Renjun finds himself doing what he’s been told– and even though he huffs and almost falls over to his back (which would kill him, he thinks, since his physique is very close to a turtle’s), victory fills his veins when one of his legs finally ends up in your window, his body stumbling forward and almost toppling you over when the warmth of your room welcomes him as he lands on top of your desk. 

“Welcome,” you laugh at him when he shakes his head in disbelief and takes off his coat, dropping it on top of the wooden table and watching you close the window behind him, so the cold doesn’t get in. 

“That’s one way of inviting guests over, I guess,” he teases you, watching as you roll your eyes at him and go over to one of the beds. Renjun notices the room is different to the one he shares with Donghyuck– you and your roommate have two beds instead of a bunk one, the table is right under the window and you get a little more space over-all. You turn on the little lamp kept on your bedside table, and the boy watches you with interest as you cautiously walk around your own room as if it’s your first time seeing it, reminding him a little of a deer in the headlights, clueless and suddenly out of ideas.

Renjun finds himself laughing at your behavior– he finds himself endeared by it, the way you play with your fingers in nerves and try to think of anything to do in the intimacy that suddenly envelopes you when you invite someone over to your dorm room in the middle of the night– and when you aimlessly end up standing in front of him, your big eyes even bigger and glossier than before, he snickers at the state of you and shakes his head.

“Okay, so I know I was the one who invited you over, but now I’m kind of helpless in what we should actually do and all…” you giggle, a little embarrassed when you bear your eyes into his, your body subconsciously slotted in between his legs, his position leaning on the edge of the table allowing you and inviting you to do so. 

“You’re cute,” he laughs at you, and before you have a chance to question him about the compliment, he has you silenced abruptly by his next actions.

“What do you–”

His hand is gripping your jaw and he leans into you, the newly found courage and affection towards you having him drunk on more than the alcohol, but also your whole presence– the way your hair smells when he’s this close to you, the way you pull the sleeves of your sweater further down when you don’t know what to do with your hands, the shyness in your gaze now that you have him in your cage– and his lips act on themselves when they press themselves against yours, soft but firm, tasting the strawberry juice mixed with vodka off your mouth, a surprised gasp against his lips more than enough to invite him even further in.

He feels your fingers tugging at his shirt and your skin growing hot under his touch, leaning back from you a little and finding you looking at him with a thousand different galaxies in your eyes, enough of a confirmation to him, but he’s a man– he still needs it vocally, when he grins lazily at you. “Was this one of the things you thought about when you invited me over?”

“Maybe…” you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth, a clearly battled grin trying to settle its way onto your lips.

“You should’ve just said so, then,” he smiles when he leans into you again, a little more confidently this time and kisses you again, again and again.

You stay under the window for a while, lips pressed hard against each other as you try to learn the curves of each other’s mouths by memory, lazy hands threaded into his hair and an arm around your waist now, steadying you in place. Foreheads pressed against each other when you break away for air, giggles resonating through the room when his lips make their way towards your neck and the softness of his hair tickles your skin, fingers threaded when you tug him towards your bed and you watch him kick his shoes off before you follow him onto the soft mattress.

His head falls into your pillow and you straddle his lap, your hair falling into your face when you look down at him from your position, the newly found dominance in your position charging you with unexplainable energy, and Renjun can’t help but smile at you sweetly when your eyes meet and you eagerly lean down towards him, fingers once again intertwined with his, hands laying next to his head. Your breath fans his swollen lips that you once again find yourself attacking, the contact overwhelming you and making it hard to breathe. Who knows how long the both of you have wanted to do this but never had the courage to– it’s a miracle that it’s even happening tonight.

And with the built-up desire, you act instinctively– hands breaking away from his when you grip his cheeks and give him one last peck, lips now traveling down his jaw and neck instead, having the boy shivering under the contact, your actions slowly but surely driving him crazy when you find his sweet spot and you get a satisfied gasp from him, a reward for your tonight’s efforts.

His hand grips your hip, and something about the burn of his fingers even through the fabric of your jeans makes you move on instinct, earning yourself a sharper hiss this time that doesn’t make you stop, however– quite the opposite, actually– as you break into a wide grin at the very evident effect you have on him, your movements slow and painful, but still having him harden under you.

Goosebumps appear all over your skin when his cold fingers capture the skin of your stomach when he aimlessly tries to find a place in your body to ground yourself, but the more he answers to your movements, the more encouraged you get. He tugs you back down so you’re facing him, which does nothing to halt your painful pace as he drags out yet another kiss from you. 

“If we don’t stop now, it’s gonna be really hard for me to do so later,” Renjun huffs into your ear, which only gets you more excited.

“Who said I want to stop?” you ask him, fingers trailing up his side over his shirt, yet still making him fire up and flush in his cheeks. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do I look like I wanna stop?” he snickers, shaking his head in utter disbelief, hand traveling dangerously close to the cup of your breast.

“Let’s continue, then,” you muse, peeling yourself off him only the slightest amount, hands dragging themselves down his body until you reach the waistband of his pants, gently dragging the fabric down until he’s left in front of you only with a tent in his underwear, big eyes curiously and breathlessly watching you in your actions. He could be a gentleman and tell you you don’t have to, tell you to stop and come back up and that he will pleasure you first, but the more he watches you as you palm him over the thin fabric of his boxer briefs with the dangerous doe eyes of yours, the less he wants to do just that. In all reality– who is he to deny a blowjob from you? Or anyone, for that matter?

His whole body shudders under your touch, actions careful, but so painfully satisfying. Renjun watches your face with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the reality of it all sobering him up and making him aware of each shift of your body, each centimeter your fingertip travels against his skin, each motion that slowly makes a bundle of nerves appear in his stomach. It only gets too much for him when you lean on your elbows, nails gently pricking the skin of his thighs as your mouth hesitantly greets his dick, and he feels like a virgin again when his eyes peel off you just in case he finishes just by watching you blowing him off like a highschooler at his first blowjob, forcing himself to watch the ceiling instead.

Eyes traveling all over your room– the closed window opposite of him, the bed on the other side of the room, the walls above your bed– he gets lost in the galaxy drawn on a piece of paper that’s plastered right above your pillowcase, and another graphite sketch of eyes bearing right into your soul, as if they were watching him in the act, and another one, of a deer that looks through the shade of the trees, before it hits him.

“Oh my god what the fuck–” he gasps, and his tone must have sounded too different to the satisfied moans that have been spilling out of his mouth up until now, because you abruptly stop your movements and your gazes lock, your eyes completely mortified.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Oh– Oh god no, fuck, you’re doing amazing, trust me,” apologies spill off his tongue at your distressed state, “it’s just– where… where did you get these?” he asks, pointing towards all the drawings taped all over your walls that he failed to notice in the heat of the moment before.

“Oh,” you cluelessly hum, eyebrows furrowed, “I found them spilling out of a trashcan close to the boy’s dorms when I was walking to class one morning, and they were so pretty I had to take them.”

“I– you like these?” Renjun asks, full of strange surprise and genuine curiosity. You’re now sitting back on your heels and looking at the boy with big eyes, still slightly clueless and very much in a weird state of distress– because why would a man ask you about the random artwork on your wall in the middle of a mindblowing blowjob?– before you nod with a slight pout, agreeing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have decorated my room with them if I didn’t like them, y’know… Why are you… why are you asking?”

“Oh,” Renjun repeats again, a dumbfounded look taking over his soft features before he sits up on the bed and scoots closer to you, a weird sense of euphoria spilling out every vein of his body when the held-back dopamine is released into his system. A wide grin appears on his lips before he stares into your eyes with a milky way mirroring behind his eyeballs, glittering orbs haphazardly gliding over your face before he reaches your lips again, pecking them one, two, three times before you break away and look at him with furrowed eyebrows, a slight crease right in between them.

“What are you–”

“I think I’m gonna literally cum just at hearing those words, Y/N,” he blurbs out before he kisses the tip of your nose again, completely endeared and close to a happy boy under the Christmas tree, and while you may enjoy that look on him, you’re still slightly confused. Huang Renjun sighs almost a little too dreamingly and smooths the wrinkle between your eyebrows with a careful swipe of his thumb, still not giving you any explanation.

“Renjun, I’m afraid I’m not quite following why this is so important to you right now,” you mumble, having your partner laugh airly– just as if all his worries escaped through the window and you fixed his life with a few drawings plastered on your wall.

“Those, dear Y/N,” he points towards the papers stuck to your walls, eyeing the specific one he worked for 3 hours on and kind of mourned the morning after he realized he threw it away, months of practice and art that maybe wasn’t even that bad in the first place ending up in the trash because of a fit of rage, “are all mine. Mine as in, I drew them… And then threw them out in the middle of a slight mental breakdown.”

You look at him for a few heartbeats, eye contact never breaking before you avert your gaze towards the artwork on the walls– it takes you a few seconds before it hits you– and you gasp, hurriedly looking back at the artist in front of you, stars glimmering in your eyes now as well, matching his excitement. “Oh my god, are you for real?”

“Yeah.”

“You drew all of these?”

“Yeah,” he nods again, breathless.

“This is an insane coincidence,” you snicker, and Renjun didn’t know he had it in him– maybe it’s still the effect of alcohol that slips off his tongue when he speaks– but he cages you in his arms as he kisses you again, a whole new world appearing in front of him when the cheesiness meets the comfort of your walls.

“You’d call this a coincidence?” he hums. “Maybe it was fate.”

Earning himself a sharp laugh, almost mocking him as you swat his shoulder, you fall back with him towards the mattress, and while the heated moment might be gone, you don’t mind at all. Renjun looks at you with a certain softness in his eyes, a pride swelling in his chest, and for a moment, it’s true and you truly did open up a new reality for him and changed his life forever, fixed all of his problems, if you will, because the appreciation it takes for a girl to tape up at least 20 of his messy artworks onto her wall after finding the stash in the trashcan on her way to class might just be the encouragement he needed to keep going with the craft. 

It’s hard to believe that this shitty party actually brought him somewhere– not only to your bed, but also to your life, to a beginning of something new and a restart in something he thought he’d forever be giving up on.

“So… Do you need those back? Because I kinda like them here,” you giggle, and the crinkle of his eyes is enough of an answer to you.

“You can keep them. I’ll just draw new ones you can look at,” he muses, stealing another kiss from you and squeezing your hip, having you squeal against his mouth.

“Now, to get back to what we were doing before–”

[etherealising]

( hope I’m requesting this right ) can we get a mini part 2 , or however long you want to make it , of baby and carmen first night together of intimacy -🐻

🐻 anon bestie you requested this perfectly! also i wasn’t sure if you wanted emotional intimacy or physical intimacy but there’s both sooo…moments by victoria monét heavily inspired the writing 😉

for reference this scene takes place during interlude 2: anyone who had a heart BEFORE the Polaroid scene!

warnings: p in v | fingering | bodily fluids | orgasms | minimal to no editing | nasty (at least for my standards) |

wc: 3.5 (can’t write anything short to save my life)

A sliver of sunlight peeking through the blinds seemed to be aimed directly into your eyelids, whatever peaceful dreamland you’d been in was slowly snuffed out as the bright rays assaulted your sleep. You couldn’t remember falling asleep but the slight ache between your legs as you stretched was enough to remind you what had you so exhausted, a grin painted your features as you thought back to Carmy cleaning you up before helping you into an oversized tee shirt you’d packed.

A slight scratching noise could be heard somewhere above you. As you allowed yourself to fully wake up, for a moment you thought you were just hearing things but as you titled your head up your body your eyes caught sight of Carmy. He sat with his back propped against the wall, pencil in hand as he worked in some type of notebook. It was quiet as you watched him trying to understand what he was, watching from your position laying down how his veins popped out with every grip of the pencil.

You smiled watching how entranced he was, his entire focus was taken up by the notebook. The only other movement aside from his hand moving across the page was the slight way his eyes danced across the page. You hadn’t realized his attention turned to you until you felt the heavy caress of his thumb across your cheek.

“Hey.” Carmy’s voice caressed your ears in a whisper.

As you looked up at him the smile on your face seemed to grow tenfold the longer you held his gaze, “Hi…why are we whispering.” You watched as his shoulders moved up and down in a shrugging motion, a small smile lining his lip as his eyes fell back to the notebook in his hands.

You scooted closer to him doing your best to get a glance at his notebook only for him to move it from your line of sight as he placed the notebook on his nightstand before turning his body towards yours, giving you his full attention. Your eyes narrowed at him and your smile might have grown even wider. “Were you drawing Carm?”

Carmy rolled his eyes, your question wasn’t much of a question at all. The way he hid his sketchbook was obvious enough to you, it was a habit he’d picked up when art became one of his hobbies, he’d only show you his finished works. But recently he hadn’t had any finished works and today was the longest time in a while he got the urge to indulge in his creative outlet.

