I'm here to tell you that I'm open for requests again. I am drowning in uni work and wish to write little scenarios without having to invest my energy into thinking of topics and premises.
As you can tell by my regular reblogs of banners and dividers, I am interested in some visual art at the moment. Therefore I am also open to divider gif ideas.
You can't wait any longer. The clock is ticking and you feel likelife is passing by faster than ever, death basically on its direct way to you. You have to use your chance. Even such silly a thing like a crush can end in regret when you don't take yourself seriously. The attempt of going to the gym to talk to Lino personally was nerve-racking. He is kind and easy to talk to. His beauty definitely goes beyond the superficial surface of shallow looks. You especially notice this when he talks about the restaurant he is working at. The amount of pride his voice carries when he mentions that his friends come there everyday reminds you of the beauty of a stable mundanity that you hoped to find in the city.
There were plenty of moments that you could have used to confess. However, realistically seen, you only know him for a couple of days and you still had to figure out if you are truly interested in him. It would be unfair to introduce him into a reality in which he is so easily desired, only then to have that turning out to be false, a mere illusion caused by the newness of it all messing with your head.
If you wan to fully indulge yourself in the city lifestyle to understand who you are, you should also remain patient and test out all aspects of it, such as talking to someone over the phone.
It feels like a fun mission. Acting on your interest makes you feel giddy. Getting to see Yeonjun again does, too.
The servants greet you and press a bottle of water into your hand when they get to understand that you walked all the way up the hill.
You wonder how deep into the mountain this building reaches, but Yeonjun's door greets you just around the corner of the first hallway. Carefully, you knock. Only a low groan announces that he is in there, so you knock once again, following it with his name. He opens the door without giving it one second to look at you. He waddles straight back to the mattress and drops down on it, nestling his face into the pillow.
You look around, taking in the mess. Loose papers are lying around as well as an abundance of empty noodle boxes and other packages. On the mattress is sand. To its feet lie seashells. The scent of expired food and sweat define the room and you find yourself realizing how overwhelming the additional task of house duty has to be for Yeonjun.
You discard your bag and place it against the wall. With a gentle approach you tuck the thin blanket around Yeonjun's shoulders and make your way to the kitchen.
'Yeah, ahm, hello', you say to one servant who is currently busy washing a huge pile of dishes.
'Oh, hello, dear', he says and looks up with a welcoming smile, his hands steadily rinsing off the plate.
'I want to make breakfast for Yeonjun. Ahm, may I take some of the fruits here? I'll bring back new ones later, I promise', you ask.
'Of course! You're new here, hm?', he questions in a chuckle.
'Yeah... Is it that obvious?', you wonder and hesitantly take a banana from the bowl.
'You know, you don't have to ask when you want to take stuff here. You exist in this space therefore you deserve to use the space with all that it provides', he explains.
'Here', the man places a small ceramic bowl in front of you and signals you to put the fruit pieces in there.
'You just cleaned it', you remind him, guilty of your mere presence adding to his workload.
'Doesn't he deserve to eat from a clean bowl?', he asks with a knowing smile.
'Thank you', you genuinely express and start filling the bowl with fruits.
When you arrive back in Yeonjun's room, not without knocking first to appeal to his privacy, he is still lying on his bed, but this time properly awake.
'You're actually here', he squeals and sits up, hair messy and eyes full of sleep, but with a vibrant smile.
'I thought I was dreaming, but then I saw your bag and then I thought I am still dreaming', he laughs and shifts to the side to make space on the mattress for you to sit down on.
'I am actually here', you assure and give your best to suppress your nose to scrunch up at the unpleasant smell.
'And I made you breakfast'.
For a moment he falls silent and just looks at you. You think his eyes are slowly starting to fill with tears, but he takes the bowl with a thanks too soon for you to be sure.
'You know-', he starts saying and stuffs banana pieces in his mouth, deliciously munching on it.
'I love banana! Woah, no, yes, I do, but- What I wanted to say is... that-', he stutters and suddenly looks up from his meal, directly into your eyes.
'Did you have breakfast yet?'
'No, but I am not hungry', you calm him down and nod to his fruit bowl to signal him that he can just keep eating without worries.
'I didn't have breakfast in weeks', he says, choking up a bit, and the way he keeps staring downwards hints to you that he might be tearing up this time for sure.
