i was there when you turned sixteen
when it was time for you to bloom
i was there when you turned seventeen
in your hour of wilting
i was not there for eighteen
but i promise you
that whether you choose to burn or rise again
i will be there
another one done for a meme on rp blog. dublin/mexico human au, apparently. somwhere between fluff and sensuality? trust. let’s call it trust.
Not many romantic things happened whilst with Sean, and at first she was disappointed, and perhaps tried to unfairly force romantic ideals on him, but when she saw that he genuinely could not be like someone out of a romance novel, she settled for the little moments where he let himself be vulnerable in front of her, which, proved to be the most intimate times between them.
He’s quiet right now, sitting on the edge of the bed and smoking a cigarette that was almost down to the filter. His shirt was off due to the ridiculous humidity of the summer (for they were on vacation in her homeland to visit her parents), yet his skin chilled with the wind blowing in from the open window.
She lays on his back, gently, afraid to startle him, and mumbles something in half sleep. He grunts back, not entirely sure of what she said or what language she said it in, but he was sure he heard the word for ‘food’ in there somewhere. He stiffens up when she runs a finger tip over his back to his shoulders, idly tracing a few scars he had gotten from nasty fights in his youth. He relaxes almost immediately, however, once he remembered that she was not going to harm him.
Seizing the moment, she kisses him. Softly and chastely, and even sleepily, along the column of his spine. A quiet sign of affection from her, and he reciprocated when he allowed her to continue for a short while, until sleep overcame her.
nsfw drabble done for a meme on rp blog. i was supposed to incorporate the phrase, “I’m not wearing panties”.
turned out ok. i don’t usually write the before scene, just the actual smut, so this was good practice in tension and atmosphere.
people love poems where
they are compared to stars and dust
galaxies and iron
but you are neither of these things
you are made of raw flesh, bone, & blood
sweat and tears and skin
and i love you all the more for it
They slept together. Once. It was spur of the moment, and she didn’t stay long afterwards, but she did steal a hot pocket from his fridge. That was something he appreciated. No expectations. No strings. And she still greeted him the next day as if nothing had happened. And they continued to have that special friendship with a little extra on the side.
This was the way it should have been.
This was the way it was:
About a month after they first had relations, he prompted it again, and she turned away. This wouldn’t have bothered or phased him, if it wasn’t for what she had said.
"I just want to feel something, you know?"
He did not.
"Anything, I mean, I don’t expect you to get all romantic and shit on me but fuck, I mean there’s nothing there. No hate, no love, no passion, no anxiety or urgency.” she talked with her hands, as if trying to grasp the right words, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but sometimes I think you’re just dead.”
When she was met with silence, she sighed, “It’s just…sometimes, when I would walk into a room, do something, and then turn the light off and leave, I wouldn’t even notice that you were there inside until you said something.”
She was nothing special. A nice friend, a nice girl, a nice lay; but her words bothered him. Made him feel uncomfortable.
"It’s like you’re not even human sometimes."
He wished she had spared him the information.
"Sorry man, it’s nothing personal, I still love you, you’re my friend and all that, but I can’t be naked around you again."
And he felt that when she said naked, she meant something else entirely, but he failed to ask.
The next week, he sees her with someone. And he feels no anger or jealously or remorse, sadness, or even hurt.
He felt nothing.
in this hour of what she would like to call betrayal she can only feel vast emptiness
she does not care anymore
the sea is sounding
she is speaking to him with words he thought she could not say
'i don't love you'
the sea rests
a whore hums
the way her ancestors would
hum for rain
or the harvest
she hums for warmth
shelter from the rain
and the hungry eyes of passing people
a job is a job but
not during the holidays
On his first night home from the hospital, he offers to sleep on the fold away bed in the living room in order to have his wife keep the bed. He didn’t even feel comfortable in his own clothes, and he expected that the bed would be even worse.
He had barely slept that night, in that unfamiliar house that he doesn’t remember picking out or being in before this day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped she slept better than he did, but by the tired look she had in the morning, he guessed that she didn’t get much sleep either.
It continued like this for a very long time, and while he was slowly remembering things like his child’s birthday and where they kept emergency candles, he didn’t remember anything resembling a memory and it drove him mad.
Not until the third month sleeping on the fold away did he remember anything. Perhaps he had been dreaming but he was certain that it was a memory, it just felt real.
His wife was there, but before she was his wife and before they lived in this house—she was lying next to him, facing him, naked as a babe, and she was laughing. Nothing cruel or mocking, but full-hearted, joyous laughter at something he had said. He did not remember what he had told her, but he wished he did.
The next night, he slipped in between the covers and lay next to her while she was sleeping, and was amazed at how he ever slept on that fold away without her at his side.
Standing in the doorway, they wave to their daughter as her friend’s mother comes to pick her up for a birthday party. He wants nothing more than to go back to watching the game, but the look on his wife’s face scares him and causes him to have…flashbacks.
"Oh no," he says, distancing himself from her with his arm out as if she would attack him, "Don’t do that—"
"Do what?" she doesn’t stop.
"That," he gestures wildly and vaguely, “The last time you did that, that happened,” he gestures to the car, now driving off in the horizon, obviously referring to their child.
"Hmm? Oh no, that was your fault." she responds casually.
Whilst he is distracted with defending himself and his point, she carefully guides him back inside, not wanting him to catch a cold in this weather.