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Letters

Yandere Rollo

Masterlist | TWST Masterlist

‎

i like my repressed christian boys a lot if yall can't tell ;-;, couldn't pass up on this....tr will be back on schedule next!

Rollo Flamme never imagined himself as simply ordinary. He had always been destined to be extraordinary, committed and focused, willing to put in the work to achieve perfection. Yes, there was no doubt that there were ways to go to meet his goals, seeing as his fire lily plan went up in flames on first contact with that wretched Malleus Draconia and his Night Raven buddies despite his months of meticulous planning and careful scheming.

Yet here he was, walking at a speed Rollo hoped didn’t divulge how fast his heart was pounding away, your letter carefully tucked away deep within his robes, pressed right up against his chest. Green eyes concentrated on nothing but his next step, his poker-face and overall reputation as the Student Council President a god-sent for keeping unwanted attention away as he cut a path through the school towards his room, hands clasped in front of him as they always were. 

Outside the gates of Noble Bell College, Fleur City was as lively as ever, the hustle and bustle of a city coming back to life under the gentle evening sun echoed throughout the conversely silent campus as people enjoyed busking in the remaining sunlight after a long day of work. It was an exceptionally cool day too, the white-haired boy noted to himself, the breeze sweeping down the hallways and bursting forth into the open air strong enough to lift the ends of his robes.

A respectful mumble of “Rollo-kaicho” rose from the scatter of students milling around as he walked past, though nothing that a returned nod of acknowledgement couldn’t settle.

The peacefulness that blanketed the stately campus as the sun sank further and further down the horizon reminded him much of the night of the Young Mage’s Social ball, and more so, you. Rollo could recall that particular evening with perfect clarity, the sights and sounds replaying again in his head as the purple-clad mage made his way indoors, the old wooden door swinging shut behind him with nay a creak, shutting out both the wind and the sounds of the city.

‎

His own footsteps were the only sound ringing across otherwise empty corridors as the boy turned the situation he had found himself unexpectedly stuck in over and over again in his mind. It had never been his intention to fall over his own set trap, yet how was it he did so anyway despite all his wariness and discipline?

This had all begun as a plot for revenge right after he had been bested, by villains no less. It would be hard for Rollo to even admit that he had come to terms with the beating he received several months ago, let alone the night after it happened, and his next plot had already begun to hatch the moment you swept into view dressed in your masquerade costume, accompanied by none other than Malleus himself. From everything he witnessed, it was clear that the Draconia housewarden cared greatly for you, and dare he guess, maybe even had some unexpressed feelings for you. 

Not that he hadn’t noticed you before that night, but it was certainly the first time that he had come to realize just how central a place you held among the Night Raven College students, and how crucial a card you would be in his next plan to wipe that smug smirk off of that wretched fae prince’s face.

The night of the Young Mages’ Social ball had been surprisingly ordinary, given what had just happened. He had been exhausted and dead on his feet, even if he showed no sign of it outwardly; the orderliness of the hall that he painstakingly cleaned after the last fire lotus had withered was a welcomed sight. Alas there was no time for sleep, not that it would matter given his already heavy eyebags. But despite his state, you had instantly caught his eye at the start of the ball, quietly huddled towards the back of the Night Raven group, trying your best to look anywhere but at him or at the rest of the crowd as you and your friends were singled out as the saviors of Fleur City. And it was obvious that you were feeling even more out-of-place as the dance began in earnest, though whether it was from the crowds or just general awkwardness, Rollo could not say.

Taking his leave from the merrymaking, the white-haired Council President could find no surprise within him when he found you sitting alone later outside of the hall, enjoying the peace and quiet that had fallen over the city with the arrival of night, looking up at the blanket of stars, a glass of what looked like juice in your hand.

“May I join you?”

You had jumped at his words, though you did settle quickly upon realizing it was just him for reasons unbeknownst to Rollo. “By all means,” you replied, waving him down to join you. After all, he did just try to essentially kill your friends and all mages in general. Perhaps you knew something he didn’t, the purple-clad student mused to himself, subtly watching you from the corner of his pale green eyes. Or perhaps you were just presumptuous, given you hadn’t been affected as badly as the rest.

The dark sky was clear of clouds, the dark of space dotted with twinkles as far as the eye could see, the moon hanging alone amidst the barren sky; an alluring sight for weary souls - and judging from how discreetly you had excused yourself from the social, you definitely were tired. 

A pause as Rollo took a seat a respectful distance from you. “Too much?”

You nodded. “Too much.”

Whatever it was, you seemingly held no ill will towards Rollo, simply accepting his quiet company. And so the two of you sat in comfortable silence as the young mages danced and laughed the night away just a stone’s throw away. The minutes melted into hours as the world continued to turn, though the calmness of the reality around him was a far cry from the turmoil of thoughts within his head. 

When the night started to grow old and the cacophony of noises began to die down, it was as if an unheard bell had gone off, and you reluctantly stood, empty glass now in hand - your friends were bound to come looking for you should they notice you were missing. And with you leaving soon and that night being the last one you were spending at Noble Bell College, it was finally time to launch the first phase of his plan.

”I would like to write to you,” Rollo started, immediately cringing internally as the words left his lips, but there was no going back now. “If it is alright with you.”

He held his breath as you considered his request, your head cocking to the side as you contemplated. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged, shooting him a light smile, your hair gleaming in the waning moonlight. “Goodnight, Rollo.”

Exhale. And that was that.

‎

But now here he was, Rollo mused, eagerly anticipating the opportunity to read your letter alone. Has his plan gone astray? He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts of you, just till he could be alone. For all his routine and self-discipline, you were the one temptation he couldn’t seem to get squash down.

Coming to a pause at the fork in the hallway, the Noble Bell Council President paused. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted tonight in the midst of his much-needed analysis of your letter, so against the burning desires of his heart and the weight of your letter heavy in his robes, he forced himself to take a detour, his feet carrying him down sparse corridors towards the councilrooms. It was easy to spot his Vice President still hard at work amidst the otherwise empty room, scouring through a stack of papers at his desk, head down and pen scribbling away.

A quiet clearing of his throat was enough to get the attention of the occupant inside. “Rollo-kaicho!” Said student rocketed up from his seat, hurriedly adjusting his slipping striped cap. “What brings you here at this time of day?”

“I wanted to check in before I retired for the day,” replied the white-haired boy, giving a courteous glance to the rest of the unoccupied desks before returning his gaze to the other. “Is there anything I should know about?”

The Noble Bell Vice President stuttered for a moment, lost for words and wrecking his tired brain in an attempt to find what to say. “I-uh-“

Pulling out his celestial-patterned handkerchief, his movement just barely managed to cover the disgusted look that fell over his expression, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing as the stench of magic overwhelmed his senses, though Rollo still managed to keep his tone neutral. Even if he was the one to initiate contact, that hardly made a difference with his nausea. “It’s fine,” the magic-adverse mage managed to grit out without a hint of distaste, his tone as neutral as it always has been. “Please have the points ready for me tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, Rollo-kaicho. I apologize again.”

‎

Finally being able to lock his room door behind him brought a relief much like cold water over hot iron, ending the depraved pulsing in his mind that the mere presence of the envelope in his robes against his chest brought on with every passing second. Tossing the heinous paper carelessly onto his well-worn table top, Rollo instead hurriedly picked it back up again, pale green eyes scanning for any further damage he had caused, though fortunately there was none to be found.

Letting out a sigh of relief, the white-haired boy settled into his chair. Now, to satisfy both his curiosity and anticipation.

Trembling fingers carefully peeled open the envelope, revealing a slightly yellowed, unevenly folded paper much to Rollo’s chagrin - he would have much preferred if you used a perfect white piece of paper, quality stationery instead of this random piece you must have had left over from your homework, and if you had folded it the same way he did all this time. But he supposed he couldn’t expect that high a standard from you, given the riff-raff of mages you found yourself in the company of. As he gently freed your letter from its paper enclosure, his sensitive nose caught a whiff of a familiar scent, the smell probably having lingered on from when you first mailed it out.

The light fragrance of your favorite shampoo, Rollo deduced, bringing the paper up to his nose. He recognized it, no matter how faint it was. You must have just finished showering when you wrote and sealed the letter if the aroma still endured. A breath of fresh air amidst the rank odor of magic and mages.

