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#like pure fluffing sunshine
sunnydayroleplay · 1 year
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Hi hi hey! Hru doing? Jack, Joseph, and Jean reacting to Y/N innocently spreading their legs as they sit down on the couch, only for them to grab the remote underneath said couch. Hopefully this made sense -w- Thank you so very much ehe :3
Hey Hi! I'm doin' great, yourself? You are one thirsty baby aren't cha? 3 at a time? Surprised you didn't want more~ Well, prepare for a ride my dear, buckle those seat-belts! This car is zoomin'! Contents inside: Soft, soft NSFW...to an extent. That's basically how I can describe it. ____________________________________________________________
-Jack-
It's late in the afternoon, the sun is beginning to set, and the sky turned into all sorts of sweet, soothing colors. The clouds just freshly wispy, and the mood mellow. Jack sat on your living room couch, his legs straight in front of him, his posture slouched. For once he wasn't cleaning up even the slightest of dust from the window sills, but he was relaxing. Soft music played from a radio you bought at your nearby thrift store that Jack seemed to put great interest in. He hummed along to his favorite tunes, his eyes closed and his head resting back. You thought it was cute how he didn't seem to have an idea of what was going on around him when he was in his own little world. Apart from you, of course. You decided that you wanted to watch a movie, and so you looked around the general area to find where you placed that 8 inch, black slim remote of yours. No matter where your head turned, or how many times you retraced your steps, you could not find that darn thing in under 5 minutes. So, you do what any average person would do. Look underneath everything. You look underneath a few tables, inside your bed and laundry baskets, inside of drawers in the kitchen. And when the time came for you to check underneath the couch, you sat down in front of Jack. He lifted his head up to look at you. "Sunshine? What are you-"
Jack's cheeks flush softly as you place your hands on his knees, and spread open his legs. You look up at him for only a brief moment, before going underneath the couch, and pulling out that pesky remote that just keeps running away. Jack was a bit disappointed, and he very obviously pouted at you when you emerged back to his knee level. "[...], I think I need help with something~" He looks away, his face even more red, you teased him so badly, and now you better apologize~ Biting his lower lip, he let out a low groan and a breathly whimper. Now you better take care of him~
-Joseph-
The night sky was dark, the air's winter breeze blew cold. No matter how high the temperature on the heater was set, it was always send goosebumps everywhere on your skin. Joseph sat on the couch staring into nothing but his own thoughts. He had you laying your head in his lap, his hands within your hair. You snuggled up against his warm and strong thighs, mumbling softly on how nice he caressed the back of your neck, and massaged your shoulders. He enjoyed whenever the two of you hung out like this. Nothing to bother you two, no work, no one calling or texting you, just pure wholesomeness and contentment between you and Joseph. Joseph brought up the idea that maybe you two should watch a movie to end this night on a different note, not that he doesn't appreciate doing nothing with you. You got up from your nice set of fluffed up pillows, and you searched around for a familiar device. The most logical thing to do was to search where the remotes's always been hidden every other time you lost it. Underneath the couch's dark dark abyss. Collecting dust, random socks, and other random things you swept underneath when you got too lazy to pick it up. You got onto your knees in front of Joseph. He looked down in front of you, his legs bouncing up and down and faster the longer you sat down in front of him. His face heated up pretty quickly. His face held such a look of desperation, and he only wanted what he thought was coming next. You looked up at him, inching closer and closer, only to duck under, your face almost pressed against the cold floors, as you reached underneath the dusty couch to pull out that sweet device you were looking for. "Something wrong, Joey?" "Yeah, there is~" "What's up?" "Darlin' I'll tell you what's up~" He pulled you by the collar of your shirt. His lips were pressed against the your ear, as he growled out his needs. You could feel your own face flush as he licked the tips of your ear, nibbling on them gently, then pulling his mouth way. His arms were leaned against the couch, he spread his legs just a little wider. You could catch the hint, and he was so happy you did~
-Jean-
Jean was unfortunately working at home. Now, with Jean working, he's not one to enjoy much conversation or other "distractions", mainly for the reason that he just wants to get his said work over with, and nothing to get in the way. Even if it means not talking to you. With a lengthy, heavy weighted script in his left hand, a bright pink highlighter in the other, highlighting the character's name 'Rory' and any other lines that he had to memorize. He had you sitting in his lap, your legs wrapped around his lower back, and your arms wrapped around his waist as your head rested on his warm shoulders, your nose tucked inside his neck. You didn't say anything as to not bother his working process of trying to memorize every single line in the god awful adult version of an elementary school multiplication packet. You just sat down waiting for him to finish so you could talk to him and have his attention on you instead of the cream colored pages stapled together. Jean groaned in distress as he slammed the script shut onto the floor beside the couch, throwing the pink highlighter with it. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, you got up from resting your head down and you face him. "I'm done with this shit." "Are you sure baby?" "I ain't in the mood to figure out the rest of them damn lines. How 'bout we just watch a movie?" You held onto Jean's soft, soft face. Gently rubbing his freckled cheeks. You got up and began your journey of searching for a certain object that has the job of turning on the T.V for the both of your entertainment. You flip over a few couch cushions, or you look behind the T.V itself, but you came up with nothing. Jean requested the idea of not needing to watch a movie, but just cuddle up next to you with the hopes the remote would pop up eventually. Shaking your head no, determined with the quest of finding the damned thing, You got on your knees, placing your hands on Jean's inner thighs, as you gave them a tight squeeze. He let out a low, quiet moan, as you slowly spread his legs. A sweet smile crept from his face, as his right hand pushed back his hair. His head tilted and his back arched. He was so needy, and you were so mean for ducking right in between his ankles, to search under the couch's dark shadows to pull out the remote you needed. When you got back up, remote in hand, Jean was not happy. His arms were crossed, and his face in a pout , he eyed you. Looking you up and down. He crossed his legs, and you let out a soft giggle. You made his way back on his lap, as he grabbed your waist roughly, gently biting your collar bones and neck.
"You're not leaving until I say you are, you hear?"
"Y-Yes honey~"
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abbygalz · 2 months
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Mall Date🥀🖤
Gothbur x reader
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basically it’s a fluffy mall date No smut pure fluff
Sorry it’s kinda short and it’s later then I said I would post it I got my period the night I was gonna post it so I was a little busy haha anyways,
This was based off a c.ai bot made by @sirenbrainrot
and Gothbur credits go to @abbs-writes
tag list: let me know if you want to be added!
You and Wilbur have been dating for around 2 years and he has been the best boyfriend imaginable under his dark appearance he is a true sweetheart! Today he took you on a mall date this wasn’t your first date to the mall and he knows how much you love them.
“Your beautiful, do you know that?” He smiled turning the car engine off. You giggled while he got out of the car walking around to open your door. “My lady.” He smiled holding his hand out for you which you gladly took.
He dragged you into hot topic, you were fine with the store he just figured that wasn’t the first store you would choose.  when searching through the many options of jewelry he couldn’t seem to pick, and of course needed the opinion from his lovely partner.
“Hey, Abigale, which one are you more willing to wear?” The two he held up were blood vials or bloody knives.. yet he still smiled like they were sunshine and rainbows. “Probably the knives.” You giggled “Vials would make me seem like a crazy killer!” He nodded in agreement. “That’s more of your look anyway.” He teased
“Sooo..” *he dragged out taking your hand bringing you to the back of the store where the band tees were. That was the main thing you liked about hot topic. “What shirt would m’lady like to get today?” He poked her shoulder playfully. You batted her hand away in a joking matter and picked up a shirt.
It was a black Korn shirt with the Issues album and Korn in dark purple in the background. “You have issues.” He laughed at his own corny joke. “So do you!” You giggled. “Welp, at least we know we’re made for each other.” He ruffled your hair walking with you to the checkout.
He smiled at the cashier who said Hello as he handed the cashier his card, the cashier gave the card back along with a bag. “Thank you!” You smile at him as you both walk out. “Anything for my beautiful lady.”
The last part of the trip was Build-a-Bear, where you two were going to share in making matching bears. Of course, that also meant you would be holding him by the hand the whole time, which he didn’t mind in fact he enjoyed it.
“What bear would you like?” He asked looking down at you. “This one! Do you like it?” You walked over to a bear holding it up to him it was labeled Devilishly Pink Teddy Bear. He smiled ruffling your hair again. “I love it.” He picked up two un-fluffed bears holding your hand once more walking to the line with you.
It was finally you and Wilbur’s turn. He gave the lady the bears. And she spoke up “Alright here’s your hearts make a wish and kiss it and then step on the pedal.” You both nodded and Wilbur let you go first. You made a wish and kissed the heart letting the lady put it in the bear and you stepped on the pedal. Then Wilbur did the same thing but took a moment to make his wish.
You both were now walking back to the car with bears in your arms and bags in his. “What did you wish for? You seemed to think about it a bit.” You asked him and he chuckled opening your door but not going to the driver side yet. “I wished the one day we can get married and live happy forever.” He smiled once he saw you smile widely. “Aww I love that.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead then shutting the door walking to the driver side.
He let you have the aux and chucked at some of your song choices as he drove you two to your apartment, other times he sang along with you, sometimes without you because you were to busy laughing at him.
♥️
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echantedtoon · 4 months
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Chasriel Week Day 5
Day 5: Overworld/an AU *Deltarune AU*
OH glorious heaven. The sweet morning light beautifully bounced off the pure white clouds and the delicate rays of sunshine made the beautiful landscape shine bright with a thousand wing beats of different birds souring about to and fro. Not that he noticed. He was a little busy NOT-hiding maybe a little too far behind the tree to be casual. His curious eyes blinked and a worried expression came over him at the sight of them. Lounging on the bench, resting in sunlight. He bristled and slammed his back against the tree when she yawned and lifted her head up. To any other person, this was just random normal behavior for the goofy goat monster so no one paid attention too much, but if they did they would've noticed the sudden red spring up to his face. ..When he slowly looked back behind the tree she was sitting straight up now. Yawning and stretching out her back with so much grace. Oh sweet light, she was breathtaking. He was a fool for not thinking it-
But now came the rather hard part. When he had first noticed these little things, he was sure it was just an appreciation for another classmate like himself. He always admired other nice beings like himself, but then he started noticing other small factors during the few months. The way her eyes sparkled. How her laugh was like beautiful music. Whenever she did laugh at any small joke he told her. He had begun to receive tight warm feelings in his chest whenever he spoke to her. Stuttered even. Since when did he stutter?! He knew exactly what to do!! Ask his monster friend about it all-...That went as well as you'd think when he straight up told him that-
"You big fur brain! It's obvious you gotta crush on her."
A crush. Like romatical feelings. Whelp. What guy would he be if he didn't get involved in a few of these shennanigans..only he wasn't just the wingman this time. Instead he was the lost puppy staring at his crush from afar. So naturally he did the only thing he could? Avoid it all together until it built up and the guilt overwhelmed him to finally go and visit her again. Oh one of the single things he regretted. But now there was a clear path to her, she was reaching around behind her to pull grass pieces from her hair and didn't even notice him standing there. Perfect. All he had to do was act natural.
So when a shadow fell over her and she looked up at him. His fur fluffed up around his face and turned a pink. She smiled realizing who it was. "Oh. Hello, Asriel. Haven't seen you in a while."
He bowed and tipped his hat to her. "Greetings, Chara.~ You look absolutely lovely today!~" And he really meant it this time too.
She giggled she lit up a light pink when he kissed the back of one her hands. "W-Well you certainly know how to treat a gal."
"But of course. Which is why I couldn't help but notice that today is no ordinary day. I believe it's what's called....Valeo-tine's Day?"
She giggled more at his bad punctuation. "Well if you mean Valentine's Day, then yes. I-It's a pretty popular holiday."
This was it! His big chance. He chuckled nervously and put his hands behind his back. "W-Well, let me the first to say you shouldn't spend it all alone.~ Luckily I have the perfect solution." She rose a brow but blinked when a red heart flashed in front of her face and presented her with a box. The Monster smiled nervously and when she slowly took it immediately straightened back up. "I-I-I heard from a dear friend that people give each other candy like on Halloween..Enjoy."
She stared at it and silently opened the top off. He felt the nervous smile on his face wavering just slightly the more the silence went on..but soon a giggle escaped her throat and she looked back up to him. "I didn't take you for the chocolate type. But it's a sweet gift." Carefully placing the box onto the bench next to her and stood up. Wrapping her arms around him and he froze when her warmth enveloped him in a hug of giggles and those beautiful eyes looking up at him. "Thank you so much for the cute gift."
Of course he knew exactly what to do. A stream of his usual giggles came out of his moth and for the first time he wasn't snarky about it. His tail thumped wagged him and that she giggled at that goofy grin.
"W-Well when cupid's fly they say..."
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Shining in the Darkness
I've had to rework this plot about 3 times because I started this earlier this year and then restarted it a few weeks ago and then re-restarted it yesterday lmao I hope you guys like it
Word Count: 1699
Read on AO3
Rowaelin Month Masterlist
Day 13 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Florist/Tattoo shop AU
~~~~~~~~
“Ugh,” Aelin groaned, “look at them pretending to be all high and mighty with their all-black, emo, punk tattoo shop.” She turned away from them in annoyance, instead taking in the bright and beautiful flowers around her.
“I mean, I hope you didn’t expect a tattoo shop to be all sunshine and rainbows,” Elide laughed as she wiped down the counter where bouquets were made.
Aelin sent her a withering glance. “You’re only saying that because you’ve been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Dark ever since they started moving in.”
Elide sent her a sweet smile in response. “As if you haven’t been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Blond? Plus, this is the perfect opportunity to go get that tattoo you’ve been talking about for ages.” Elide gasped and suddenly pointed the rag at her, “You should go by and give them a welcome present! It’ll brighten that dreary place up too!”
Aelin glared at her, “Don’t you have some work to do?”
“Uh-huh, sure, kick your favorite cousin out for having such a brilliant idea.”
Aelin rolled her eyes at her, “Aedion’s going to take offense to that. Technically, you aren’t even my cousin.”
“I don’t care, and Aedion can suck it,” Elide cackled. “Go get them one of the potted plants. Probably a succulent or two, since it doesn’t look like they can keep anything else alive,” she said as she walked into the storeroom to take inventory.
