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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 4 months

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unpopular opinion but whump should and deserves to be messy

"Yeah duh there's plenty of scenarios with blood and tears--" no. I want more.

I want pink tinted spit dribbling out of Whumpee's mouth. I want strings of saliva connecting between their busted lip to Whumper's tongue. I want drool running down the corners of their mouths because of a gag that makes it difficult to swallow.

I want sweat making Whumpee feel sticky and clammy to the touch. I want their skin to be slick and soaking into their soiled clothes. I want them to squirm in discomfort of a dirty shirt clinging to their back from precious fluids that are going to risk further dehydration. I want their hair to be continuously damp and hanging in thick strands in their face.

I want the scabs to turn white with pus and black with infection. I want old wounds to tear open and bleed a thick red. I want the pink flesh underneath to pulse and quiver, the sight of yellow fat and cartilage. I want blood vessels and capillaries to burst and spread over an area, I want burns to start brown and peel away to a tender pink.

I want Whumpee to vomit out of their nose because their mouth is gagged. I want bile to reek on their clothing and on their tongue. I want them to grow use to the taste of bitter blood and burning chyme forever in the back of their throat. I want them to have to snort and hack to be able to spit out whatever was still caught on their tongue or risk swallowing it down.

I want their tears to remain unwiped and crusting over their eyes. I want snot to smear over their cheeks and leave their lips uncomfortably tacky. I want their face to remain blotchy and red because they just can't get it clean. I want dirt and blood and skin to build up under their fingernails to the point they risk infecting their own wounds if they try and mess with it. I want Whumpee to only be sprayed down with cold water and an old towel, never any soap and never in all the creases of their body.

I want their bodies caked in grime and viscera and bodily fluids. I want Whumper to never give them the luxury of feeling clean and in fact actively making them more filthy each time. I want Whumpee's clothes yellowed and their hair matted and their skin sickly. I want injuries to never properly heal so that the only option is to amputate the necrosis. I want Whumper to force Whumpee to clean up whatever kind of mess they made by licking it off the floor.

I want arteries to spew like a garden sprinkler. I want the exposed roots of pulled teeth to dangle freely in their mouth. I want Whumpee's hair, including all of their body hair, to grow to unruly lengths that are constantly tangled and ingrown. I want them to find comfort in starving because it means there's nothing to risk throwing up. I want them to scrub their skin raw and bleeding, uncaring how much it aggravates their injuries or how the soap stings, the first chance they're given for a real bath.

I want it to be nasty!!!!!!

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pahtoosh · 10 months

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yucky

masterlist

summer celebration masterlist

18+

wc: ~300 words

warnings: lee is a little 🤏 mean in this. he calls you a brat🫢 and says a bad word🫢

a/n: this piece is for me and about me. i will NOT take cough syrup !! they all taste so bad id rather stay sick🤘

pairing: lee bodecker x gn!little!reader

summary: Lee’s baby doesn’t wanna take their medicine

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

“C’mon, baby. I know you don’t like it but ya gotta take your medicine.”

“No!”

“Don’t you get an attitude with me. Now listen to daddy and take your medicine. It’s just a‘ drop and then I’ll let ya have one of those cherry suckers after.”

“Don’t wanna!”

“Do-“

“No, Daddy! No medicine! It’s yucky, yucky, yucky! It’s the yuckiest thing in the whole wide world!”

“Would ya quit bein’ a brat?”

You crossed your arms and stomped your foot, looking up at Lee defiantly. “Not a brat! Daddy a brat!”

Lee set down the spoon with a harsh clink. “I’m gonna give you two options.” He took a breath. “Ya can take this medicine with no more fuss an’ get a little treat after.”

You squirmed nervously.

“Or, I can make you take this medicine and no treats or toys for the rest of the week. I really don’t wanna hav’ta force this down your throat, button. So, what’s it gonna be?”