And then he began to read.

Dear Rollo, the letter began as it always did, those two words enough to have his heart skip a beat like nothing else could. But this time, the next few that followed were even better. Your letter came late, and it was sorely missed.

Line by line, you spelled out your daily ongoings, your interactions with your fellow schoolmates, your inner thoughts. Rambling about anything and everything that came to mind, thoughts spilling out without filter straight onto paper. About how Grimm (that filthy magic cat) nearly failed his test again and about how Deuce and Ace got into their latest spat of trouble with their housewarden Riddle. About how Jack and Epel were like to work with on your history project, and how you felt about one of your lunches being stolen by Leona.

Just like that, the minutes slipped through his finger, and with a pang in his heart, Rollo came to the end of your letter.

He placed the paper down on the paper, taking a breath.

How was it that he could feel so attached to another person through a simple piece of paper? How did you ensnare him so effortlessly, bypassing his hard-fought discipline as if it didn’t exist? Did all this mean that his revenge plot against Malleus had already gone awry?

‎

The night was cool and quiet, the moonlight that shone through his stained glass windows bringing the Noble Bell Council President back to that fateful night. A light gust of wind seeped in through a small crack, creaking the old wooden panels in the floor as it blew through his room. 

Your writing had improved, Rollo noted, as per his guidance in his previous letter. You were using a ruler to ensure straight lines, and your handwriting had neaten greatly; a far cry from your first reply to him, the memory of those scrawling letters that ran up and done and every-which way except straight across the paper still causing shivers to run down his spine. That was bad.

Carefully and painstakingly refolding the paper, Rollo stood, returning it to its envelope before moving to stow the letter within his secret compartment above the fireplace, with previous letters neatly arranged upright according to date received. His fingers lightly brushed past all your correspondence with him, his chest fluttering at your willingness to speak with him, his mind already churning with how and what he should reply to you. Would you be interested in perhaps coming back to Noble Bell? Maybe he should visit Night Raven College? Even if that blasted Draconia was there, it would be worth it just to have some private, personal time with you, the white-haired mage calculated, his hand tapping an unknown rhythm across his desk that he now leaned against.

‎

There was no point in denying his obsession with you, not at this point - it had been awhile since you started to occupy his every waking moment and thoughts, and being as organized and detailed as Rollo was, he could pinpoint the exact moment when he began to spiral. Sure, his first letter had been full of nothings, meaningless pleasantries and stories that he polished to perfection over the course of a night of restlessness. But what he got back was your heart on your sleeve, your mind like an open book for him to pick apart and examine.

As things turned out, the more he picked, the more he found. Questions he sent always came back answered, with you evidently letting slip more than you intended to originally say, sometimes directly and sometimes when he read between the lines. 

A single line in your third reply to him was all it took to begin his unending slide. 

You were from a different world.

The more he sat on it, turning it around and round in his mind, the more his chest grew warm, and you began his center of focus. Even the mere passing pondering of what you were doing now was enough to grip Rollo’s entire being, to have his heart rate increase and his thoughts to jumble. After all, in this foul, tainted world, there could be no purer person than someone who came from a place where no magic exists.

You were perfection embodied. 

In a twist of fate, you turned out to be pure, a shining beacon amidst the foul-smelling heathens. A gift from the heavens, a blessings from the divine meant for none other than him, that no one could properly appreciate except for him. Sure you weren’t the most orderly, and you did have your moments where you were occasionally wowed by magic, especially the inhuman feats from that wretched Malleus Draconia, but you remained untainted despite your constant proximity to the taint of magic that surrounded and cloaked you as if a heavy fog. Never indicated anything more than a passing interest in the magic that your companions wielded and an admiration that Rollo was sure he could rid you off. All you needed was time away from those mages, spent instead in his company.

‎

Stepping away from his desk and moving now towards his personal bathroom, Rollo came to the answer he had been looking for as the boy moved to undress himself for a nighttime shower. It had been in front of him all this time.

The answer was no. 

No, he hadn’t forsaken his plan to wield you against Malleus; sure the exact details had changed as the months went by, but everything he did was as he had schemed. Just that now, you didn’t have to be a means to an end, you didn’t need to be just another casualty wrecked up amidst his crusade against the villains. Stealing you away from the fae prince would be one of the largest blows he could deal with to that condescending prick, the beginning of his downfall - the excitement tingling at Rollo’s arms as he imagined the crestfallen expression that would twist Draconia’s face, the streak-free bathroom mirror reflecting the pale green eyes that lighted up in callous pleasure.

It would be glorious.

But for now, Rollo determined, schooling his face back into its usual neutral look as he turned to step into the shower room, what he needed to concentrate on was his next letter to you.

[rizsu]

the aftermath of being turned into an ex jujutsu kaisen — gojo satoru.

gojo's a man of commitment. if rounding up a ‘band’ to serenade you into taking him back is what'll do the trick, then he'll organize it.

+ extra. this is meant to be unserious dont attack me for mischaracterization n shi 😞

“we're done.”

“we are not!”

in the end, he got kicked out. due to the shame he felt by being kicked out of a house he once lived in, satoru actually leaves. don't party too soon though, he's going to come back within five hours.

the plan he had in mind was simple: go to the department store, buy some roses, a poster, led lights, a table, some chocolates, and hire a band. for this the budget will be endless.

you thought you got rid of satoru but little did you know that he still has his share of keys. with that trick up his sleeve, he unlocks the gate, sneaking in everyone and the props.

satoru wasn't able to hire a band, but he was able to get a substitute. you see, todo, inumaki, and yuuji have hidden talents. they can all play instruments and one can sing! he always knew there was a reason why he's proud of his students.

quietly, the four men set the stage that's actually your front yard. in the center holds the white table with a black satin cloth delicately placed on it. the three bouquets of roses sit beautifully on the table. some petals were picked out and carefully spotted as well. on the table's center held the chocolate and wine — your favourite wine, to be exact. the finishing touch is the led lights. they're circling the ground, illuminating it with a soft yellow glow.

at the right and left sides of the table are inumaki and yuuji. inumaki's holding a wooden guitar while yuuji holds the hand drum. todo's position is in front of the table but a little off-center. he's holding the microphone, ready to pour his heart out on the song.

the star, satoru, is the one in the center. one hand hides behind his back. it's holding another rose bouquet with hundred-dollar bills wrapped with the roses. his free hand holds his phone. as soon as the clock strikes 7:00PM, he's going to call you. everything should play out perfectly.

anxiously watching his wristwatch switch from 6:59 to 7:00, he immediately calls you. one, two, three, six rings later you answered.

“you. i forgot to block you.”

“excuse me?” satoru scoffs, “whatever, i'm not calling for that.”

“chop chop then. i don't have all night.”

“can you come outside?”

“no. i will be calling the police.”

“OH C'MON,” he whines, getting desperate. “please? after this i'll leave you alone. promise.”

“...”

yuuji painfully watches. he feels incredibly sorry for his teacher. he doesn't deserve this!

“i don't think this is going good,” yuuji whispers to the boys, moving his head side-to-side.

todo raises his fist, gesturing to the boys to have some faith. “let's put our hopes high.”

they watch satoru closely. his hand that held the phone dramatically dropped to his side. slowly, he turns his head to face the boys behind him. his face breaks their hearts. he's pouting with eyes nearing tears — a pain only males like them can understand!

before satoru can say something, the front door clicks open. as it swings open aggressively, you made yourself tonight's main star unwillingly. you were not dressed for whatever this occasion is. your front yard has been ruined, your ex is there, three of his students you've met a few times, and while they're in suits, you're in a fancy robe with fluffy indoor slippers.

your eyebrows crease together, just when did they do all of this?! maybe it's time to install cameras.

“satoru, what the fuck did you do to my—”

“shh, tonight it's just you and him,” todo cuts you off, switching the mic on and beginning his performance. inumaki tunes the guitar and starts stringing random strings in hopes that they sound good. yuuji follows by tapping a simple “dun-da-da-dun-dun” beat on the drums.

your mouth's now opened. baffled by the sight, you stood there motionless.

“i have died every day waiting for you~”

as todo sings, satoru walks up to you, cheekily smiling at your shocked expression.

you back away from him, eyebrows still furrowed at whatever's going on.