Aelin sighed as she turned back around to watch the two men wipe down the clear glass panels and windows of the store. Her floral shop, Kingsflame Florals, was right across from The Cadre, a tattoo shop that was apparently opening tomorrow, and she was understandably frustrated at how everytime she looked out her own shop’s glass panels, she saw the dark and gloomy exterior of The Cadre. There was enough darkness in her own brain over the last few years after her parents had passed away that she didn’t exactly need to see it constantly as soon as she looked out of her shop, but Aelin also knew that it was strictly her problem and that she really couldn’t take it out on the shop owners.
Elide was right, though. The only decent thing about the entire place was the fact that there was a Mr. Tall-and-Blond, except his hair glinted so brightly under the sunlight that it looked almost like platinum silver. Even from across the street, she could see his muscles rippling under his black shirt as he wiped down the windows, (this man did not care about the burning sunlight, and she had no idea how he could bear it), and Aelin could see the vague swirls of a tattoo down his arm and on the back of his neck. If she was being honest, she wanted to go see the design up close, maybe get some inspiration for what she wanted, but did she really want to deal with all that doom and gloom?
As she chewed on her lip, she decided that maybe her parents were worth facing that - and she would never admit it, but Elide was onto something with giving them succulents -, and so she turned back around and picked up one of their potted succulents that was there especially for the store. Aelin grabbed their water sprayer, gave it a few spritzes, fluffed her open hair, smoothed down her blouse, and walked out the store.
“Hey, neighbor,” she called out as she crossed the road. Aelin was definitely feeling slightly intimidated by how black everything was, but she could deal. She was out of her emo-depressed phase after her parents had died, and a black tattoo shop couldn’t change that.
The dark-haired man wasn't there, but the man with the silver hair turned around, and she was weirdly excited to realize that he had bright green eyes. It was like a surprise of sorts - the man who seems to prefer black had silver hair and green eyes, exactly the opposite of his personality. He was incredibly attractive, though. Gorgeous eyes, pretty hair, sharp jawline, and the tattoo swirling up his neck, almost creeping up his jaw.
“Hello,” he responded, a slight tilt to his words thanks to an accent. Aelin blinked at first, trying to remember how to breathe again because holy crap, the man was suddenly even more attractive, and this was so not fair.
She put on her best, charming smile as she responded, “Welcome to the street. Your shop looked a bit too doom-and-gloom so I decided to bring over some flowers from my shop!”
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the plant in her hands. “Doom and gloom?”
“Well, yeah, your entire shop is black, which is quite an achievement honestly. How do you make something so dark when the front part of the shop is entirely glass which lets all this sunlight in?” she joked, but from the way his lips turned down into a scowl, she figured he didn’t exactly share the same sentiments.
“It’s a tattoo shop,” he stated in a manner-of-fact tone, “so yes, it’s a lot of black.”
“Um, right,” she awkwardly responded, her bravado effectively gone, “I just wanted to come by and give you a succulent to keep at the desk. I’m Aelin, by the way, I own Kingsflame Florals.”
He looked down at the plant again before looking back up at her. “I figured you owned the shop, but I’m Rowan. You can come in, if you want, and show me the prime location for that so it doesn’t look all doom-and-gloom.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“Not at all,” he responded with a wry smirk on his face. He opened the door to the shop, and she followed him inside, immediately blasted with the cold air from the air conditioner.
She took the chance to look around the shop, and she was taken aback by the variety of designs posted around the walls. There were the simple designs like flowers, birds, dreamcatchers, and butterflies, while there were also insanely intricate designs of swirls and lines that created abstract art and distinct images, and all of it was just pure talent.
"These designs are beautiful," she breathed, setting the succulent down near the computer.
"Thanks," he replied, leaning an arm against the desk. "Interesting?" he asked, and Aelin could tell from his expression that he expected her to say no.
"Yes, actually," she replied with satisfaction as she watched Rowan's eyes widen slightly. "My cousin says that your shop opening up here is a prime opportunity for me to get the tattoo I've been talking about for ages."
"What’s stopping you from becoming our first customer then?" Rowan asked. Aelin shrugged.
"Lack of inspiration, I suppose?"
"Any ideas about what you want it to be?” Aelin shook her head, to which Rowan continued, “A reason behind getting the tattoo might help with the overall design.”
"We're not that close for me to share that part of my life with you."
"Really? I'd say these past five minutes makes us best friends," he spoke, leaning into her, mischief shining in his eyes.
Stifling a snort, Aelin rolled her eyes. “You should already know my tragic backstory then.”
“Same for you, Ms. Flowers,” he responded.
“No, but you see, I never claimed to be your best friend.”
“Ouch, that hurt,” he responded, a hand covering his heart with fake pain. Aelin’s lips quirked upwards at that with the realization that they had been leaning into each other during that entire conversation, and she was flirting with this man. She hadn’t even noticed how dark everything around her was because within that darkness was this man with bright green eyes that reminded her of pine trees from back home and silver hair that glowed like the moon,
“Fair enough,” she laughed lightly. “It’s for my parents. The shop was actually my mom’s idea for something to keep them busy after they retired, but they, uh, died in a car accident a few years ago. They never got to open it, so I did,” she said, looking out the clear panels to her own shop. It was years of hard work and pain, but she’d gotten through it. “I always wanted to get a tattoo, but now it’s more for them.”
She looked back at Rowan and was surprised to see that there wasn’t any pity shining in his eyes. No, it was understanding and compassion. He understood her decision, and it wasn’t something a lot of people were able to relate to. They would simply pass it off as a nice gesture she wanted to do, but it went deeper than that. It was a way to ensure she would never be separated from her parents, and from the way Rowan had let himself smile genuinely in front of her, she knew he understood.
“The tattoo you were staring at earlier,” he started, pointing a finger at his neck, and Aelin flushed realizing that she hadn’t been as subtle as she thought she was, “is about my wife and daughter that had passed away, also in a car accident. I understand your need to connect to them, so how about I draw something for you? You can take a look at it and make any adjustments as needed, but I can help you start off with something.”
Aelin looked at him, and she slowly exhaled a breath because maybe this was exactly what she needed. “Okay. I wanted it on my ribcage, if that works?”
“Yeah, of course, just be aware that you will have to at least take your shirt off,” he teased, and Aelin was so shocked that she barked out a laugh.
“Wow, Rowan, at least buy my dinner first.”
“Happily,” he replied.
Aelin sent him a bright smile, and she knew that she was never going to live it down from Elide that she had gone to the tattoo shop with the intentions of giving the grumpy men a succulent and had instead left with the man’s phone number and a beautiful tattoo design amazingly created with Old Language letters and a Kingsflame flower.
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sneezefiction · 4 years
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please don’t go
Ushijima x Reader - Scenario
@moonlightaangel‘s event request: “congrats on reaching 600 followers!! 🥰 can i request ‘please don’t go’ with ushijima, if it hasn’t been requested yet! i need some angsty feelings in my life”
a/n: mmmm angsty Ushijima is my aesthetic :,,)) i also messed around with some flashback formatting, so i hope you enjoy!!
warnings: angst, breakups
wc: 1640
---
“Please don’t go.” It’s a soft, tearful whisper.
“I thought you would understand, y/n. We had established this.” His reply was blunt. Like a dull knife to the chest, digging deeply only to pull right back out, leaving you gushing and writhing at his words.
“Please don’t.” Your cry reached his ears this time.
“I need to focus.” He sighs, twinging with guilt. 
Why didn’t you understand? Had you not known that his career would come first? Above everything else?
Or had he misspoken at some point, giving you the false assurance that this relationship would work forever? That he could always treat you as though it were possible to balance both you and his life’s work.
“Then I won’t distract you! Just don’t leave me. Please.” You begged, knees painfully falling to the cold floor, but your cries fell on deaf ears. 
He remains resistant to change. Without accommodations. Nothing left to give or take.
“Maybe someday, y/n. But this isn’t working out for me anymore. I have to leave for now.” Ushijima’s response is icy. 
He meant for those words to somehow be heartening. Promising, even. That maybe this was just the wrong time and place for a relationship. Where time could ebb and flow and someday he would be able to draw you back into his life.
Yes, there would be a day where you could take priority.
Because he wanted you… but not above his first love. Not above his skills and lifestyle. Not enough.
Volleyball comes first. Plain and simple.
And for that, he wouldn’t compromise.
---
White, crisp linens and fresh lemony scents.
Fluffed pillows fitted with new covers and soft patterns. Feather filled duvets. Curtains drawn to keep out the early morning light. 
Everything has stayed clean, clear, and Pristine. Even the dust particles, dancing around the room, have always seemed to find their own peace, settling mildly in gentle formations.
You sleepily blink open your eyes, rustling your arms over the bedspread to what should be a happier sight. Soft pillows hugging your sides, the gentle birdsong outside your window, a conceivably delicious cup of coffee to be made in the kitchen.
Yes, you should be filled with contentment. You were safe. Physically you were fine, and nothing was on your checklist for today.
In fact, things had appeared fine for months now...
Yet all you notice is who’s missing.
There’s no longer a delicate divet where his dozing head used to lay. The scent and shape of the pillow had only recently dissipated thanks to your citrusy laundry detergent and the slow passing of time.
You don’t awaken to a recently showered, olive-green eyed boyfriend. You could still picture the water droplets, hanging freshly on the tips of his tufts of hair. How the towel draped around his neck, over his shoulders, catching the drips and drops as they fell.
That warm smile he shared with you before placing a chaste kiss upon your forehead, caressing the side of your face. It was pure. You can almost feel the ghost of his lips. Still lingering. Mocking you.
You were liberated from his presence… but you never wanted to be.
Being absorbed in his chaotic life had kept you busy, but you had never minded it. There was never a doubt in your mind that volleyball would be his first priority. That he would follow his passions. His plans. His abilities.
You just wanted to tag along. To sincerely celebrate his victories and mourn his losses. Supporting him and holding onto him when he needed it. Yes, he got home late at night, left early in the morning, and only connected with you on his very few off days… but you cherished every second of it.
Because you loved him. You poured your soul into watching him flourish and thrive. It made you feel whole.
However, eventually, to Ushijima, you started to rival volleyball, becoming a distraction. He had made space for you in his already complicated life. And at first, it was a welcome change. A breath of fresh air to his methodical and planned out character. You were complex, bringing new perspective and sunshine into his typically boring apartment. Beautiful in a natural, yet eye-catching way. Furthermore, you somehow knew how to keep up with his hectic pace along with his gruff personality. 
In every aspect, you were perfect.
Expect one.
You were a diversion from the life he had in mind.
And even though you never pushed him to give you more… he longed to give you more of his attention. More time. To share his success with you. To love you deeper. To give you what you deserved. Because you are a profound being… and it burdened him to have to choose between his two greatest desires.
But, as most things do, these thoughts of love and devotion go unspoken, coming out all wrong. Mangled, unemotional, and misrepresented. Looking back, Ushijima wishes he’d been able to express it to you with empathy. To erase the tears that followed his brutal narrative. But softness isn’t his strong suit… and he needed you to know that, as powerful as he was, he wasn’t strong enough to balance you and volleyball.
---
“Ushijima, if you leave…” You take a deep breath, tears slipping down your face, “... you have to promise me you’ll never come back.” You choke out, your request came out in a sobering snarl.
For a moment, you question your own words- but your dignity was on the line.
“You can’t just break up with me and expect me to be there when you get back. I’m not disposable, you know?”
His body goes rigid. He hadn’t meant it that way.
You meant more to him than words could express… so why couldn’t he get it out clearly enough? How could he make you understand the gravity of his choices?
“...Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like that. I just need to concentrate right now.” The alarm, though subtle, shines in his eyes.
His usually composed, confident figure began to show cracks of uncertainty. He didn’t want you out of his life… Not at all.
He just needs you out of his mind for the time being. Just until he had things settled. You could come back at some point and he could love you so well. Just the way it was supposed to be.
But clearly he’d struck a deeper chord. He’d selfishly assumed you would wait for him. You weren’t some prized pony.
You’re a person. Someone with worth, plans, and dreams, just like him. He’d failed to acknowledge just how demeaning the truth of his actions were. But it’s too late.
You haven’t replied and the pain is etched intricately across your face.
“Okay, fine.” He breathes in deeply, letting out one final exhalation of defeat, “I... I’m sorry, y/n.” His brows furrow in deep, conflicted thought, but his mind is made.
He won’t be back.
---
Ushijima’s life hasn’t changed much.
It’s the same old routine. The standard, grueling workouts. Typical volleyball practice, group meetings, finances, paychecks, physicals, doctor’s appointments, fan meet-n-greets.
The usual.
But there’s a void settling like glacial frost in his soul. A snowy blue that seemed to melt into his bones, slowing him down.
He didn’t go a week… a day...  a minute without thinking of you.
Even now, lying in bed, the room cloaked in a tranquil darkness, you rest on his mind.
It’s not just the emptiness of the bed or the lack of physical touch. It’s the bitter, clawing memories of what he’d done to you and your gentle spirit. His body is frigid and forever frozen in the recurring visions of his foolish explanations, by how heartless and indifferent he’d seemed.
He’ll never get over the venomous tinge to your words.
You’d felt used.
He’d never meant to make you feel that way.
But since he moved out of your apartment, everything has felt glaringly hollow. The icy, barren tundra he crosses every time he realizes he won’t come home to your sunbeam smile and those thoughtfully lit candles, wears on him. How you would lavish him in comforting words, lulling him into a restful sleep.
Ushijima hardly remembers the last time he slept well.
Those dark circles under his eyes follow him everywhere. His whole team can see the exhaustion seeping into his execution of serves and spikes. He’s never struggled with his game performance before, but somehow the crashing reality of you leaving him has broken his patterns and systems.
He’s weary from searching for an answer to his emotions. Your warmth gave him life… and with that gone, what was the point of all of this?
And then it struck him, the realization sinking its needle-sharp claws into his soul, shredding it in seconds.
He’d found something far more valuable than any unique skill. More remarkable than the legacy he’d built as a world-class volleyball player. Someone who wanted to be with him just for the sake of… love.
And for the first time since he was young, he lets a tear slip into his white pillowcase.