'Thank you', he ends his rant and keeps eating quietly.
'It's messy, I know', he interrupts when you look around.
He puts the half empty bowl aside.
'You need to take better care of yourself', you sigh.
'I am quite good at taking care of myself, don't worry', he appeases and reaches over to the other side of the mattress.
'Here', he proudly announces and hands you the phone.
'Thank you', you say with a smile.
It is forced.
'Will it always be this messy when I come to visit you?', you ask and are surprised at the annoyance in your voice.
Yeonjun frowns.
'Will you always be that condescending?', he huffs and kicks his blanket aside, gets up, and hand you your bag.
Every of his steps leaves a trace of sand and when you take your bag, only to let it sink back to the floor, because you are definitely not leaving, his hands show clear signs of sunburn. You look at him expectantly.
'I forgot sunscreen yesterday', he mumbles.
'Yeonjun, I swear-'
He interrupts you.
'Shut up! I have taken care of myself for years! You can't just come along and be like this!'
'Like what? A good person? A good friend?', you ask calmly.
Maybe he doesn't like having you here. Perhaps you are not a friend here after all.
'So fucking hypocritic!', he shouts and opens the door for you to leave, but his movement is wobbly and he has to hold onto the handle to steady himself.
Carefully you close the door and with all gentleness that you are carrying in your heart, you place your palm on Yeonjun's upper arm and push him back to bed, where he sits down in obvious exhaustion, breathing heavily and pressing his fingers into his temples. You crouch down in front of him.
'You run around with your bruised hands, not treating your own wounds and tell me something about taking better care of myself', he whispers.
'Why would you even care about me when you don't even care much about yourself?'
You feel a sting in your chest. You left everything behind solely to bring yourself into an environment that guarantees stability and safety. You assumed that was enough. You trust the city to make you better version of yourself. It will happen naturally, won't it? You took the first and most important step, and now you can rest, right? The intention was set. Your care will surely remain throughout all your actions for a while now, right?
'Take your phone and leave. Confess to Lino. That's why you're here for after all', Yeonjun sighs and lays back down, eyebrows pulled together either in pain or in anger, maybe both.
'I don't want to leave you right now', you whisper, scared that anything beyond the controlled quiet words would turn out to be furious screams and you definitely don't want to scream at Yeonjun.
You don't know what to do with your hands. The wooden lines on the floor meet your fingertips when you sit down next to the mattress and lean back onto your hands. Frantically, you draw invisible shapes onto the floor.
'I told you to leave', he grunts and quickly sits up, towering over you.
In any other circumstance you would have been scared, ready to fight, thinking of an escape plan in milliseconds, but even when Yeonjun is mad, you feel calm and safe.
His looks may be intimidating, but his presence surely isn't.
'You're so annoying! Leave me alone! Leave. Me. Alone. Go away!', he throws a tantrum and you silently comply, grabbing the phone, pushing it in your bag and finally leave the room.
If you have achieved something, please remember to observe a mandatory period of basking in the warm glow of your achievement like a lizard on a stone, lest you teach your brain that effort is futile, actually, because it didn't get to enjoy its happy chemicals, so, naturally, nothing good ever comes of trying. (And no, avoiding punishment is not a reward!)
I recommend, like, 5% of basking time in relation to whatever time you invested into achieving the thing minimum. And if you can't make your own bask, friend-brought is fine (= tell your friends!).
⭐️ consensual sex with Drogo with lots of encouragement and praise for autonomy and self-pleasure
⭐️ fluff smut
⭐️ circa 3 500 words
⭐️ star deviders ; curtain devider
The hot air clings onto your skin, consenting your sweat drops to run over your skin in paths that tingle through you. Every breath you take, every rise of your chest, increases the wet sensation, but it is nothing compared to Drogo's chest against your back as he eases his thigh between your legs. He waits for you to decide if you want to go further. His hands run up and down your sides, while his front presses against you in the rhythm of his breathe. He brushes your sweat away with each caress, but the night can't hide away the temperate sensations as much as it has the ability to reduce the visual components of the world. A simple yes or no would decide how he proceeds touching you, you are aware, but there is something thrilling in the in-between of words, the inhales of closeness and exhales of space, both lingering together in your power of decision, of feeling, of anticipating more than just yourself.