“darling, don't be afraid~”

at this lyric, satoru takes the opportunity to shove his phone back into his pocket and grab your wrist. although you attempted to wriggle free, you are no match for his strength. gently, he pulls you into the yard.

both your eyes lock on each other. you search his eyes for emotions, he searches yours for any signs of longing. it's not there, he thinks. he feels a pinch in his heart, but it won't stop him. sending you a wink, he pulls you closer to the table.

“i have loved you for a thousand years (ooh)~”

“seriously, what's all this bullshit?!” you whisper-yelled at him, using your other hand to point at the table.

satoru simply shrugs.

“i'll love you for a thou-sand more (ooh, yeah)~”

todo ends his singing, clapping along with the other two to end the performance. it was the most touching thing he's ever done besides gifting yuuji and his idol a trio matching keychains set.

satoru coughs three times in attempts to hide his laugh. this has probably been the most unserious yet serious he's ever been, but his perfomance doesn't end there. he still has something else to whip out.

“baby—”

“that's not my name,” you cut him off.

“anyway. as i was saying,” he stops, revealing the rose bouquet with multiple hundred-dollar bills. “all of these are yours.”

your eyes bulge, but you quickly regain yourself.

“i'm not going to be won over with some roses and money.”

“there's wine and chocolates too,” yuuji says, immediately shutting up after you shot him a look.

inumaki stands awkwardly. he feels immense second-hand embarrassment. to counter such feelings, he starts playing the guitar again.

satoru cups the side of your face with his hand. his thumb caresses your cheek as he locks his eyes on yours again.

“i was serious about not breaking up, y'know,” he softly speaks, “i know i'm pushing it and all that stuff but i don't think i can leave you.”

it's once again your turn to be speechless. at this point, you're sure that there's no way all of this is happening in one night.

since you won't take hold of the bouquet, satoru places it in your hand. to solidify it even more, he lifts your other hand to place a kiss on it.

“what level of romance is this?” again, yuuji speaks. this time, it's satoru who gestures him to quiet down.

inumaki's still playing the out-of-tune guitar, enjoying the way the wind gently blows. it's truly a beautiful night. under the full moon's light, you and satoru glow together.

todo gears up for another round of singing. he immediately does a dragged-out “ooh~” adlib. this, however, wasn't going to last as long as his previous one did.

“NO — no more, please. you have a wonderful voice but i've heard enough. please.” you turned around to todo, begging him to mute the mic and possibly himself.

“and you,” you turn back to face satoru, “clean this up, get the boys home safely, and then come back.”

after that, you walked back to inside your house with the bouquet, making it satoru's turn to be left speechless. he still didn't win you over with some roses and money (wine and chocolates too) but his stupid commitment to keeping the relationship is what did.

[trivia-yandere]

visions

you’re convinced by your friends to go to a party and let go of the memories of your ex just for one night. unfortunately for you, jungkook doesn’t want to be let go.

@momnomnom @darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree writer: quay (explicit-tae)

word count: 5.186

warning: yandere themes, smut, dark themes, cursing, manipulation, toxic relationships, non-con, reader is drugged, impregnation kink, spitting, nipple sucking, biting, dirty talking, blood, neck slitting,

Your eyes snap open when the loud and ringing noise of your alarm. You’re quick to yawn, body stretching before grasping your phone off the bedside table. The alarm is titled “work” and you silenced it with a groan.

Your eyes catch the day of the week. Friday. The time was 8 a.m - an hour before you had to be at work. You contemplated calling off, but understood that it would cause nothing but your boss to be petty and write you off the schedule for the next few days - so you decided against it. Your feet kick the covers off of your body and swing to touch the cold, wooden floor. You winced at the impact, sending shivers up your spine.

Your phone sounds suddenly. You furrow a brow and go to grab it, color draining for your face. You bite your lip at the unknown number displayed on the screen.

Hesitantly, you decline the call and quickly block the number. Unknowingly, you begin to feel uneasy as you make your way to your bathroom to wash up. You’re trembling as you wash your face and when you brush your teeth, you can feel just how terrified you are.

It’s only been a month, you note. You had no doubt in your mind that Jungkook was behind the phone call - he’s called nearly every morning since you broke up with him and quickly signed a restraining order. It was only a temporary one until the two of you went to court, but it was necessary to do so.

You met Jungkook nearly a year ago. You recall the way the man has entered your job - the one you had prior to having to quit because of a scene he caused - and smiling brightly at you. He asked various questions about the countless sweets and desserts you had displayed behind the glass and you answered the best you could.

Each day Jungkook returned, buying desserts such as iced cream, candy, cookies - anything. He would munch on it a bit while the both of you talked and laughed and before he left, he assured he’d leave a tip for you at the counter.

Day by day, you expected Jungkook’s arrival. It made your job less boring and you also found yourself willing to come to work more dolled up. You’d coat your lips with gloss that you knew Jungkook liked (he’d always flicker his eyes to them when you’d talk) and style your hair differently each time.

Your first date with Jungkook was at the very same shop you worked at. You came in on an off day to pick up something you forgot and just as you were leaving, Jungkook was entering. His eyes were wide upon witnessing you face to face  - this time you in casual clothing instead of a work uniform. 

By the third date, you and Jungkook were officially dating - him asking you once the movie you two watched at the cinema was over - you agreed without a thought.

By the second month of dating, you noticed a shift. Jungkook was sweet, sure. Caring. He offered you rides everywhere you needed to go, and when he couldn't he’d never felt comfortable with you going alone. You brushed it off with Jungkook just being a cautious person.

Month three was when he became vocal in how you dressed. He didn’t appreciate the way other men looked at you - his words exactly - and you were giving said men a show by wearing shorts or skirts that were too short. He changed your wardrobe with clothing that he deemed was “outside clothes” and some that were “indoor for his eyes only”. Again, you brushed it off. Jungkook was your boyfriend now and his opinions mattered.

By the sixth month, Jungkook began to isolate you from your friends. “Why do you always hang with them on the weekends?” he’d ask when you were invited to a gathering. “Why can’t I go? Are other guys going to be there?” he’d asked once, eyes glaring at you. “Your friends are single. You aren’t. Why do you need to go to a club where other single men would be at?!” he had hissed, hands in his hair as if he was seconds from pulling it out.

Jungkook was amazing at comforting you - or so you thought. “I know how men are, baby.” he murmured while stroking your hair in his embrace. “If able, they’ll take advantage of you. Your friends cannot protect you from a man willing to do you harm.”

But the man that had harmed you was Jungkook himself. 

Jungkook was never physically abusive. Sex with him was rough, yes, but you enjoyed it. 

Jungkook’s abuse was manipulative - often pinning you against your friends that you were no longer invited to places they’d be because you would either bring Jungkook, or the man would come unbeknownst to you. Jungkook would call you countless times until you picked up and asked when you’d be home - and if the answer wasn’t good enough for him, he’d insist on picking you up himself. “Why can’t I come?” Jungkook asked when you were hastily walking out the door to meet your friends. “You’re not going to see your friends. You’re cheating on me!” he’d hiss, eyes blown wide and neck veins pulsing. 

Last month, marking the eighth month, you decided to break up with Jungkook. You were nervous to say the least. You thought of several ways to break up with the man - you decided that in a public place would be best. You had more respect for him than to end the relationship over the phone. However, you also could not trust what he would do if you allowed him into your home. 

You invited Jungkook to meet you in a public area - a park where you and he walked hand in hand many times. You were a bunch of nerves, especially when Jungkook was strolling towards you with a wide grin and in his hands, sunflowers.

Your heart flutters when he offers them to you, and awkwardly, you take them in your hands. You and Jungkook sat at a bench and he talked about how much he missed you, peppering kisses along your cheeks before you managed to push yourself away.

“You’re…leaving me…?” Jungkook's voice was dangerously low and calm,  but his eyes were glaring daggers at you. You placed the flowers onto his lap and managed to get out of his embrace. His eyes are following you as you - slowly, so slowly - walk backwards, eyes apologizing while you remain silent.