“How’d you sleep.” His eyes roved over your face, there was a glow about you he couldn’t quite place, a glow that was hard to capture in the confines of paper and graphite.

You scoffed your hand reaching out to playfully shove his shoulder, “Great actually, what were you drawing?”

Carmy gave a non-committal shrug, this moment reminiscent of many you spent together in your younger years…well aside from the physical intimacy. “You can see it when I finish.” His words were punctuated by his hand finding yours in the space between your bodies, neither of you brave enough to admit how this whole encounter didn’t feel like it was just a one-time thing.

“Please Carm it's been years, feed a girl's curiosity.” It was pitiful but you hoped a good old-fashioned guilt trip would force the man's hand.

Carmy’s eyes darted around your face, the time the two of you were apart easily showing there. It wasn’t that you looked old beyond your years now or something, but you were a woman now and the fact that the two of you had experienced adulthood without each other and it was Carmy’s fault would always haunt him. “You make me nervous.”

The words that left Carmy’s lips gave you whiplash, your eyebrows pinched together as you sat up moving to rest your cheek and part of your chest atop Carmy’s thigh looking up at him as you tried to understand when you ever made Carmy nervous. “I make you nervous?”

You hadn’t meant for the question to sound as incredulous as it did, but you were curious how you’d unconsciously been affecting the man. Carmy gave a small laugh at the look on your face, he didn’t think the idea was as far-fetched as you believed it to be. His hand moved down to caress the side of your face losing himself in the moment before he spoke, “Baby look at you… you're beautiful.” A heartfelt smile raised to his lips as you playfully rolled your eyes, but he needed you to know it wasn’t all just physical for him.

“You’ve always made me nervous ever since we were kids.” Your eyebrows raised in surprise, eyes darting around his face for any tell that he might be lying. “You were just so fuckin cool to me you know?” The sound of your quiet laughter tinkling through his room caused Carmy’s smile to grow infinitely wider.

Carmy allowed his eyes to trace around your face for a moment, his mind doing the mental math to try and figure out how he’d gotten so lucky to have ever met you. “You’ve always been so headstrong and independent,” he paused committing your features to memory. “You're book smart you’ve got the degree you always wanted. You write fuckin profiles and think pieces for a living, that used to just be a dream for you.”

The shyness was evident on your face as you avoided his, not sure if you could deal with whatever emotion was swimming through his eyes as he looked down at you. Not sure you wanted to give yourself that hope. “And you’re one of the greatest up-and-coming chefs Carm, looks like we both got what we wanted.”

Carmy’s smile dimmed for a moment as he listened to your words. Carmy hadn’t got everything he wanted but he also had enough sense to know that voicing that thought wouldn’t ever be fair to you considering he made his decision clear about a relationship.

His thumb never stopped its gentle caress on your cheek as the two of you spoke, “And you always know exactly what you want, there’s n-no indecision you know exactly what you want and you go after it…it makes me nervous.”

You didn’t need any further explanation to understand what he meant, and you were thankful that he was wise enough to mince his words. But you couldn’t help but wonder why you continued to subject yourself to this hurt, this hot and cold routine the two of you had going on. You were worth commitment, you deserved commitment, and knowing that the one person you’d felt truly, genuinely in love with was opposed to giving you that was one of the worst truths you’d ever been faced with.

Carmy could see the emotions souring your face the longer you were quiet. At one point in time, it used to be so easy for him to talk to you, and sometimes it took a little pushing. But now even as he had you in his presence for the first time in years he still found that whatever fears and insecurity he still needed to work through was what stopped him from speaking his feelings for you into fruition.

“Baby,” he paused waiting for his eyes to find yours his landing on the soft faux smile you were putting on for his benefit. He sighed the longer he stared down at you before motioning for you to sit up, his arms helping to maneuver you in the position to sit in his lap. The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer before both of his hands found purchase on your cheeks a smile gracing his lips at you just being there physically with him.

“I…I’m so proud of you Baby.” He held your face in place as you tried to wriggle out of his hold emotion easily overcoming you. “C’mere.”

You did as told face easily pressing into the space between Carmy’s neck and shoulder. You felt the warm press of his lips against your temple as one hand stroked your head and the other moved up and down your back. You sank into his arms automatically unaware of just how much you needed this hug, there were plenty of things for you to miss in the time lost between you and Carmy, but his hugs would probably always be at the top of the list.

You pulled away to let him know that you’d felt the same sentiment for Carm and the life he made for himself. But you never got the chance as he captured your lips in a soft kiss, it wasn’t messy there was no tongue. It was really just both of your lips slotted perfectly together like they were designed for each other.

Carmy’s hands were still on your face as he slowly pulled away his eyes still closed as he relished in the tingle your lips left behind. Neither of you spoke just staring at the other with a plethora of emotions swimming through the eyes of the other. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that your first dalliance together would be the only one that happened while you were in New York, it was easier that way. But the longer the two of you sat in silence, eyes glazed over as you drank each other in, the air charged with tension, it was obvious the agreement was null.

He pulled you flush against him as your lips met once more, the softness of the kiss was still there yet the urgent undertone couldn’t be denied. It was tentative but the slide of Carmy’s tongue into your mouth lit you up, your hips rocked dangerously into his pelvis, a strangled groan leaving Carmy’s lips as his hands dropped to your hips selfishly rocking you against his now semi-hard cock as he chased the ecstasy you’d bestowed upon him earlier.

The need for air drove the two of you apart, though it did nothing to quell the movement of your hips. Shockwaves pulsed through you with every brush of your clit against Carmy’s throbbing cock, the stimulation proving to be too much for him as his blunt nails dug into your hips, his head falling to rest against your collarbone as ragged breaths escaped him.

“Carmy,” his name left your lip in a soft cry the underlying question in your tone obvious to him as he nodded his head against you rapidly. Neither of you wasted another minute after he tapped your hip twice to give home space. It was almost comical how quickly Carmy shoved his boxers down his leg not even bothering to fully remove them as they sat at his mid-thigh.

You’d meant to pull your shirt off but watching as he hastily pulled his tank top over his head and the hunger in his eyes was a firsthand experience you needed to savor. Your frozen appearance didn’t deter him as he found the hem of your shirt pulling it off of you so fast it sent you careening backwards.

Carmy’s hands found your hips to help you regain your balance an embarrassed smile gracing his face as he realized how eager he appeared, the look enough for you to devolve in a fit of giggles, his hoarse laughter following after.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.” You could tell he was beating himself up internally as he avoided your eyes, hand moving to right the chain against his skin that’d gotten tangled.

Your eyes lingered on the chain before your hands quickly moved to his neck, Carmy’s hands dropped thinking you were fixing it for him only to be surprised as you held the glimmering gold chain in your hand and sent him a small smile before clasping the chain around your neck.

“How do I look?” Your voice was teasing, hoping to alleviate whatever lasting embarrassment Carmy may have felt. Your eyes searched back in forth between his as he eyed the way his chain delicately kissed the skin on your neck.

Carmy knew you were a vision, but at this moment, seeing you straddled atop him completely naked wearing nothing but his gold chain, he was sure you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Made just for him. The scene awoke something in him as his fingers reached up to trace the path his chain made around your neck before his hand ensconced the area gripping your neck with a firm hold and pulling you down to meet his lips.

If you weren’t already surprised by the sudden movement, you were surprised as you tasted his tongue against yours. Both of your tongues languidly massaging each other, Carmy’s hand against your neck squeezing every so often sending your mind in a spiral.

No words were spoken as you raised to your knees, Carmy’s free hand diligently helping to guide you forward. The kiss broke the moment you gripped Carmy’s cock to line him up with your entrance. There was no hesitation just a look of confirmation shared between the two of you as you gradually sank onto him. Your mouth dropped open in a quiet cry as he bit his lip head falling back against the wall.

One of Carmy’s hands moved to grip your hip, while the other found purchase just under your breast. Garbled words slipped out of his mouth and if he wasn’t stretching your cunt so deliciously you might have tried paying more attention.

You gave him a seconds reprieve before putting your thigh muscles to work. Slow bounces to start as you reveled in the way he stroked your walls, head thrown back as your clit brushed against his pelvis bone just right.

“Baby…I-I can’t,” his words cut off in a groan as you sped up your pace, clenching every so often at the intoxicating ache his cock offered you, hitting exactly where you needed him to.

Carmy pulled you flush against his body, his forehead finding purchase against your collarbone. Something about this position was different from the last time as he squeezed his eyes shut doing his best to last as long as he could, whatever control he had earlier felt like a fluke, he could have come this time from the dry humping alone. He wanted to warn you but each slap of your perspiring skin against his thighs tempted him.

He’d hoped not watching you would help but instead, your soft cries of satisfaction had him twitching even more inside of you. Carmy moved to raise his lips to lavish your collarbone in love bites, but as he opened his eyes he got an eyeful of the way your cunt so easily swallowed his aching cock.

All it took was mere minutes of Carmy’s eyes focusing on how easily you slid up and down his cock before he felt streams of his sperm spurt inside you.

“Fu-fuck!” He was sure his grip would bruise you and he knew he should’ve felt bad, but he couldn’t rationalize anything with the way your cunt continued squeezing out whatever he had left to give you. The pleasure slowly began to feel painful as he descended from his high consciousness enough to realize you were so lost in it all that you hadn’t noticed what just happened.

“Baby…Baby.” The second call pulled you from the daze you were in, your glazed eyes finding his blissed-out face, the sight of him causing you to stop.

Your chest heaved up and down as you stared at Carmy with confusion, unsure why he would stop something that felt so good. You did your best to catch your breath before speaking, “Is everything okay?” Your voice was hoarse as you watched Carmy’s body flush a darker shade of red than it already was.

Carmy nodded signaling for you to give him a minute as he rested his hand against your chest for a few moments trying to work up the courage to tell you that the five rhythmic motions of you bouncing atop his cock was all it took to bring his release.

“I…I uh came.” You did your best to school your features at his admission but you were sure you hadn’t done a good job with the way his cheeks flamed with color. “It was too much. Y-you in my chain and I…I wanted you to get off too but I just…”

You smiled at his shyness, you raised yourself off of him slowly making sure not to make any sudden movements. As soon as you were up far enough for him to slip out you sat between his legs, your own falling on either side of his, “Carmy honey, I promise it's not as bad as you think it’s actually…kinda hot.”

You knew the words made him feel shyer than he was already feeling but you weren’t lying. Knowing Carmy came from just a few minutes of stimulation sent warmth racing through you. “You know,” you paused gently drumming your fingers against his thigh. “There are plenty of other ways to make a woman come.”

Carmy’s eyes found yours before the feeling of your fingers drumming against his thigh drew his attention. He watched with rapt intrigue as your finger traced from his thigh, delicately tracing across the sheets beneath you before delicately circling your dripping entrance. Carmy could feel your eyes watching his every move but he was so focused on your finger gentle circular motions to care.

The bob of his Adam’s apple was apparent as you slowed the circling motions before your middle finger found any excess cum leaking out of you and both fingers began to easily fuck Carmy’s cum back inside you. No matter how sensitive Carmy was at that moment the twitching of his cock was enough evidence of just how much he enjoyed the show you were putting on for him.

Garbled moans escaped you as you picked up the pace squelching noises filling the room as you fucked yourself with reckless abandon. Your head fell back wanton huffs of breath escaped with every pump of your fingers.

A clipped whine left you, you weren’t greedy but this would never be enough, even as you began to grind down on your fingers. A surprised gasp ripped through your body as another finger joined the fray the length and dexterity of the finger had your eyes flying open, mouth slack-jawed as senseless words babbled out of your mouth.

The hunger with which Carmy was looking down at you as he helped you fuck yourself would be seared into your mind long after you left this room. Your eyes met his as his skilled finger probed the spot you could never quite reach.

There you sat speared open on Carmy’s bed in New York as he helped you fuck yourself with his cum, fingers moving in and out in perfect timing with your own. The feeling was too much but not enough all at once, tears pricking your eyes as you could feel your release hanging on by a thread.

You weren’t sure what came over him but you felt Carmy’s hand roughly grip the back of your neck as he pulled you forward lips finding yours, as his finger kept pace with your own. The feeling of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip was all it took for your cries of ecstasy to fill the room, tears streaming down your face at just how overwhelming this experience was.

Carmy pressed his forehead to yours as your body trembled with aftershocks of your orgasm. Your sweaty chest rubbed against him as the arm you were leaning on finally gave way to exhaustion, your body melting into his as he helped maneuver you to lie down against the mattress.

You felt boneless, your whole body on cloud nine. Carmy nuzzled his face into your neck placing small encouraging kisses all over the place. His hands reached to gently wipe the tears off your face a small smile sent your way as he just watched you, your body far too tired to give the look on his face a second thought.

Carmy settled down next to you, eyes landing on the Polaroid he’d gifted you in the process, the vision of you deserved to be frozen in time.

a/n: uh so this definitely got away from me…someone take away besties writing privileges 😅

also this is part of my 1k celebration i’ve left it open for a little longer for anyone else who wants to send in a request!