Just one.
But it’s for you.
Because in chasing after what made him feel known and alive...
He’d lost the only person who had ever wanted to show him that he was important all along. The only person who was satisfied with his bizarre schedules. Someone who expected nothing more than gentle kisses and weekend dates.
But you were right.
You aren’t dispensable. Nor are you someone to drop for the purpose of picking up later, like loose change on a sidewalk. You deserved to be cherished. Held tightly. Given the love that you offered others.
He wishes he’d listened when you’d pleaded with him to stay. That he’d thought it through and functioned on more than just logic and reasoning. If only he’d known what it really meant to choose you.
Because if you were here now, he’d be the one begging,
“Please don’t go.”
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tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @miss-rin
(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list) 
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10 Character Special: Shinsuke Kita | What Their Love is Like
Notes: If you want to see the rest of my 10 character special, you can follow {this link} to my masterlist page for it 💕
I love him so much, and I just know that he would put his everything into a relationship 😫
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- He loves to go on walks with you; he’ll bring you outside so you both get some sunshine, hold your hand even if it’s hot and you’ll both get a bit sweaty, and walk slowly along with you, looking around at the trees and flowers, or commenting about how pretty the change in color of the leaves are, or admiring how pretty you look in the snow and laughing when a snowflake gets caught on your eyelashes
- He likes to go to the park and feed the birds or ducks with you. His heart would melt if you rested your head on his shoulder and told him that you loved him while the two of you watched the birds eat the food you brought and tossed on the ground
- Kita is aspiring for a nice calm, relaxing life. He wouldn’t want to travel the whole world and go many places, because he’s happy as long as he’s with you, but on the occasional vacation that the two of you go on, he always ends up admiring you more than anything else around; he likes going hiking if the two of you vacation somewhere with mountains
- If you were to get sick, Kita would be the best kind of guy to have around; he would take care of you with absolutely zero complaints. He’ll make sure you drink lots of water, if you’re throwing up he holds your hair back and gets you soup broth so you can stay partially full and don’t throw up nothing but spit. He makes sure that your bedroom stays clean, the sheets are washed, and your pillows are fluffed. He’ll set the sofa up all comfy for you on his days off so that you don’t get bored or depressed because you’re in bed all day. If you can’t sit up, he’ll sit down beside you and let you lay your head on his lap; he’ll bring you cold washcloths if you’re running a fever, and if your eyes burn he’ll bring you a cold washcloth
- He has lots of different kinds of teas at the apartment and usually has some every day, but if you didn’t like tea he would make you some coffee or get you some water or hot chocolate and sit with you while he drinks his tea
- Getting up early to sit by the window and watch the sunrise before he has to go to work. Even if you’re half-asleep with your head on his shoulder, he would press a little kiss to your head and rest his own down on top of yours and softly run his fingers along the back of your hand while the two of you look at the sky
- He hugs you every single day; his hugs are very sweet and loving. He’s warm, so he’ll wrap his arms around your waist and keep you close to his chest. When you bury your nose into his chest he’ll either rest his chin on top of yours or he’ll lean down to press a soft kiss to your head and just close his eyes like that
- Things with him are simple but so full of sweet gestures and so much pure love. Loving him is easy, but for him loving you is even easier; he adores every single thing about you, and he’s constantly reminding you. Whether it be with a soft “I love you” whispered into your ear during a hug, him reminding you to drive safe and wear your seatbelt, him not even asking and just bringing you your favorite drink on the weekend afternoon, him coming home with your favorite food instead of making dinner one night, or how he shows you that he remembers the small things like your preferences and favorite things. As insignificant as they may seem, he remembers them because he hangs onto every word you say
- If you can’t sleep, he would stay awake and figure out a way to help you sleep; whether that be taking you for a drive at night to soothe you, hold you in his arms and hum softly to you, get you something warm to drink, or even making you something if you were hungry and couldn’t sleep because of it
- Hand and finger kisses; often times when you’re cuddling at night, facing him with your hands curled between the two of you, he’ll press a little kiss to the back of your hand, then a couple to your palm, then a few on each of your knuckles, and finally soft kisses to each of your fingertips. He loves you from head to toe, and sometimes he’ll whisper something that he loves about you or he’ll comment something he loves that you do every time he kisses your fingers/hand. Example: “I love the sparkle in your eyes when you get happy” or “I love that when I’m tired you hold me in your arms like I hold you”
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Jam Buds !!
Summary : Idk how to summarize this HAHA just read! if you want that is.
Warnings : None! Just pure fluff!! 
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You slowly got up, inhaling and stretching your arms out. Immediately recognizing the room as your boyfriend’s room, Kirishima. You noticed he wasn’t beside you,. Probably woke up early to train. He was like that, always training and fighting. Well- not all the time of course. Most of the time he’s also a ray of sunshine, always making you laugh and smile.
You got out of bed, and fixed it. Fluffing the pillows and throwing the blanket over the bed. You started walking to the door, planning to make some breakfast for when he comes back. What you weren’t expecting was to hear Steven Universe songs coming from the kitchen.
With the song, you heard Kirishima joyfully singing along to Happily Ever After. You and your boyfriend decided to spend yesterday by watching the movie. Planning to watch the movie only. But somehow after watching that cheerful, heartbreaking movie, you wanted more. So..You watched a couple episodes of Steven Universe.
…Okay maybe not a couple..Maybe more like..Almost all of the seasons. As you and Kirishima sung along to all of the songs you could remember. Somewhere around the final season you fell asleep. You wondered if he watched the entirety of the show while you were asleep, or if he paused it and went to sleep with you. All you knew was that he was in a really good mood.
Smiling you walked towards him, still singing to Happily Ever After, the 3rd verse, or Amethyst’s part. Kirishima was making breakfast and cooking eggs. You grinned and hugged him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, which caused him to flinch. “Gah! Pebble! Haha good morning!!” his ruby eyes met yours, as he turned around to get a better look at you. You looked up at him and your grin grew wider. “Morning, Red!” you giggled, “You’re in a good mood..” you commented as he turned off the stove and placed the now cooked sunny side up egg on a plate.
“How can I not be when you’re here with me?” he smirked, and you blushed. He laughed and turned his whole body around to face you. And held you close. Your head resting against his chest. You both melted into each other, finding comfort in the embrace. Wishing days could always be like this.
That was, until “Haven’t You Noticed” started playing. Kirishima gasped and loosened his grip to look at you. “It’s my favorite sooooong!!” he squealed his body moving side to side. “You say that to all of the songs from Steven Universe..” you chuckled. “Yeah but this one= I can’t help it if I make a scene!” he started singing along to the song and dancing with you around the kitchen.
You spent the rest of the song laughing, and dancing. And by the end of it you two were laughing like two dumb idiots.
He cupped your face and kissed you, a soft and gentle kiss. And you kissed back.
“Hehe I love you, Y/N.” he said, after breaking the kiss. “I love you too, Eijirou.” you smiled softly.
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Dream Come True
Colin Shea x O/C Corinne MacAdam
Multi-Chapter Story - Complete
Summary: Colin Shea and his band Rock the Cradle are finally making it big - until something unexpected happens. When he meets a girl that makes him reconsider his player ways, he thinks his life may be coming together, until she blows it apart.
Warning: Bad language, smut, suicidal ideations - no one under 18, please
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please do not read if you are underage. I do not own the character of Colin Shea; the rest are my original characters. By reading beyond this point, you understand the disclaimers as posted.
Chapter Three
“Colin? Colin? You with me, man?”
He stirred, then became aware of intense pain in his back and neck. He let out a moan.
“There he is.”
He recognized Kevin’s voice. He slowly opened his eyes, his head pounding as he focused on the light. “What the hell?”
“It’s ok man, you’re gonna be ok. You scared the shit out of us.”
“Kevin!” Colin’s mom scolded him as she sat at the edge of his bed, holding his hand.
“Hi Honey, dad and I are here.”
“What happened?”
“We nailed the razzle dazzle but you got taken out,” said Kevin. “Landed on your head, which for you shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but it knocked you out. We lost you for a minute. Heart stopped and everything. Spencer got you back.”
Colin groaned. “Oh no, tell me he didn’t kiss me.”
“Look, when you’re dead, does it really matter? The guy saved your life. If mouth-to-mouth was involved, so be it.”
“Aah, gross!”
“Colin, for heaven’s sake, we’re just glad you’re still with us,” said his mom, smoothing the hair back from his forehead.
“You really did scare the shit out of us son,” said his dad, his mom slapping at dad’s hand for the profanity.
Their conversation was interrupted as a young nurse entered the room. “Mr. Shea, glad to have you back.”
Even severely concussed and in pain, Colin was on the prowl. “Are you here for my sponge bath? I can make everyone disappear,” he said with a crooked smile.
The nurse rolled her eyes. “We have a special nurse that takes care of those. I’ll have her paged. Her name is Agnes, she’s wonderful, been doing this for 50 years-“
Colin’s dad let out a belly laugh.
“That’s ok,” he said, all the cockiness gone. “I’ll just get some rest.”
“Right,” she said with a grin. She adjusted the IV bag on the stand next to his bed, wrote his vitals on the board for the next nurse and left the room.
Colin closed his eyes, then quickly opened them, springing up from the bed. He grabbed his throbbing head. “Dude, what time is it, we’re gonna be late!” He pulled the blanket away and tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Kevin stopped him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, lay back down. You’re not going anywhere.” His mother pulled the blanket back up to cover him.
“We’re gonna be late! We can’t miss this!” Colin said as he tried again to sit up.
“Colin, just lay down. We’re not going to be late. It’s ok.”
Colin laid his arm over his forehead and closed his eyes. “How long do we have? We’re supposed to be there at 6.”
Kevin chuckled at his bedside while he saw sadness in his mom’s eyes.
“What’s so funny?” said Colin.
“It’s Thursday. You lost three days, dude.”
He laid still for a second, considering what Kevin had said. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah. You’ve been out for three days. You took a hard hit. That Jordan dunk was worth it though, huh?”
Colin groaned. “No, no, no!” He rubbed his forehead and groaned again. “I can’t believe this. We’ll never get this chance again.”
“The producer said he’d try to get back with us but he was headed to L.A. for the next few months. He wished us luck. Look, all that matters is that you’re ok.”
His mother patted his hand. “Colin, it’s ok, just rest. The most important thing is that you’re ok and that you heal.”
“Damn,” Colin muttered under his breath. He’d been trying to gather his thoughts since waking up, everything still foggy. He remembered walking to the basketball court. He remembered their opponents asking for a best-of-3 game. He even remembered he was wearing his favorite Celtics t-shirt. And he remembered her.
“Kevin, were there any girls at the court? Watching the game?”
“Good Lord Colin, are you ever not thinking about girls?” said his dad.
“No, no, I just keep thinking about this girl. Chestnut hair, chocolate eyes, really sexy legs. Was she there watching us?”
“Nope,” said Kevin, popping the p. “No chocolate-eyed girls. In fact, no girls at all. A total sausage fest.” This earned Kevin one more smack from Colin’s mom.
Colin closed his eyes and rubbed them, sighing. His band had missed their shot and a beautiful brunette that he wasn’t sure existed was living rent-free in his brain. It was all too much.
“Alright man, I’m out of here. Glad you’re alive. The band would suck without a lead guitarist,” said Kevin.
“Good to know how much I mean to you,” said Colin, gripping his hand in their special handshake. “Thanks Kevin.”
Kevin walked out as Colin’s mom fluffed his pillow behind his head. All he could do was close his eyes and drift off, hoping to escape all the disappointment breaking his heart.
“You’re moving great, girlfriend.”
Cori grinned at her mother’s encouragement as she stepped out onto the patio. It had been three months since she’d stepped off the curb into the path of a cab. Fortunately the driver had been slowing already, so when he hit her, the impact could’ve been worse. As it was, the impact had caused her heart to stop. An ambulance two lanes over had responded and gotten her to the hospital in minutes, and they’d shocked her and brought her back. She’d broken an ankle and a wrist and suffered a severe concussion. She’d been unconscious for nearly a week. Her recovery had been steady, her parents welcoming her into her old room and nursing her back to health.
She sat down under the umbrella at the patio table, lifting her bad leg onto the ottoman. Her mother brought lemonade for them both, sitting down next to her.
“You look wonderful honey,” her mother said, covering her hand. “I’m so thankful you’ve recovered so well.” She stared down at the table, then raised her eyes to Cori.
“I think we need to talk.”
“Sure,” said Cori, sipping the lemonade.
“About that day, I mean.”
Cori swallowed hard. She knew this conversation was coming. “I don’t remember much,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk about what happened. I want to talk about why.” She patted Cori’s hand.
“Mom –“
“Corinne,” she said sternly. “The counselor said part of your healing is assessment and accountability.”
Cori rolled her eyes and her mother gently slapped her hand.
“You and I both know you were going through a lot when this happened. You had lost so much. Dad and I should’ve paid more attention. We should’ve seen the signs.” Her voice broke and she wiped at a tear on her cheek.
“Mom,” said Cori, leaning forward to comfort her. “Please. Look, I’ll admit I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine before the accident. I was struggling with all of it. But Mom, I wouldn’t ever try to – you know –“
Her mom slid her chair closer and wrapped her arms around her. “Of course not, honey. We both know that despite everything, you have so much to live for.”
“I do,” she said, but the confidence was gone from her voice.
“Corinne. You have always been my happy child. You sang loudest in the choir, you were the cheerleader with the biggest smile, your pirouettes were full of energy – those other girls in dance couldn’t begin to turn the way you did. How many times have I walked in on you singing at the top of your lungs into your hair brush or heard you laughing like crazy at ‘Friends.’”
“Mom –“
“I’m just saying,” she continued, “you don’t need a guy to be your happiness. Sure, it’s wonderful to have companionship. But you are intelligent and fun and caring, sweet and loving. There is someone out there for you, and I’m sorry Matthew made you take a detour. But before you find the right one, you have to be sure you know who you are.”
Her mom was definitely starting to sound like the counselor. “Ma, you’re exactly right. I made the mistake of trusting two people with my happiness and they let me down. And despite everything, even though I’ve had these challenges, I know I have my whole life ahead of me and I’m ready to start this adventure again.”