The following week was Jungkook aggressively knocking at your door until you threatened to call the police. He would call nonstop and send multiple messages that you had to change your number to get him to stop - even if it never did, only slowed him down until he somehow found your number again. You had to change jobs more than once when he would show up at random times - you had no choice but to file a restraining order. You thought that maybe this would stop him - and for a moment it did.

Until today.

The unknown number calling you was no doubt Jungkook. You never answered any number that wasn’t familiar to you and instead blocked them. They left no voicemail after calling and each time, it was a different number displayed. 

You walk out of your bathroom and down the hall to your small kitchen. You didn’t have time to eat anything for breakfast outside of a quick muffin. You would be late if you cooked or even made coffee.

Your muffin jolts out of your hand when you hear sudden knocking at your door. Your blood runs cold at how powerful and rapid they’re coming. Your mind is on one person.

“Open the door, Y/N.”

Jungkook was behind the door.

Jungkook didn’t care for whatever petty restraining order you had against him. The constant calls told you so.

“I can hear you moving.”

You stiffen at his words. You didn’t know what to do. 

You weren’t once afraid of Jungkook - he has never hit you. But he was like another person when he was angered. He wasn’t the same man with the sweet smile and the soft eyes - it was as if a switch flipped and he was a completely different man.

“I just want…closure.”

Jungkook's words crack as he speaks and your heart betrays you. You were beginning to feel guilty for putting him through this. Your friends told you that it wasn’t your fault, that Jungkook was good at manipulating you. 

“Please, Y/N…baby.”

Your hand was on the door handle before you knew it and you cracked the door open. 

Jungkook’s eyes are wide when you do and he gives you a dazzling smile. He steps closer but stops himself from entering when you don’t open the door wider for him.

Jungkook’s smile falters. “You’re…”

“You can’t be here, Jungkook.” you manage to say without stuttering.

“You…are serious?”

You knit your brows. 

Were you serious?

You changed your number multiple times in a span of a month that it was insane. You blocked multiple numbers when changing yours became tiring. You got a restraining order against him.

Did Jungkook think this was just a simple misunderstanding and you needed to be “alone” before coming back to him?

“Yes. I’m serious, Jungkook. Please leave.” 

Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes are searching yours for any hint that you were hesitant - but he found nothing.

You were serious.

You wanted nothing to do with him, Jungkook grunts.

You were willing to throw everything he offered you out the window because of what? A few disagreements? Arguments? Your single friends?

“So there’s nothing that is going to bring you back to me?” Jungkook tries one last time. He doesn’t want to blow up and demand you stop being the dumb bitch you were acting like now. He didn’t want to raise his voice and break down your door - because you would be frightened and close yourself off once more. He was trying but you were too selfish to see it.

“No.”

Jungkook’s heart shatters and he doesn’t say anything when you close your door. He hears you lock it but he decides that if you couldn’t allow yourself to accept his love - then others wouldn’t either. He was done with being nice to you - you didn’t deserve his kindness. If you were going to act like the damsel in distress, then he was going to give you something to be distressed about.

The music was far too loud to hear anyone who wasn’t speaking directly into your ear. The air was muggy and humid. It smelt of cheap cologne/perfume and several different types of alcohol - but you were just happy to be here. 

Well, as happy as you could be standing alone in the corner of the home while others danced, laughed and drank. You were invited by your friends to come to “let loose” and “get your mind off of your crazy ex”. You agreed - but now you were left to your own devices while they mingled elsewhere.

Speaking of your “crazy ex”, you haven’t heard from Jungkook in nearly two months. It was a sigh of relief, truly. You assumed he wanted closure in seeing you once last time to confirm that the relationship has indeed ended. There weren’t any random pops up at your home or work, no random phone calls or text messages from random numbers. Slowly, you were beginning to be less afraid of seeing the man out and about. 

“First time at a party?”

Your head whips around to a tall figure beside you. You can smell the alcohol in the cup he’s holding. He’s offering a small smile as he towers beside you/ He’s close to you just so he could speak loud enough for you to hear. 

“First time in a while.” you respond to him. You give a small smile in return. 

“Are you here alone?” the guy takes a sip of his drink. 

“No. My friends are…”

“...Around here somewhere?” the guy nods in agreement. “So are mine. Haven’t seen them in an hour.”

You laughed.

You and the tall guy - who’s name you learned was Dean - hit it off quickly. You and him stood together and talked the majority of the night - your friends and his never returning, but you aren’t surprised. You weren’t as outgoing and friendly as your friends were. You’re positive they’re playing a game of beer pong (and losing). 

As another hour rolls around, you were seated on a large leather couch that you’re surprised was vacant with Dean, your head began to hurt. You feel hot and stuffy and your vision is blurring. 

“Are you okay?” you hear Dean say. “Do you need some water?”

You nod your head, allowing Dean to pass you a bottle of water.

Jungkook - on the other hand - was livid. The nerve of you to break up with him just to come to a party and look for another man. And not just that - but to get drugged by said man and not even notice it. Jungkook lingered deep into the side lines that you would never see him - but luckily he was there watching over you. He witnessed Dean put a small pill into your drink while you were busy laughing at something he said - Jungkook clenched his fists. 

Jungkook isn’t far behind when you are being escorted out of the large sitting room, a sea of people not bothering to stop and see what Dean is doing with a groggily woman.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes heavy when you are pushed into a vacant room, the door closing behind them. 

Jungkook blamed your friends for leaving you alone in an environment that you didn’t belong to. No matter how hard he tried to tell you that you didn’t belong to a friend group such as this, you never listened. Now look - you were drugged by a man you didn’t know and about to get raped.

But luckily, Jungkook was here to save you.

Jungkook knocks aggressively onto the door, not stopping until the door swings open and an annoyed Dean surfaces. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to draw back his fist and plant it right between the man's eyes.

And again.

And again.

And a few more times until Dean is a bloody mess, squirming away and out of the room. 

Jungkook shakes his head and closes the door, locking it behind him. You aren’t completely unconscious, but he’s positive you will be soon. Your shirt is off already, Dean wasting no time.

Your bra - a red lace - looks amazing against your skin. It makes his heart swell and a smile forms onto his lips. It was a gift from him that you kept.

“Y/N, baby.” Jungkook coos, hovering above you. He wraps his arms around your body, you groaning low when he does. “I missed you so much.”

Jungkook sends kisses down your neck, arms never wanting to leave you. Your smell is tainted with alcohol, but his nose catches on the faint smell of vanilla he adores on you. 

“I told you not to have such horrible friends.” Jungkook tsks. You are yet to be fully unconscious. You moan out an inaudible response and Jungkook only coos again.

“You’re so beautiful, baby.” Jungkook presses himself into you, hard length at the center of your clothed core. “Do you miss me as much as I missed you?”

You do, Jungkook concludes. He dips his hands beneath your jeans and finds how wet you truly are for him. Jungkook removes his hands and pops it into his mouth, shuddering at your taste. It’s been so long - too long. He’s angered that you went too far away from the relationship. A restraining order? Far too dramatic for his taste. But he’ll let it slide and choose to forgive you because here you lay, beautiful as ever. Wet for him and him only.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any more unnecessary time. He needs to feel your warm essence around him. He pulls your jeans down along with your underwear, eyes widening at the beauty that was your wet pussy. He feels the bulge in his own pants begin to tighten and he just cannot wait any longer.

Foreplay was your favorite when it came to Jungkook, he knows this. You would cum so hard against his tongue, squirming and begging for him to stop because of just how overstimulated you were, but Jungkook wouldn’t. He would let you cum over and over on his tongue, fingers, thigh - wherever you wanted to.

However, now he could not console himself. The need to be inside you was far greater than anything. Once you and he were back together than he would allow you to sit on his face where you belong.

Jungkook pumps his cock as he inches closer to you. He rubs the tip of it against your swollen clit and shudders once more. Goosebumps litter his arm and he can’t hold back anymore. He enters you with a high pitched groan, hands going to place themselves on your hips.

Jungkook hears your moans as he sinks in and out of you, the sound of his skin slapping echoing off the walls. You were so wet and tight that he’s proud - proud that you haven’t let another man touch what was his. That even when you were upset and the both of you went through this break, that you understood your role in the end.