[skylarsblue]

»zenless zone zero«

Details of Belle's room, because I like her a lot and she deserves more attention.

[Desc: Belle's wooden desk. Featuring an industrial style lamp, a metal lock box under a standard black file box. There's a pair of white headphones with green detailing, and a clear plus(+) and minus(-) symbol for volume. A pencil holder that looks a bit like film, though it has numbers & letters. It holds a pair of scissors, a graphite pencil, an exacto blade/box cutter, a marker, and a mechanical pencils/pen. There's a scrap/sketch book in the center, brown and seemingly leather. There's a latch and band to keep it closed and it's covered in stamps, most notably one with a four leaf clover. On the wall are two post it notes, both with little doodles. This hints that she's creative. Either collecting stamps and stickers, which would align with the stickers all over her room and her pension for memory keeping (see the memory board the player can edit), and that she at least does small doodles, if not draw as a hobby.]

[Desc: Beside her orange box tv; which is inspired by vintage 70s/80s tube televisions with knobs/dials; is a game console on top of a VHS player. It's seemingly inspired by the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, based on it's shape. There are three game cartridges, one in the machine. The one in the console is half visible, but what we can see has a blue smiley face. The second cartridge with a visible sticker seems to be either a horror or "biohazard" type shooter game. Though that's my interpretation.]

[Desc: Beside her desk is a wall with pipes. On the lower pipe there are more post it notes with more small doodles, stuck to the pipe with small magnets. One features a small yellow star and three big question marks. Two features a figure running with their hands over their head, carrying a heart. Three has some illegible writing and an emoticon face. On the pipe above this one are VHS tape boxes. Most are in kanji I cannot read, but the ones I can are- (1) The Silence of the Butterflies (2) I'M NOT A BANGBOO (3) The Sixteenth Split. I like to imagine the first movie is maybe a reference to Silence of the Lambs, based on the title alone. Which, if it is, might mean Belle likes horror/psychological horror movies.]

[Desc: On the table beside her mini fridge is a hybrid music player. It plays records via a slit in the front, almost like a CD player. And there's a space for walkman tapes above that. The volume knob is notably loud, there are tiny numbers and Belle's set it to the second-to-last setting. There's a box of records beside it with two semi visible packages. The first one is in kanji I, again, cannot read. But my guess, based on the art, is some kind of alt style music. The one behind it has a barely visible animal mascot with vibrant blues & greens, and the sharp art style makes me think of electric rock or pop. Behind this is her night stand. On the nightstand is a blue "GameBoy" and a yellow mug that says 'LENMAN', which is also seen on a soda can in her room. Lemon soda, I would guess.]

[Desc: The wall beside Belle's (unmade) bed. There are five posters. One features art of a woman's face above the movie title; 'REVERSAL'. There is some silhouette art that vaguely looks like some ethereal monsters, followed by the movie tag line underneathe - "Night of the Ethereal Reversal". Might be a Night of the Living Dead reference. Which further makes me believe Belle likes horror movies. The second poster is covered by One & Three, which makes it pretty hard to know what it shows. What I can see is an unfinished title - "---- Slayer". There's eyes on some of the visible artwork and it looks vaguely like a record with scenes on it. The third poster features various Bangboos climbing away from a large, glowing, orange, Bangboo that seems to be "exploding" with energy, exposing its skeleton & heart. There's kanji I can't read, but under the kanji title is the word "THUNDER". And the words "BANGBOO POWER" are behind the artwork at the top. The fourth poster is one also seen downstairs in the Random Play store. The title is 'Coffee Mate'. Based on the style & energy of the artwork, my personal guess is that it's a romantic, slow paced anime film. The fifth & last poster is titles Ports Peak. The art is blue with a red chainsaw blade shape cutting through the middle, in the blade shape is the vague image of a man's side profile. Based on the blood splatter pattern & the chainsaw, this is likely a horror movie. The art makes me think of Evil Dead & Texas Chainsaw Massacre, personally.]

{Desc: Beside Belle's leather couch is a red electric guitar & an orange amp. On the couch is also one of her console controllers...which has no joy sticks, only a d pad, buttons, and bumpers. Also, she has stickers on her leather couch, clearly showing she gives no fucks.]

[Desc: On the floor, in a divot in the wall beside the small stairs that go up to her bed's raised platform is a skateboard & a framed poster. The skateboard features a green dinosaur/monster with it's mouth open. The bottom says FATE, likely the brand. The framed poster features two smiling tigers on the top & bottom of a logo, on a red & black striped background. Since she also has snowboard goggles in her room, I'm guessing she uses the skateboard when the weather is too warm for snow.]

[Desc: Next to Eous's charging station is a yellow dresser. On top of it is a boombox radio that has two mixtape spots. There's a small display with random colors that currently displays a pause symbol. It also has an antenna, which means it could be used as a standard FM/AM radio. Beside the boombox is a rabbit statue that Belle is using to hold a pair of black, green & blue snowboarding goggles. Small note, on Eous' coat is the words "Random Play - Staff", and his scarf has their name in small text.]

[Desc: At the end of Belle's bed is a pair of red shelves, and a pair of industrial metal & wood shelves. On the red shelves are three record sleeves. The small text on the albums is gibberish, but they're all made by 5AM Studios. The first and top one is black with white graffiti-bubble letters that say "3Z". R'n'B maybe? I've seen art like this for some R'N'B albums. Below it, the second album features some art of a Bangboo riding a cat through a ring of fire. Above the art is the word ZENLESS. The font & style give me, personally, some rock vibes. What subgenre of rock, I'm not sure. The last album is a art of a spider on a black & red ombre background, contrasting the spider, which features the same gradient in the opposite direction. The spider seems to feature the name of the band or album, but I can't tell what it says. I do know that this shit has to be a metal album. I'm like, 90% sure. On the industrial style shelves are some VHS tapes & a box. These tapes look like the type you buy for your own recordings, rather than ones with movies. Underneath that level is a technicolor piece of artwork in a frame. There's an illegible signature in the right bottom corner, meaning it's an autograph.]

[feastingmaggots]

momentary bliss : ch. 4

TW; self harm

He remembered it all as if it was yesterday.

“Stan, are you feeling okay?” Kyle had asked, a hint of genuine concern visible on his face. Stan just nodded. The reasoning for him asking this was because Stan was bright red.

“K-kyle, I just wanted to ask, um..” He started, trailing off into thought. What if he said no? What if he never talked to him again after this? What if he hated him???

But he glanced over at Kyle, looking at his sweet face and the way he was looking at Stan and simply listening to him. He’d never do that.

“Do you want to go out with me??” He spat out, his eyes widening as he turned to look straight in front of him instead of at Kyle, in fear of what he’d say. He bit his bottom lip anxiously.

Kyle giggled. Stan furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the other male. Kyle was.. blushing too? “Of course I will, Stan.” He responded, a warm smile plastered on his face. Stan was ecstatic. He instantly leaned over and hugged him, wrapping his arms around Kyle’s waist and pulling him in closer. It was probably one of the best days of his entire life, if he was honest. That’s what it went down as in his books at least.

…

“Have you been drinking?”

The question hit him like a truck. Stan immediately moved off of Kyle’s lap, staring at the ground as he fidgeted with the skin around his nails.

“If I tell you you’ll be mad.” Stan replied, his voice low and cautious.

Kyle groaned, hiding his face in his hands. He couldn’t believe it. I mean, he totally could. He’d already guessed Stan had been drinking solely from his body language but hearing the male sort of admit it just made him feel worse.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He said, slightly glancing over at him, but not fully turning himself. “I-i promise it was just a one time thing, and I-“

“No, but that’s the fucking problem, Stanley! It’s not just a ‘one time thing’, you’re an alcoholic!” Kyle interjected, his voice not fully yelling but he was definitely projecting.

This sent Stan over the edge, small tears bubbled in his eyes. “Do-don’t call me that..” He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the ground once again.

“But why?? It’s true! Every single time you promise me not to drink, you go behind my back and fucking do it again! You’re going to die before you even reach the legal drinking age!!” He retorted. There were tears forming in Kyle’s eye too.

(dont cry please dont)

Hot tears rolled down Stans cheeks, he sniffled before standing up and walking towards the bedroom door. “I’m gonna go shower.” He muttered under his breath, barely audible. Before he left, he grabbed a small ball of clothes he would wear after showering. The whole argument had caused him to partially sober up as he shut the door behind him. Kyle exhaled a shaky breath and wiped the tears off his cheeks before putting his shirt back on and then laying down on his side, so that he was facing the side of the room with the door on the wall.

He was calming himself down before something on Stans desk caught his eye..

(oh my god)

A small, but definitely sharp razor blade.

It had dark brown blood stains running up the side.

He almost threw up at the sight.

Once he processed what he was actually looking at, he grabbed the blade gently and placed it in his hoodie pocket. Was this the reason Stan kept relapsing? Because razor blades were just sitting around??

He had to prevent it.

He cautiously stood up, opening the drawer to Stans nightstand with a shaky hand and looking through the contents.

Graphite pencils, ripped up sketches, dried out paintbrushes, full prescription pill bottles, ibuprofen, other sorts of orange pill bottles, (he got a bad feeling in his chest from looking at all of them), a pipe, (he rolled his eyes at that one), a small poem book, and then-..

A pencil sharpener blade, and a razor blade that was bigger than the other two.

Both of the two had brown and crusty blood stains on them.

A shiver ran up his spine as he grabbed both of the blades and placed them in his pocket, along with the blade he’d found earlier. He felt as though they were communicating with each other.

(hey!! let us out!!)

(we promise, just one more time!!)

(please!!)

He shut his eyes tight and moved to sit back down on the bed, holding his chin in his hands and resting his elbows on his thighs. He was just.. thinking. Thinking about how all of this had just been happening behind his back.

Yes, he didn’t control Stan. But did he care about him? Yes. More than anything. That’s why he was doing this. He was planning on tossing them out once he got back home.

About 20 minutes passed before he heard footsteps down the hall. He perked up and waited for the boy to enter the door, which he did. He was wearing one of Kyle’s black hoodies that he’d stolen without permission like always, and some baggy blue plaid pajama pants. He looked very cozy.

But, Stan didn’t look at him. His arms were crossed over his chest while he walked and sat next to Kyle on the edge of the bed. The boy sighed before looking over at Kyle’s face, almost admiring him.

“I’m sorry.” He stated simply, moving towards him more and leaning his head on the other boys shoulder.

Kyle smiled slightly wrapping his arm around Stans shoulder and pulling him in closer. “It’s okay, my love. I’m just worried about you.” He mumbled in response, turning to kiss Stans temple.

Stans eyes darted around the room anxiously before it landed on his nightstand.

(oh fuck)

(where is it)

His mind raced but he tried not to show it. Kyle moved his head to look where Stan was looking and he knew that he saw it was gone. The razor.

Stan prayed he hadn’t taken the other ones.

(i had to stan you dont understand how much you mean to me

i cant live without it)

Hours had gone by of them just simply existing together, cuddling and kissing and hugging and everything of the sort; Before Kyle reached for his phone which was on five percent and checked the time.

“Shit, it’s 9pm.. I should be headed home.” He said with a giggle, not realizing how much time had passed of them being gay together. Stan groaned. “Nooo… Stay with me forever….” He said, squeezing the male tight. “Now you can never escape me.” He teased with an evil smile in his voice.

“Oh noo!! What ever shall I do now?!” He said dramatically. He kissed Stans forehead before wiggling out of his grasp pretty easily. Stan sat up on his knees and looked at Kyle with hearts in his eyes. “I love you.” The boy stated, smiling up at him.

“I love you more.” Kyle replied, leaning down and pecking his lips gently before turning and walking out. “Text me!” He yelled through the door. Stan giggled before responding with a quick; “I will!”

The time he spent without Kyle felt almost worthless. He did nothing except rot away in his bed on his phone. Under the blankets, over the blankets, laying on his side, on his back, he never felt comfortable enough no matter what he did. Eventually, he sat up with a sigh before reaching over to his nightstand, opening the drawer in search of something that his boyfriend had stolen a few hours earlier..

“Fuck.” He whispered, frantically moving papers and random miscellaneous trinkets out of the way looking for his blade. He couldn’t find it.

(where the fuck are they)

(he fucking took them)

He felt angry. He was angry! Yes, Kyle was just trying to care for him and be helpful, but it wasn’t fucking helpful. He felt like ripping his hair out. What had he done with them??

Meanwhile, at the Broflovski residence, Kyle threw out the razor blades feeling proud of himself. Now Stan wouldn’t relapse. Hopefully. He tried his best to prevent it at least. He picked up his phone from his bed once he entered his room and shot a text to Stan.

‘Hey! What are you up to?’