You looked down at the floor. “Can I have da lemon sucker instead?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

You held your breath and allowed Lee to feed you the spoonful of medicine. You quickly swallowed the syrup and gulped down water before taking the lollipop your daddy held out to you.

Lee gave you a sympathetic pat on the head. “Ya didn’t make it easy, but you did it.” He kissed your forehead. “Now hurry up an’ get better so we don’t have to deal with this medicine crap.”

#lee bodecker x little!reader #daddy!lee bodecker x little!reader #drabble #fluff #slight angst #gn!little!reader #sfw regression #agere fic #pouty!reader #whiny!reader #bratty!reader #sick!little!reader #yucky #toosh writes

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limerental · 1 month

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chained

iorveth/roche - 14.7k

i feel like i've been writing this messy little disaster fic forever but here she is. she's gross.

summary

After the dwindling Temerian army is routed by invading Nilfgaardian forces, Roche wakes shackled to a wagon in a slave caravan. Worse than the suffering, violence, and humiliation he knows he's about to endure is the realization that his worst enemy will be there to witness it, chained alongside him.

excerpt

The manacles around his wrists and ankles are tight enough to dig red grooves into his skin, and no matter how he twists and cups his hands or rubs his legs together, they don’t budge. The long chain clasped to his collar is in turn attached to the axle of the wagon. Each of his restraints has its own lock. He swipes in the dirt for any stone large enough to try to break open the locks or his hand if he has to but finds nothing. Curling down, he bites at the chain, just to see. All that gets him is a metallic tang in his dry mouth and sore molars. Iorveth laughs at him. “Perhaps chew off your own hand,” he suggests. “You may make it to the edge of camp before you bleed out. Riddled with arrows as well, of course.” Roche does not want to talk to the elf. Or look at him. Or hear him. He’s torn between the urge to turn away to better pretend Iorveth isn’t there and the well-honed instinct not to put his back to an enemy.

#yucky slave caravan fic is here!#it's got weird gory fantasies! it's got starvation! it's got 'only i can kill you' obsessive weird romance!#it's got roche having a bad time #and copious stupid banter #the witcher #iorveth x roche #also i'm either taking a break from writing or writing something completely off the rails next

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pinkrelish · 2 months

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I’m so glad that you’re still around 🥺

they try to keep me buried, but from time to time i remember i can dig and reach fresh air with soil packed under my fingernails.

#“they” being capitalism & yucky relationships & autistic burn out & the overwhelming crush of adult responsibilities suffocating creativity #on the plus side i finally talked to the older!eddie dupe i mentioned in one of my tags a few months back #i made myself look like a dumdum but he was very nice and i'm writing him a compliment through the store's website #i hope it makes his day or something

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sunshiline-writes · 7 months

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Drabble: Good Dolls Don't Dream

More fucked up Drabble time from Sunny!!! uhh yeah this one's rough stay safe and heed warnings. CW: DEAD DOVE DON'T EAT, GORE, noncon body modifications (so so many), wire's through hands, stress positions, mentions of kidnapping, broken legs, whumpee is thought of and called a "doll" and "thing", stitching a person's mouth closed, some mouth gore I THINK I GOT EVERYTHING but if I didn't just let me know!

Eyelids fluttering, breaths came in short gasps as whumpee slept. Whumper always enjoyed watching Whumpee sleep. They were always so beautiful. But today they were immaculate, strung up against the wall like this. Hands above their head held up by the wire through their hands. The sight was beautiful, the wire wrapping from the hole in their palms between each finger, creating an intricate pattern as it weaved in and out of their hand.

Whumper had worked very hard to get the designs just right. The carvings in their skin, the wig stitched on, through their scalp. That was the worst part getting them to stay still enough to let them move the needle through the scalp. Then they had to start over because Whumpee had moved so much that the wig had gone on crooked.

They always knew how to make things so difficult. Whumpee made a noise as their eyes fluttered open. Their eyes looked at them blearily. Whumper carded a hand through the fake hair on their head pulling the stitches lightly. They were a bit angry and red at the edge of their scalp, Whumper would fix that later.