You don't mean on teasing him, leaving him in uncertainty, and he doesn't perceive it that way based on his patient composure. His hands remain stady, solely easing your body into soothing comfort that lets you let go of tension. His thigh between your legs is simply leverage for now, an option of distributing your strength in a way that calls for collaboration. His chin meets your shoulder as he settles against you, too, a low hum drummung in his throat and his voce is low when he tells you about his day in a few words. You lean back against him, allowing him to hold you fully and his palm immediately moved over your stomach, pressing gently into you with your exhales, holding steadily against the expansions of your inhales to animate you taking deeper breaths with no apology of taking up space.
The tent walls flatter in the soft breeze, a sound that accompanies your heart. The humidity manifests on the tent's components and clings onto you and Drogo's lively sentiment. Drogo moves his hand from your stomach over your heart and hums approvingly, 'Wild horse.'
'Excited. Comfortable. Your hands let a gentle breeze flood through me', you say and he lets out a chuckle that sounds like distant thunder.
'Not only my hands', he reminds and you instinctively push your body a bit further against his. By doing so, your lips brush over his thigh, the tingle of pleasure forcing a shuttered sigh out of you, that you immediately attempt to conceal the effect of closeness with the lie of desired composure.
'No. Your voice belongs to be heard', Drogo disagrees strictly and places a kiss on the side of your neck.
'Do not hide from yourself', he mutters and taps against where your heart bets against your rips.
You let out a chuckle and intentionally take your time to breathe vocally, sighs and hums leaving you as his hands proceed to roam over your skin.
'You can feel me on the outside and inside. Both or just one or none. Your choice', he hums slowly, his forehead leaning agains your shoulder as he takes in your scent.
'All of it', you request, knowing he won't decline your wishes, he never does when it comes to you getting to experience anything remotely good. 'Slow', you add and place your hands over his and stop their movements for a second.
His hand settles over your breast, gentle pressure holding that part of you warm. His other is on your thigh. Slowly, as you prefer, he glides his palm under your leg and lift it, enough to expose your clitoris to the air and his skin that stretches over his muscles. You feel how your layers of lips seperate, stickines stretching between them as a web of arousal. Then he pushes his chest against your bag, bending you over, not fully, but enough for your clitoris to press right onto his thigh.
'No fire compares to the burn you make me feel', he grunts, places a kiss on your nape and hums into your skin. You feel the vibration of his voice in your spine, your breast tingling, nipple hardening in his grip. You hold onto his wrists, not moving yet. You just feel. His body, his movements that all directly translate into your own and vice versa, his voice, strategically used to amplify your ability to be conscious of sensations, you even feel the restrain in his muscles that signify his suppressed desire to act faster, chase immediate pleasure, behaving according to his innate entitlement to take. You also feel his calmness. It is something he learned from you. It isn't the stoic kind of calmness with wich he obtains his composure that is needed for sufficent battle choices. It is a calmness that anticipates nothing, but welcomes all.
'Slower', you whisper with a grin, not even hiding that you are only teasing him now. He hums into your skin again, louder, definetely frustrated, but he adjusts. He pulls his leg back from between yours and stands back with his weight equally distributed on bozh feet. He keeps you close to his chest, his hands remaining where he placed them before.
'I want you on my furs', he groans, mouth still on your skin, his eyes closed. You hum melodically and let go of his wrists, his hands losening up right after. Before you step away from him, you turn to face him. His eyes remain closed, which allows you to brush the skin under his eyes with your fingertips. His eyelids dance in miniscule motions. You are convinced he knows your are smiling, even when doesn't see you.
'Just like the rain feels', he hushes.
On his furs you feel unsure how to position yourself. It is not that you are helpless without his touch. It is rather that you don't enjoy being on the ground when he is still standing up. A thoughtful look up to him is enough to have him move and kneel right before you.
'Lonely', you explain quietly.
'What is?', he asks. Your sentiment must be a surprise to him as he rarely asks questions, only speaks in statements.
'The moment of you having your head so close to the sky while mine was so close to the earth', you elaborate.
He stretches his arm towards you and cradles your jaw, a deep look in his eyes. He waits until you hold his gaze. Only then he speaks: 'My posistion in the world is never invalidating yours. Whether you gaze up at the sky and happen to meet my eyes there or down to the earth and see none of me, I am with you. I am no other existence than you are. We are both between rocks and stars'.
'Same place', you conclude.