(i’m up to fucking killing myself)

Stan had an obvious scowl on his face from the text. How could Kyle do that?? Remove his only coping mechanism from his grasp? He knew it wasn’t a good one that’s for sure, but it made him feel better. It made his problems disappear temporarily.

(key word: temporary.)

(no wonder he doesn’t love you)

Stan felt so claustrophobic in his own body. He took ahold of his wrist and dug his nails into the skin for about thirty seconds before pulling away and noticing that he broke the skin a little bit. Not as good as it would’ve been with a razor, that’s for sure. But it was good enough with what he had.

(and he has nothing.)

He picked and scratched at his healing cuts and scabs, peeling them off and watching the blood pool back into the wound. It satisfied his thirst for watching his own blood drip down his arm. He needed some form of relief, and this was an okay one he supposed.

Once again, it could’ve been better.

But all of his outlets had been removed.

He felt like dying.

[mythicandco]

me, on the verge of a mental breakdown:

[video ID: a shaky video slowly zooming in on two unrealistically-colored plastic toy beetles sitting on top of a radio clock on a nightstand. one on the left, Arthur, is what appears to be a rhinoceros beetle colored black and red, and the other on the right, Jimmy, is a bright orange weevil with a black head and tiny, beady red eyes. there are various other trinkets littered about, such as a plastic purple bead necklace like the kind you’d see around mardi gras, a black charging cord for an iPhone 7, a tiny plastic jack russel terrier with a white ribbon around its neck, an Elsa Tsum Tsum, a large rock, and a piece of graphite. none of the items besides the two bugs actually matter to the subject of the video, but they are there.

transcript:

me: (shaking voice) oh, Jimmy and Arthur the Plastic Toy War… gay bugsbands, we’re really in it now! (choked laugh) haha-

end transcript.

note: the term “bugsbands” is a combination of the words “bug” and “husbands,” as Jimmy and Arthur are husbands and they are also bugs.

end ID.]

[zillifurniture]

Elevate your bedroom with the Graphite Nightstand from Zilli Furniture, a perfect blend of functionality and style. Crafted with meticulous attention to detail, this nightstand offers a sophisticated storage solution for your bedtime essentials. Enhance your bedroom decor with the Graphite Nightstand's contemporary design and practicality.

[deadhumourist]

Real Sugar: The Menu

Pairing: Rockstar!Frankie Morales X Female Chef!Reader

Rating: T, but series is M

Words: 1300+

Warnings: Descriptions of food, some music heartbreak, let me know if I missed something?

Summary: This interlude doesn't feature Frankie apart from mentions, but it's a peek into Chef's head as she's planning the menu for Frankie's visit to Cassis and her connection to Frankie prior to her taking the job. It takes place during Chapter 2.  These dishes were made up, so if you try this at home results may vary :P

A huge, soft thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment for reading this over and for convincing me that I should yeet this out there. Love you <3

Read the rest of the story here. Taglist

----

Frankie was surprisingly evasive when it came to personal questions in interviews and when quizzed about what he enjoyed, the answer was simply "something sweet, definitely not good for you." It didn't help you at all. 

That night you settled down to scribble some notes. With food, you found inspiration worked best when you teased out the threads as you worked - you just needed an anchor and your sense of intuition would guide you the rest of the way. The notes were initial suggestions to get your mind working, but your hands, eyes and taste buds would take over the moment the ingredients were laid out on the counter. 

Your notes on food were always peppered with doodles, adjectives, rough little line drawings for plating suggestions and arrows as you plotted out preparation notes. To the untrained eye it looked like a crab scrawl, but this was the beginning of a three course meal that would change your life in ways that you couldn’t begin to imagine.

So, pencil gripped studiously between fingers (you loved the faint whiff of graphite and would not be swayed to ink) you jotted down flavours and ingredients as they came to you. Some, you crossed out again. Your ideas were not really flowing, and tapping the pencil on the lined paper impatiently, you stood up from your seat. 

Music always helped you think, so you reached for your soundbar remote and played Saint-Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals, Aquarium. The notes tinkled through the space as you decided to lay down, prone on your back. Getting comfortable, you let the notes effortlessly fall over you like raindrops, the harmonies coaxing thoughts and memories from your mind like wind whipping up leaves on a sidewalk. 

It felt like the air clearing and you breathed deeply, nestling your head even further back into the plush carpet. 

You relaxed, letting the images and impressions come to you, and after a few long moments you sat back upright and knew what you wanted Frankie to know. How you wanted to show him the different textures and facets to you. The surprise and delight of a discovery in every mouthful, something that touched all the senses at once and left a fragment of knowledge behind in memory and heart. 

You smiled as you jotted down a few more dish concepts. To share yourself through your craft was a deeply personal experience. It often revealed more about you than you intended. Like that you hoped in your heart of hearts that Frankie would find something familiar and comforting in your work as you did in his. 

The music that soothed you when you were nervous about your interview at Cassis. 

The night before the interview you had tossed and turned in your bed, the covers uncomfortably wrapped around your limbs like the anxiety was wrapped around your throat.  Grabbing the phone off your nightstand, you searched for their second album, scrolling to a ballad that Frankie had written about missing home. Santi’s smooth voice crooned about the small things at home that seemed insignificant at the time but ended up being important. The harmonies and words slowly unspooled the tightness clawing at your throat and you fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The music that eased the pain from being left for someone else. 

Slumped over your kitchen table on your day off from work, tears unabashedly rolled off your cheeks onto the wood below. Turned up loudly, was a song from when Frankie had his heart broken. The woman had carved something out of him and he was struggling to recover. Santi’s emotive voice, with Frankie’s lower baritone as backing vocals, slowly smoothed over the jagged edges of your heart until it was smooth like sea glass. 

The music that released endorphins into your bloodstream like a heady drug. 

Empire was the supporting band for an outfit that was all the rage at the time. You were not here for them but they ended up leaving the biggest impression out of the whole festival experience. 

These were the early days; Santi was still clean-shaven and a new guitarist had just joined, the previous guy having left after coming to blows with the band. You still had to whip out the festival leaflet to refresh your memory on the band lineup. 20 minutes into their set you had turned to your friend at least twice, screaming above the din “How the hell did I not know this band? Fuuuck they’re good!” while taking gulps of now-warm beer and moving in time to the music. 

The tightly-packed crowd moved like a sea of bodies, one mass undulating to the loud music. In your little spot on the grass you felt the bass rip through your sternum and it was a pure unfiltered happiness that exploded in your veins like so much concentrated sunshine. You closed your eyes and focused on the feeling, and when they opened, they fell on the source of that feeling. Frankie leaned over the stage, a joyous open-mouthed smile shining into the crowd as his fingers expertly danced and flicked over the strings. 

Frankie had shared his innermost self through his music, and you wanted to share yourself back. There was a strange familiarity about following an artist and their work, one you knew was only as deep as your own imagination. To you, right now, Frankie was someone who inspired you. After Thursday, you hoped you would find out what else Frankie was.  

After an hour you felt satisfied with your notes. Then you wrote out the dishes, a life and temperament in three courses. 

Halibut with oyster and yuzu espuma and radish. 

Perfectly flaky, soft cubes of halibut on a gossamer oyster and yuzu foam, tasting of summer, citrus and surf. Crisp curls of shaved watermelon radish add a crunch and blush in a nod to the vivid colours of the season.

I love swimming in the sea. Feeling the warm breeze whip around me when I emerge from the briny ocean. This is when I feel lightest, when the summer sun warms me, and when the sea leaves salt tracks on me like imprints. 

Seared beef rib-eye with marrow compound butter on creamy mashed potato, herbed porcini mushrooms and lemon garlic asparagus. 

A beautifully marbled round of rib-eye, baby-cheek pink in the centre with an expertly seared crust, nestled into golden, buttery mashed potato. A dash of umami comes from  mushrooms pan-fried in butter, thyme and garlic. The pearly fattiness of the marrow melts into the meat, infusing it with even more of its own flavour. The lemon on the verdant, just-crunchy asparagus lifts the flavours on the rich plateful. 

I am down to earth. I understand the meat and bones of the world and I work with the fire that transforms us under harsh circumstances. 

Madagascan vanilla baked pudding with jasmine blossom ice cream. 

Warm, spongy baked pudding with a fine crumb and smelling richly of fresh vanilla pods, cosying up to a light floral ice cream, white as first snow with the texture of pure, creamy silk. Crowned with a delicate spun sugar heart.

I want softness. The kindness and reassurance that comes from holding someone's hand and it being enough. 

You set the pencil and paper down and looked it over again. The following day you would buy these ingredients and give it a proper go in the kitchen, with Empire on full blast. 

----

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

[mhysa-leesi]

𝕄𝕣𝕤. 𝔸𝕝𝕝-𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕟

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader ⭐.

Summary: “Steve Rogers deserves nothing less than an All-American Apple Pie Life, with his Miss America. And he’ll stop at nothing to have it.” 

Word Count: 3,472 

TW‼: Drugging, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Smut, Minor Stockholm Syndrome, Minor Misogynistic Themes, and 1940′s Housewife Themes. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 

AN Cont.:  If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION. 

Steve Rogers is a hero who’s sacrificed so much for the greater good of the world. He’s been fighting his entire life, a constant cycle of getting knocked down, just to get back up and do it all again the next day. A constant blur of black and blue, of broken bones, and bloodied knuckles. Steve didn’t complain too often, he enjoyed waking up every morning and saving the world. He was grateful for the life he led, a life of justice and liberty. So, why did he feel so unfulfilled? Unaccomplished? Incomplete?

Steve would catch himself daydreaming during briefings, dreaming of his childhood. He dreamt about Coney Island, about the smell of popcorn, and the sticky feel of melting popsicles on his fingers. He was stuck in the past and he knew it, maybe he truly was “The Man Out of Time”. He’d journal his thoughts, sketching his memories in charcoal and faded colors. Mostly he’d sketch faces of his past, but there has only been one face as of late that lived within the thick pages. (Y/N). The newest Avenger, his Miss America.

He found himself fantasizing about her with every gentle curve of his pencil, imagining it was his hands running over her hips and not his graphite. The front of his jeans tightened as he shaded her breasts, and he wondered if they were as soft and supple as he made them look on paper. He captured her eyes, adding that sparkle and depth that seemed to become her. Her hair, the unruly hairs, and the ones always perfectly in place. He colored her skin, his heart skipping as he imagined running his lips over the skin of her thighs. Her star-spangled leotard left little to the imagination, so Steve found other things to imagine. The sound of her moans and whimpers, how she’d look as he took her apart one lick and thrust at a time, and how she’d look with him dripping from in-between her legs.

Steve groaned as he threw down his pencil, running his graphite-stained hands over his face in frustration before closing his sketchbook with a soft thump. He needed a distraction--and a cold shower…

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Today was Lila, Clint’s daughter’s birthday, and all of the Avengers were invited to the festivities. Steve sat next to Bucky, both of them donning bright pink party hats with the words “Happy Birthday” on them in glitter swirls. Bucky was telling Steve about a girl he had recently met at some café or something--truth be told Steve wasn’t listening to his best friend. His attention was elsewhere, across the room, to be exact.

You were in a green tonal dress that perfectly complemented your skin tone, with puff sleeves and floral print. Steve was entranced as he watched you bounce baby Nathaniel on your hip. And he watched as the baby babbled and yanked your hair, making you laugh and wince as you handed him back to his mother. He knew at that moment what he had been missing, what he had been deprived of--what he had deserved after all this time. A family, a white-picket fence… You.

It all suddenly made sense as if he had just completed a puzzle he’d been working on since he woke up from the ice. That was what he wanted--no… It was what he needed, what he deserved. All of his life he had made sacrifice after sacrifice, the world owed him this one thing, and he’d have it. No matter the cost.

You were perfect. A nice girl with a strong head on your shoulders and a good heart, who better to start a life with? There was no question, you’d be his wife, the mother of his children. You’d see it in time, but he couldn’t wait for you. He was a man out of time, after all…

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

It had been almost a month since his revelation, but it was all due in good time. He had made the arrangements, he had been meticulous in his planning. He made sure to get every single detail right, his and your future depended on his perfection. The trap had been set, now he just needed to go hunting for his prey.

You were just coming back from training with Natasha, your skin sheen with sweat and kissed with soft purple bruises from sparring with the Widow. You were laughing at something she had said, giving Steve a small wave before making your way to the communal fridge. He patiently watched as you grabbed your water bottle, your name written in sharpie with stickers on the front. He fidgeted as you took three big gulps, smacking your lips as water dribbled down your chin and onto your chest.

Steve watched as you made your way to your bedroom, he smiled as he noticed a slight stumble in your steps. The drug took faster than he had expected. He waited until he heard the click of the closing door, but it never came. Like a silent shadow, he crept down the hall to the threshold of your room. You were splayed out on the edge of your bed, legs dangling, and your hair a mess.