“Are you ready to be let down now darling?”

Whumpee let out a choked whine before answering. “Please.. I’m so tired.”

Whumper unhooked the chain that held the wires through Whumpee’s hand and let whumpee fall into them. Gently picking them up bridal style and carrying them to the bed. A mattress in the corner of the basement, and lays them down. They whimper as their legs are straightened and the blanket is put to their shoulders. Whumpee’s legs still look wrong after the last time Whumper broke them. They hated to do that, it ruined the perfectness of their little doll. But it had to be done after they had tried to escape a third time. They had let the legs heal the wrong way. Making sure there was never an attempt like that again. Dolls didn’t need to run or walk anyway. Dolls just needed to sit there and look pretty. Boy, was whumpee pretty. They had big brown eyes that shone when they cried, beautiful skin, their hair was the only thing that had been awful when they acquired the little thing. It used to be dyed a bright green color, now they had the beautiful black wig that was connected to their scalp. They were nearly perfect now. So close.

“Can you tell me what you did wrong? Why you were punished?” Whumpee whimpered as Whumper gave a little tug on the wig, again pulling at the stitches on their scalp. “I-I.. said.. I wanted.. to go home..” they answered between sniffles and sharp breaths.

“Mmhmm, and why was that wrong?” “Because… Because I am home..” “Good. Good. You know you’re nearly perfect,” Whumper, rubbed light circles on Whumpee’s back, sighing. “Just one last punishment. It’s not forever. You just need to learn not to say those types of things to me.” Whumpee stared up at them with wide eyes, tears filling them again. God they were so pretty when they were scared.

“It.. It was just a stupid.. a stupid dream..” Whumpee tried to bargain with them. Whumper smiled softly, a finger placed on Whumpee’s lips. “Good Dolls don’t dream love.”

Whumpee whimpered again, whumper stood up and left for a moment before returning with a shoe box. It was filled with different colors of thread and needles. They pulled out a needle and a purple thread. “I think purple would really make your eyes pop, don’t you agree?” They didn’t expect an answer as they set up the thread through the needle. “If you move I might rip more of your skin that what’s necessary, so try and stay as still as possible okay?” Whumpee pushed themselves away from Whumper as they straddled the younger person. Laughing a little, whumper shook their head. “You still need some work. That’s okay. I am very patient.” “No no no, please wait. I’ll be good. I’ll take the muzzle, I’ll wear the ball gag like you wanted earlier. Please,” a whimper as whumper brought the needle closer to their bottom lip. “PLEASE!!” They screamed out next. Whumper huffed and slapped Whumpee hard, “shut up and keep your mouth closed or I’ll make this worse. I’ll let you go a week with these in instead of just the rest of the day, understand? Nod if you understand.” Whumpee nodded slowly, sobbing softly as their lips pouted. Whumper laughed, tapping their cheek lovingly, “Just do what I say and you’ll be just fine love.” Then they pushed the needle through the bottom right corner of Whumpee’s mouth, and as the little doll cried out, Whumper grabbed their tongue with a gloved hand. Then they brought the needle through the tip of their tongue. Whumpee screamed and then quickly clamped their mouth shut as the needle was put through their upper lip. Whumper smiled as they saw blood drip down their lips and chin, gently wiping it away. “Good. Yes the purple looks very good on you. I should put you in purple more often.” Then they pressed the needle into their bottom lip again, repeating the process save for the tongue. They watched hungrily as Whumpee clenched their fists and sobbed quietly. By the time they had tied off the last of the stitch, Whumpee’s eyes had a glazed over look. “God you’re beautiful,” whumper whispered, pressing a kiss to Whumpee’s stitched lips, licking the droplets of blood that had collected on their lips. “The perfect little doll.”

Whumpee sobbed harder

—

Drabble taglist: @painsandconfusion ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

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bitchfitch · 3 months

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hnnngh we've hit 20k.