Her mom looked at her, not completely buying what Cori was selling.
“Mom! I mean it! Look, what happened to me scared the absolute crap out of me. I know I’m lucky to have survived. But I did for a reason – there are obviously things I haven’t done yet.” Isn’t that what he told me before he kissed me?
Finally her mother smiled. “That’s the Cori I know and love,” she said softly. “You took several years off your dad’s and my lives kiddo. All we want is for you to be happy. We want you to have everything you want.” She squeezed Cori’s hand. “Promise me you’ll concentrate on being happy and having fun and not worry about what you think society expects from you.”
She let loose with another eye roll.
“Cori, seriously. You’ll find someone and marry when the time is right. I promise you you’ll know when you’ve found the right one.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh, spoken by the one who married her high school sweetheart,” she said with a smirk.
“Hey, I can’t help it if Mr. Right took me to my senior prom. But I sure knew he was the one,” she said with a wink.
“Did someone call my name?” Her dad walked out onto the patio, passing Cori a bottle of beer.
“Oh brother,” she said as her dad leaned down to kiss her mom’s cheek. She loved that they were still so much in love. Could there really be that type of romance out there for her somewhere?
“We were just discussing Cori’s fresh start,” said her mom, “and all she has to look forward to.”
“You’ve always been full of joy, Princess,” said her dad. “Your future’s so bright…”
“Don’t!” Cori groaned.
“You’re gonna need shades,” her mom and dad said in unison, laughing loudly at themselves.
“What’s so funny?” her sister asked, carrying out some snacks.
“NOT mom and dad,” said Cori, and they laughed even louder.
They munched and chatted and Cori felt a calm she hadn’t in some time. She was blessed with a loving family and all the support in the world. Even as she worked through the noises crowding her brain, she had the people she needed around her.
Listening to them talking, Cori closed her eyes. At some point she’d love to talk about what happened after the accident, but her memory was still so sketchy. She remembered taking the elevator down from her office, pressing herself up against the glass on the crowded sidewalk, even stopping on the corner and pushing the button to get the crossing light. But that’s where it ended. Her next memory was in the hospital, her mother stroking her hand and her father standing next to her bed.
She let out a sigh. She’d dodged a bullet, that was for sure. She was so lucky to be alive. She swore she could remember the feeling of being brought back to life, the power surging through her.
And then, as she remembered the feeling of electricity, the flash of a face – beautiful blue eyes, spiky blonde hair, firm biceps and pecs and a Celtics t-shirt. As quickly as the memory was there, it was gone. She guessed it must be someone she’d seen at the hospital, or maybe on the street before she was hit.
“What are you grinning about?” her mother said, interrupting the thought.
She smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”
She helped her mother clear their dishes and then packed up leftovers for her sister. After hugging her goodbye, she said good night to her parents and showered, covering her casts with a bag, then crawled into bed with a book. She finished only a few pages before sleep claimed her, the book sliding down the covers.
In her dreams, she could see the turquoise water so clearly. She was naturally drawn to it. The water was so blue and still, the sky golden. She’d almost made it but then he was there. Suddenly there were blue eyes and his lips were pressed to hers in a passionate kiss, a jolt of electricity stunning her body.
She jumped from under the covers, bracing herself with her good arm. She fully expected to see still water when she looked over the side of the bed, but it was just her bedroom.
Who was he? And why was he there? There was no mistaking that the kiss was delicious. She closed her eyes and hummed as she remembered it again. But where was she when she was kissing him? She hadn’t seen anyone since Matthew. There had been no one.
Those features were suddenly clear to her, the angled nose and chiseled jawline, with a few freckles across his high cheekbones. The thought of him took her breath away. She could remember the details but she couldn’t conjure the entire face. There was a silver chain, and a tattoo – were they words? – and Celtic green. As quickly as the memory was there, it was gone. The doctors had told her she may have snippets of memories from her entire life until the effects of the concussion healed. Wasn’t it her luck that she’d been kissed by a guy that was a figment of her imagination. It was a kiss for the ages, one she wouldn’t forget any time soon. She hoped thinking of it would give her courage as she stepped back into the world.
* * * *
“Here honey,” said Colin’s mom, adjusting the pillows behind his head on the couch. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?”
“Ma, thanks but I’m fine, I swear.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, straightening up things in the kitchen.
Colin was in a funk. Despite his doting mother and all her TLC, he was still down hard. For the last three months, he’d struggled to come to terms with what he’d lost. His dream of his band making it big was gone. It had taken weeks for his body to heal. He was moving better but there was still some pain. The horrible headache that was part of his severe concussion had finally lifted, but he was still in a fog.
The guys were getting restless, they wanted to start playing again. They’d been able to book some parties and a gig at one of their regular bars. He had two more weeks to get it together, make sure his guitar skills had returned to normal, and they’d start their quest again.
Only he just wasn’t feeling it. No matter how hard he tried, there was a gray cloud over his head. And then there was that girl. His memory was hazy, he tried so hard to remember her. Beautiful hair and eyes, with a sweet, heart-shaped mouth. And yet all he could remember was how sad she looked. She haunted his dreams every night and the memory would disappear. He didn’t know who she was or where she came from, or if she was even real. He only knew she was going to end it all if he hadn’t stopped her. How could someone so beautiful feel so sad that they didn’t want to exist anymore?
“Honey, you’re so deep in thought. Don’t you want to rest?”
“Ma, I really, really appreciate you taking care of me but I’m fine. Really.”
She sat down on the chair across from him and took a good look at him. “You look better,” she said. “And your appetite is back. All good signs.”
“So how about you go home and take care of dad for a while? I know he’s been missing you.”
She chuckled. “I’m not sure that’s true,” she said with a smile.
“Ok, well I know he’s missed your cooking,” he said.
“That is true,” she said, “and from the looks of his belly, he could afford to miss it for a
while.”
Colin laughed and his mother smiled at him. “That’s music to my ears,” she said. She walked over and sat on the edge of the couch, running her fingers over his hair. “You know, maybe you could think about bringing a nice girl home to us,” she said. “I could teach her how to cook all your favorites.”
“Ma-“
“I know, I know, you like to play the field. But really Colin, how about just finding a nice girl you can settle down with. And then you can start giving me grandbabies,” she said with a brilliant smile.’
“Come on Ma,” he said as she pinched his cheeks.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said.
“Shoot,” said Colin.
“I’ll go home and leave you be, but you have to promise you won’t overdo it. And you’ll eat what I left you and not order any crap until you’re better.”
He laughed again and sat up, wrapping her up in a hug. “You’re the best Ma ever, you know that, right?”
“Well, that’s because you’re my baby boy.”
He blushed as she ruffled his hair. “Ok, I’m out of here. I love you,” she said, kissing his cheek. “And I’m glad you’re still around to eat my lasagna.”
“Me too,” he said.
She made her way out of his apartment and he stared up at the ceiling. He had to return to the living. He forced himself off the couch and fought the urge to return to bed, grabbing his guitar. It had always been his solace. When he felt his lowest, he’d simply pound out a song and his mood would instantly improve. He strummed slowly, but his heart wasn’t in it. He set it down and laid back on the couch, curling up under a blanket and covering his head with a pillow. As he closed his eyes, he hoped she’d once again be there, so clear and yet not even a true memory.
Tomorrow was a new day. He’d try joining the living again tomorrow.
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harrysgloves · 4 years
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Let Your Hair Down (chapter xiv)
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Get caught up with the Let Your Hair Down Masterlist!
word count: 1,638
story summary: Harry gets more than he bargains for when he falls not only for you but your little girl as well.
chapter summary: Harry leaves and shit goes sideways.
warnings: language/abusive situations
a/n: This took a second to write. It was a bit tough for me. Hopefully you guys like it though. Please remember if you’re in a situation like this to not ignore it and reach out for help. xx
>>><<<
It was finally Monday and your morning was going great. You managed to get up and get ready way before Thea needed to get up, giving you enough time to enjoy your cup of morning coffee in silence. That was until there was a knock on your door. You huffed, placing your cup on the table in front of you. You were going to give Harry a key if he kept interrupting your mornings with your beloved caffeine.
You fluffed your hair, checking it one last time in the mirror by your front door before throwing it open. A smile on your face as Harry stood there with his bags sitting beside him.
"Came to say bye before I got on the plane." He said right as your neighbor came out of their door, making you pull Harry inside before he got recognized and you ended up with people constantly bothering you.
You shut the door quickly, locking it. Harry gave you a puzzle look but you just shook your head at him, you'd been on edge since reading all of Ryan's messages the other day. You wouldn't leave your door unlocked even for a second.
You wrapped your arms tightly around him, nuzzling into his chest when his own arms enveloped around you. You were going to miss him, miss the mornings he walked you to work, especially now that you were worried about Ryan showing up. You still hadn't brought it up to anyone, hoping if you didn't respond to him he'd leave you alone.
"I'm going to miss you." You mumbled into his chest before he pulled you back by your shoulders to look at him. His eyebrows knitted together in concern, biting the inside of his cheek. You could see the worry written all over his face but you quickly leaned forward to kiss him, hoping he'd not ask you what was wrong. You didn't want him to spend his whole time in California paranoid about you.
You heard the small footsteps of your daughter rounding the corner. You pulled back from the kiss quickly, not wanting to explain that to her just yet. She smiled brightly the second she saw Harry running up and hugging his legs.
"Hey sunshine." He pulled back from you leaning down to Thea's level and giving her a proper hug. You stood back, watching them. They were so cute together.
"I'm going to miss you." Thea said burying her head in Harry's neck. Her hands clamped together behind his neck. He was rubbing her back when you heard the small sniffles coming from her. Slowly turning to full on sobs.
Harry's own eyes starting to tear up as he looked at you. You gave him a small sad smile, bending down to their level. You laid your hand on her back as you shushed her, trying your best to comfort her.
"Hey, I'll be back and y'goin' to get on a plane to come see me Friday after school." He pulled her back from his shoulder, her eyes puffy and red from her crying. He wiped away her tears telling her he'd call her everyday.
She just nodded before turning to cling onto you. Harry looked absolutely crushed as you stood up with Thea, holding her as she continued her sniffling.
"It'll be okay." You reached your hand out, rubbing Harry's arm. You didn't want him to feel bad for having to go. He sighed pushing the hair out of his face and hugged you both one last time.
"I'll see y'soon." He mumbled into your hair, his arms around both of you. You nodded your head stepping away from him so he didn't stay any longer and miss his flight.
"Bye." You and Thea said at the same time. Him shutting the door behind him and you two standing there already missing him. You had no idea how you were going to cheer up your crying kid. Debating if having him in your life was worth this every time he would have to leave.
"Pancakes?" You asked as Thea lifted her head off your shoulder. She slowly nodded, not saying anything still. You gave her a kiss on the forehead before putting her down. Pancakes definitely solved all your problems.
"Go get ready for school and I'll make you some." She nodded again, dragging herself out of the foyer and to her room. You stood there staring after her, your heart breaking. You hated seeing her like this.
It only took two pancakes and a very unsettling amount of syrup before Thea perked right back up. Her hand in yours as you walked her to her school. Her smile back on her face and her bounce back in her step as she told you about all the things she loved about school.
"After the playground we get to color." Her hand swinging yours back and forth as you both walked.
"I'll draw Harry a picture. Then when I see him again I'll give it to him so he doesn't miss us when he's gone." You smiled down to her, biting your lip, she was such a sweetheart.
"That's a good idea." You agreed as you two approached the school. You made her go over your rules with you before she took off for the front door. Waving after her as you watched her walk in the front door.
You sighed as you made your way alone to work. You hated it. Maybe it was the fact Ryan hadn't left you alone all weekend, constantly texting you and calling, or just the fact you hadn't really had to walk alone with Harry almost always being with you. Either way you felt uncomfortable.
You tried your best to get your anxiety out of your head as you approached your work. You needed to get into work mode before you walked in there with your mind all clouded by worries. You weren't paying any attention to your surroundings when you felt the hand on your arm.
You instantly froze in fear, heart sinking, you didn't have to turn around to know who it was. You looked around to see if people were around you in case this got ugly. Luckily, it was morning and people were flooded in the street, a few stopping to look at you two.
"Let go of me." You said not turning around. A lump in your throat, all sense of confidence draining from your body.
"Not til you talk to me." He pulled your arm, turning you around to look at him. Your eyes instantly locking on the ones you used to love so much but were now dead and cold as they stared you down.
"I don't owe you shit Ryan." You sneered ripping your wrist out of his grasp, skin burning as his nails dragged across it.
"You're my fucking wife and your out whoring around with Harry." He stepped closer to you, making you step back. He was much taller than you and definitely stronger.
"Ex-wife." You clarified, turning your head to see if anyone was seeing this. Your heart dropping when you saw someone's phone out. The last thing you needed was this splashed all over the internet.
"He's my friend Y/N and you're fucking him." The volume of his voice made you cringe. His face red from how angry he was. If you were smart you would have shut up right then but you hated the way he made you feel, you hated him.
"Yeah I am. Better than you too if you cared to know." You scoffed arms crossed over your chest. Fuck him and him thinking he could still control you.
"You think you're so cute being a slut." He gritted his teeth, jaw twitching when his hand gripped your arm again. His fingers digging into your flesh causing you to flinch. Trying to jerk away from him but he forced you to stay in place.
Your heart rate picked up as you stared at him. He looked crazy, his blue eyes wide with anger. His once beautiful features twisted in pure hatred. You regretted provoking him and just wanted to get the fuck away from him.
"Hey." You heard from behind you, thanking the universe for something good happening for once. His grip on your arm loosened as you heard the footsteps from behind you get closer.
"This isn't over." He spoke slowly before turning around and taking off down the street. You were finally able to breath again when you looked up to see your manager come up and wrap his arm around you.
"Let's get you inside." He said quietly, pulling you in the front doors as you willed yourself to not end up in tears as you nodded your head.
You sucked in a deep breath as he helped you make your way to your office. You were shaking like a leaf but wanted so badly to just forget that ever happened. You sighed as you finally reached your chair, brushing your hair out of your face and finally catching the bruises already forming on your wrist.