He couldn’t help himself. He nudged your arm for a response and nothing; you were out cold. A dangerous smirk crossed his face as he knelt down above you, his shadow consuming you in every delicious way possible. He touched your cheek, tracing down to your jaw, and up to your lips. They were so soft, so plump, and oh, so kissable. He tasted you then, molding his lips to yours in a one-sided dance. Steve shivered as he explored your unconscious body, he groped, squeezed, and tasted your salty skin.

He stopped himself. He only had three hours to move you, six tops if his hunch about you skipping breakfast that morning was right. So, he picked up your unconscious body and began the next steps to his plan…

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

When you awoke your limbs were stiff and mind foggy. You stretched away the stiffness and rolled onto your side, blindly reaching for your bottle of water. When your hand failed to meet your nightstand, you froze. What the hell? Confused, you reached out again; telling yourself you just misjudged the distance. But when your hand once again met an empty space, you sat up with a start. You looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. The walls were striped, the floor a godawful floral carpet, and the bed had a wooden frame and a blue blanket tucked into the corners. You blinked, thinking that this room would magically melt into your bedroom at the Tower, and when it remained the same, you blinked again for good measure. You stood on shaky legs and looked around the room once more, disbelief clouding your better judgment. The bedroom looked straight out of a 1940’s catalog.

When the lock on the bedroom door jiggled, you whirled around with your fists raised to meet your captor. You were prepared to see a HYDRA Agent or some other villain with a vendetta against you. What you weren’t prepared for was Steve Rogers. He stood dressed in his old military uniform, his hair neatly combed, and his face clean-shaven.

“Steve? What’s going on?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

What do I mean? “This,” you gesture wildly with your hands in disbelief, “Where are we?”

“Home,” he said calmly.

“Whose home?”

“Ours, honey,”

You narrowed your eyes at the man before you. This couldn’t be your Steve Rogers, this wasn’t your Captain or friend. This was… someone else. You took a tentative step forward, searching for an eerie glow to his blue eyes, for an explanation for his weird behavior. This had to be mind-control, some elaborate HYDRA plot to disarm the Avengers. This wasn’t Steve, right?

“Steve,” you said carefully, “this isn’t our home. We live at the Tower, remember? With Nat, Sam, and Bucky?”

Steve’s frown deepened as you continued to speak to him like an incompetent child, “No. This is our new home, (Y/N). I made it just for us.”

You nodded along as you slowly crept forward toward the door. He shyly stuffed his hands in his pockets as he continued speaking, confessing. When you were close enough, you bolted past him. But you weren’t faster than Steve Rogers. He caught you by the ponytail and threw you back into the bedroom on the floor, kicking the door shut behind him. You scrambled to your feet and into a defensive position as Steve made another grab for you. You twisted and threw a right hook to his jaw, the strength of your powered punch was enough to send him stumbling backward, but it wasn’t enough to win against him. The same serum that made him had made you, too. But you’d be a goddamn idiot to think that you were stronger than Steve Rogers.

You made another run for the exit, but you didn’t get very far as Steve caught you yet again by your ankle. You kicked, punched, scratched, and flailed as he overpowered you. The man straddled your wriggling form and placed his hands around your throat. Squeezing and squeezing until the oxygen caught in your throat and your limbs began to relax. Your arms and legs went lax as your vision began to dot and blacken. When you let out the last wisp of air from your lungs is when Steve released you. You wheezed and gasped like a fish out of the water as you struggled to breathe, to fill your lungs with oxygen once again. You massaged your throat and glared up at Steve who was straightening and dusting off his uniform.

“I’ll only tell you this once, (Y/N). If you disobey me, in any way shape, or form, you’ll be punished. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned, “Now, get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.”

He opened the closet and pulled out a baby blue dress with silver embroidered star details around the off-shoulder neckline, and set it on the bed before you. You sat on the floor, just silently glaring and snarling as he knelt down in front of you with a small velvet box and diamond ring in hand. He grabbed your left hand and went to place it on your ring finger, but before he could slide the diamond on your finger, you wrenched your hand away and cracked him across the cheek. The slap seemed to echo throughout the room as his jaw ticked in silent anger. Before you could react, Steve pulled his hand back and returned the slap. The impact sent your head whipping sharply to the side, and caused your eyes to water with prickling, unshed tears. Your cheek stung when you touched it.

“I told you, (Y/N),” he sighed, “You made me do that.”

“I didn’t make you do shit, Rogers,” you spit.

You flinched as he pointed an angry and threatening finger in your face, “Language.”

He left you then after reminding you of dinner. Alone in the bedroom, you scowled at the dress that seemed to mock you. You threw it onto the floor and stomped out of the room, fueled by anger and hatred.

You found him in the kitchen, knife in hand as he carved a glazed turkey. His smile dropped as he took in your dress-less form. You were still in your gym clothes from earlier. Steve’s nostrils flared as he set the knife down, he stared at the turkey before turning his gaze to you.

“You’re not wearing the dress,”

“No,” you said flatly.

“And why not?”

You scoffed at him, “Why do you think, Steve?”

He moved his head to the side as he grumbled something under his breath. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. You smirked triumphantly, you didn’t know why, but getting under his skin was satisfying. You weren’t going to make this easy for him, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be wearing that damn dress.

As if he had read your mind, he looked back at you with an ominous smile. He rounded the counter and stood in front of you, his large frame so much bigger than yours. In any other scenario, it would’ve been intimidating--having your Captain looming over you so threateningly. But right now, at this moment, you couldn’t care less. You wanted to piss him off, to knock him down off his pedestal. You’d be damned if you bent to his sick will.

Your eyes darted behind Steve to the counter where the knife waited for you. Before he could track your movements, you made a dive for it. Rolling over the island as you quickly readied the knife. You slashed and stabbed at Steve, growling in frustration as he effortlessly blocked and dodged all of your attacks. In one quick and fluid movement, Steve grabbed and twisted your wrist; forcing you to drop the knife. Your heart breaking with the loud clatter as it hits the floor.

Steve dragged you to the table by the back of your neck and slammed your cheek down onto the wood. Empty wine glasses and plates clattered with the impact. You grunted and kicked out your legs blindly, settling for a shin kick--anything. Steve slammed your head against the table once more as you continued to fight against him. He did it again, and again, and again until your vision blurred and your blood splattered against the polished wood. You weakly clawed at the plates and silverware around you, desperately trying to cling onto something. When your fingers wrapped around on a fork, you didn’t hesitate. You stabbed Steve’s thigh and summoned all of your remaining strength to throw him into the wall.

You fell back as you panted for breath, arming yourself with another piece of random cutlery. You threw a steak knife, missing him by just an inch. Steve growled as he dragged you by your kicking legs, hauling you up, just to slam you down onto the table once more. He held your face down as he growled in your ear.

“You have a lot of fight in you, (Y/N). Breaking you is going to be so much fun, honey,”

Slam.

“I’ll beat that spark out of you, if you make me, (Y/N). So why don’t you just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

Steve took hold of your neck once more as he guided you up the stairs and into the bedroom. He shoved you down onto the bed, and you landed on your stomach with a bounce. Your head was throbbing with an uncomfortable fog that settled over your thoughts. You murmured weakly in protest as Steve began to undress you. You felt the blood from your head drip down to your ear and down your neck.

Panic set your heart in motion as you felt him tug your leggings down your legs. Your brain and body kicked into a desperate overdrive as you writhed beneath him. You tried to shove him away, you summoned all of your super strength and thrashed, but you were simply no match for him--you were utterly powerless and at his mercy. His hands explored your thighs, dipping between them and squeezing that soft, supple inner skin. You scrambled to your knees, inadvertently pressing and grinding your ass to his front. He groaned as he moved his hands to your hips, angling them up as he ground down onto you with a silent promise of what was to come.

His hand dipped down and he held his prize within his hand. He groped and you grunted as you clawed blindly at his forearms, grabbing his wrists as he yanked down your cotton panties past your knees. You screamed as he shoved his fingers inside you, forcing his knuckles past your folds. You kicked and cursed him, hoping your struggle would be enough for him to let you go. You screamed louder than you had ever screamed before, so loud your head ached and lungs burned. With an annoyed grunt, Steve wrapped his thick arm around your neck in a chokehold to shut you up. You babbled breathlessly as you slapped at his arm.

“Steve,” you choked, “Please…”

He gave you one last strong warning squeeze before letting you fall flat on your back, coughing and gasping for breath.

“All you had to do was be good for me, (Y/N). I told you, bad girls get punished,”

He withdrew as he undid his fly. You swallowed thickly, wincing as your throat burned from his assault. You grabbed at his wrists, but he just batted your weak hands away as he held you down with one hand. The other gripping his thick, swollen length. You saw the muscles of his stomach tighten as he parted your legs. His grip on the back of your knees was bruising as he held them apart, lining himself up to your entrance. You tried once more to shimmy away, but he had you where he wanted you; vulnerable and open to him. He bent over you, his eyes black with lust, as he invited himself inside of you. He pushed himself inside, agonizingly slow, inch by inch, just relishing in the grip of you. You were too dry, too unwelcoming, but it didn’t matter to him. You were perfect, warm, and tight. He moaned then, as he forced himself deeper into you, pushing and pushing until his pelvis touched yours.

“Steve, please,” you sobbed, “please, stop…”

He shushed your pleas as his face scrunched in pleasure with every shallow thrust. You gritted your teeth to keep yourself silent, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But he didn’t seem to notice as he tilted your hips up, finding his own slow, steady rhythm as he fucked into you. He cupped your face and forced his lips onto yours, his tongue swiping and exploring your mouth. You slapped at his head, but he never relented, never pulled back from his searing kiss. He moaned into your mouth as his hips skipped a beat. You took that opportunity, the falter of his hips, to bite down on his tongue. Then, did he finally relent.

He pulled away from you, his hips stilling inside of you. He carefully touched his tender tongue, scowling as he pulled away bloodied fingers. Steve drew back his hand and slapped you across the face. The smack of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the room. You sneered at him and he frowned in disappointment before cracking you once more. You yelped as he held you down by your neck. Steve had found a new rhythm, and it was relentless. His tempo was fast, and he made sure to never miss a beat as he hammered into your abused cunt. He put pressure on your throat, but not enough to send you into a pool of cold unconsciousness. No… he wanted you awake for this, lucid, and remembering.

His groans and moans grew louder, duetting with the lewd notes of your squelching pussy and his skin slapping against yours. The repulsive symphony he had conducted finally reached its ungodly climax. You sobbed as you felt his warmth flood within you, as he shamelessly emptied himself deep inside of you. He sat back on his haunches, gently pulling himself from your wet grip. Your body instantly curled in on itself, shielding you from the man before you. The man you had once admired. You lay there, just shaking, whether it was from shock or anger, you didn’t know.

You felt as he dropped the baby blue dress with the silver embroidered stars next to you. You sniffled as you looked at the dress in defeat, silently dressing in the blue cotton. When you were dressed, Steve helped you to your feet, holding you against his chest as he gently swayed you. He caressed your head, embracing you gently as if he hadn’t just used your body, as if he was your sweet and loving husband, as if this was normal.

“Dinner is probably cold by now,” he sighed, “It’s okay, though. You can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” your voice was smaller now, weaker, afraid.

He hummed, “It’s a wife’s duty to cook and care for her husband, (Y/N). I think I’d like meatloaf for dinner, and apple pie for dessert. What do you think, honey?”

You hesitated, you wanted to spit at him, to curse, to smack, punch, and kick, but your body was frozen against his. When you didn’t reply, his grip on you tightened threateningly, making you flinch.

“Yes, that sounds good, Steve,” you whispered. He kissed your head as he gently swayed you, his warm release slowly dripping down your shaking legs.