#bitching #tbh like. i write for me but a Lil valli would be nice #id like a hint iof vali for my fanficcies #like. to be clear this is a fic that appeals to no one besides me but Still #i need to be pat on the head like a dog and told im doing a good job at all times or i will Die #and Yes i do feel yucky sick thank you for asking.

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sodrippy · 24 days

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important to me that people know the difference between when i am tagging a blorbo spiritually or thematically on a textpost vs when it actually fr happened to them. sanji was Literally sent to forcefem island. for two years.

#lets ignore the overall yucky transphobic writing and build a more beautiful world together about it though ykwim

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bunnyb34r · 1 month

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I wish I liked eggs and weren't allergic to em bc they're so versatile and you can make really simple meals with them which would be very beneficial for my flare up days especially

I've tried several times before my allergy tests and every time I'd have to hype myself up to try it and then take the TINIEST bite and spit it in the trash immediately

Then with several allergy tests over the years it was proven time and time again I'm allergic so even if I wanted to eat them I cant :(

#i saw a post ab soft boiled eggs and they actually looked good :(#i feel like i could get really good at cooking them if i could eat them like id try different ways and make omelets bht alas yucky #i remember one time helping my aunt set up for the church's 'lady's tea' event that was really cute and everyone brought a tea cup or mug #and you'd write your name on the bottom. then everyone would pick one to take home and that would be the person you were supposed to pray #for and the point of the tea cups/mugs was the idea that you do it while having your daily tea or coffee in the morning and it was really #sweet. i dont think i did it bc i was like 10 but i do think of the lady whose cup i picked when i look at it even though shes been passed #anyway they had quiche and i was very excited bc i never had that before and it sounded cool... yeah no sgdgdggdgd i just ate cookies for #lunch that day agsggdgdg i was like oh... it's eggs... 😬#anyway anyway eggs yucky hard boiled especially #marquilla

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yuckydraws · 3 months

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Hi!

Could I request the UF brothers and FS gold brothers with a reader that has a native language.

But the reader shows off their language skills by singing a song in that language that sounds very beautiful, however when the skeletons search up the song the lyrics are hilariously inappropriate. (Kind of like Rammesteins Dicken titten)

And then after they find out they can hear the reader laughing from the living room after they’ve successfully pranked/tricked them?

Thank you!

- 🐨

Red: Honestly? He probably won't ever find out on his own. You'll get away with singing dirty lyrics to him for a long, long time, because he never thinks to look up what you're singing, he just enjoys listening to your voice.

Boss: He's mortified. Here he was, thinking you were being romantic, singing him a lovely song... only to find out that it was a prank?! Get back here, he's got a word or two to have with you, you little minx. His frustration is mostly lighthearted, but you better make it up to him with an actual romantic gesture.

Vant: The only way this wouldn't work with him is if your first language is Spanish - because he speaks that fluently. It's something he usually only uses for work, so if you tried this with him in Spanish... he'll be able to prank you right back by repeating the lyrics back to you in English. If it's another language, however, you'll be waiting on a reaction for a little bit. He's a bit shy when it comes to accepting what he perceives as a romantic gesture so he'll wait until he's alone to look up the lyrics. You'll only hear his screech.

Pup: He'll find this fucking hilarious. The moment he peeks at his phone to try and catch what you're singing - he'll double over laughing. You really had him there, for a second.

#smoothestkoala #yucky answers #yucky yaks #yucky writes #headcannons #undertale #underfell #uf sans #red #uf papyrus #boss #fellswap #fs sans #vant #fs papyrus #pup

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limerental · 5 months

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ficletvember 2023 - day 14

dijkstra/philippa

After years of kneeling at Philippa's feet, Dijkstra finally dares to ask for more. content warning for dear god, this is horny and a smidge messed up, as is typical of these two. explicit d/s vibes, oral sex, several yucky fantasies, also footjobs for some reason. philippa is explicitly a lesbian here, don't worry.