'Same place', he affirms.
'Want to feel you everywhere. Want us to be one place', you say after a pause of only your heartbeats sounding.
He moves, more words not necessarily for him, not when he was that wanted, that trusted, that hard.
With a deliberate touch on your waist with his fingers spread, his palm pressed into you, he guides you onto your knees and positions himself behind you.
He grunts and you know he has his other hand around his length. It doesn't take long and you feel him running his tip over your skin.
'One place', he echoes, almost in a laugh. 'You will have me everywhere', he growls maneuvers his tip against your entrance. He slides one arm under you, his arm hair collecting the sweat on your stomach and chest. His palm comes underneath your throat and he pulls you up against him. With a patient push he's inside of you.
You feel your walls pulsating around him, your heartbeats echoing where ever he touches you. His pubic hair tickles your ass cheeks and when you start to relax and sit back against his thighs, he sinks in a bit deeper, hitting a spot that feels both pleasurable and painful. An immediate yelp escapes you and you clutch his hand that he has placed onto your lower stomach. Without hesitation does he react and carefully eases a bit further out of you again and helps you to lie your front back down onto the furs.
'Small place', he'd chuckle tensely, rubbing your thighs and guides your legs to straighten, so that you can let the ground carry your weight distributed comfortably.
'Breathe', he hums and massages your back and arms, keeping his hips still. You close your eyes and arrive in a state of trance. Slowly, he pulls out of you until only his tip nudges against your entrance. You feel how your body loses the grip around him, pulsating around its own wetness and then he pushes back in with a deep grunt, perfectly aligned with your exhale.
Your hand finds his. He claps your wrist and glides his hand under yours and further to the front, guiding your arm before you and with that your whole body to stretch out under him. His front warmly presses into your back, your front into the soft ground.
With a quick thrust he secures your entangled position. With another he embraces a rhythm of warm pressure around and within you. 'Feel me', he hushes as he presses inside. He slows down half way through the insertion, watching you with an intense gaze until your body twists and your breath hitches, your hand tightening around his. He chuckle and places a kiss on your shoulder, his carefully distributed weight keeping you in position.
'That's it. That's me in you', he sighs and repeats his administration a few more times, until he retreats and gently pushes his palms under you to help you turn around. He carefully lies you down, his hand bracing the back of your head as you settle on your back. When he frees his hand he makes sure to glide it along your temple, down your cheek, brushing your hair aside, and then down your collarbones and breasts. You can't but watch him, taking in the attentiveness, the inhentional patience that contrasts his usual deminor in his tent. It's his home. He takes what he wants. He does what he wants. That's what people told you and they are right. He wants you, but he learned that people are not part of what he can just take. What you give is yours before it's even remotely his. What he gets is glimpses of who you are and who you get to be in his presence, so when his touch is that of respect and that only at times you agree to receiving it, he gets to feel you wanting him, too.
He settles between your legs and runs his fingers over his length a few times, looking at you as if your were the sky returned to the earth for him to lay in it. The second you feel him aligning himself with you, you push your hip up and surprise him with your warmth, catching him off guard, so that he ends up losing his composure and tumble on top of you, chest to chest, taking a hold on your upper arm.
You intentionally clench around him, making him gasp and yourself tremble in the well prepared pleasure of fulness.
'That's me surrounding you', you whisper and encourage him, 'Keep going'. He thrusts, shallowly at first, then rushed, his skin against your skin, his pubic hair tangled up with yours with every push inside.
'Feel me. Feel my cock', he demands. His hand comes between your bodies and his fingertips drum against your clitoris. He only let his fingers linger when he pulls out, letting you tremble and sigh against him, but moves them away the second he pushes inside and has his pubic bone press against your nerves. 'Let me hear you', he shouts. 'Fully live your pleasure', he hums right after when he attaches his lips under your ear and licks along your neck.
You sigh. There is not more courage for more, but he is patient. He penetrats you rhythmically, his own voice accompanying the buildup of pleasure. Only when he removes his fingertips from your clitoris and uses it to lift your leg, his strong palm under your thigh in devotion to holding you with him, you feel his full front covering you as he glides in deeply. That causes you to moan freely and as strange as it makes you feel, when he slides in another time, his body rubs you just the rights way, saliva connecting your lips and you shout his name. Your voice is strangled, weakened by pleasure that your body centers in your stomach, but to Drogo is is the richest sound he has ever heard. He presses down on you, lying on top as his hips move in smooth waves.