[gothsunoo]

what's the time?

enhypen as times of the day: capturing seven little moments.

genre: enhypen as... word count: 6 lines per member

warnings: none

note: wheeew my first post, I hope someone will read and enjoy this !! I'm actually planning to turn these "moments" into oneshots, what do you think? please appreciate the effort sksnsidjkk

heeseung [5:45 am]

heeseung sat on his bed, looking outside the window. he kept tapping on his notebook with a pencil, the white space on the page now filled with a rain of graphite. there he was again, wide awake at dawn, trying to write lyrics. the pink sky wasn't going to suggest him a single word that day. where's an inspiration when he needs it?

rest of the members under the cut <3

jay [11:03 pm]

"watch out for traffic jams downtown tonight! and now... we know you love this song, it's called peaches!". the soft beat started spreading in the car as the radio host closed his microphone. jay's fingers followed the rhythm on the steering wheel. the city looked amazing from his car window, too amazing to be mad about the traffic jam. he simply felt calm.

jake [10:30 am]

jake bit a red apple loudly like those people in fruit commercials do. he stood in the school court, enjoying the fresh air of the morning and the soft tickle of the sunbeams. the next chemistry class was waiting for him: this time they were going to try a very interesting experiment. he couldn't wait.

sunghoon [7:50 pm]

sunghoon sighed as he closed the door of the gym. the cold wind hit his cheeks, but he didn't mind. the sky was just turning dark blue, yet the city was still bright and loud. nothing to worry about, nothing to be scared of. he loved that feeling of tranquil loneliness. his blue converse skipped lightly on the grey sidewalk.

sunoo [6:25 pm]

the sight of the little kid who was holding the same ice cream cone as him, filled with strawberry and melon, made sunoo laugh. he loved everything about summer afternoons. the feeling of lightweight clothes on his skin was amazing. and that golden sky was probably the most beautiful one he had ever seen.

jungwon [4:32 pm]

the ice was melting in the soda and jungwon was becoming one with the floor. he played with his straw for some seconds. exercise number two, page 158 of his english book was giving him trouble. he always did his homework sitting at his desk, but he had to admit that studying on the floor from time to time was nice.

ni-ki [1:11 am]

"yes! take that! woohoo!" ni-ki wasn't able to contain his excitement as he finally won what felt like the longest game of his life. the digital clock on his nightstand reminded him to lower his voice: 1:11 am. with a smile, he turned off the playstation. he didn't know why, but that time of the day (well, of the night) made him feel very comfortable.

[ written on january 19, 2022 by ryeon ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ ]

© gothsunoo

[when-the-feet-hurt]

cw: captivity, implied past abuse

For the longest time, Whumpee thought that kindness was extinct, a language lost to time. They became unable to understand it as they became fluent in violence and cruelty. Kindness was something ancient.

That's what Whumpee thought until they met Caretaker, at least. In a soft, gentle voice, they'd retaught Whumpee all the words they'd forgotten, not minding if Whumpee didn't quite grasp their meanings just yet.

“Good morning, Whumpee. How’d you sleep?” Caretaker asks, setting a plate of eggs down in front of Whumpee and giving them a plastic fork and knife.

Whumpee smiles. “I slept well. Thank you for asking. How did you sleep?”

“I slept alright. Would’ve been better if I could sleep in, though, but I’ve got work…” Caretaker runs their fingers through their hair. They look at their watch. “I better leave soon. Is there anything you need before I go?”

Whumpee puts a finger to their chin, thinking as they chew the spongy, bland eggs and swallow. They shake their head. “No thank you.”

Caretaker sighs, a smile making its way onto their face. “You don’t need to thank me for everything, Whumpee.” Tugging their jacket on, Caretaker sets a hand on Whumpee’s head and messes up their hair. “Be good, okay? I’ll be back by five.”

Whumpee nods. “Okay. Have a good day at work, Caretaker.”

“Thanks,” Caretaker replies, kissing Whumpee ever so softly.

Something in Whumpee’s chest sinks as the door closes and the numerous locks turn. Eight hours. What are they to do without Caretaker? Whumpee can’t turn on the television by themself; Caretaker said that the electricity could shock them. Neither can they read books; Caretaker said the pages could cut their fingers. There’s not even a pencil to write with; Whumpee could stab themself with the sharp tip of the graphite. Something as simple as gazing out of the window isn’t an option. Whumpee could jump. Whumpee could break the glass and use it to cut themself. Someone could see Whumpee and try and take them back to Whumper. The possibilities are endless.

No matter. None of this is a bad thing; Caretaker is simply keeping them safe.

Besides, they’ve granted Whumpee so much freedom! No chains or ropes on their wrists. Clean clothes and soap. Clean water and edible food—unlimited water and food at that! Whumpee even has their own blanket and bed. Caretaker is so kind to them.

Yawning, Whumpee gets up and throws away their utensils in the trash, puts their plate in the sink. They yawn again as they walk up the stairs. The eggs always make them sleepy.

Blinking their sleepy tears away, Whumpee turns left and opens their bedroom door, walking in and turning on their bedside lamp. The dim light illuminates a twin-sized bed and a small wooden nightstand. Whumpee smiles. Their very own room.

Climbing into bed, Whumpee pulls the blanket over their thin body and lets themselves fall victim to the sweet clutches of sleep, willfully ignoring the window to the right that’s boarded and bolted shut.

[almosttenaciousmoon]

By the way, she’s safe with me

AN: So this is my first ever fic / oneshot so it may not be the best but I wrote half of this at 2:00am and than finished it first thing in the morning. It’s unedited so just ignore the mistakes. I hope it’s a ok. 

Also ‘cinta ku’ translates to ‘my love’ in Indonesian.

Summary: Gwyn wakes up from a nightmare but Azriel is there to comfort her.

Tagging @daevastanner for encouraging me to write down my head-cannons

Soft moonlight filters through the floor to ceiling windows illuminating the graphite room. As wisps of shadows adorned the walls rising and falling seemingly in time with every breathe the room’s occupants took.

The shadowsinger lay awake staring down at the strands of silky copper hair threaded through his fingers. Sprawled across his chest, Gwyn’s soft snores breath against his chest as he admired his resting mate. Her steady heartbeat and even breathing were indicators that she was finally resting having recovered from her nightmare not a half-hour ago.

Azriel had awoken from his admittedly light slumber to the raged breading and heavy panting from his valkyrie. Feeling the loss of her weight and hearing the rustle of sheets as she got up, he sat up wings spread against the headboard as he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. 

“Cinta ku, are you ok?” Azriel asked, voice a little rougher than usual as he recovers from what little sleep he had left. “Yes.” A yawn escaped her. “Just a dream. You can go back to sleep Az. You need rest for the mission tomorrow.” Gwyn argues as she sits at the edge of the bed reaching for a cup of water on the nightstand. 

“ You need rest as much as I do.” He argues because tomorrow he and Gwyn along with Cassian and Nesta would be flying up to Windhaven to meet up with Emerie and assist her in training the Illyrian females. It seams that after the valkyries success in the blood rite, more and more females have taken to training and fighting over the recent years. Some trained as part of the Illyrian army. While others chose to join the increasing number of Valkyrie recruits, helping to build up their ranks.

“Even so, you’d be the one flying us up.” Gwyn countered disposing of the cup and crawling her way up to his lap. Now nestled comfortably on his lap with her head resting on the crook of his neck, Gwyn wrapped her arms around his middle. “Wanna talk about it?” The shadowsinger offers as he tucks the crown of molten copper beneath his chin, content in idly tracing shapes against the silk of her nightgown. His stubborn yet clearly distorted mate shook her head.

While he knew that sometimes it was good to talk about the demons that plague your sleep, he also knew that sometimes you need time to process it all and other times it’s just too much and all you need is to simply be held. To have someone to hold you and anchor you back to reality as your mind becomes a maelstrom of doubt and fears. As streams of insecurities threaten to drown you.

After some minutes Gwyn pulled away tilting her head up in order to look at him. Soft hazel orbs met slightly glazed teal and one look and he could see all to guilt and grief stifled with self-loathing he felt down their mating bond. At that, the shadowsinger’s hold tightened on her waist.

“I-I needed to process what happened first. To figure out what part of the dream was real and what my ever creative mind has contorted for me tonight.” She whispers more light-heartedly towards the end as she tries to lighten the mood. “Tonight I dreamt of Catrin.” She says, tilting her head up, she was meet with pulls dusty brown swirled in with moss and warmed by an inner gold. His hazel gaze shone with quiet encouragement silently willing her to share her dream. 

With that, the valkyrie continued.”The difference tonight being that the dream started off as a happy memory. I sat upon the boulders next to our lake in Sangravah. I lie down, content in enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun as I read about two lovers dancing through a spring shower. Catrin’s swimming in the lake. Her head underwater blowing bubbles to show me where she is. I hear her swimming closer to me. Her laugh so care free, is suddenly cut short by a stifling scream.” Her chest once again starts to heave. The shadowsinger continued his southing stokes on her back the scent of her growing anxiety drenches the room. Dread coils low and deep in his stomach as she looked up at him, eyes dull with resignation.

That look sends him spiralling as he questions what cruel dreams have played in her head tonight? Reaching a hand to cup her face, he pushed away those thoughts, determined to keep that calming presence there for her. A deep breath as she returned her head to rest on his shoulder. “Something must have grabbed at her feet, slowly dragging her down. Drowning her” She murmurs against his skin. “Catrin kept streaming out to me. Hopelessly thrashing against the water. I tried to reach out to her, but it was as if invisible hands held me down. Restraining me.” He feels the silent tears as they slide down his back.” It felt just like Sangravah. I couldn’t save her than and I failed her again. Even in my dreams, I’m always powerless to save her.” Gwyn ads through heaping sobs. 

Two fingers slowly lift her chin. Hazel eyes trained to her face. Shining with reverence. He knew. He knew how it felt to feel powerless in saving someone you loved. He knew how it felt to wake up feeling like your back at square one. With that understanding, swallowing the emotion in his voice. The shadowsinger assured her.

“ You didn’t fail her.”  

You never have, and never cold dear sister. The shadowsinger could have sworn the room’s temperature dropped,if only for a second. He could have sworn there was another presence in the room.

She looked ready to argue but a finger pressed against her lips assuring her he wasn’t finished. “ You said it yourself, you fought against those restraints it order to get to her. You fought, objecting to whatever held you from her. Your love for your sister is shown by that simple thought you had. To get to her. To save her.” He looked at her with an intensity charged by reassurance. Reassurance for her. From his words. 

“I know sometimes that grief and self doubt can threaten to pull you under. That even as everything seams to get better, It claws it’s way into your mind and sneaks up on you when you least expect it to.” He tells her.” But with that, also remember to acknowledge the progress you make. Admittedly, it’s easier said than done but I want you to promise me that every time those insecurities come chasing. That you turn to me and ask of a reminder. A reminder of an achievement. It doesn’t have to be a big one. Even something as mundane as being abel to go back to sleep after a nightmare.” And he’s looking at her again. With that unrelenting love that she’s still working to believe she deserves.

“I know that sometimes, it’s hard to remember something positive when all your mind seems to recall is the failures. That’s when you turn to me. You don’t need to do it all alone. Just because we’re immortal, doesn’t mean we’re invincible. I can only hope that one day you can see a glimpse of the Gwyn I see.” Az tells her.

“And what do you see?” She retorts. A small smile graces her perfect face.

“I see a warrior. A survivor. An unrelenting fighter who even when the world owed her nothing, she demanded something of it anyways.” He smiled, tucking her smaller frame to his chest as he brought them back to the bed.

With Gwyn now resting on his chest. Head tucked under his chin. Wings gently wrapped around her, He looks out the window and at the shining stars. “I hope you know she’s safe with me.” The shadowsinger whispered to his mates sister. Knowing that she was smiling, from wherever she stud. 

She smiles from the reassurance that her sister is once agin safe with a new family to hold her.

I’ll meet you in the next life. She promisees to the mated pair. 

[roanniom]

Paterson’s Favorite Things

Paterson x Reader

Word Count: 1,311

Summary: You and Paterson enjoy a quiet Wednesday night.

Warnings: N S F W, M/F sex but mainly fluffy, sappy poeticism 

Paterson lives a simple life. He loves nothing more than his routine, his poetry, and his woman. The former two, in his mind, exist to center and celebrate the latter. He wakes to you in his arms in your shared bed, goes about his day to contribute to your shared life, and returns to your shared home in the late afternoon. To watch as the failing sun dances across your smiling face while you tell him about your day and work on your latest culinary endeavor.

You shuffle towards him with a wooden spoon full of spicy goodness, offered up to his lips with a hand held below his chin to catch any rogue, saucy drips before they can stain the bright white shirt he wears around the house. Paterson swallows down the flavorful liquid – a recipe that is one third your grandma’s Bolognese, one third Thai curry from a recipe card found tucked in a book about ducks you’d borrowed from the library, and one third pure imagination. Pure you. The spices tingle on his tongue and in his throat as they go down and he can’t help but think that they even taste like you. That essence you exude with abandon –

A zing, a zest, something that burns or stings if you hold it on your tongue too long, like a lemon.

Oh but also like a lemon, if you hold it to your tongue long enough, it almost becomes sweet. Your mouth adapts, allowing saliva to pool and neutralize the harshness till the citrus takes on a honeyed quality.

“What do you think, Pat?” you ask, licking delicately at the remnants of sauce still coating the spoon after his taste. “Do you think it needs some salt?”

Paterson blinks, the poetry of spices and lemons disappearing from the air where it had begun to swirl around him. In its wake he sees your sweet smile, waiting for his feedback.

“I don’t think that needs a thing, honey.” Pat licks his lips and offers a small smile. “It’s perfect.”

This, too, is part of the routine. Sitting on a kitchen chair. Tasting the concoction of the day. Seeing the colors and the feelings and the images swirl through the air as his mind whizzes in response to your energy. Your laugh. Your attention.