“Fuck, baby.” Jungkook snaps his hips into you harder, left hand going to toy with your clit. It’s sensitive as he remembers it to be. His right hand snatches the lacy bra down so he could watch the way your breast bounce for him. “So beautiful and all mine.” he hisses, leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth. 

Jungkook sucks onto it until it’s swollen and throbbing, and he proceeds to the next one. He could never get enough of you, littering bite marks around your breast and collar bone.

“Your pussy’s milking my cock so good, baby.” Jungkook grunts, his thrust becoming sloppy. You were so wet, pussy clenching around him while your juices ruined the sheets. 

Jungkook snaps his eyes shut, groaning loudly. A free hand slaps down harshly on your stomach as he pounds into you. He recalls the few times the two of you spoke of the future - of getting married and having children. He declared that he desired them to look exactly like you - you were just so perfect in his eyes. “I’m going to put a baby in you.” Jungkook feels himself about to cum. His hands don't remove from your stomach. It was soft and it drove him crazy just thinking about you round with his child - your breast enlarging with breast milk to feed his child. You would be an amazing mother and he would enjoy nothing more than for you to be at home while he provided for you and the child you both shared.

Jungkook cums inside of you, twitching. He’s humming slowly, trying to regain his breath. He places a deep kiss upon your lips, sweaty forehead placed against your own.

Your head is pounding. Your throat is sore and dry and your body aches. You try to rake your mind about what the hell is going on and what has happened to lead up to this. You blink your eyes open, hissing how bright the light shines above you.

Your wrist is aching and when you attempt to move, you notice you cannot. Your wrist appears to be detained and when your mind registers this, you begin to whimper. Your vision is blurry with tears, but you blink them away to attempt to see what the hell is going on.

“Baby!”

Your thrashing stiffens at the familiar voice. Your blood runs cold and your mind is screaming alarm bells.

“You’re awake.”

You blink away your tears rapidly to regain your vision. It takes you a few moments, but when you do you’re crying all over again.

Jungkook was before you, but it wasn’t just him before you that had you screaming and crying. It was the man, tall and smiling warmly, covered in blood. The irony smells hit your nostrils and your stomach churns. Your head whips around to your surroundings, unsure of just where the hell you’re at. Your wrist is bound behind you. You’re sitting on a wooden chair in a room unknown to you.

“I didn’t want you to see this but…” Jungkook sighs, trailing off. He steps away to show you what was behind him and the reason why he’s covered in blood. 

Your throat releases a horrified whimper, eyes wide with tears.

“I had to do it, baby.” Jungkook says with a shake of his head. “They weren’t real friends. They left you alone at a party where you were drugged!”

The lifeless body of both of your friends laid flat against the ground, blood covering their skin even more than it did Jungkook’s. You want to vomit at the horrifying scene but somehow manage not to.

“P-Please-”

“Don’t start with your shit!” Jungkook raises a bloody hand to silence you. “Listen to me.”

You flinch when Jungkook takes a step towards you, eyes closing ready for him to deliver the same fate as your friends.

Jungkooks eyes widen at the sight of you cowering before him.

“You think I would harm you?” Jungkook scoffs in disbelief. “Everything I have done has been…for you. For us.” Each word that releases from Jungkook’s mouth is a hiss. His eyes are wide and he appears utterly insane. “I saved you from being raped by that bastard! I got rid of the trash you call friends!” 

You jump when you hear banging coming from Jungkook, but you open your eyes to look. 

“You left me for what, Y/N? To be left alone at a party and drugged? These weren’t your friends.” Jungkook scoffs. He goes as far as to spit on the two girls you dare to call your friends. “You got a restraining order against me just for me to not be the bad guy.”

You scream when you feel a hand on your jaw. Jungkook shakes your head to force your eyes open. His hands feel wet and sticky, obviously with the blood of your friends. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook voice cracks as if he was the one that is hurting - as if you weren’t the one that had to witness the deceased body of your friends and an ex boyfriend declaring he did it for you. “Say it back….” Jungkook’s lips are soft when they kiss your cheeks. Your salty tears are warm against his lips. “...Say it back….” Jungkook continues.

“Fuck you!” you scream. You’re thrashing, kicking your feet to get Jungkook away from you. Your wrists are burning with your arms attempting to release them.

“Already did.” Jungkook laughs gleefully. He isn’t upset at your outburst. You’re a pure soul and he’s saddened that you had to see this - death of fake friends and learning the realization of your (almost) assault. “How could you not remember the way we made love, baby?”

Jungkook trails a hand on your covered stomach. You stopped your struggle at his words, eyes wide and tearful. 

“You were so wet for me, baby. You missed me just as much as I missed you.” Jungkook taps your stomach gently. “Soon the product of our love is going to grow.”

Jungkook’s eyes are shining with love - to you it was psychotic. Jungkook was insane. This wasn’t love - you heard him admit to raping you; there was no way you could consent while drugged. 

“No…” you shake your head at Jungkook’s words, but the man only nods. “...I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I hate you.” you repeat.

“Stop.” Jungkook hisses, eyebrows knitting. “How could you say that after-” “I hate you!” you scream in his face - and you repeat it again, again and again. You repeat it until Jungkook’s hand tangles into your hair and yanks it back. 

“Say you love me, Y/N.” Jungkook demands. “Say you’ll stay with me.”

Jungkook was crazy - there was no well in hell you would remain with a murderer. If you thought Jungkook was bad before, your thoughts on him have worsened now.

“I’ll never love you.”

Jungkook's heart thumps rapidly. Your words make his heart ache.

“You don’t mean that.” Jungkook shakes his head. His hand tightens itself in your hair. “You’re just upset. This is my fault. I should’ve taken you home.”

“I’ll never love you!” you hiss at him. 

Jungkook’s heart thumps again. His eyes stare into your own. 

You weren’t lying.

You hated him.

You feared him.

Your eyes weren’t lying, nor were the words coming from your mouth.

“I see.” Jungkook murmurs, dropping his hand from your hair. He takes a step back, tilting his head at you. “You’ll never love me again.” he states, more to himself than you. “If I cannot have your love, Y/N, then there is no reason for either of us to live.”

Your breathing increases at Jungkook’s words. He reaches into his jacket pocket, removing a pocket knife.

“I love you.” Jungkook’s crying now as he speaks. “Everything I did was for you!”

“Jungkook-”

“Don’t speak now.” Jungkook interrupts, pointing the knife at your throat. “You’ll never love me and I’ve accepted that.” Jungkook drops to his knee. He leans down to your face. You’re whimpering - and even now, Jungkook thinks you’re beautiful. It saddens him that this is what you chose. “Maybe…if we’re reborn…you and I can raise the child we spoke about.”

“Jung-”

Jungkook places his lips on yours - a final kiss he tells himself. He places the pocket knife onto your throat and slits it. It’s deep and he feels the blood rush out and squirts onto him. You cough into the kiss, and Jungkook isn’t far behind. He slits his own throat just as deep. He’s coughing, placing his head onto your lap, desiring to be just as close to you in death as he desired in life.

Your eyes snap open and a scream erupts from your lungs right when the loud and ringing noise of your alarm. Your hands grip your neck, heart pumping outside your chest. 

You’re in your room.

A shaky hand grabs your phone that was laid on the bedside table and turn off the alarm. It was titled “work”.

Your eyes watch as your phone displays the day of the week.

Friday.

8 A.M.

An hour before you had to be at work.

Was everything that happened to you…

“A dream?” your voice is hoarse and low. There’s goosebumps littering your skin and you’re visibly shaking.

You were having deja vu.

No, you did this already - you’re sure of it. 

Your dream began with you waking up just as you were now. Friday at 8 A.M.

Your feet kick the covers off of your body and swing to touch the cold, wooden floor. You winced at the impact, sending shivers up your spine. You didn’t need to think what was going to happen next. 

Your phone sounds suddenly. Color drained from your face. You knew who was calling you without having to look at the screen. You were reliving your dream. Could you call it a dream or vision?

Were you given a second chance at life?

You recall the way you declined the unknown number and proceed in getting ready for work. Jungkook was knocking at your door. You recalled the party you were invited to, your friends, Dean.

You scurry down the hall to your bathroom just as your stomach churns. You release the vomit into the toilet, clenching the side of it.

“What’s going on…” you murmur to yourself, flushing the toilet. There was no way you were reliving what you had dreamt.