'Again', he grunts breathlessly and inhales deeply, so that his stomach expands and connects and encourages your own breathing to deepen. You mirror him. Whenever he inhales, you exhale and whenever he exhales, you inhale, pushing your stomach and breats upwards into him. It makes you sigh audibly.
'Soft like clouds', he hums happily.
'Wet like rain', he adds when he feels your slick fluids run down his balls.
He stills almost completely, rather shifting his weight instead of engaging in full movements and the little tilt upwards is enough for you to feel the pleasure trembling through you. You feel the furs tickling your back, cold air fanning against your lower back as your body arches. Your whole front presses into Drogo as he deliberate hold against you to let your breats and stomach feel his warm skin and tight muscles. The second tremble makes you push your pelvis against him only to attempt retreating when his cock slides in deeper. Drogo grunts when he follows your hip to the ground. He cradles your jaw and guides your gaze to his eyes. The third tremble runs through you lift your shoulders off the ground and Drogo immediately follows where your body needs to go, his hand running down your side to help you sit up as your body squirms.
'Again', he demands, voice rough, eyes on you the whole time.
You nod while you're still climaxing, you hip moving automatically, searching for friction and immediately retreating again. You clumsily hold onto him. Your hands find his neck and slowly starts moving his hips again, slow at first, in the same rhythm as your pulsating walls. Then he presses his lips to your forhead and lies you back down. He uses his full palm to cradle your ass as he gently pushes on of your legs off the ground and over his hip.
There is an ancient conviction of bringing safety in his eyes when he pushes one arm under your head to prevent you from being hurt as your body shakes with each of his thrusts. You whisper his name, no breathe for any louder compliance. He grunts when he locked eyes with your for some seconds and tilts his head down to watch your breasts. You can't but let out a laughter, clearly enjoying that he gets so overwhelmed by you. Gently, you place one hand on his cheek and guide his head back up, so he has to look at you properly. His breath shutters immediately and he presses his hips down, his pubic hair entangling with yours as his balls press against your cheeks. You feel his cock slightly slapping against the left side of your inner walls.
You tap his shoulder in the same second as he is already pulling out and spurts over your stomach. He winces in a deep groan when his tip brushes against your wet vulva lips and you place your palm over his hand that is fisting his cock to guide him back inside you. Defeat blooms in his body and he returns back on top of you, face buried in the crock of your neck as he moans with each thrust against your skin.
His release runs down your side. Some of it lines up in your pubic hair, waiting for him to give you free enough to run down to your clitoris.
'Drogo', you hush after a while and he sits up with dazed eyes, gathering you to sit in his lap. He looks down and sees your skin glistening in his fluids, above the ground him entering you.
'My cock' he says and looks up, his palm warmly holding your jaw, 'You.'
Slowly, you start moving, circling your hips, letting him fully vanish inside of you. Your whole body expands, lungs rich of breath, breats free in its being, stomach unapologetically rounded, eyes on him, hand between your legs. He watches you as you ride him, as you pleasure yourself. He watches you as you claim your body however you please. He supports your back when you grow weaker. He encourages you when you falter. He never looks away when your eyes find his.
'Feel good', he hums. He lick over his palm and runs it over your breasts, the air immediately feeling colder and causing you to shiver, allowing you to feel your body with awakened senses.
'Safe, you are safe', he hums and places his hands on your sides, gently amplifying your rhythm.
'Drogo', you whisper when you feel your wetness running down his shaft.
'Good. Wet my cock', he affirms and kisses you.
He gently lifts you enough that you hover with inly his tip inside you. Slowly, he lets you down again. The vein in his cock presses against your spot and you reach down to push his cock into the angle you needed. He curses in restraining himself from filling you up. He grunts in a deep long tone as his eyes remain aligned with yours. You run your fingertips over your clitoris and feel your vagina pulsating.
'Together' you whisper and nod and he pushes guides you fully down on him.
'Together', he determines and you ride him. He cycles an arm around your waist and pulls you against him whenever you move towards him. You hear his breath. You feel his fingers. It surprises you, the touch of his hand warm and wet and you moan. His eyes light up and you moan louder, connecting your voice with your breath and he praises you until you climax and trigger his own. He goes quiet, eyes on you, holding you as close as possible. The only sound is suddenly his hips buckling against you, skin against skin, squelching sounds in a forcefully slow rhythm.
