Revaechan - Aeri

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

city of angels | l.dh

genre ❥ exes to lovers, fluff, angst pairings ❥ ex! donghyuck x reader word count ❥ 2.8k warnings ❥ none

MARCH 2021, 2.22 A.M.

When you stumble into your doorway two hours past midnight, the house is pitch-black.

Your shoes are kicked off messily at the doorway, and a curse escapes your mouth when you’re temporarily unable to find the lock. The neighbours might file a complaint, but you can’t seem to care, not when your feet hurt and there’s bile at the back of your throat.

You barely make it to the bathroom before the contents of tonight’s dinner empty themselves out, which is not much. The sight of it seems to make you even more nauseous, and you tear your eyes away to stare down the haggard face in the mirror.

You’re not even sure why you drink, considering you find yourself perfectly sober and recalling every single memory you attempt to forget at the end of each night. Going to the bar doesn’t do anything besides give you a horrible headache.

There are a few regrets you have, and the first is buying an apartment that needs four flights of stairs to climb. The second is agreeing to go out and and ‘get wasted’, in the wise advice of your friends who don’t know better ways to manage their problems other than pretending they’re not there.

The third is him.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

On busy days, you’re able to empty your head of those thoughts, but it’s always only temporary.

You look down at the toothbrush in your hand, and your heart sinks slightly. Everything about this apartment reminds you of him, from the bed that you sleep in alone to the set of cutlery in the dishwasher to the plants sitting on the windowsill.

God damn it.

MARCH 2020, 2.22 A.M.

You’re not even that short, but you tiptoe just to match his height in the mirror. In the fluorescent light, it’s obvious that both of you are suffering from a lack of sleep, just like every other student on this campus.

At least you have him, to make it a little easier.

You watch as he squeezes out the toothpaste, handing the toothbrush to you. “I’m not a baby, you know,” you mutter, but there’s a slight smile on his face as he turns to you.

”I know you’re not a baby. But you’re my baby,” he comments, and you’re too embarrassed to admit that you enjoyed him saying that, instead letting a faux cringe appear on your face. “Gross,” you retort, watching as he lets out a soft chuckle.

You’re exhausted, and so you make quick work of washing up. You almost let go of the towel, however, when you feel a pair of arms wind around your waist, his chin resting comfortably in the crook of your neck.

”Five minutes, Hyuck. I’m almost done,” you assure him, but he doesn’t stop clinging to you. In this position, you can feel the warmth of his chest against your back, and you try not to sink into it too obviously. “Hurry up. I’m sleepy,” he whines, and you scoff lightheartedly, before poking him to get him to let up.

When you turn back around, you raise your eyebrows. “I’m done. Happy?” He smiles sweetly at that, before nodding.

“You look pretty. Even if you become a bit scarier without make-up on,” he teases, yelping when you pinch him at the soft part of his waist.

You’re content that night, falling asleep with your legs tangled with Donghyuck’s in the twin-size bed.

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"Some days I’m Van Gogh’s starry night, other days I’m his suicide letter."

-Via —souu-h

J³ + GLASSES // DREAM LOOP: THE LAST MIDNIGHT #1

NCT DOJAEJUNG // PERFUME