You began to brush your teeth and wash your face, hands trembling.

You don’t go to the kitchen like you would usually when you wake up. If your dream was correct, Jungkook would be-

A sudden knock makes you yelp. You’re stiff in your spot, eyes wide.

In your dream, you told Jungkook that you wanted nothing to do with him. That the relationship was over.

You told Jungkook you hated him as he stands before you, covered in blood.

You could feel the way the knife rips through your throat, unable to breath or help yourself.

“Open the door Y/N.”

Jungkook’s voice frightens you.

Your breathing becomes heavy.

Your dream was becoming a reality - if it was ever a dream. 

‘Maybe…if we’re reborn…you and I can raise the child we spoke about.’

Jungkook’s last words replay in your head while the hair on your skin raises. 

Before your mind thinks, your feet are moving. You slam the door open, eyes wide at Jungkook. He stands straighter at seeing you after a month.

“Y/N…are you okay?” Jungkook wants to hug you. You appear to be seconds away from crying and it causes his heart to thump.

“Jungkook…” you trail off, voice cracking.

“Y/N…baby…” Jungkook takes a step closer.

You wrap your arms around Jungkook, crashing into his chest. 

Jungkook’s distraught, but he doesn’t push you away. He wraps his arms around you and presses his nose into your hair, inhaling your sweet scent. 

Your hands clench his shirt, trembling. 

You didn’t want to die.

You didn’t want your friends to die.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook murmurs after a sweet moment of having you in his arms. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” you sob.

 Your mind is screaming at you to run. To push him away. There was a possibility that you could do things right - not go to a party and meet Dean. You can just go to work and home.

However, you’re tired. You’re tired of the phone calls and having to constantly look over your shoulder. There was a possibility that you could face the same fate as the dream.

“P-Please s-stay with me.” you stutter out.

Jungkook's heart pounds with excitement. “Really?” he gently pushes you back to look at your face. You’re crying, tears streaming down your puffy cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. I love you.” he wipes your tears, a small smile on your lips. 

You nod your head at him. You step back and allow him to follow you in. 

Jungkook closes the door behind him. He leans down to kiss your lips. 

Jungkook sighs into the kiss. He missed your soft lips.

“I promise, baby, I’ll be better.” Jungkook murmurs against your lips. “I don’t want to lose you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to lose you.” you murmur to him.

You’re unsure if this decision was the correct one, but you were far too frightened to see what an angered Jungkook would do to you in this reality if you denied him.

[georgiaswings1]

How to Style Your Outdoor Space with Luxurious Outdoor Swing Beds?

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[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[sylkiddsey]

Prompt: “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Set in season 12

It’s ridiculous, actually.

It’s ridiculous that the one weekend she takes away from Chicago, work, Matt and even their daughter, she lands herself in a hospital bed.

Last week, she had called Scott and told him she wanted to drive up there, just her, and spend some quality time with Amelia. They’ve always had quite the bond and she knows Julia’s presence in Sylvie’s life has caused jealousy from three-year-old Amelia.

Sylvie understands because Amelia has never grown up with a mom. Scott is a great dad, attentive, loving and kind, but he’s a guy. Even if he pretends to love the girly activities, it’s not the same. That’s partly why she and Amelia have been so close. She’s the big sister and Amelia isn’t used to sharing the love, especially her amazing fiancé’s love.

She didn’t want her sister to feel slighted or overshadowed so she drove to Rockford to spend a girl's weekend with her favorite toddler. Even if Amelia might have preferred Matt coming to see her.

It was supposed to be perfect, and it had been the first day. They got their nails done, which was surprisingly easy considering Amelia is an antsy toddler. Sylvie took her shopping and spoiled her rotten with toys and outfits. They grabbed lunch at a diner and drank enough milkshakes to go into a coma.

The first day was perfect, but of course it wouldn’t last.

The second day, Sylvie decided to take Amelia to the only decent park in Rockford. When she finally got there— after packing a picnic basket full of food and activities—she realized the place wasn’t really that nice. The giant castle shaped play tower was made of rotting and chipping wood. One of the swings had hung limply from where the chain broke. The big green slide had a chunk of missing plastic at the bottom.

It looked rough, but Amelia loved it. She never seemed to care half the equipment was broken. To her, it was paradise.

Sylvie decided to see the beauty in the place too. In hindsight, that is where she went wrong. She should’ve found a different park or gone to one of those indoor trampoline places right off the bat.

She shouldn’t have gotten on the wooden play tower, but Amelia wanted her to. She wanted her big sister to enjoy the fun so, of course she couldn’t say no.

She should’ve said no though. Instead, she hauled herself up the ladder, hissing in pain when a splinter of wood invaded her thumb. When she reached the top, she plucked the splinter out with two fingers and returned her attention on Amelia.

Her little sister apparently loved the tallest part of the tower. She claimed it had the best views and was fit for a princess. At the very end of it was a spiral yellow slide. On one of the walls there was a giant plastic steering wheel that pointed out the directions.

However, there was one more exit aside from the slide. A chipped pale red fire pole. Amelia had wanted to slide down it so she could be a firefighter like Matt.

The sentiment melted Sylvie’s heart, but she said no. Amelia was far too young to hold herself up on the pole. Plus, it was rough and bumpy from too many spray paint coats. She would’ve torn her little hands on it.

Ironically, Sylvie didn’t want Amelia to get hurt on it, but it’s the exact thing that puts Sylvie in some small ER.

She had been leaning against the wooden wall as Amelia sat criss-crossed, playing with two of her favorite toys Sylvie had packed in a backpack. Her little sister had been in the middle of a heated discussion between her plastic pig and cow when Sylvie heard the distinct sound of wood snapping.

Before she could process any of it, everything had gone dark. In the next minute, she was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. When the gray-haired PIC had slammed the back doors shut, she had startled to consciousness. Her first thought had been about what happened to her little sister.

Luckily, Amelia was fine. Apparently, the wooden frame Sylvie was leaning against snapped and she fell backwards, banging her head on that stupid off-brand fire pole. She had hit hard enough to completely lose consciousness long enough for one of the mothers at the park to call 911.

She was humiliated and more concerned about Amelia. She probably traumatized her sister, but the kind PIC had informed her that one of the mother’s had her and apparently called Scott to come meet them there.

Now, she’s in a cramped exam room with a bloody bandage on her temple as she waits for the one working CT scan to have an opening. This ER is nothing like Chicago Med. It’s understaffed and only has two physicians working alongside the sweet nursing staff.

Sylvie knows she’s going to be here forever. Scott had just left with Amelia to grab some candy from the vending machine so she’s alone, listening to her heartbeat from the monitor.

She’s bored and she wishes she had her phone. Unfortunately, it was left behind at the park. During Scott’s panic to get to his child and then to her, he forgot to grab her phone from the nice mom who used it in the first place.

When she had been with the PIC who kinda reminded her of Mouch if she squinted, she had asked how the mom knew to call Scott.

Amelia’s three. She doesn’t know her dad’s number and Scott isn’t even one of her top contacts. How did that woman know who to call?

She had asked George whom she had properly introduced herself to once he pushed pain meds into her IV that question when his younger partner pulled the rig onto the street.

He hadn’t had an answer which looking back, she should’ve known. Then again, she was most likely concussed and dazed.

It wasn’t until Scott waltzed into her private room with a teary-eyed Amelia on his hip that she got her answer.

Apparently, the bystander who called an ambulance found Sylvie’s phone and dialed her emergency contact.

The woman called Matt; her poor fiancé who was hours away in Chicago with their child. When the woman called him, he told her to find Scott’s contact and call.

Sylvie can already imagine how that phone call went. Matt’s a professional. He’s a good person to have in your corner during an emergency but she knows he was probably freaking out when some woman called and told him his fiancé hit her head and wasn’t responsive. She knows that call had to have been torture since he was so far away, but he had enough sense to be efficient with that woman. He knew someone would need to take care of Amelia for her.

She feels terrible that she made him get that call. He’s a few hours away and is powerless to help her. He had to put his faith in the woman on the phone and the paramedics.