"Can we just never talk about that again?" You asked, eyes refusing to meet his as you stared a hole into the floor. Blinking away a few tears.
"You shouldn't ignore that Y/N." Mack pulled up a chair beside you. His hands resting on his legs but leaning close to you.
"No it's fine. I can handle it." You shook your head but finally looked up and gave him a small smile. You could tell he didn't believe you, concern written all over his face. He started to argue with you but you quickly cut him off. Not needing the extra problems in your life right now.
"I'll tell you if it gets worse. Promise."
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highgaarden · 4 years
Note
131 for Catherine and Peter?
peter/catherine + can we just stay in bed? // this accidentally turned into a whole oneshot, whoops?? wrote this entirely in the answer box so excuse mistakes, if there are any.
black out days;
Upon Chekhov’s orders, Catherine is confined to bed. Peter sets about cheering her. (2156 words) (read on ao3)
--
day one
Catherine is carried into the palace, screaming treason.
Lady Svenska is nowhere to be found.
That is all she remembers before Chekhov puts her under.
--
day two
It’s a mundane sort of day in Russia where hunting is cancelled because of the pounding rain and nothing exciting happens except for Velementov accidentally tripping face-first over Marial’s dog, right into the ridiculously cream-frothed cake Peter wanted to have for breakfast.
In bed.
Despite the fact that Velementov had been pestering him all week to look over some maritime reforms, and Orlo had been pestering him about - he can’t remember. It’s Orlo. Who the fuck listens to Orlo?
“I, for one, think you should lend a more attentive ear,” Catherine mutters as she turns a page in her book.
“That’s because lending you books is the closest he will ever come to grazing a woman’s hand,” Peter points out, mouth full of cream. “How’s your ankle?”
“I can twitch it to the right with only excruciating pain.”
Peter eyes her bandaged foot. “And the left?”
“It is as if I am paralysed.”
“Interesting.”
“Indeed.”
“Is it just me,” Peter asks as he feeds her some cake, “or do you sound terribly bored?”
Catherine swats the spoon away. “No, Peter, I am just tired. I cannot imagine anything more delightful than having to spend four bed-ridden days--”
“Five,” Chekhov, who they had managed to successfully ignore for the past hour, says from one corner.
“Five bed-ridden days in the embrace of your apartments. With you.” Catherine smiles sweetly. “In it.”
“It is very strange how there was a sudden, awful smell coming from your room.” Peter says, observing a crumb studiously.
“Hmm.”
“Your hmm sounds rather displeased.”
“Merely contemplative.”
Peter narrows his eyes. “Are you sure? I sense as if--”
“You sense nothing. Perhaps it’s the reading material.” Catherine lowers her book. “It’s getting quite confusing.”
“Do you have a headache?” His question sounds a bit garbled because he’s pulling a spoon out of his mouth. “Chekhov!”
Chekhov waltzes over to her, back of his hand ready to gauge her temperature, which Catherine deflects as quickly as she had Peter’s spoon. “I am fine. Please stop hovering.”
“I will not,” Chekhov says, and strolls back to his seat.
Peter stops licking cream off his thumb and focuses his entire attention on her. “What is wrong, Empress? Is it the book? I have told you that Orlo is as dull as wet rocks - I will lend you some of my erotica.”
“No, I…” Catherine bites her lip, deliberating, before rolling her eyes. “It’s this word. Here. It doesn’t make sense syntactically, and I know my Russian comprehension is advanced.”
Peter looks to where she’s pointing and says, “Oh, that’s because you’re probably reading it wrong. The /за/ changes it into the instrumental case.”
Catherine stares at him. “You know grammar.”
“Mother used to bite chunks out of me if I stuttered during my revisions. Do not ask for Aunt Lisbeth’s recount of it; she will only lie and say I am exaggerating but it was the unadulterated truth and I still have proof of it.” He shakes back his sleeve. “Look.”
Catherine ignores the rather vicious-looking scar to ask, a bit suspiciously, “You are not jesting. So this man here is not actually running?”
“No, he is chasing moonshine.”
“What does that even mean?”
“That, my pure little wife, means drinking vodka.” Peter lifts his glass and grins. “Bit like that poetry you like, isn’t it?”
“Not really…” Catherine says, looking at him from the corner of her eye before returning to her book. “But it comes close.”
--
day three
Catherine wakes to sunshine filtering in through the curtains a maid has already pulled open. She stares longingly at the sprawling green, the effervescent sky, the loll of bodies dotting the estate like wildflowers.
“It’s a perfect day for a picnic!” Peter announces as he’s getting dressed. He looks at her for agreement as a serf does his buttons.
“It is,” Catherine says. Miserably.
“Chin up, Catherine. Want me to eat your pussy?”
“I--” Catherine swallows. “Chekhov says I’m not to be moved.”
“That is true.”
“Fuck off,” Peter snaps at the omnipresent doctor. “That is a pity. What will cheer you then?”
“Growing wings and flying far, far away,” Catherine says wistfully, eyes glazing over. She snaps back to reality. “Only - only because I am starting to feel claustrophobic.”
“Hm.” Peter mulls this over. “Very well. If you cannot go outdoors for a picnic, I shall bring the picnic to you.”
--
Catherine barely has time to utter a bewildered What? before Peter is already marching out the door with one boot unlaced, serf stumbling after him, hollering orders.
“He’s acting strange,” Marial mutters as she spreads the blanket usually reserved for lounging on grass onto the bed, carefully tucking it under Catherine’s foot. “Strange-er. Did I jostle--sorry. But look at him.”
“He’s certainly… chipper.” Catherine winces when the bed dips as Marial starts artfully placing fruit, bread, and various cheeses and dried meat around her. She takes a deep breath through her nostrils, leveling herself through the pain, before saying, “He’s been like this since he’s been sick.”
“Figures a near death experience would shake him out of his arseholery.” Marial straightens the blanket. “Fucker.”
Catherine shushes her; Peter strides into the room. 
“Is it ready? Brilliant.” Peter clambers onto the bed with surprising care, not disturbing Catherine’s ankle one bit. Marial gives a stiff curtsey and makes for a quick exit, but she never quite makes it to the door, because Peter asks her to stay.
“What?” Catherine blinks.
“What?” Marial asks.
“Yes, stay. Catherine’s been cooped up too long with Orlo’s books which is a frightfully more effective sleeping draught than anything Chekhov can come up with. Come trade stories of the court with us.”
He motions at the bed.
“Us?” Catherine mouths.
“I, uh - sir,” Marial fidgets. “What makes you think - I am just--”
“Please,” Peter scoffs. “You had the sharpest ears and most vicious tongue when you were one of us.”
Marial’s cheeks flame red. Catherine disguises a laugh as a cough.
“Cheese tart?” Peter holds up in offer, before getting distracted by a particularly delectable piece of fig.
After a short bout of nonverbal exchange with Catherine, Marial finally, finally, gingerly sits a corner of herself onto the very foot of Peter’s bed. She wordlessly accepts the wine he passes her, and when he’s not looking shoots a confounded look at Catherine.
Catherine can only shrug, helplessly.
“How’s your father?” Peter asks, mouth full of bread and meat.
“Still shoveling shit,” Marial answers politely, holding her cheese tart.
“Brilliant. Glad he’s getting the hang of things. You are comfortable where we’ve placed you?”
Marial smiles thinly, still holding her cheese tart. “I can think of a few less comfortable places.”
“Nothing a new bed can’t change,” Peter dismisses. “Get Alexei to look into it for you. You know him? Warty fellow.”
“Are you going to eat your cheese tart?” Catherine asks, after getting over her own heart attack.
Marial puts it into her mouth but doesn’t chew it.
“Oh,” Peter says, before he forgets. “Chekhov, come have some of this cheese, you dusty cunt.”
--
Marial sneaks back into Peter’s bedroom when he’s taking his evening bath and hisses, “However it is you’re fucking him, keep doing it.”
“Well what the fuck is going on?”
Catherine drops her pamphlet in shock. “Marial, I am immobilised. A conveniently clumsy Lady Svenska smashed a ball right into my ankle. Do you really think I would be spreading my legs so easily?”
Catherine waves her hands inarticulately. “You tell me.”
“DOOR!”
Marial shoots Catherine one last look before scurrying out of there.
--
day four
The days go by in a flurry of activities.
One night Peter throws a party in his quarters, something of a pre-celebration to Catherine’s ankle healing soon. Catherine doesn’t see the point of it, but then again she doesn’t see the point of many things Peter does, and resolves to just smile through it.
It is surprisingly entertaining - Aunt Lisbeth brings aboard some acrobats at such short notice, and she is swathed in jewellery; draped in glittering, lush shawls, recent gifts from the Ottomans; perfumed and powdered; comfortable against gargantuan jewel-coloured cushions. She feels as if she sits upon a throne. Marial is there, predictably left out of the festivities, but Catherine notices Peter turning a blind eye when she accepts some pepper vodka from Archie.
Peter plays her a tune on his violin and with enough vodka (carefully monitored by Chekhov, who has been put in a ridiculous hat) she finds herself one of the most exuberant in applauding.
Leo regales the room with tales of rapture and romance and renegade Knights, his eyes careful not to linger on hers for too long. She feels every look like a blade. 
She doesn’t even mind when Peter sits by her as she is being bathed by two maids in a portable copper tub, jibbering excitedly about the highlights of the night.
“You enjoyed it?” he asks, a bit too earnestly.
“Yes,” she answers, surprising herself. “It was fun.”
Peter looks down at his shoes, grinning. “Huzzah.” 
He watches carefully as she is lowered into bed, and only then instructs for the candles to be put out.
“I do not know why you are complaining,” Peter says as he climbs in next to her. “I wouldn’t mind being in bed all day. It sounds fucking relaxing.”
“Some days aren’t so bad,” Catherine concedes, fluffing her pillow. “Good night, husband.”
“Good night, wife.”
--
day five
It is almost time.
Her imprisonment is almost at its end.
She slaps her just-finished book down onto the sizable stack next to her with a finality that seemed to echo through the room. 
Five days in Peter’s bed was not five days of discomfort; of course his bed would be more plush, more decadent than hers, but she missed the simple luxuries that reminded herself of who she was amidst this chaos of Russian court life. Her mother’s pearl-handled comb. Her favourite paintings. The detailed espionage hidden behind the large tapestry that she, Orlo and Marial had spent the better part of three days organising. 
She missed lounging around in the sunshine, watching birds flap across the sky. The feeling of wind in her hair.
Which is why she was up particularly early that morning, having read through the sunrise. Chekhov wasn’t even there yet. She was surprised - she almost thought he’d slept there, by the way his droll face greeted her everytime she awakened.
Peter is a wool-covered lump beside her. He’d gravitated closer towards her in the night, and she finds she doesn’t mind the warmth.
He stirs, blinking in the first rays of the morning light. “Catherine?”
“It looks to be a beautiful day,” she trills, turning her ankle in slow circles. A bit of residual pain, but she could limp at the very least. Bask in the garden, read poetry in the sunshine, and figure out a way to get Lady Svenska back during smash bottles. Maybe she’d lose her footing? No, that was a bit too obvio--
“S’it morning already?” Peter asks thickly. “That went by very fast.”
“Not fast enough for me,” Catherine says, turning wide eyes to the windows that she’d asked not to be shuttered that night. It had been colder than usual, and she was glad for Peter’s furnace-like feet, but she’d wanted to see evidence of her impending freedom with her own eyes.
Plus, some time away from Peter would be nice. He must be bored enough already--she certainly is quite ready to be done with the picnics and the teas and the parties and the reading sessions--
Wait.
Reading sessions.
Peter had scheduled reading sessions with Orlo, and had even ordered a new set of books she wanted when Orlo said he couldn’t find it in his library. They’d arrived that very afternoon, and she’d spent hours analysing footnotes with Orlo whilst Peter very badly hid how much he was snoozing.
Her eyes narrow. 
“Shame,” Peter says, and breaks out into a massive yawn. “But at least there’s your party to celebrate your healing. I’ve called for a bear.”
“Bears are still a sore spot for me,” she reminds him.
“Right.” Peter rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Two bears then?”
Catherine snorts quietly. Her husband was an idiot, but at least he was a somewhat… nice idiot. Sort of.
She shifts in bed, delighting at how much easier it is now. She will never again be complacent around Lady Svenska.
“Today’s the day. I know it. I dreamt of it last night,” she tells him. “I am finally ready for some strenuous activity!” She almost seems to vibrate in the bed sheets.
“Marvelous,” Peter cheers sleepily. “Shall I eat your pussy?”
“I--” Catherine stares at him for a beat, before saying: “Alright.”
fin
leave me prompts from here  + i’ll write something for you!
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dreamiesdotcom · 4 years
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[12:51] "I love you," you whisper to air, something curious bubbling inside you. You remember events you've encountered, different kinds of people using the same words and getting mixed reactions: some cried, some laughed nervously, some replied with the same words and some with apologies. So, "What does that mean?"
"For someone who knows a lot, you sure are quite… different, aren't you? You're rather literal, so I assume you're really clueless?" someone seats next to you. For how many months you've been staying in this village, you've never really wanted to punch Lee Donghyuck as much as you do now, but if there's something this life taught you, it's to not kill a useful person. Later, you'll tell him that he shouldn't be eavesdropping and ask him about how much he's heard, but right now you still need some answers even if you didn't intend to ask anyone, "Tell me about it."
"Well, I guess you should know," he purses his lips, fixing his glasses that somehow still remains lopsided, "It's something you say to people you dearly love. Do you know what love is? If you don't… it's this feeling I can't clearly explain, but it's… something. It's something worth more than you could ever imagine. Ah, maybe I'm not the right person to ask? I'm a bit on the emotional side," he says with a look that shines brighter than the stars and thousands of unreadable words in his eyes.
His soft expression suddenly hardens and there's that annoying smirk again, "Do you live under a rock? What part of Earth hasn't heard of these words? Damn, what kind of world do you live in?"
"I-I know what love is, and to answer your questions; A rock? No. I cannot speak for everybody, but I'd say maybe my place," you let a sigh escape your lips, eyes unfocused with some sort of unexplainable ache in your chest, just where your heart lays. Your forehead creases, what was that feeling just now? That bitter taste on your tongue, that painful clench on your heart as you answer "And my world… is an eternal chain, a twisted game of terrifying, horrible clandestine."