Soon he will go downstairs while you finish preparing the meal. It’s another part of the routine. You inspire him, and he tries his best to put those thoughts into words, patiently pushed against notebook paper in sturdy, dependable graphite. He doesn’t worry too much about getting them just right. If the words are borne of the way he feels about you, that’s about as right as it can get, after all.

At night when he falls into bed with you, so begins the part of his day which blends his favorite things together into one – routine, poetry, and you.

Like clockwork, you grab lavender oil from the nightstand and dab a little on your wrists, temple, and neck. Then, in a habit that came about without discussion but which both of you wordlessly enjoy, you turn and dab a little on his chest, following the line of his sternum. His old habit of wearing his comfy white shirts to bed had long been discarded when met with your preference for sleeping skin to skin.

You put the small bottle away and move on to, in his opinion, the best part of this routine. Gracefully throwing a leg over his wide hips, you straddle Paterson’s strong body, leaning down to breathe in the fragrance now emanating from his freckled skin. His large hands encircle your wrists, your palms flat against his broad pectorals to steady yourself in your nightly mission. You kiss in an upside down T shape up his body – kissing your way right from center to lick his left nipple, kissing your way left to lick at his right nipple (usually prematurely taut from your ministrations on its twin) and then back to center before traveling upward to the base of his throat.

And Paterson is Paterson. Always so sweet and patient. It is at this point that you roll your hips against his, a silent signal of permission. He grabs your face on either side, pulling it down so your mouths can meet. Paterson’s tongue is needy as he tastes you. Tastes your zing till saliva pools and the kiss is wet and sloppy but oh do you taste like honey.

This is the one time he allows himself to be selfish. And you crave it. You encourage it, spurring him on with breathy little moans and words of praise, both of which he feasts on. One hand slides up your body to encompass your left breast, feeling the weight of it and kneading it with splayed fingers. His other hand snakes around your hip, over your lower stomach and between your folds. Seeking your wetness. Seeking your warmth.

“Pat, you feel so good when you touch me like this.” Your words are direct. You are not the poet. But the clarity of your feelings, expressed simply, makes his head swim. Makes his cock harden even more between you. You reach down to join his hand between your legs, managing to gather some of your own wetness which he’d greedily claimed. You bring your hand back up to slide your slick over his cock, your hand barely large enough to span the circumference. That doesn’t keep him from moaning however, a sound that vibrates right to your clit.

You grind your hips down harder now, riding his hand as he slips one, then two, then three fingers into your wet heat. You writhe and pant above him and it happens again, but this time the vibrance is almost blinding. Colors and feelings and images swirl through the air as his mind whizzes. Full of you.

But unlike before he does not go downstairs to put words to feelings and pencil to paper. No. Instead, he translates the feeling directly into your body. Your back hits the mattress and he is above you, hands touching squeezing caressing every inch of skin he can reach. His lips meet your nipple, your neck, your stomach, teeth and tongue spelling out words on the canvas of you.

When he plunges inside of you, you cling to him for a few seconds as your body adjusts to his size. Your panting in his ear provides rhythm. A cadence. When he begins to move, steadily in and out, this is the beat he snaps his hips to, dragging his cock through your sensitive walls. Your sharp gasps of pleasure punctuate his thoughts, your breathy moans little flourishes that make his mind go blank and his hips stutter against you arrhythmically.

When his hand reaches between you both and massages your clit, he is tracing out words that belong to no language known to man but which anyone with a heart and a lover would immediately recognize. You writhe beneath him and bite your lip with eyes squeezed tightly shut. Paterson, however, never takes his eyes off your face.

When you cum, you scream his name.

Paterson, however, cums quietly, instead pouring poetry into you, wringing poetry out of you, and surrounding you engulfing you smothering you with the weight of it all. You are no poet yourself, but as the heaviness of Paterson’s body sinks you deeper into the mattress, you feel the way you imagine Renaissance women of old must have felt, great patronesses of the arts who inspired and admired.

And you know this is silly. Because this is just sex on a Wednesday night.

And this is just you and Paterson.

But Paterson kisses you then on the forehead, as he does every night as the breath calms in his chest.

Paterson loves a simple life.  

~*~

Tagging some lovely people (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in future work!): @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @safarigirlsp​ @sacklerscumrag @paper-in-ashes-fanfiction​

[moon-lixie]

It's complicated - Lee Felix

word count: 2.116k

song: Unrequited love (& other clichés) - Breakup Shoes

cw: none, it's more fluff coming your way in a high school au :)

Part 1 | Part 2

On, off, on, off, on, off. The tiny lamp sitting on his desk became the victim of the void haunting his head. If there were words to express what he felt then he wished he knew them, he wished he could have a vast vocabulary that helped him give a name to the feeling that wrapped his heart without hesitation.

On. He tapped one last time at the lamp before observing the objects laying in front of him. The mere sight of the never ending lines on the medium size, green book made him feel sick. Everything was too much, too difficult, complex beyond his understanding, confusing.

The sapphire pencil that was meant to help him take notes now tapped insistently against his thigh as he attempted to concentrate. He hated studying but at this point he would be glad to concentrate on millions of books if that meant occupying his head with something else.

His eyes travelled to his window which meant staring at the window in front of his, the one with white curtains that rarely blocked his view of the carefully decorated room. There was the nightstand and the tiniest bit of the bed that he couldn’t fully see from where he was sitting. Even when the lights were off he could still manage to imagine the pair of converse laying on the floor in front of the bed and the yellow hoodie resting on the edge of the bed.

He snapped out of his train of thoughts when he realized what he was doing, yet again staring like a creep into someone else’s room. Such thoughts always scared him beyond words. It made him anxious to think about the fact that he spent so much time looking out the window, not to admire the flowers in his neighbour's garden but the room of someone else.

Maybe he was a creep, maybe he was crazy and at the most unexpected day he would do something worth getting him into a psychiatric ward. No, definitely not. The bottom of his pencil now rested in between his teeth; he just watched out of curiosity and fascination, that was all.

A heavy groan filled his room before he rested his forehead against the cold surface of the table. The graphite threatened to stain one of the pages of his notebook but it just couldn’t, because there was nothing he could write or draw despite how his fingers ached to do so.

He wished there was a way to turn into a poet or the best of artists in just a couple of seconds, because his heart ached to express itself in some way. And since it was impossible, Felix sat there drowning in nameless sensations.

Off. His fingers quickly hurried to turn off his lamp as soon as the room in front of his flooded with light. Breath abandoned his lungs and in his mind there was now silence, the one he had been wishing for in the last hours.

He didn’t dare move or even breathe too loudly. Despite nobody being able to see him he felt observed and scrutinized; maybe he was just experiencing what you would feel if you were to catch his eyes staring at you.

You entered the room looking tired and like always, the yellow hoodie found its way to your fingers in order to bring you comfort after a long day. Without thinking it for more than a second he turned around and felt his cheeks turning bright red. He always turned around and wondered, who the hell changes in front of their window? Because he surely did not and perhaps you should stop.

Minutes, maybe seconds, passed by and he turned around once again to face the window. You sat in an unorthodox position in front of your desk, right in front of your window, as if it was meant to be that his eyes could reach your room and yours could reach his too.

He needed to stop or else he would go mad. He needed to get you out of his head or else his mind would explode.

Careful and gentle steps guided him to his bed before he decided to plop down on it. He needed to get away from that window. Perhaps even block it with something. No, that would be definitely going too far.

This time his groan was muffled by the fluffiness of his pillow. It smelled like vanilla, would you smell like vanilla too?

He screamed this time a little louder than what he usually allowed himself to be while the rest of his family was at home. That’s it Lee Felix, get your crap together and stop sounding like such a creep.

After a couple of minutes he sat on bed and hugged his pillow tightly, letting a pout hang loosely on his lips. His fingers pinched the soft material of his pillow harshly before releasing it and going back at it again. Everything was a loop, his actions, his thoughts, and the feeling of helplessness.

Maybe he just needed fresh air, a new life, and exchanging rooms with someone so he couldn’t look at you anymore.

The stairs barely bulged under the weight of his steps, even his family seemed to mind more as they threw questioning looks in his direction. But he quickly excused himself by saying he wanted to take a walk and in no time he was being greeted by the night air.

Off. He saw the light disappear from your room and he cursed under his breath, because even when he tried to escape from your thought he couldn’t help but take a last glance at your window.

Sprinting, he was now sprinting just to get away because the uneasiness in his stomach became even more unbearable as seconds passed by. And then time was the one sprinting as it passed by swiftly before his eyes finally closed and his back pressed against his mattress.

You smelt like lavender and felt like clouds. You felt real, warm, and truly mesmerizing. Your lips were two soft cushions that brought clarity to his mind, because as he kissed you there were no more doubts haunting his chest. He wanted to be there with you and that was the only answer.

His hands felt the skin of your arms, your hair, and the fabric of the sheets of your bed. The bed that was in the middle of the room he had seen so many times from afar. And meanwhile, you giggled happily and allowed him to take a good look at you from up close, to every single detail of your face, your hands, your hair, your lips…

He woke suddenly, beads of sweats threatening to race each other to see which could make it faster through his forehead. Adorable, Felix. You couldn’t have a cute dream, you had to go and dream you were making out with your neighbour.

Liking you was complicated, but everything is at that age. Almost making it out of high school but still having to go through many boring classes and overly complicated situations. That’s why his mind was a complete disaster.

Seeing you from afar or even daring to look at your window was complicated, but the kind of complicated that made him eager for more and feel his heart flutter. So maybe he was fond of complicated, as long as it wasn’t in a math textbook.

On. This time it wasn’t his lamp or the light of your room, it was the music dancing its way from his earbuds to his brain. The only thing that kept him sane through the mess that was life.

And then it wasn’t your window that he stared at but the back of your head, how you would look out the window of the classroom, and how your elbows moved as you scribbled on the pages of a textbook you couldn’t seem to care less about.

Off. He quickly paused his music before looking at your direction. You had talked to him while you both stood waiting for the bus to arrive but he hadn’t heard a thing.

“Nothing, I’m sorry.” You quickly muttered before flashing him an apologetic smile; he wanted to punch himself in the face.

After that he put his earbuds back on his ears but he didn’t play anything, hoping that you would have something else to say while the two of you waited, or maybe during the suffocating time sitting by your side on the bus, or perhaps right before you both entered your respective houses. But you didn’t and he felt stupid for not saying something himself.

This time he avoided his room for as long as he could, avoided the lavender smell of his sister’s room that made his heart beat rapidly, because you smelled like that in his dream. He avoided the thought of you for as much as he could until he needed to go to his room.

On. He had hesitated on the door of his room and then over the lightswitch, but he eventually turned the light on and noticed your light was on too.

Liking you was complicated, but it was even more burdening to wait like an idiot in front of his window for the rest of his days. Fuck it. He was going to die one day and if this needed to be it, then at least he would perish while trying to do something.

His feet moved quickly, almost flying as he walked down the stairs. The cold night air greeted his face when he opened the front door but that was still not enough to sober up his hazy mind. Even when his knuckles knocked loud enough on his neighbour’s door, it was still all a blur.

You being the one opening the door was like a slap in the face, it took him off guard and forced him to think straight. He felt his knees go weak and his hands grow clammy. Running away could never be a good option but it’s the only thing he could think about.

You greeted him with a calm smile; his mind trying to come up with an excuse for his presence only thought of releasing an awkward laugh to break the silence. This was definitely more complicated than watching you from afar, but your eyes were glued on him and there was no going back.

A loud sigh followed his small laughter before his fingers messed up his hair. “To be honest it’s just driving me crazy.” The words flowed without much thought and he could see your expression growing confused. Smart way to phrase it, good job you idiot.

“You said something to me earlier.” Yes, yes! Perfect excuse, keep going. “And I can’t stop thinking about it. What did you say?”

It was your turn to laugh awkwardly, reaching one of your hands to scratch the back of your neck. “I just said it was a really nice day, that’s all. I guess I was just trying to make small talk.” Eyes travelling to your feet, it looked the exact way that made his heart stop and forced him to stare in awe.

“It’s in fact a really nice day.” Fingers nervously playing with each other betrayed his effort to appear calm. It was complicated to come with an excuse and standing there in front of you, but it would be more complicated to walk away now and spend a hundred nights regretting not saying something more. “I’m not really a fan of small talk but I’m sure we could find something interesting to talk about. Would you want to take a walk with me?”

His nerves didn’t even have a chance at haunting him because you immediately nodded and asked him to wait for you for a second. Your figure disappeared when you closed the door and his knees almost gave up on him. Well, that wasn’t hard was it?

Talking to you and laughing at the top of his lungs wasn’t so complicated; going to bed and reminiscing on his short walk with you wasn’t as tortuous as watching you from afar; dreaming about holding your hand was easy and so he decided that next time he would.

Next morning when he woke up his eyes travelled to your window once more. Despite soaking himself in enough you as he could the night before, so that your existence would linger by his side for longer; he still couldn’t help but look for you behind the white window frame.