Scott had told her that Matt called him soon after the woman did when he was on his way to the ER. During that conversation, Matt had asked for the details Scott didn’t know and said he was already on the road to see her. She should’ve known he’d get in his truck and drive to Rockford to sit with her in some understaffed ER while she waits for a CT she might not even need.

Now, she doesn’t even have her phone to call Matt and tell him she’s fine. She knows he’s worried. She knows he’s probably breaking speed laws on the highway. She imagines if he heard her voice, he’d know she’s fine and not severely injured in another county.

She should’ve asked Scott for his phone before he left. Hopefully he remembered to call or text Matt on his own, so he at least knows she’s awake.

Sandra, the middle-aged admitting nurse with a head of curly red hair walks in. “Sorry, miss Brett. The CT scan will be a little longer.”

Sylvie knows everyone here is doing their best. It’s not the staff’s fault they are underfunded and understaffed. She understands hospital politics better than most after being a paramedic this long. She understands other people take priority over her unnecessary head injury. She’s conscious, alert and only mildly feeling pain in her head. She’s stable so she can’t get pissy that no one has given her the CT yet.

She gets it.

“That’s okay,” Sylvie smiles. She sits up on the gurney and blinks quickly to dissolve the dizziness. She rung her bell pretty good at that stupid park. “Sandra, do you think I can make a call?”

Sandra smiles, folding the clipboard against her chest. “Sure, do you want me to bring you your phone?”

“Oh, no. Um…my phone is still at the park. I was hoping I could borrow yours?”

She raises a red eyebrow. “Yeah, sure.” She reaches into her hot pink scrub pants and pulls out the world’s tiniest flip phone. It’s also bright pink and clearly ten or more years old. “Here, dear.”

Great. This is not exactly what she imagined. She takes the phone and flips it open. She stares at the small numbers and then remembers she doesn’t know Matt’s number off the top of her head.

Damn it!

How can’t she remember his number? She’s so used to his contact programmed in her phone, but still, she should know the man she’s marrying’s number.

“You alright, dear? Are you having memory issues?” Sandra asks.

No. This isn’t an issue relating to her head injury. Her issue is that she’s become too comfortable with easy technology. She should know Matt’s number.

She feels like she could cry.

“I don’t…know his damn number,” she whispers, flipping the phone shut. “I can’t even call my fiancé right now.”

The tears she’s sealed back fall freely down her face. This is all her fault. She ruined the weekend and probably traumatized her little sister for life.

She wants Matt. She needs to hear his voice. Better yet, she needs him here.

Sandra swoops in with a box of tissues and a consoling shoulder squeeze. “Here honey.”

She’s a very good nurse. Sylvie takes one from the box and dabs her eyes. The ring Matt gave her glints against the hospital's fluorescent lights.

“Is your fiancé your emergency contact?” Sandra asks.

Sylvie nods. “Yeah, he’s um…on his way. The woman at the park called him first and I really need to get ahold of him. He’s probably going out of his mind.”

The nurse flashes a small grin. “I can find his number in your emergency contact files for you. Then you are welcome to use my phone.”

“Thank you,” Sylvie whispers.

Sandra returns her attention to the clipboard and starts flipping through pages, using her finger as a guide as she skims through.

Sylvie waits patiently, keeping her hands folded in her lap. She strokes her diamond with the pad of her thumb.

Sandra flips another page just as the door to her room flies open. It’s definitely not the doctor based on Sandra’s startled reaction. She furrows her brow, but then smiles easily.

Sylvie’s view is obstructed by the other women. She leans to the left and Matt’s in the doorway.

She’s so glad he’s here.

Sandra leaves with a quick ‘I’ll give you privacy’ just as he walks in. He looks very disheveled. His t-shirt is smeared with streaks of pale-yellow paint and he’s sweaty.

Right, he was working on the nursery while she was away. He must’ve gotten the call in the middle of it.

“Oh thank god,” he mutters, closing the space between them. His paint covered hands instantly frame her face. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

She chuckles even though the situation isn’t that funny. It’s the fact he somewhat knows the answers to those questions already that has her giggling.

“I’m okay,” she assures, clamping her hands around his wrists. “It’s really not that bad. I’m just waiting for a CT to make sure it isn’t anything more than a concussion. I’m okay.”

He doesn’t look like he believes her. The worry in his eyes doesn’t go away. “You haven’t gotten a CT yet?”

“No. The machine is backed up. This place is small so it might be a while. I’m sure it’s fine. George didn’t see the need to take me to a full-sized hospital.”

“George?”

“Right, sorry,” she chuckles. “That was the PIC. He was a really nice guy.” Her joking around doesn’t seem to calm Matt at all, so she switches gears. She turns her head and presses her lips to his palm. “I’m okay. It’s just a concussion and a few stitches. I’m fine.”

He straightens out and nods. “Okay, you’re fine.” His posture relaxes again, and he takes a seat on her gurney, gripping her hand. “I got here as quick as I could.”

She squeezes his hand. “You really didn’t have to, Matt. This is no big deal.”

He scoffs and brings her fingers to his lips. “Baby, a lady called and told me you were unconscious and bleeding hours away. That’s not exactly a minor thing. I had no idea how badly you were hurt, and it wasn’t like I could just get to you right away. I mean, I was worried.”

She feels so terrible about all of this. She didn’t mean to scare him. “I’m so sorry. I wish she didn’t call you.”

“I don’t. Sylvie, I need to know if you’re hurt, okay? I don’t care how far I am. I need to know.”

She nods. “No, I know that. I was trying to call you when I got here but everything kept going wrong. I just didn’t want to worry you. I knew you’d be freaking out.”

“That’s my job,” he replies as if that’s the simplest statement in the world. “I love you. We’re getting married so I’m sure as hell gonna show up when something happens. I don’t care how far away I am.”

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky with him. “Thank you…for coming.”

He strokes her cheek with his thumb. “Of course, Sylvie.” He does a scan of her body for any other injury. “How did this even happen, honey?”

“Faulty playground equipment and a poorly placed fire pole,” she quips.

Matt gives her an adorably confused look.

“I was leaning against a wooden wall and it broke. I fell backwards and I guess I must have whacked my head on the pole. Next thing I know, I’m in an ambulance. George, the PIC, informed me that someone had already called Scott. Thank you, by the way, for making sure someone called him.”

“Well, I didn’t even really know how to react in the moment,” he admits. “One minute I’m cursing through putting together a crib and the next some frantic lady is calling me. She wasn’t exactly full of information but once I knew what had happened, I knew you’d kill me if I didn’t look out for Amelia too.”

She laughs. She’d never kill him, but he is right. Amelia was her priority from the very beginning.

She loves that girl.

“Wait.” She straightens. “Julia. Who has her? Is she okay?”

He rests his hand on her shoulders to keep her full climbing out the bed. “She’s fine. I dropped her off with Kidd and Severide. She’s okay so you don’t need to worry about her.”

That’s a hard ask. She’s a mom now.

“I’m so sorry I ruined your alone time with her. I know you were looking forward to daddy daughter bonding.”

Matt chuckles. “Sweetie, she’s not even one yet. I think I’ll have plenty of opportunities to bond with her. And unfortunately, she’s probably even happier with Severide right now.”

Sylvie holds her lips together to keep from laughing. Julia does adore her uncle.

“Anyway, as much as I love that girl,” Matt says, bringing his hand to her face. “I love this girl a helluva lot too.”

She blushes. “I love you very much, you know? And truthfully, I’m so glad you’re here right now.”

He kisses her. “I’ll always be here for you.”

She’s more than okay with that.

[crippled-peeper]

wooden indoor swing

[colormepurplex2]

Kaleidoscope | Green

↳ Musician!Namjoon x Artist!Reader ⤜ Neighbors, Mutual Pining, Artist Muse ⤜ Rating: MA | fluff, eventual smut ⤜ WC: 1,393 ⚠️ Crass language, mutual pining, personal thoughts about a stranger, flirting, endearingly awkward exchange, finally some progress 👀

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For nearly a week, you find yourself overwhelmed at work, being swept away and rushed to get back on track. Or rather as rushed as an artist who controls their own work schedule can be. It’s really your own fault for spending so much time thinking of the canvas in your living room instead of the ones staged throughout your studio. You have a showcase coming up in less than two weeks, and you’ve only got six of your seven pieces finished.