There had once been a time, as the political chatter dwindled and the wine flowed, when more nights than not, Dijsktra had found himself waiting with controlled anticipation for the inevitable quirk of Philippa Eilhart’s brow.

It was an unspoken command to kneel at her feet.

She’d trained him well through his Academy days and after, mentoring more than just his intelligence career.

He was a cocksure young spy, quick on his feet despite his lumbering height and clever enough to pretend to be as oafish as he looked. Never quite handsome but unerringly confident even so.

In Philippa’s study each night, that same young man folded his hands into his lap and bowed his head, the picture of meek obedience. He waited as patiently as he could for her small, soft hand to trail through the thinning hair along his crown.

If he was lucky, she would let him touch her.

Some nights, it was nothing but kneeling.

Philippa would continue their chatter about politics or history or aimless gossip, all while Dijkstra’s legs grew numb beneath him, her hand toying sometimes with the sparse hair at his temples.

He waited with less and less patience, his whole body tight with tension, for her to ask more of him, but he was bound to her whims. Her faint, teasing touches and the heat of her body a whisper away was an endless torture.

When she inevitably dismissed him, he’d stumble up on legs as wobbly as a newborn calf. He bore the brunt of her amusement in toying with him if only for the promise that some nights went very differently and the hope that someday she would allow even more.

Other nights, she bid him to employ his big hands to dig into the meat of her heels and up the curve of her calves. He’d watch his thumbs slide up the ridge of her shin, parting the soft, dark hair, and sometimes, as he stroked down again to work his fingers into the bones of her ankle, she would press a bare sole between his legs where he desperately needed to be touched.

If he was very lucky, she would hold her weight there and urge him on.

“Do what you must, Sigismund,” she would say in a voice lofty and dark with the slur of wine. “One day, you’ll have kings rutting against your heel like mutts in heat. Shameful. How little control men truly have. Put them under just a bit of pressure, and they fall into your lap.”

The humiliation burned, but he bore the heat of shame and friction to shiver apart beneath her feet.

He should have guessed her proclivities then. She had never been shy about her disdain for men. Her private preference had always been for women, the men she seduced only ever used as a means to an end.

Foolishly, though she gave him no reason to think so, Dijkstra had thought himself an exception.

Some glorious nights, she let him taste her.

She rarely wore anything beneath her gowns, a twitch of skirts as she hooked a leg over her armchair leaving her exposed and glistening.

While her legs were never shaved hairless as some northern ladies favoured, the hair left between her legs varied based on her whims. Sometimes pruned into a tidy pattern or decorated with jewels. Dijkstra didn’t much care either way how she styled her damn cunt. He cared about very little at all when she finally beckoned him forward and allowed him to put his mouth to her.

He wasn’t some poet. The taste of her wasn’t dripping nectar, sweet as honey. Her cunt tasted the same as any other, of salt and sweat with a coppery-tang as her wetness met the swirl of his tongue. It wasn’t the taste or the sight or the smell that made Dijkstra’s blood rush in his ears like nothing else. It was Philippa's murmurs of praise and direction, the touch of her hand on his head, the faint tremble that began in her thighs, and then, the little noises rising in pitch as her pleasure heightened.

Even sitting obedient on his knees, even knowing that his aching urge to sheath himself within her would never be sated, that he would leave this room with his cock untouched, ever wholly satisfied, Dijkstra had never felt more powerful than in those moments.

He had no way of knowing how much of that power was as much an illusion as any part of Philippa Eilhart was.

Dijkstra had learned quickly that Philippa grew bored of perfect obedience. She grew bored with all of her toys after a time. He had thought, foolishly, that he would always be clever enough and useful enough to hold her interest.

She was planning something. In the wake of the Brotherhood’s triumph and great loss at Sodden, she had begun to quietly scheme. It was the things she didn’t say that tipped him off, going quiet as she sipped at her wine, eyes glinting. He knew she’d share the details soon enough, as many details as he needed to know for his inevitable part in it.

