NightBow - Stories and Collections

cigarettes after sunset

✩♬ ₊˚.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Listen to Demi Moore by Phoebe Bridgers

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚⋆｡‧˚ 🌈⋅♡˚☽˚｡⋆｡‧˚ ☁︎ ˚‧｡

It was a quiet day at the palace of horrors. Steady streams of smoke rose up over the top of the volcano. The sky was faded, melting into warm shades of pink and orange; the Sun a glistening ruby red, matching the pair of eyes owned by the golden figure lounging at the lip of the volcano. 

Nightmare Steve blew another puff of steam from his mouth. He watched it slump lazily from his lips into the sky, joining the other streams in their dance before dissipating into nothingness. Another inhale from the cigarette and the man relaxed once more, enjoying the peaceful feeling of the sluggish air filling his lungs, seeping into his body; serene. He opened his eyes to repeat his actions listlessly, crimson gazing into crimson, immense powers staring into each other, capable of so much yet most content at rest. 

Eventually, those same eyes fell down to rest upon the phone his hand had pulled out. Calloused fingers opened it, unlocked it, and came upon the photo app. Before Nightmare knew it, he was gazing at one of his recent pictures, also one of his favorites: the figure of a petite, lean male sitting up on hands and knees, completely bare and undressed, frozen in the frame. The young man was captured with his mouth ajar and tongue rolling out, another's hand placed to keep it that way. The photographer's thumb was caught caressing the pink muscle of the other's mouth as to keep it lolled out, the remainder of the fingers resting delicately upon the jaw; the man's skin was milky, a warm undertone to pleasantly contrast the older's darkened, olive complexion. The image, delightfully so, was able to immortalize that longing, exhausted, loving gaze of those gorgeous multicolored eyes, fixed just above the camera upon the taking of the photo. Eyebrows upturned, a pretty flush painted across already rosy cheeks, glints of tears along the eyes: everything about him screamed, 'Take me, I'm yours.' 

It was a very pleasant photo to look at. 

Nightmare Steve smiled, taking another hit from his cigarette. His eyes trailed across hickies placed artfully - if he did say so himself - across the expanse of the other's exposed skin. If the man looked closely, he would also see small, faded scars in random areas, also his own handiwork. Nothing bad, of course, the villain couldn't bear the thought of causing any serious blemish upon his lover's perfect, beautiful body. 

His painted thumb swiped right after one last satisfied look at the photo - anymore and the Moon wouldn't be the only thing rising then - and settled on another photo of the same man, from that same night. 

A messy bundle of rainbow gradient hair, the owner faced once more towards the camera. A cheek smushed against the silk pillow, lips only barely apart to let out snores with a surprising volume for such a delicate man; silent in the image, but Nightmare could still hear the sounds. It was strange - somehow, the golden man found extreme comfort in noise that others would no doubt label as obnoxious. Perhaps it was because it made a deathly quiet room less so; perhaps it was because he was only able to sleep with the sound reverberating his brain. It grounded him, made him feel a little less lonely... a feeling that the Nightmare King was no stranger to. 

It was nice. Not to feel it as much anymore. 

--- 

"And- and so, haha! Sabre was like: What do you mean, 'he didn't do anything to you??' He kidnapped you!"

"Really?! He sounds almost upset that I didn't-"

"Oh nonono, don't worry he was really glad I wasn't harmed like he thought I would be, but he was so caught up in shock that he barely questioned how I 'escaped.'"