Any other time, you wouldn’t mind sequestering yourself away in your studio to get lost in hours of creativity. But, now that your muse has shifted to a particular neighbor, he’s all you seem to be able to think about. You already have it penned on your corkboard that the next showcase project you start will be focused around him—Namjoon. Not that you ever intend to tell anyone that. You love the thrill of keeping those things held close to your chest. A private bit of knowledge all for yourself.

The pasty gouache you were working with clings to the undersides of your fingernails and the lines in your knuckles. You can feel it every time you flex your fingers. A near-constant reminder that you didn’t spend as much time cleaning your hands as you typically would. The haste in which you left your studio is fueled by your desire to run into Namjoon in the hall outside your apartment or maybe share the elevator as you have done so many times before.

It’s not that you’ve memorized his schedule or anything, but you can’t help learning a general time frame for someone who lives so close. Or, that’s what you tell yourself anyway. The afternoons are more predictable, and you are both keen on avoiding the after-work rush hour traffic. 

Your apartment building comes into view as you round the corner. It’s nice outside, a light bite of chill but nothing cold enough to keep people indoors while the sun is still high. The seasons are on the cusp of changing, one of your favorite times of the year. There is a small park with a rounded walking trail and a few benches beside your building, frequented by leisure seekers looking for a place to settle and read or watch clouds drift by.

A prominent figure stretched out on one of the park benches draws your attention as you move alongside the short wrought iron fence surrounding the park. Pleasure at the sight of Namjoon’s long form bent over a green-covered notebook rings through your chest and stirs up a fluttery feeling in your belly. You slow down, contemplating whether or not you want to disturb him by saying hello or not.

Before you’ve entirely made up your mind, you’re cutting through one of the pedestrian openings in the fence and closing the distance to the park bench he’s sprawled on. He’s wearing a thin-knit pecan-colored sweater, the bottom of a white t-shirt peeking out below the hem, and dark jeans over brown leather boots. A vibrant emerald green notebook sits open on his lap. The cap of a black ink pen hangs between his lips while his hand moves in a flurry over a page with the utensil itself.

“Namjoon, hi!” Your voice makes him jump, his head jerking up and the pen cap falling as his lips as he gasps your name. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

His boots thump to the ground as he swings his legs off the bench. “It’s a pleasant surprise,” he assures, patting the now open space beside him in invitation. “Only if you want, that is,” he adds hastily.

You bend down and scoop up the pen cap. He holds out his hand, and you drop it there before sitting down on the bench. You can feel the distinct warmth from where his legs were resting on the hard wooden slats. The faint scent of his cologne meets your nose as you turn and give him a shy smile.

“What’s that?” you ask, nodding toward the green notebook now sitting closed on his lap.

Namjoon shifts beside you, fingers smoothing over the worn and faded edges of the green cover. It’s a standard school-grade notebook with nothing special on the front to indicate its purpose. But you can tell it’s important. You’ve seen it a few times, clutched tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he comes and goes from the apartment building.

Finally, he holds the notebook out to you in offering. You reach to take it, happy to indulge in your curiosities. “First,” he says, the word halting your hand in mid-air, “you have to promise to invite me to your next art show. Then, you can take a peek inside.”

The notebook's cover is smooth, the cardstock worn to a lush, velvety feel. You set it in your lap and trace a finger over a curled corner. “You’re curious about my art?”

“I’m curious about a lot of things where you’re concerned. But, I’ll start with your art.”

His confession makes your heart beat a little faster. It makes you curious what exactly he knows, how far he’s gone with his own wonders and fantasies. Is he just as interested in you as you are in him?

“I have a showing in two weeks at Prisma House, 7 o’clock. Consider this your unofficial-official invitation.” The green of the notebook draws your attention, your eyes focusing on the lighter accents webbing across the surface where it’s been bent and the integrity of the cardstock compromised, creating a unique and utterly captivating network of shapes. The green suits him, even more so in this soft, well-cared-for state.

“Prisma House? That’s a pretty big deal,” he comments, eyes full of wonder as you look up and meet his gaze. “I knew there was something special about you.”

The flattery melts against your skin, seeping in deep to take root within your soul. He thinks you’re special. You could preen under his words if you weren’t trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “I’d like to think you’re equally as special,” you muse lightly, intentionally dropping your eyes to the notebook. “What wondrous mysteries are you hiding in here?”

Lyrics—beautiful, heartbreaking, empowering…each page is filled with stories told in rhythmic verse and staccato prose. There are scribbled lines slashing through words in varying shades of blue, black, and the occasional red. Page after page, line after line, you get a further glimpse into Namjoon. All those days spent wondering, filling in your own blanks about him—just to find out he’s even better than you imagined.

“It’s my life,” he says softly. “Written into song form for my next album.”

“This is—these are, all of it is beautiful. I thought you might work with music, you know, with the headphones and stuff all the time, but I had no idea you wrote.” It’s like one of the more significant pieces of the puzzle has finally fallen into place.

“Write, produce, rap. I do a little bit of everything.” He shrugs as if that’s not a big deal. Everything you learn about him just solidifies your attraction. What started as an innocent enough curiosity is now morphing into a lively admiration.

“I’d love to hear your work sometime, truly. I’m an appreciator of all arts, music included.”

Namjoon tucks his lips between his teeth like he’s trying to decide something. You watch his lips roll back out, slightly moist, their shine catching in the late afternoon sunlight. The green from his notebook reflects at you in his eyes as he accepts it from you, fingers lightly brushing yours.

“How about over dinner this weekend?”

“I’d love that.”

You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine as you and Namjoon ride up the elevator together, the dried gouache on your fingers long forgotten at this point. He gives you a sly smile before disappearing into his apartment, leaving you to nearly break down your door in an effort to get to your canvas.

It’s waiting for you, just like every time the man across the hall has inspired you. Your brush jumps across the taut surface, the image in your head coming easier every time you dive in. Juniper, sage, and forest green meld into the perfect splash accenting the existing yellow, orange, and red.

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[illarian-rambling]

Crayon: what was your OC like when they were four years old? Were they loud? Shy? Were they the resident "weird kid" or did they get along with others their age?

Fun question, I'll answer for everyone :)

Izjik was a cocky little bastard of a child. She had no sense of an indoor voice and was more than comfortable punching someone right in the nuts if they said something she didn't like. Her one redeeming quality was that she was, and still is, honest to a fault, and would get into fights for honorable reasons as often as selfish ones.

Sepo was a very quiet boy. He didn't hang out with kids his own age too often and was considered off-putting. He definitely took a long time to learn that staring at people is considered impolite. Mostly, he'd sit alone and read. Big indoor kid vibes.

Twenari was much more outgoing at age four than at age twelve. She was constantly asking people questions and running off to look at things. Her magic wasn't as controlled then, so random ice bolts weren't uncommon. She was definitely a mama's girl.

Djek was a pretty needy toddler, constantly hanging off a parent's leg or trying to get their attention. He also had a hell of a lot of energy. Getting him to go to bed was a herculean trial at best. He was the sort of kid who projected an aura of free birth control for any childless people around.

Astra was also a super energetic kid, constantly trying to run off or eat bugs. Her parents definitely needed a child leash for her. Even as a little girl, she loved putting things together and taking them apart. She also had a bit of a sullen streak at times and pouted frequently.

Mashal was the second son of a noble family, so he was given a lot more freedom than his older brother. He liked to run in the woods, swing his wooden sword, and steal sweets. As much trouble as he got up to, it was always outweighed by just how damn cute he was. Even at a young age, he loved helping people, for better or worse.

Ivander’s flamboyance was cranked to 11 as a toddler. He loved bright colors and sparkles, and definitely got in trouble for drawing on the walls more than once. He was a total chatterbox and was committed to telling everybody all about everything.

Elsind was a bit of a shy kid. At four, they didn't have fine enough control over their form to be allowed outside except under the cover of night. Her one friend was her mom. She loved stories and looking at picture books.

Avymere, even at four, was very severe. Their mother was assassinated shortly before, so they already had a keen understanding of death and danger. Because of their anger and prickliness, they didn't make many friends apart from their father, who always treated them with love.

I love thinking about my ocs as kids! Two of my favorite flashbacks are Izjik and Ivander as teens. Thanks for the ask <3