It had been years since their nightly talks had regularly ended with him on his knees, a distance having crept in, but his body still knew the heightened sensory awareness of anticipation. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end as she watched him, knowing she could read his clear thoughts if she wished. Hoping this time she would look deep and laugh a little over his shameless want, his blatant desire. Hoping that she would allow him close once more.

As the talk dwindled, he waited to be dismissed or to be beckoned, hardly tasting his own wine.

Philippa's dark eyebrow quirked upward. He once would have rushed immediately to his knees at that simple signal. He was older now and wiser. He'd grown tired of leaping to heel when she called.

He'd still leap, of course. Just hoped she didn't expect him not to gripe about how high.

“My knees aren't what they used to be,” Dijkstra grunted, and Philippa snorted a laugh.

“Would you like a cushion? A word of sympathy?”

“I'd like to take you to bed,” he said in a voice low with desire.

He’d never been so bold. He knew had she allowed him to have her like that when he was young, he would have embarrassed himself in his eager yearning to be inside her, to be that close to her. Now, though he’d only gotten fatter and uglier with age, he knew he had the experience and prowess to make it worthwhile for her. If she let him.

Philippa hummed, her finger teasing the edge of her goblet.

“Kneel here a moment,” she said, gesturing to her feet, “and I’ll think on that, Sigismund.”

She clapped her hands, and a plush cushion appeared. It quivered with the insubstantial half-transparency of illusion, but when he kneeled, his creaking knees sank into plush softness.

Philippa lay her hand on the crown of his bald head. Some wisps of hair still tried to grow along his scalp, enough that he had watched them go silver, but he shaved them close to his skull just as he shaved his patchy beard. He’d once wondered if he were a more classic beauty, rather than an acquired taste, if she would have allowed more between them.

He recalled the height of her laughter when once she had read in his thoughts <i>if I’d only been born the fairer sex</i>.

“There'd be nothing fair about you either way, Sigismund,” she had laughed, easing the slight with a caress down his throat.

He had pleased her with that desperate thought. Knowing that if it were possible, he would remake himself into someone that would be allowed closer to her, enough her equal that he could dominate her in turn.

In his fantasies now, he loomed above her, he fit his big hands around her throat, he watched in delight as she begged at his feet and slipped her small fingers around the girth of his cock. Dangerous, talons sharp and gaze gleaming, even as he sank with a smear of red lipstick past her parted lips and down her throat.

Never forgetting that she may bite.

Philippa hummed and scratched in a gentle drag along his scalp with her lacquered nails.

She was peering into his thoughts, he knew. She could see his every desire. The ache to claim her and be claimed by her. Leashed to one another. Equally bound. He didn't wish for her to be subservient. No more than he thought she wished that of him.

He offered up another fantasy. Philippa, bearing the jut of a conjured cock between her legs, one that shimmered with magical sensation. Dijkstra, bowed forward on his hands and knees, open and waiting for her.

“You have quite the imagination,” said Philippa, her fingernails ghosting lightly across his skin.

“What d’you think?” Dijkstra asked, voice rougher than expected.

He was painfully aroused, heartbeat pounding in the taut weight of his erection that strained the front of his trousers. If he’d been younger, it would have taken only a gentle brush of Philippa’s heel or even a word to set him off.

Philippa stood with a predatory slowness that brought her hips to the height of his head. If she’d had a cock, he would not have had to lean much closer to touch his mouth to the very tip. So close, he imagined that he could feel the heat of her arousal, could almost smell the warmth of her sex.

“I think,” she said as he looked up at her, his every desperate desire written clearly in his thoughts and his expression, “I think it’s best that we don’t do this again, Sigismund.”

In a breath, before he could fully digest her words, she was away from him. A breath later, there came the near-silent flutter of wings as she soared from the open window.