He looks at you with something akin to wonder, like you're a subject that got him so fixated in a haze that you can basically wrap him around your fingers and make him move according to your strings. He doesn't look away even after you did, and you had to take it to yourself to break the silence, "It's amazing, don't you think? Those three words, how much they weigh," you try to not look the tiniest bit interested, "...how different they are."
"For some people it might be good, for some it might be rather negative. Either way, it's something worth my time," you continue when Donghyuck snaps out of daze, now listening to you rather than looking at you with eyes that begs you to do something you shouldn't, "People… are such interesting beings."
"There you are again, calling us 'people' like you're not one of us. Why are you always so robotic?" Donghyuck chuckles, the breeze fluffing up his locks and making him even more adorable when he beams, "It's like you're not human."
"I'm not," his expression darkens, his normally sun-glazed eyes as bright as the dull side of the moon. You wonder, what did you say? What's wrong about answering such questions? Being raised with suh different upbringing with these other people are such a pain, and you can't understand why they're so overpowered by their emotions. Still, you're not one to lecture them about this because you're lacking as well, and you make sure to remember that as you whisper, "I'm a mere piece of vessel made to finish what they started, carrying the blood I can never be proud of."
"You are, Y/N-ah," he seriously whispers, washing away like a sandcastke torn by the waves, passing through ears that are unwilling to hear. You look ahead with a blank stare and an empty grin as usual, "It's so easy for you to say that because although everyone has circumstances, you'll never get to experience how bitter was mine."
Anger fuels his eyes at the remembrance of the cruel past you confessed that had everyone's cheeks damp with yours not moving a muscle, and then at your moonlit face. It almost says that it's totally normal to you; to be a decoy, to be a doll, to be bound by something that shouldn't even be restraining you, programmed to be used and thrown away. He can't understand how you let this happen, why the people behind this even did what they did. Perhaps, he never will, but he knows that this isn't how it should be, that you're human and you should think about yourself like that. He curses himself silently.
"What would mine be, right now?", he mutters unconsciously, giving up at the past topic, making you look at him with cold eyes. You tilt your head the slightest bit in question and he quickly replies, "If you were to say three words to me."
Your mind runs an impossible speed in seconds, even faster than the passing of lights on a highway at nighttime. There's so many options to choose from, so many lies you could say and so many truths you could convey: Just give up. Leave me alone. Some could hurt you more than it could build you up, but some can tend to the wounds; I believe you. I trust you. I like you. I love you — You try to gather everything remaining bit of logic inside you to get a hold of yourself — I'll kill you. Don't come closer. Don't play with me. I bring danger. I will change. I want change. I want peace. Please, help me. Don't give up. I need you.
Come save me.
A bitter smile barely stretches your lips as you huff at yourself, fool. You're a pawn. Pawns are to be sacrificed. Pawns cannot be saved.
You're good here, though. Maybe if you could try, you could… be even better. Maybe you could live as a pawn who has escaped the cruel king, escape that bitter life your bloodline cursed upon you, break the chains and run into the arms of the people who accepted you despite knowing who you really are. You're doing good here, living as a human, experiencing the youth that was snatched away from you, the childhood you weren't allowed to have, the yearning for a decent family and acknowledgement that you keep running away from finally sated at last. For once, you don't want to leave. For once, you're not just a little piece in their chess game, but Y/N. You like being called by your name. You like this. Whatever this beautiful feeling is, you like it. You're doing great. You're okay. You're good here.
But good is never good enough, a little voice inside you whispers. You'd like to think it's logic, not the mass amount of brain wash and manipulation you've been through all these years. Everything suddenly tastes bitter, acidic, almost like bile. Second life came in the form of this place, of the people you have met who liked it whenever you call them friend. You don't deserve it, not a single bit. You don't deserve a second life but fate gave it to you and nobody goes against fate. No one refuses fate.
But you still don't deserve it.
Stay with me. If it wasn't limited to three words, you'd add 'Even if not forever, even just for as long as this life allows us,' but you look at the moon that's staring back at you and you lean back with your arms supporting you, smiling almost lazily, you can't say that. Instead, you close your eyes, basking in the feel of the summer night wind caressing your face, "You're… my sun." you whisper, making your way to stand up. You look down at his perplexed expression and the flush rising up his cheeks, looking up ahead to path lit by the moon, "Haechan-ah."
You're confident.
You're confident because he's your sun, and there's no place the sunshine doesn't reach in your own little world. With only the ability to shine upon it, light can't turn a blackened heart white, you remind yourself. You are to stay stained, never to be reborn pure, a product and producer of sin. You're helpless, but you're not hopeless. Light can't turn a blackened heart white, but maybe, just maybe, — even if it's a little bit, just enough to redeem yourself, enough that you can smile carelessly around other people again without the ghosts of the past you didn't choose the first place, to bring the peace inside your heart back — love can, and just like that, you're gone with the wind, everything around Donghyuck in standstill.
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outroshooky · 4 years
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my pretty sleeper | ksj
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⇢ genre: series; part two (ghost!au; person b crying and screaming that they’re sorry, believing they caused person a’s death. person a’s ghost at their side, helplessly trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to, anymore.) (angst, fluff)
⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader
⇢ word count: 5.8k
⇢  warnings: major character death (reader insert); blood mention. there are darker themes here, please read with caution.
⇢ a/n: thank you for all of the positive feedback on part one!! this is a bit angstier than what i usually write but nonetheless, i’m proud of it. i hope you enjoy this winter-y fic; thank you to oh ms. believer for inspiring me all these years later (in the bleak bahamian summer, no less).
part two of the verses and vibes series. part three will be uploaded on wednesday, january 29, 2020.
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“the woods are lovely, dark and deep,   but i have promises to keep,   and miles to go before i sleep,   and miles to go before i sleep.”
⤷ stopping by woods on a snowy evening; robert frost
Never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm.
Soft flakes drifted through boughs hanging like some great Gothic arches above you, a chapel of nature’s own wonderful creation. They swept past birds fluffed to fend against the bitter cold, settled around you in drifts like a miniature mountain landscape. Ahead you, the path stretched in peaceful calm, the white blanket an insulation for the sounds that leapt and tumbled with the puffs of wind exhaled from some indeterminable heaven. Somewhere to your left, a finch trilled a cheery tune, and the boysenberry vines rasped in scratchy reply. 
It was the picture-perfect scene to accompany what would, under all usual circumstances, be a nicely brisk walk in the chill of winter.
Unfortunately, these are not, by any standards, usual circumstances.
The snow falls delicately around your hustling figure, bound against the cold in nothing but the simple dress of a commoner and the jacket of a noble of the highest degree. Your outfit is completely contradicting, but it is not like you have a choice in the matter.
Because as hard as you try to will a speck of snow to settle gently in the crook of your palm, it does nothing but continue its downward descent, rocking to and fro hither and there. It passes through the translucent aura that is your hand, your arm, your entire body.
Perhaps the statement about how never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm needed to be amended to how never in your afterlife had you seen a more wonderful blizzard.
It is ever surprising to you how, though you are no longer made of tangible matter, the whistle of wind through endlessly tall trees will never cease to send a shiver down your transparent spine. The chill rests on your shoulders, curls around your neck with chilled lips; you know it must be cold, but you can’t for the life of you actually feel it. When you tread on the freshly-covered path, hurrying along in your urgency, the untouched pure white remains… untouched. When you glance behind you at the ringing of bells, no footsteps imprint on the finely frosted earth.
The horse is a dappled stallion, wide-eyed and foaming at the bit, hooves prancing high to escape the tug of the fallen snow. The gentleman sits, hands loose on the reins, comfortable in the saddle. He's handsome, with a jaw cut like glass and deep almond eyes peering out from a woolen scarf tucked beneath the folds of his jacket. As he passes by, wrapped deep in fur to fend off the chill, you step to the side of the path out of pure habit. It would take no effort at all to simply continue on your way, letting horse and rider barrel straight through your unseen figure, but you’ve learned by now that animals have a better sense of the preternatural and decided to spare the horse (and gentleman) undue panic.
The rider’s eyes never waver from the path ahead, confident and illustrious in his goings. He is bold and dashing and incredibly handsome, and you notice, too late, the scrawled insignia etched into the leather of the saddle, as refined yet regal as the very stranger who claims it.
The symbol of the nobility burns a brilliant gold against the black tanned skin, and your throat constricts with the pain of remembrance.
 Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-
The horse nickers, ridding snow from its hooves in dirt-flecked clumps, sending them straight through the aura of your petticoats.
You sigh, ruffling the folds of your dress, tucking tighter the corners of your jacket out of reflex. There are, you suppose, some benefits to being a ghost, but the complete and utter loneliness does tend to be a drawback. 
Indeed, the complete and utter loneliness makes you question whether your mission is even worth it in the first place. Is it worth trying to reconcile things with a lover when they can't even see you, hear you, feel you? You could caress their cheek with the most loving of touches, and yet they would guess it to be nothing but a passing breeze. The curse of eternity is one spent in solitude, a soul left to wander the earth with a purpose unfinished, aptly never to be ended. You watch as the horseman canters on, and something clenches in the space where your heart once nested, like the wrens that call the castle battlements home.
No. No. You cannot allow yourself to think like this. You cannot allow yourself to doubt, to assume that for a moment love is not a powerful enough force to wrest the bounds of time and shatter the fettered chains. Love is a blade more powerful than any forged sword, a fire more passionate than any raging mountain blaze. With love, one can mold a landscape to their liking, shift the sands of what is known into a brand new reality, a dawn previously inconceivable to any and all. 
Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-
The thought of him fills your mind; the gap in your chest mends. Every step you take is one step closer to him.
With every rise and fall of your boots, your boots seem to land in the tracks of the horse and rider, their figures now only a mere shadow against the backdrop of nature’s finest woodland cathedral.
The more you push on, the more memories seem to unconsciously surface in your mind. When you came to in that field, your mind was as untouched as the fallen snow. However, it took merely a wobbly rise to your feet for you to notice the massive jacket that hugged your frame, permanently welded to your aura whether you wanted it to be or not. Simply put, whatever you wore at the time of your death became your spirit’s regalia, and you often thanked the stars that you hadn’t decided to go riding in the buff that day. Not that you would in the first place.
With that jacket came the flood, as you called it. The waves of memories that lapped at the shores of your consciousness, their chaotic dances spilling foam into the crevices of your mind. They came back to you in one fell swoop, overwhelming in their sights and sensations and feelings, and you wondered how you could have, even if just for a brief moment, forgotten it all.
Eventually, the mouth of the forest opens to a broad, rutted dirt road, which has turned to mud with the advent of the blizzard. At the mouth sits a thatched roof shack, cheery with the ice that dangles precariously from the thickets of straw. Beyond it, fields of grain- sorghum and wheat and barley, their stalks cut low to the base. In a single breath, curling in on itself in the chilled air, your senses are flooded with thought and sound and breath.
“Catch me if you can!” Seokjin’s fingers slap at your shoulder, tagging you plain as day. He is barely thirteen, still gangly and slender with youth, but experienced eyes can see his frame beginning to thicken. There's delight in his eyes, a mirth that sparks double when he sees the fiery temper in your own. 
“Seokjin!” You hiss. He's playing a game of chance, egging you on as his father pauses at the edge of the forest to speak with the farmer who came bounding out of the newly-built barn. One of the things you loved about the king was his flexibility, his genuine interest in the lives of his subjects. He was willing to lend an ear to all, and it brought him a certain respect, from the lowest beggar to the highest knight. With that in mind, you dared not cross him. “Not now!”
“Papa’s not looking!” He teases, skipping backwards when you swing outwards with a well-timed smack. “Catch me if you ca-an!”
“Seokjin!” You hiss again with vigor, a concerned glance over your shoulder. “You’re not about to get us both in trouble!”
“You won't get in trouble.” He’s breathless, riled in his own games while his father talks business just beyond the magnolia bushes. “You're with me.”
“Just because you're the prince does not mean that I won't be sent to the gallows for participating in one of your stunts. This is an official business trip and I am thirteen and as so it happens your maid and I kind of need this jo-”
Without hesitation, the young prince saunters closer, leans in, and taps your nose lightly with a single digit. “I said,” Seokjin breathes, voice nearly a whisper. “Catch me if you can.”
In one fluid motion you lunge forward, your index finger landing squarely in the middle of his forehead. 
A smile breaks across his visage, radiant and mischievous, the grin of madmen. Or young boys. “Game on.”
You blink and the scene clears. The horses’ reins in your grasp evaporate, leaving you in front of a crumbling stone wall falling apart at the seams.
Peering closer, you realize the house has aged fast, too fast to be natural. The straw has grown thin in some places, the roof sagging inward, spine exhausted. The windows are grimy and cracked with age, and the foundation settles crooked into the soft earth. Beside the chimney, a rabbit twitches, darting into the brush at the inkling of eyes watching from afar. Something isn't right here, you think. Something is different from before.
You turn towards the horizon, the spires of the castle piercing the far-away arch of the sky, and continue on towards him.
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He had never cared that you were only his maid.
You had been in his life as long as you could remember, and he had been in yours much the same. Your mother having been attendant to the queen meant that you inherited the duties for her royal child, born in the frigid chill of December a year and two months after you. From a young age you learned how to reorganize his endless closets and dressers, to attend him in a court of nobility, to keep a pitcher of cold water and a bottle of lavender on his bedside table every night. The fair-minded, fair-haired prince had never understood how you were any different to him- you thanked the stars his parents taught him humility from an early age- and as a result, he treated you much the same as he treated any of the other young boys in the court. You had never been “merely a maid” to him- you were a playmate, confidant, best friend, and later- much, much later- a lover. The only lover, in fact, that ever mattered to him.
He had had suitors from when he was as young as ten years old, coming to seek his hand in uniting their great kingdoms. They pranced about him in grand dresses of silk and lace, curtseying and bowing and placating themselves for his eyes. More than once, they’d nearly popped out of his head at how tight their bodices were. And yet, he never took one to be his bride- never even expressed interest in having one as his bride.