'Take it. Take me', he gasps finally, still emptying himself inside you.
'Mine. Yours' he grunts and carefully moves you hips again him with a sigh.
He rubs his fingertips over your clitoris once and your whole body jolts against him while a scream escapes you.
'Good', he nods and kisses you before he carefully stills his movements.
For a long while he just holds you, guides your head to lean against his shoulder.
'Close your eyes', he hushes and keeps his arms around you to keep you warm.
When he helps you down his lap, you are half asleep. You hold his softening cock as you lift yourself down. You don't let go even when you're back fully on the ground, not even when his release runs out of you and sticks to your palms.
He wants to guide your hand away, but you shake your head.
'Keeping you warm', you stated and he huffs a laughter of disbelief.
'I am warm', he states and places his hand around yours.
Once you let go, he guides it up to his lips and places a kiss on the back of your hand.
'Brings you pleasure. Your own pleasure', he says as if he was honouring your hand.
'Down', he instructs and adjusts the furs under you. When you are comfortably lying on your side, he slides behind you and guides his hand between your legs, cupping your puffy vulva with his palm.
'Keeping you warm', he say with a kiss against your shoulder.
'Took you and me. Held us both', he says gratefully.
He kisses your thighs and stands up in a delicious stretch. He goes is silence and returns with a small bucket with warm water. He kneels back down next to you and asks:
'Is my touch welcomed?'
Only when you consent be starts washing off the liquids from your skin.
The sound of the waves gently splashing over the sand welcomes me into Soobin's realm. The little stone hut, at which the bus stops, looks out of place in the otherwise empty scenery, but I am is glad that to find at least some sort of civilization.
Walking in the hot sunlight with no protective roof of branches and leaves is not the most pleasant journey. It is worth considering that in the end Soobin is waiting for me, though. As I stroll towards the white stone house, I feel sweat escaping my pores and I hate that even now that the rain took a break, I still end up being drenched. Just like my own home this building descends into the depths of the earth, the visible part above only being a fragment of its entirety, so I find hope in the guaranteed protection in front of me.
'Welcome', Soobin says without looking up from the sheet of paper that is fully covering the wooden table's surface.
Lines and shapes fill the paper and little numbers and notes decorate every edge and curve.
'Hello', I reply and drop onto a chair.
'What a privilege to enjoy your presence', Soobin mumbles sarcastically, eyes focused onto his hand movement, persistently adding another line onto the paper.
I ignore his comment and look around. Every time I come here, I find the room to be a bit messier than before. New blanc paper rolls are added to the shelves and even more used ones are leaning against the wall in secure frames. Each corner of the room contains portrayals of a specific type of building, designed to fit into appropriate terrains.
'Will you design a house for me one day?', I ask and lean forward, tilting my head to look directly at Soobin's face, messing with his concentration.
'I'll throw you into the ocean and let you search for Atlantis', the blond man sighs and stands up properly, looking at me for the first time today.
'You'd come with me, right?', I whine and lean my head against Soobin's shoulder.
I remain patient and wait for his reaction. Depending on his mood, he will either express disgust towards my absolutely adorable antics, side-eyeing me to death as I simply seduce him with my overbearing love for him, or he will laugh in genuine endearment, involuntarily making me blush and tone down my behavior. This time, he laughs and pulls me agains him. Then he takes my hand and drags me outside.
I inhale luxuriously and throw my head back, letting the salty breeze brush through my hair. My opened button down shirt flutters around my waist and I welcome the moment with open arms. Soobin is way more casual than I am, hands stuffed in his pants' pockets and head slightly lowered. I pity him for being used to the beach. He cannot enjoy this place's beauty like I can.
'I've got the phone', he announces after a while, as I am picking up some seashells that I proudly present to him.
'You're fast', I say and gently shake my hand to let my new found treasure fall over into my other palm, so that we are able to capture various sides of the shells.
Soobin nods, but he doesn't look.
'You might not have that much time', he announces.
I frown and ask: 'Time for what?'
'Time with her', he articulates in a clear voice, overcoming the disturbing sound of the wind.
'Bambi?', I clarify and feel Soobin's hand on my shoulder, squeezing it for a second.