A cold shudder went down Dijkstra's spine. The exhale he released was ragged and sudden. The coiled tension in his body snapped, wholly unsated, and he snatched at his laces to free himself, stripping his cock with rough strokes that were barely pleasurable but brought him to his peak in a quick punch through his gut.

He remembered only as pulsing streaks of ejaculate fell across the cushion she had given him to kneel on that it was only an illusion. He watched the dark stain dissipate along with the cushion itself as Philippa’s proximity stretched far enough away that the magic broke.

The cold of the bared floorboards ached up through Dijkstra’s old knees.

#my fic #ficletvember #philippa eilhart x sigismund dijkstra #this is SO yucky i swear to god i can't write smut like this unless it's dijkstra. truly i become possessed #i love so much that big fat ugly guy idk

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patchwork-crow-writes · 10 days

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Inspiration can strike you in the most bizarre circumstances.

So there I was, cleaning out my shower drain...

#rambling #...I'm sorry if this is yucky but I just couldn't keep this one to myself #Hopefully the writing it inspires isn't of similar quality...!

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skyward-floored · 1 month

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Ah which wip should I try to fight with

#rambles from the floor #I can’t decide #I’m at that annoying point with several of them #where I just need to push through and write everything out and then edit and post #but I don’t want tooooooooo #even though I gotta at some point #I should probably wash my hair actually it feels yucky but again #I don’t want toooooooo #whiney whine whine

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vrmxlho · 1 year

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SEASON OF LOVE - PRECOGNITION

pairing: geto x gn! reader

day 8 ← masterlist → day 10

the night was still and quiet, with only the soft rustle of leaves outside the window and the muted glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. you lay in bed, feeling the warmth of the sheets against you skin and the softness of the pillows beneath your head.

you weren't sure what type of tea that lady from before had sold you and you also weren't sure how you had suddenly become brave enough to try it. but here you were. for weeks, you had been plagued with sleepless nights. your mind a constant whirlwind of thoughts and worries. yet, you were suddenly calm now.

you could feel yourself slipping into a dreamlike state. it was like someone had pulled your thoughts out of your mind, freeing you of the cluttered emotions and inner monologue, your head was finally silent and completely empty.

you didn't know where you were but the place felt familiar. like a childhood memory that you were just about to let go of.

the sun was high up in the sky, casting its warm and vibrant rays through the enormous bay windows. but despite its brilliance, a different kind of beauty lingered in the air. as you gazed up at the expanse of blue beyond the frames, there, amidst the bright and cloudless heavens, were the stars.

yes, the stars, shining bright and clear despite the blinding sunlight. they seemed to dance and twinkle, as if in celebration of this unexpected moment of visibility.

it was as though the universe had conspired to grant you a glimpse of its secret treasures, hidden away in plain sight. it was as though you were privy to a secret knowledge, a whispered truth that only a select few were privy to. it was a gift from up above. you continued gazing at the tapestry of light so in awe you barely noticed the dark man that stood behind you, gazing at you.

"beautiful aren't they, y/n?" the man said. you felt your soul leave your body as your deep focus was ripped away from the supernatural outdoors to the man looming behind you.

suddenly you weren't standing in a room with bay windows and a golden light anymore. as soon as your bright eyes met his blacked out face you were both transported to a vast, open, field with swaying grass and silver trees glowing in the harsh moonlight.

"where are we?" you weren't expecting a sensical answer yet you asked anyway.

he said something you couldn't really hear. maybe it was the language of the dream. maybe you were just delirious. all you really knew was that you were attracted to this man. god knows who he is, or what he even looks like. the aura around him was like a halo, burning brightly.

he reached out a hand and took yours, pulling you towards him. his soft touch took you to dawn. the sun was creeping up the horizon as the harsh moon was defeated once again. the stars were still casting beams like sunlight through forest leaves. you felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you close.

and then you were kissing, your lips meeting in a passionate embrace. and you felt yourself melting into his arms, losing yourself in the moment. the beams kept gushing out of the sky like spotlights exposing the surroundings. when you pulled away you finally saw his face. it was beautiful. it wasnt something exactly describable. his eyes felt rough yet soft. his hair shone like it had silver threaded through it. and his smile. oh darlings his smile. could cure an illness. truly. his wet and stung lips pulled up by imaginary strings, creases under his cheeks, above his jaw. you wished to bathe in it.