You secretly pondered if he was the stuff of legend, Ancient Greek myths that whispered of men coming together in ways that male and female could not. Meanwhile, as the years passed, you grew all the more closer to him, and he all the more closer to you. Often he'd tug a sewing needle out of your hand to insist that you go riding together, pulling you away from mending the jacket he’d torn the last time you went riding with him. He would beg you to visit him in the sparring circle to show you some new masterful combination he’d learned with sword and shield, even taking such liberties to teach you yourself some swordplay techniques. He would even take you down to the market to buy fresh vegetables for your grandmother, or new silks for a coat. It was clear that he cared about you deeply, deeper than he’d ever admit to himself for a long, long time.
Your journey continues on mile after mile; the closer you get to the center of the kingdom, the more broken down it all feels. Granted, it is the dead of winter, but the world seems to have fallen into disrepair along with it, lulled by the hypnosis of the cold into a weary, uneasy slumber. Cattle shuffle stiffly along their paddock fences; dry tufts of grass poke through the chilled mud. Civilians too hustle, wrapped in rags without splendor or hint of grace, trying their hardest to protect against the frosty bite. So much has changed in the brief time you've been gone, and for the first time, worry begins to gnaw at your thoughts with true voracity. It doesn't feel right, none of this does; but you know in the core of your being, that this, somehow, is home. 
With every landmark you pass, a new memory washes over you, scent and sight and feeling. You make a left at the second crossroads and continue on at the third, but your mind flashes back to the times you went right and then left to the beekeepers’ fields, or left and then right to the carpenter’s shack. Every memory rekindles a bit of something in you, something that you can name only as humanity, and you swear the chill’s begun to set in a little colder than it was before. You are more alive now than ever, you think.
It is as if in the brief time you slumbered, the world aged a hundred years without you. The miles to the city walls pass quickly, but not without mention. The closer you get, the more decrepit it all feels- richly constructed halls now ground to sawdust, fields of grain and vegetables now plains of snow and ice. The walls themselves are in poor shape, the dull stones lacking the regal glory they once held, and you ache at the sight. Once the pride and joy of the kingdom, now a sad hallmark- if there was anything left of the kingdom to begin with. 
A mere trickle of people flows on either side of the gate, a much, much slower stream from the constant push-pull of the tides you’re used to. Here, the roar was once chaos- a wave of crowds jostling in, a tide of jovial citizens pouring out in a flood of color and sound and energy. But the banners flutter threadbare, flapping without statement in the wind, as if they have fallen asleep at the helm, in the bleak of midwinter, in the midst of it all.
You crane your neck to see the guards as you approach, careful to keep your space from the few stragglers limping up the path along with you. In your youth, you knew every castle employee, every knight and guard and maid. Now, you squint till the nearest stern face comes into view, and realize, with a jolt of clarity, you don't recognize him at all.
His face is cold-cut, molded from a block of iron. His lips are pressed tightly together, back as straight as a ramrod, mouth as firm as an oak tree. He is completely unfamiliar to you, and for some reason, trepidation begins to roll a metaphorically thrilling drum beat in your stomach.
The fear, which had numbed to a gentle stream in the back of your conscious (if you could call it that), rose to a fever pitch. 
Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and you were absolutely determined to find out what.
You had a feeling that this is what you were brought back for, to get to the bottom of this horrid stunt, to find out why everything you knew had been thrown off its axis in one fell swoop. It thrummed in your silent pulse, lofted like owls’ wings through the quiet of the forest. No was simply not an answer, and when a renewed sense of determination beat in the space where your heart would have been, you touched your chest with a sudden burst of fondness. Seokjin was close, so close. It would be like old times; together, you would solve this, bring closure to this plague of wintertime. And you, his wonderful bride, reunited with him as if no time had ever been wasted in between. Not to mention you were home, back in your city, the place you had labored to visit for days, weeks, even months since you’d awoken in that godforsaken wheat field with a royal riding jacket wrapped around your shoulders.
Unassumingly, the guard turns his head and stares straight at you, gaze blank, numbly focused.
You hold your breath for one moment, two.
He blinks, stark eyes staring right through you, and thumbs the rutted shaft of his spear. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from his own, and, with only a moment’s hesitation, stride unfailing into the heart of the kingdom.
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Your walk to the castle, at the very top of the city, is seemingly the longest, most arduous part of your journey by far.
Everywhere you look, in every corner seems to be darkness and despair. Shapeless forms, nameless figures cluster around pathetic fires, which sputter and lick with the will of the wind. Dead leaves tumble down the cobblestones to embed themselves in snowbanks, piled up high, effective barriers against the frost for the unlucky souls with no other place to go. Doors are wrenched shut but rattle every now and then, the muted glow under their edges a telltale indicator of the separation between poor and poorer. You hasten to avoid those clusters around the fires, god forbid a careless sweep of your petticoat extinguishes what little hope they have left. You pause for a moment when you see a mother clutching a child to her chest, wishing not for the first time you could simply reach out and make her problems melt away. If anything, you’d only make her feel worse, the lofty draft of your fingertips an added stress upon her already narrow shoulders.
With every step you take, you can feel the individual consciousnesses trapped here crying out for you, flocking to you, a bright burning candle flame against a backdrop of nighttime. There are so many souls beneath the ground, you wonder if there was some sort of famine. Does Seokjin see any of this? Where has he been? The questions plague you one after the other, much like the howling spirits that crowd the back of your mind, individually vying for your attention. No, you reassure yourself. I know him. Seokjin must have the situation under control, or if not, he's working to get it under control. The kingdom will be saved; happily-ever-after is just out of your reach, soon within. It simply cannot be any other way.
The higher and higher you climb, the more desolate the path becomes. It is clear that the only people who trek up here nowadays are the guards on their shift rotations, but even then, you’ve noticed less and less the closer you get to the castle. We had plenty of guards; I don't understand why the sudden lack, you think to yourself. Sooner or later you will have your answer, though, because you find yourself at the base of the castle, and your mouth drops open in some sickened form of awe.
Ah yes, what's the name of that feeling?
Horror.
Your home has fallen into disrepair, a state of shambles that never would have been allowed in the days of your lifetime. 
There are cracks and crevices that fracture the bones of the grand hall, splits and nicks in the wood from years of neglect. There once perched gargoyles and flowers and creations atop the limestone columns, so wonderfully sculpted that they seem to leap from their very material constraints into living, breathing figures. Now, only shattered fragments of the beasts remain, flower petals chipped away to fall hundreds of feet to the stiff dead stalks of grass below. A castle, once inhibited with beauty and life, now lies dormant, sleeping, decaying. A single piece of limestone, the wing of a butterfly, shears off, rebounding off the gutter to tumble to the dirt. From dust it is made, and to dust it shall return, but if you had a heart, you swear you would have felt it break.
Once again, it is the thought of him that keeps you moving, pushing on, except the fear is all-consuming now, a snarling dog snapping at the heels of your fantasy. You can barely think as you approach those great dark oaken doors, palm flat against the decaying planks as you pause, your eyes fluttering shut.
You still, readying yourself for this. This, the thing you have been waiting for, the only thing to keep you going, demanding that day after day you push on. Anticipation of it has pulsed in your veins for days, weeks; the closer you got, the more anxious and excited you became, but it is here now. It is here; there is nothing you can do to stop the hands of fate, for she brought you here to reunite you with him, Seokjin, the prince of your land but the king of your heart.
The toe of your boot eases into the splintering wood, and in one beat, your entire body passes through into the grand entrance hall.
For all of your preparation, however, nothing could possibly steel you for what lay on the other side of those doors.
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The grand hall looked like it had been ransacked by an army. 
The stone arches above your head no longer bore their weight proudly, but drooped with depression suggesting hopelessness. A flurry of activity buzzed around you, a servant even stepping through you by pure mistake, but it was not the kind of bustling, cheery frenzy you were used to. This was a quiet kind of frenzy much like silent fury, the calm before the storm. Footsteps resonated against the grand ceilings flaked with paint, yet there was no exchange of greetings, no playful step of the servant children. It was an atmosphere so foreign it may as well have been a completely different house, rather than the home you knew so well as your own.
The throne room is many paces away from the entrance hall, but with your internalized map of the castle, it took a few mere passes through walls (and a left, another left, and a right) to land you in the hall of kings, or the waiting room outside of the throne room. There is a layer of dust that sits upon the artifacts, the Staff of Arrn’och, among others, nearly broken in two in its display case. Everywhere you looked, it seemed, was desolation. God forbid what the throne room itself would look like.
With a sudden bang!, the doors at the far end of the room were thrown open, a ragged, hunched figure stumbling through the open gap. Male or female you could not discern, matted strings of hair shielding its twisted visage, but the sobs its lungs produced pierced you to the core. The pair of guards at the opposite end of the room strode forward, collecting the pathetic creature by the underarms and practically dragging it down the muddy rug. Although you could pass through whatever surface you pleased, your instinct urged you through the gap in the closing doors, and you managed to slip past just as they slammed shut behind you.
In front of you lay a dias, fifty feet in diameter, upon which two thrones of the same size sat, both lonely, one bare. While large windows perched over the dias, casting blocks of light across the stone floor, any natural light that managed to filter into the high-ceilinged hall was dulled by grit and grime. Torches flickered low in their sconces, doing their best to compensate, but instead casting shadows across the walls that seemed to flinch at the quickest intake of breath. Indeed, the throne room had suffered much in your absence; it was as if you stepped into a nightmarish equivalent of your past life.
It was too dark to see the face of the king as you approached, his profile framed by shadow as he argued with an attendant.
“-can’t turn down every citizen who wants to make an audience with you and has good reason to do so,” The attendant insisted, his tone desperate. “The people are starving, but they haven't lost hope! They're looking to you, Your Majest-”
“And why would they look to me?” The king snapped, voice gravelly, a thickness there that you’d never heard before. “What good have I been to them? Haven't they seen enough of me yet? Every day, a miserable existence, and they seek to know my counsel on matters such as one calf between them?”
“One calf, my king, would provide food for their children for three days,” the attendant murmured gently. “Your people need you now, more than ever.”
But the king seemed not to hear, dismissing the attendant with a flick of his hand. “I can't hear any more.”
The attendant hesitated just a fraction, but bowed respectfully. “As you wish.”
It was at this moment you realized there were only two thrones, not the three you had been expecting. Although the queen had passed many years before, they had always kept a throne in its place for her, in her honor. You wondered now at this- where was Seokjin’s throne? 
The king, bowed over with the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, paid you no mind as you approached, dipping a respectful curtsy out of habit. He’d certainly gone grayer in these last few months, his shoulders having lost their proud touch, and he looked as if he was a completely different man, aging a hundred years in the mere two hundred hours it had taken you to get back to the place you so lovingly called home.
In your living days, you would not have dared step up the dias to look at the king eye-to-eye, god forbid he strike you down himself. But you were not alive, and these were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures.
And so, with one fluid motion, you stepped atop the dias, skirt swirling around your ankles as you paused, waiting for something, but you did not know what. 
The king lifted his head, and as your eyes met his, aged with the aches and pains of ruling, you felt as if someone had ripped the very carpet out from underneath your feet and cast you back to the underworld below.
Because these were not the clear eyes of the king, sparkling and gentle in their mirth. These were not the bright pupils that brought forth memories of afternoons spent on the lake, or crystal clear waterfalls that tumbled through mysterious glades. 
No, these eyes were dark, once as rich as chocolate, but now as muddied as silt. Cataracts strung silky webs across the clag, weaving intricate patterns in the depths of emotion, rendering not only the viewer incapable of reading emotion, but the seer incapable of, well- doing just that. While crows’ feet stamped their corners and fine lines etched their lids, you would know those eyes even if you had seen them once in ten thousand years, for they stamped themselves onto your soul all that time ago, never to be undone by any mortal power.
“Seokjin?” You gasp, and at once, all of time seems to stand still.
For it is indeed Kim Seokjin who sits on the king’s throne, his beautiful features softened with age and the passage of time but still regal, ever unforgettable. He is enthrallingly handsome, but your heart aches evermore, because you have missed it all.
You have missed seeing the aches and pains of early, and then middle age set in. You have missed watching his child, the prince or princess (and surely more than one), stumble across the floor of the nursery for the first time. You have missed him sleeping in the early morning, worrying in the late evening; you have missed him in bed and in combat and all things in between. For it has been years, perhaps decades since your death, and in one horrifying moment, it clicks into perspective.
And then he tilts his head up at you and whispers your name, and it is as if every weight on your metaphysical shoulders has been lifted. “Is it really you?”
“Yes,” you warble; somehow tears streak your cheeks, pale in their sheen. “Yes, Seokjin, I'm so sorry; I'm here now, it's me-” you grab for his hand, but it passes right through, and he recoils at the draft. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
Flashes. A golden field, merry horses, a beautiful spring day. “Take my jacket, my darling. It will keep you warm.”
Hooves pounding, heart racing. The royal horses are afraid of practically nothing, their one fear far from your mind, unworthy of mention. Together you dash through the meadows, up and over hills and valleys. What you would give to run free with him forever.
“She's here,” Seokjin’s voice nearly breaks as he half-rises from his chair, extending an arm to brush his thumb along your cheek. “After so long waiting for my queen, she's finally here.”
“You can see me?” You beg for clarity, but alas, he does not reply.
You pause atop a hill crested with wildflowers, white and pink rivers that cascade down the landscape, tumbling, flowing unbridled and uninhibited. Seokjin is a mere few paces behind you, slowing to appreciate the beauty ahead of you.
“My lord?” The attendant steps forward
“Can you not see her?” Seokjin turns, gesturing to you. “She's right here. She's come back to me after so long,” and there's so much fondness, so much promise in his voice that you know, just know that things will be okay. You will right every wrong, fight every demon- “I have missed her dearly.”
“I've missed you too,” you choke. “With every bone in my body I have missed you; I have been walking for days, Seokjin, I'm so sorry-”
It is then that your horse nickers and tenses, rearing without warning and whinnying like the devil himself. He panics, lashing and whirling about, and you can only hold on for so long before you are thrown from his back like a rock from a slingshot.