'I'm just worried that you'll get attached too easily and that she'll leave', he explains and bends down to fetch another seashell that he adds to the other's in my hand.
'Just to clarify', I start, putting all the seashells in my pocket.
'I'm just making a new friend and I thought they could use a phone to be able to make connections in the city since she's new here. That's all'.
Soobin tilts his head and flips some sand off of my shoulder, mumbling a halfhearted 'if you say so'.
His pace fastens and I hurry to follow him back inside the building. I stumble over a box and almost step on a bag. I have never seen the entry in the back being organized, but today's intense chaos images to surprise me. Even papers are scattered on the floor and at least with those Soobin usually tries to be careful.
'All of you could leave every day', I tell him and let out a relieved whine when I jump over the glass of a picture frame that I fortunately register last second in the darkness of the hallway.
'Ah, I'm sorry. I'll light you the way', Soobin shouts apologetically from the other side where he already vanishes into a room. I continue my way when a light beam appears from his direction.
'Ben does leave regularly, yet it's easy to be friends with him', I argue and wobble on the thin empty line of floor between all kinds of pieces from a telescope set, pencils, rulers and more paper sheets.
'I'm just suspicious of the situation', Soobin waves off and closes the door behind me when I successfully end my parkour run.
'Have you heard from Ben?', I asks and watch Soobin crouching down at the wall where a full bag is resting.
He takes out a small package and hands it over to me, shaking his head.
I nod and start to worry. It is the same routine every other month. Taehyun heads into the Outside to get a job done and Ben joins him, functioning as mediator between the two parties of business. Taehyun relies on Ben's judgement and knowledge of places and people. Ben on the other hand benefits from the safe trips into his home territory, staying there a few days until Taehyun returns for his next job, picking him up on the way home. On rare occasions, Ben returns by himself.
'Do you feel guilty?', Soobin suddenly asks, closing the curtain, automatically dimming the light in the room, blocking the setting sun out as well as the mosquitos.
'When it comes to Ben?', I question.
'Bambi', he corrects and adds quieter, 'after the bus stop incident'.
'Just thought that might be the reason for you wanting to spend time with her', he huffs and sits down, taking a bottle, half full with water from the surface of a chair and sips from it.
'You're really bothered', I laugh and step forward to take the bottle out of his hand and hug him, letting his head rest against my stomach while I gently run my fingers through his from the sea salt corrupted, knotty hair.
'You're still my number one', I squeal and hum, letting him feel the vibration of my body, as if I were a cat.
Soobin, reluctantly at first, hugs me back and melts into my embrace.
'Just don't get hurt', he whispers and tightens his grip on my shirt.
'I won't. I don't believe Bambi could hurt me or anyone', I answer, trusting in my judgement and feel my friend nodding.
Soobin resolves our cuddling session and insists on walking me back all the way to the bus stop. I throw myself into an exaggerated choreography of waves and non-existent tear drying when I sit in the last row of the bus, looking back at how Soobin becomes smaller and smaller.
I arrive at home with the phone forgotten in my pocket. Only as I lie down and roll onto my side, feeling uncomfortable, I remember the device. I pull it out and place it onto the mattress next to my head. I add the seashells that carry a good amount of sand with them. I have no intention of taking a shower or even remotely wash up and just tell myself that I will do it tomorrow. The seashells stink and I turn away from them, falling asleep facing the wall. I come up with the theory that it could be me who is emitting the unpleasant fragrance, but sleep catches me and drowns my senses before I could commence to care.
Ethel Cain
Gothic Celestial
Vintage Lace | More Vintage Lace
The Last Of Us
Vintage storybook/ fantasy
Stained glass lamps
Gothic Victorian
Frutiger Aero | More
Tiles
Liminal Space
Whimsygoth
Space/ Grunge
Cyanotype
Washi Tape | Part 2
Simple lines
Miscellaneous Dividers
Curtains and Trim
From Requests:
Fic specific req (tlou/ grunge/ wolf)
Blue book spine req
Light / Dark Academia
Vintage photography
Dark Fantasy
Fossils / palaeontology
Life Is Strange
Stranger Things
Y2k/2000s Computer
The Hunger Games
Yellow Whimsy / celestial
Vintage royalty core
Whimsical bugs
Weirdcore
Baphomet and Bones
Yellow and Blue Whimsy
Space and stars
Pirate / Ocean