"who are you?"

"i'm ███████"

"i'm sorry i didn't quite catch that..."

"███████"

"could you say that once m–"

"i'll tell you tommorrow." his arms now left the embrace and he took a step back, maybe out of guilt, maybe to admire you.

"tommorrow? what do you mean tommorrow? are you conscious?"

"are you?"

"i'm not supposed to be... it's a dream..."

"are you sure it's a dream?"

"what else could it be?"

"we've never met before. yet you dreamt me of. that's not supposed to happen is it?"

"you must just be a version of all the people i've met before. is that so strange?"

"i'll see you tommorrow."

with that the sun collapsed into the horizon and everything was dark. the man was gone too. it wasn't dark like the colour black. it was dark like you had suddenly gone blind. like nothing existed and nothing will. as if your eyes had never learnt to look and you brain had never processed earthly images before.

tommorrow. tommorrow? will it really come? would you really see him again? would he be in your dreams again?

waking up felt like a betrayal really. you wished for the night to come again. you wanted to see him, again. it didn't matter if you were mildly isolated in the real world, as long as he was there in the dream world.

most of the day was a blur. you went on with your quotidian tasks but it exhausted you more than it should have. the throngs of people hurrying, the honking of cars and the caophony of the city all blended together as you drifted through the crowds of the city. your mind was elsewhere; back with the man you missed.

everything reminded you of him. even the smallest more meaningless details took you back in time. the tall panes of glass on emerging buildings that reflected all that they saw reminded you of his glistening eyes. the falling feathers of crows reminded you of his velvety hair. it was so stupid to be infatuated with a man who wasn't real. but somehow you felt the red string of fate pull you to him every time he crossed your mind. which was often. all the time really.

you trudged through the streets you cared little of, wishing to sit in your sweet bed and be with the one you wanted, once again.

but something suddenly caught your eye. it was in middle of all the greyness surrounding you. there stood a framed window into your dream. it stood on a easel in middle of a desolate park where nature had reclaimed its land; vines and vegetation stretched onto the pavement and around benches.

the window looked right into the room with the bay windows where the sun shown alongside the stars. it was emitting light as if it wanted you to touch it and pass back into the world you so yearned to be in. and you complied. how could you not? it was begging you, daring you even.

"paint's not dry yet, y/n." said the same voice you had heard last night; the one you kept hearing all day; every breath, every hour, every moment.

"who are you?"

"getou."

"have we met before?" of course you have, you were waiting to meet him again. the image of his perfect face was burnt into your mind, tattooed onto your eyelids, imprinted on your soul.

"you know very well we've never met before..." he smirked. you couldn't tell why. this was no smirking matter, you were being very serious. and you could feel your knees buckling more every moment you spent not in his arms.

"i swore we had."

"that was in a dream."

"can dreams not come true?" completely unintentially, or perhaps with just the right amount of intention, you stepped closer to him to comfort your knees.

"i suppose they can."

he pushed your chin up with his finger and kissed you just as he had the night before.

the kiss was like a breeze in the middle of summer, soft and gentle yet refreshing. a moment frozen in time, as if the world had stopped spinning and all that existed was the two of you, lips locked in a tender welcome.

your mouths fit perfectly together, like pieces of a puzzle finally finding their match. the taste of his lips was intoxicating, something undescribable, almost like god's ambrosia. the heavens around soon crackled with electricity, as if the universe was rejoicing in your reunion. your two hearts were in sync, as if they were one.

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