It was awfully complicated, but the kind of complicated that he wished to experience every single day.

[ink--theory]

guess who finally finished their oneshot ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

“I love you.”

It’s been three days since she last said those three words to her girlfriend during a surprise visit to her work, three days since she saw her cheeks flush to that beautiful rosy color for the first time (to which she has it saved to memory, playing the same scene in a constant loop hoping to recreate it on canvas later on).

And three days since they last spoke to each other in sentences that weren’t one worded and so one sided.

Needless to say, the tension in their little one bedroom apartment was so thick you would have trouble cutting it with a knife. Everyone who knew them could tell, with glances toward the two that screamed worry and the texts, asking if one of them needed somewhere to stay for the night or if they needed someone to talk to.

Shion normally would’ve been filled with joy over how nice and considerate the others were if it weren’t for the fact that they (mainly Pearl and Marina) kept blowing up her phone for what felt like every five minutes. So much so that she ended up texting in the group chat that she and Anita were fine and turned off her phone, tossing it on the nightstand leaving it forgotten for the time being.

Pardon her language, but consequences be damned. She can deal with them later once her headache from the constant noise of her phone notifications and the overbearing silence from her girlfriend goes down.

Which leaves us to now in the present, with her sitting on the living room couch with a sketchbook trying (and failing) to draw anything and Anita in the kitchen washing dishes. To where the space normally would’ve been filled with the sounds of their voices talking about their day and any other nonsensical thing that was on the top of their heads, the only sounds between the two at the moment being the water from the faucet and the graphite scratching the paper.

She hated it.

Throughout these three terrible days she’s missed the constant presence of her girlfriend. The amazing cuddles they had after a long day, the electrifying little touches that gave her goosebumps all over. The way she would randomly switch to her mother tongue whenever she starts to ramble about the latest thing she got interested in. The way they would whisper sweet nothings in each other's ears mixed with kisses in between whenever either one of them had a nightmare that night (Slowly she’s starting to think she may or may not have a problem with being little bit too dependent and clingy, but she can look at that whole can of worms later).

She wishes she never said anything.

If only she never said those three dreaded words then she would’ve never been in this situation with Anita in the first place. They probably would’ve been talking and laughing about something funny one of Anita's coworkers did at work, with the day ending with some cuddling on the couch, instead of this thick air of silence between the two.

‘Of course she doesn’t love you.’ A traitorous voice in the back of her mind tells her. She’s inclined to agree.

While in the middle of her deep thinking she doesn’t notice Anita standing in front of her, with a blank look on her face. It took the inkling a few tries of calling Shion’s name and touching her shoulder before she was able to catch her attention.

“There you are, silly.” Anita mutters.

“...” Shion stares, still absentmindedly scribbling in her sketchbook before realizing a second later and putting it off to the side, slightly embarrassed.

She watches Anita contemplating what to say next with that blank look still on her face, trying to look at anywhere but her. It slightly broke her heart. She notices that the inkling’s eyes ended up stopping at their big wall of photos, possibly glancing at each picture with just the two of them. Possibly thinking about better times.

“I...Can we talk?” She eventually said.

Oh no. 

This is it, she’s finally decided to break things off. All because she made the idiotic decision of saying ‘I love you’. Anita’s gonna kick her to the curb tonight, making her go back to live with Pearl and Marina. She might as well go and turn back on her phone right now to say goodbye to the rest of the New Squidbeak Splatoon while she has the chance, cause she highly doubts any of them would wanna still hang out and stay friends with her when they could just hang out and be friends with her better half and soon-to-be ex instead.

“Um..Sure..” Shion reluctantly replies, starting to become nauseous. She makes room for the younger girl on the couch, which she takes with a soft ‘thank you’. The both of them sit there refusing to look at one another, neither of them wanting to start speaking before the other. The scar on the octoling’s back from her time in the metro begins to pulse with pain, making Shion slightly wince.

“So-” “I just-”

They both stop to look at each other, embarrassed from accidentally speaking over one another. Faces quickly warming, they both avert their eyes desperately trying to focus their attention at anything else around their little apartment. It felt like ages before a sound was heard, a sigh from Anita.

“Um...You can start, I sort of want to hear what you want to say first before I say anything.” She says, her voice almost lowering down to a whisper. Shion starts to sweat and can feel her hands start to tremble, her three hearts feeling like they could burst out of her at any moment. 

“S-sure!” She exclaims, wincing once more at how loud she must’ve sounded.

‘Cod I'm such a mess.’

She clears her throat, trying to get her bearings straight before she starts. From the corner of her eye she sees Anita start to subtly mess around with her hands. Knowing that inkling beside her was fidgeting from anxiety gave her a bit of relief, at least she wasn’t the only one who felt like jumping into a lake right now.

“Alright, I just wanted to start this off with an apology.” She says, all of a sudden she hears a rustle of fabric, from Anita turning to face her.

“Apology? An apology for what exactly?” Oh boy…

“Y’know...For saying ‘you-know-what’ and all.” Shion replies. “Isn’t that the whole reason why you haven’t been speaking to me this whole time?”

“What? That’s not the reason at all!” 

.

.

.

Wait huh.

She turned to face Anita with bewilderment in her eyes, looking for an explanation to what she just heard. Nothing but silence is heard between them, suddenly she sees the younger girl in front of her starting to mess with her hands once again, beginning to pick at the skin on her fingers. As if on autopilot she reaches for Anita’s hands, gently holding each one with her own.

“What do you mean by that?” Shion finally utters with a softness heard in her voice, as to not agitate her girlfriend any further and end up scaring her off. She starts to squeeze the inkling’s hands, trying to give her a bit of unspoken comfort, Anita gives out a deep breath and squeezes back.

“What I mean is that...that isn’t the reason why I haven’t spoken to you these past three days.” She says, staring at their hands. “I’m sorry that you took it that way. It’s just the way you said it out of nowhere caught me off guard and I ended up pretty much shutting down.” 

She pauses for a bit, looking like she’s on the verge of tears. Oh, how Shion wished she could take her face into her hands and kiss them away, but instead she continues to hold the inkling’s hands, gently starting to stroke one of them with her thumb.

“You know out of all of my relationships that i’ve had, you're the first one who’s said that to me instead of the other way around. When you said it three days ago I thought I misheard at first. But when my manager confirmed it by teasing me about it, that’s when my brain just stopped working.” Their eyes finally met, the dam that once held the younger girls tears finally breaking. 

“That whole moment we had in that break room kept replaying in my mind over and over again, and I ended up thinking ‘what if she just said it in a friendly way?’ or ‘what if both me and my manager misheard and she said something entirely different!?’. I know I could’ve just asked, but a part of me deep down was afraid of hearing your response.” Once she finishes Anita looks away, hesitantly removing her right hand from Shion’s in order to wipe away at her face.

Shion continues to look at her, not knowing how to respond to what she just heard. So instead she slowly takes Anita’s remaining hand closer to her face to give it a kiss. She then puts her arms out with a small smile and without a second thought Anita quickly moves closer, hiding her face within octoling’s neck and shoulder, her arms clutching the back of her shirt. The octoling reciprocates by wrapping one of her arms around her waist and the other one beginning to gently stroke the back of Anita’s head.

They held each other like this for what felt like an eternity. Both of them recollect their thoughts, trying to think of what to say next, the only sounds being heard from either of them being the small sniffles from Anita.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t actually mean it, you know.” Shion finally says, slowly breaking their hold around each other in order to move her hands to have them around Anita’s face, gently redirecting her eyes to face her.

“Yeah, I know i’ve only been on the surface for around a year, and I know that I still don’t have a complete understanding of the customs up here so I ask for help a lot.” She pauses for a bit, beginning to gently stroke one of her cheeks with her thumb, being careful of the placement of her sharp claws. “But if there’s one thing I definitely have a full grasp on one hundred percent, is my feelings for you.”

Anita’s mouth slightly opens, her mind trying to comprehend what she just heard. Her eyes start to tear up once again, but this time of joy. Her cheeks begin to bloom that lovely pink color that Shion missed oh-so much and she starts to smile and giggle.

A minute later she feels a sudden weight on top of her, of Anita moving on top of her lap and hugging her once again in a tight but loving grip, her arms around her neck. It takes her a second to realize what happened but she quickly returns the hug with equal force, her head burrowing into Anita’s neck and her one arm around her waist, with the other tightly clutching her shirt. 

There they just sat there, neither wanting to let go of the other. 

“I love you too.” she suddenly hears, slightly muffled and in a whispery tone. Shion decides to say nothing in response and instead nuzzled her nose and sigh, to show that she heard.

All felt right again.

- Bonus -

“So, this whole time you had me worrying myself to death all because you thought I said it in a ‘friendly way’?” Shion giggled.

Looking up to meet her girlfriend’s face, Anita pouted. “Look, where I'm from we don’t say it all nonchalantly like you did a few days ago.” She pauses a bit before continuing. “Oh a-and you just said it out of nowhere! What was I supposed to think?!” She exclaims.

Upon hearing inkling’s reply her giggles turned to full blown laughter. Anita, unable to escape the contagious noises coming from her girlfriend, started to laugh alongside her. 

After a while the laughs died down and they eventually both sat there on the couch in silence with little giggles heard here and there, limbs tangled together. The overwhelming and unbearable air between the two no longer there. The space between them is warm and loving again. It felt just like before, which left Shion nearly purring with delight.

“You know, this means i’ll just have to say ‘I love you’ to you whenever possible in order to have you get used to it.” Shion eventually said, breaking the comfortable silence. Not a second later Anita quickly sits up, untangling herself from the little cuddle pile with hints of a blush on her face beginning to form that she absolutely adored.

“N-now you know you don’t have to do all of that” Anita stuttered out.

“Of course I do.” Shion replied back. “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t show the love of my life how much I love her?”

“Noooo.”

She watches her lovely girlfriend put her face in her hands, trying to hide the rapidly growing blush on her face. Shion looks on with a fond look on her face, a bright smile beginning to form. “Aw, don’t be like that.” She brings her closer, slowly removing her hands. 

“Ok, so I won’t start off with something as strong as an ‘I love you’ anytime soon, how about I say what I love about you instead?” Shion says, trying to reach a compromise.

“I-” Anita suddenly stops what she was gonna say, her face back to having that contemplating look from way earlier. Upon seeing that, Shion’s smile slightly dims. “If you really don’t want me to then I won’t, the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

The younger girl in front of her suddenly turns around to face her. Her red eyes meet the octoling’s warm gray.

“Wait what? No!” Anita exclaims while shaking her head. Her wild pigtails start to fly around her as she does the head motion. Her cheeks started to bloom with color once again. “I was just thinking, I-I don’t wanna be the only one receiving compliments here. I wanted to ask if I could do the same to you, that’s all.”

She moves one hand to nervously scratch her cheek, eyes breaking contact to look to the side. Shion looks on with adoration on her face. “Of course you can, if it makes you more comfortable with it.” She replies.

“Ok then.” Anita sits up a bit straighter, to show that she was ready. Upon seeing that Shion’s smile widens a bit more before putting a finger up to her chin, as if she was thinking of what to say first. “Now let’s see...What should the first compliment be.” She says. She purposefully takes her time in order to glance at Anita, who was slowly starting the squirm with anxious energy.

“You know what I love about you?” She starts off fully facing Anita, who startles a bit before looking at the octoling in front of her, not expecting that question.

“I-uh...no?” She stumbles her words a bit, not knowing how to answer.

Upon hearing her girlfriend’s response Shion begins to move closer, as if she were to whisper to Anita a secret she didn’t want anyone else to know, a secret just between the two of them.

“I love your little pick-up lines, even if they are very cheesy and very bad most of the time.” She says close to the inkling’s ear, watching it twitch a bit.

 “Wha-?!” She hears Anita exclaim. She backs up to her where she originally sat and covers her mouth with one of her hands, trying to hide the fact that she was close to laughing.

“How dare you, my pick-up lines are amazing!” Anita jumps up from the couch and begins to pace back and forth continuing to talk. Shion knowing this would happen just looks on, enjoying the view of her girlfriend’s pacing getting more aggressive with every step she took and animatedly going on a long-winded tangent. Her words begin to blur together, not really understanding her due to Anita starting to mix up the words from inklish and her native tongue. 

“-I feel like Marie must’ve said something to you. Ella lo hizo, lo sé. I swear the next time I see he-” The inkling stops mid sentence to look at her girlfriend, who suddenly doubled over in laughter not being able to hold back anymore.

Realizing that she was set up she begins to walk back to the couch with her arms crossed and silently sits on Shion’s lap. The octoling wraps her arms around Anita and begins to pull her in, letting the smaller girl lean into her all the while trying to smother her uncontrollable giggles.

“You’re the worst.” Anita finally utters, trying and failing to keep her poker face, small hints of a smile beginning to show.

“I love you too” She replies, with a smile.