Seokjin is screaming. You have never heard him scream like that before, a sound that seems to so purely channel fear and terror and anguish, all in one. He is a roaring fury, knife drawn from his belt, and he beheads the snake lying hidden in one fluid motion before dropping to his knees at your side. His shoulders shake as he weeps, cradling your body to his as your eyes roll back in your head and you cough, frame shuddering, barely conscious.
“Sire, there is nobody there,” The attendant says, as softly, carefully as he can.
“Don't leave me,” he’s sobbing, over and over. “This is all my fucking fault, I'm so sorry, so so sorry-”
“My love,” you whisper, fingers brushing the inside of his palm. It is all the strength you can muster. “I will have gone a thousand years, but to still find your eyes imprinted on the breath of my soul.”
He’s whimpering, blubbering, desperate, screaming for help. Screaming and screaming, but there is no one to stop the ceaseless flow of blood, and your final act of life is to stain the sleeves of his riding jacket crimson where it lies comfortable across the breadth of your shoulders.
“I have never forgotten you,” he exhales. “It has been sixty years and not one day have I gone without envisioning your face in my hands, beautiful.”
“I’ll fix this,” you promise, but it's starting to fall into place now, why everything around you is falling apart. “I'll help fix the kingdom if you would just tell me what's wrong, Seokjin. Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”
“I have loved you perhaps too much,” his voice cracks, wobbles with ache. “I've neglected these people, our people. I say our people because you have always been my queen; I have never taken another; there is no one who is worthy of replacing you.” 
“Perhaps you should retire for the night, my king. You've had a long and tiresome day,” The attendant tries to coax Seokjin, but he pays the servant no mind.
“You're here in this moment for a reason, my sweet. You're here and we will fix this, I promise you,” Seokjin is nearly begging, the urgency in his voice bleeding scarlet. He rushes forward towards you. “We will fix this together-”
“Seokjin, my love-” You rush towards him with the same intensity, but your hand passes through his chest, and suddenly you are staring up at him, and his eyes are blank, unseeing.
The attendant clears his throat. “Your Majesty, there is no one there, sir. It is merely a draft.”
“I want to help you,” you plead, fingers tracing his sternum, his ribs, his heart. “I'm here, Seokjin. I'm here, right in front of you; I'm here. Believe in me. Believe in us; believe in love as I have believed in love. Please.”
The once-legendary prince, now dishonorable king looks out over a barren, desolate throne room as a zephyr of cold brushes icy digits down his shoulder, along his chest. “Ah,” he utters, sounding exhausted all at once. “I believe you're right.” A small chuckle parses his lips. “What am I saying? Perhaps I shall retire for the night, yes.” He pauses. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”
“Goodnight, my lord.” 
“Yoongi?”
“Yes, my king?”
“Start keeping the fire burning in the hearth. It's too drafty in this hall in the evenings.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”
“You as well, my faithful servant.”
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bigprincess-energy · 4 years
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When the Bones are Good, the Rest Don’t Matter - Part 2
I finally finished the second and final chapter to this, hoorah!  TW: Blood and Miscarrying
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As the summer months continued on, Eurydice experienced June in a new and unfamiliar way. The air smelled sweeter, the sky was more vibrant, flowers more lively in their colouring. Between Orpheus, who always saw the world for the best that it could be, and the pregnancy hormones, perhaps she was becoming softer. Her once jagged and jaded edges dulling. Orpheus had always inspired hope within her, hope for a better and brighter tomorrow. It was no different with her pregnancy. Despite all of the anxieties, the crippling fear that took over her from time to time would subdue with just a simple smile from her lover. 
Orpheus had always looked at Eurydice like she had individually hung each of the stars in the sky, but now from the way his eyes lit up and a big playful grin took over his face, one might suspect he believed she had created the universe. In a way she had and she was, Eurydice was his world, anyone could tell that. Now Eurydice was harbouring a new life, their baby that they had created together out of love, hope, and springtime sunshine. Their family, his universe. 
Typically, Eurydice would spend her evenings at the bar, working behind the counter while Orpheus played to the patrons. Hermes and Orpheus had tried to convince her that she didn’t need to work, and maybe shouldn’t work because she was with child, but she brushed off their commentary as she slipped on her apron before a shift. She was pregnant, not helpless. Plus she liked the company, shifts flew by as she chatted with Persphone and regulars while cleaning glasses and Orpheus’ music filled the air. However this evening she had opted to say home, a particularly bad episode of morning sickness had ruined her day and left the young girl feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. No one had objected to her request. 
Eurydice used the free evening to tidy around the house, washing the dishes left in the sink from dinner, sweeping the floors and fluffing pillows. Their home was so small it didn’t take more than 15 minutes to clean, but Eurydice took pride in her small accomplishment of the day. Standing in the center of their home Eurydice looked around, making a mental checklist of how the space would change when the baby arrived. Orpheus would have to be better about leaving pencils laying around on the floor of their home. There would need to be space for a crib, then one day a room of their own. A new shelf for toys and books, someplace for a mini version of Orpheus’ lyre to live when their child inevitability began to play music. Letting her imagination wander Eurydice pictured cozy nights curled up next to the fire listening to Orpheus strum while rocking the baby to sleep, and when they are older springtime gardening lessons with Persephone and hide and go seek games at the bar with Hermes. 
Unsure of what else to do with herself, Eurydice opted to take a shower before retiring to bed for the evening. The warm water rinsed the day away and the young girl finally felt herself relax. After turning off the water she quickly dried herself off, using the same towel to wipe down the steam fogging over the mirror above their bathroom sink. Before she had met Orpheus her body was made out of harsh lines, bones clearly visible through her flesh. No longer was she sharp edges but rather softness and curves. Staring at herself Eurydice ran a hand over her belly, changing angles in hope of seeing even the smallest evidence of a bump. Of course, it was much too early for any such thing, three months had not yet passed before the date she assumed conception had taken place. Previously, little things like these had never would have distracted Eurydice’s mind. She couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought of showing the bump to her husband, seeing his expression when he felt the baby kick for the first time. This new life meant a whole new collection of firsts they would experience together, it was difficult to hold back her excitement. Orpheus was going to be a wonderful father, and knowing he was going to be by her side throughout this adventure, it made the impossible seem possible. 
Despite knowing she had already dried herself off completely, a wetness lingered between Eurydice’s thighs. Still lost in a daydream of firsts, she mindlessly picked up the towel and dried herself off again, paying no attention to the action. Eurydice continued with her nightly routine, brushing her teeth and pulling her hair back before her attention was brought back again to the warm, wet feeling on her leg. Once more she reached for the towel, this time pressing it into her skin as if that would make the difference between this attempt and the previous ones. Instead of letting the towel fall to the floor as she had the previous time however, Eurydice placed it on the sink before she turned to reach for her pajamas. Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of red, bold and harsh against the soft buttercream yellow of the towel caught her attention. 
Instinctually her hand shot down between her legs and she felt for the first time that the wetness was not lingering water from the shower but hot, thick blood traveling down her skin. Her hand shook as she lifted her fingers to her face, the evidence no longer deniable. Shock jolted through her body, stomach violently cramping, causing her knees to buckle beneath her. Desperately Eurydice flailed her arms out to grab onto something, anything to ground her. Her fingertips found the cool porcelain of the sink’s edge, the pristine white material now stained with blood. 
She was no longer present in her body. Rather she was standing outside of it, watching like a bystander as she lost what she had considered a part of herself. Her body slumped against the sink before crumpling to the floor. Blood continued to pool around her, deep, dark and unforgiving. Her eyes followed her hand, reaching down to touch the substance as it cooled against the tile floor. 
The cramping persisted, merciless in its force as Eurydice pulled herself up into a semi-seated position against the edge of the tub. Shifting her legs caused the blood staining the floor to smear, a graphic reminder of what was happening to her. Using all of her remaining strength, the girl dragged her body into the tub, a trail of blood mapping out each of her movements. Eurydice refused to let herself look at the red streaks, focusing purely on turning on the water. Her hand finally grasped the knob, pulling and twisting it to release hot water against her flesh. Slowly the tub began to fill, covering her feet then rising up, surrounding her legs and stomach in warmth. 
***
Orpheus was on cloud nine. A group had come into the bar with a celebration mentality and money to spare. Often on a good night, the tip jar which lived at the foot of the stage would be half full of crumpled bills and tarnished coins. Tonight was a great night, he had played well and the patrons of the bar were more than happy to compensate him for the joy his music brought them. Of course, he had missed glancing up from his fretboard to see his wife, to catch her eye and smile at her from across the room. The anticipation of seeing her eyes light up as he shared with her the surprise weighing down his pocket made up for her absence, and more than anything he was relieved she was finally taking a break. 
The boy returned home to darkness. He stepped quietly around the space, avoiding any creaky floorboards or half-finished sets of lyrics he had left on the ground earlier. While he was hoping his wife might still be awake they often didn’t return from the bar until the witching hours of the early morning. A small smile crept onto his lips as he pictured Eurydice curled into herself asleep in their bed, peaceful and resting, cradled by sweet dreams.
Before he could enter their bedroom he noticed a faint light seeping out into the darkness from under the bathroom door. It wasn’t like Eurydice to leave lights on, she often did a loop around the house before bed to make sure everything was off for the evening. Using his forefinger he knocked gently on the door, whispering Eurydice’s name. When no response came from the other side, the boy assumed she had left the light on for him and opened the door. As he stepped into the tiny bathroom he felt around blindly on the sink’s edge for his toothbrush, the brightness of the light in contrast to the darkness Orpheus had previously been standing in stringing his eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust when they finally did Orpheus could barely breathe, taking in the scene around him. 
There was Eurydice, naked and quivering in the tub filled with water tinted a pinkish brown, clutching her knees to her chest. Streaks of dried blood painted the tile flooring and towel stained with the same rust colour lay abandoned on the floor. Without a second thought, Orpheus was on his knees. There wasn’t time for thinking or feeling, he couldn’t process what he had walked into, all he knew was that he needed to get Eurydice out of the tub. 
“‘Rydice?” Orpheus whispered, his voice cracking. 
Since entering the bathroom her hollow eyes had stayed locked on the wall. There was no acknowledgment of his presence aside from the occasional whimper escaping her lips. Picking himself up from his kneeling position, Orpheus bent down and placed an arm under the crook of her bended knees. No one would describe the poet as strong, but he managed to scoop up Eurydice, drenching his shirt sleeves in the process. In his arms, Eurydice felt lighter than she ever had, even after Hadestown. At this moment the world was still and silent, the only sound echoing off of the bathroom walls came from water droplets falling from her skin, plinking quietly as they made contact with the water below.
Balancing the frail girl in his arms, Orpheus managed to lay a clean towel across her body and maneuver his way out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. The mess left behind would be a problem for tomorrow, stains could be wiped away, now all that mattered was making sure Eurydice was alright. Carefully he sat her against their bed, her back supported by the headboard. Taking the towel from her he began to dry her skin, looking for any signs that could explain what he had walked in on. There were no knicks in her flesh, no gashes to explain the amount of blood she had lost. Confusion clouded the poet’s thoughts as he continued to move the towel up her thighs, to her stomach. 
Before he could press the towel to her stomach, Eurydice’s hand shot up and wrapped around his wrist, nails digging painfully into Orpheus’ skin. “Rydice,” He began but was cut off by the pain radiating from his wrist. Orpheus looked up to his wife, slightly shocked and terrified by what met him. In her eyes something feral glared back at him, wild with its teeth bared in a defensive stance. This Eurydice was unfamiliar to Orpheus, perhaps they had met once before the first time he had approached her at the bar, but even then this look didn’t scare him as much as it did now. Orpheus moved his hand back gently, and Eurydice loosened her grip, but not before her nails left deep, red crescent marks along his pale flesh. 
Orpheus continued to shift his body with great caution, not wanting to set something off in Eurydice once more. Now sitting to her side, slightly behind her, the poet reached his arm out, gently placing it around her shoulder and pulling her body into his. The tiniest sigh of relief slipped from his lips as he felt her lean into his embrace ever so slightly, her head tilting to rest upon his chest. Orpheus continued to hold her, reaching up to stroke her hair or leaning down to press a kiss to his temple on occasion, to remind her that he was there. The poor boy was in the dark, literally about what had transpired this evening. Despite his yearning for answers the poet continued to sit quietly, cradling his lover in his arms. There they sat in silence, a terrified young girl and a confused boy as minutes ticked by into the wee hours of the new day. It wasn’t until Orpheus felt tears falling against his chest that he finally decided to speak. 
“Eurydice?” He whispered into the night, his fingers softly caressing the skin of her shoulder. Eurydice couldn’t form words, they caught in her throat and choked her like smoke, all she could do was whimper meekly in response.
“What happened love?” Orpheus asked, his voice shaking slightly. 
The girl whimpered again, turning her head fully into his chest. Trickling tears transformed into strangled sobs, her body shaking with each breath. Instantly his arms were around her, clutching her to him in desperation. Eurydice continued to sob, the sound violently vibrating through her. How could she tell him? How could she look into his eyes, his kind hazel eyes, full of hope and sunlight, and tell him what had happened? 
Nothing pained Orpheus more than this, watching helplessly as the love of his life suffered. He wanted to help, no he needed to. He needed to feel useful, to support her through this, unlike now when he felt like a failure. He didn’t want to push her, but without answers what could he do? How could he provide for her? 
“Rydice,” he pleaded gently with her, rubbing small circles on her back with his thumb. “Are you and the baby alright? All you have to do is nod or shake your head, that’s all. I just…” He signed softy, the breath catching in his throat. “I need to know you’re okay, love.” 
In his arms, Eurydice went still, sobs no longer trembling through her. Orpheus’ hand traveled down slowly, inching along her skin before resting on her stomach. At his touch she flinched back, inhaling sharply. For the first time that evening, Eurydice looked up at Orpheus, her heart shattering as she noticed the glinting of tears welling up in his eyes. Taking a deep, shaky breath the young girl timidly shook her head, a response to his question. Orpheus simply nodded, before pulling his wife into his arms, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. 
There they stayed as night turned to dusk and morning light shone through the curtains, holding each other. There they sat together in mourning, grieving what they had lost, tears abundant. Together they had built an unbreakable foundation that no storm could crack. These clouds too would pass over and they would begin to rebuild.
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