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chelseasdagger · 7 months

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Behind the Red in My Eyes

Mikey Berzatto x Reader

Summary: Mikey comes home, yet again, exhausted after a long shift at The Beef. You offer him some encouraging words and his favorite touch to unwind.

Warnings: cursing

Author's Note: This is my first entry for @bernthirst-events's Beardthal Bash! I had this idea for a while, but I ended up writing way more plot than was needed oops! I still hope there was enough mention of the beard to count!

Word Count: 2.9k+

Mikey Berzatto took pride in his work. It may not be the most glamorous job, but he put countless hours into the family restaurant that he tries so hard to keep afloat. It’s one of your favorite things about him—how much heart he puts into everything he does.

The only downside is how often you’re stuck missing him while the apartment grows too quiet as the hours pass. You have the schedule of The Beef’s hours ingrained in your mind, tacking on the extra time it takes to close up at night. But all the counting does little to stop the frequent checking of the clock on your phone’s lockscreen.

You were thankful when he worked up the deal with Carmy to split some of the necessary management time at the sandwich shop—if you could call it management time. It would be more truthful to call it “babysitting”, taking into consideration the hotheadedness of the staff. And let's be honest, leaving the restaurant in the hands of Richie Jerimovich? Absolutely not.

But, as much as the Berzatto brothers meant well, this plan didn’t last. It worked for a while, Mikey taking the mornings and helping with opening the store so that around the time that the menu changed, Carmy could come in and work until close. They figured it would be the best way to not overwork themselves but still put a healthy amount of time into their family business.

And then one day it was too busy for Mike to come home. Since then, there hasn’t really been a fix to the original plan. You miss him a lot and definitely wish you could see him more, but you feel so much pride swelling in your chest each time you think of how hard he works for that little brick building. No amount of missing him could outweigh that feeling—or how your face feels as if it might split in two when you sneak into the restaurant and see how happy he is to be there.

Nine times out of ten, you walk in and see his smile brightening the whole room as his infectious laugh fills the air. His eyes would be squinted into thin lines as his head falls back and he clutches his chest for a breath. He always cared about the people and wanted everyone to feel welcome there no matter their background or history. You loved seeing him like this and kept these memories at the front of your mind whenever it got harder to be patient on the long nights alone.

Your phone is in your hand before you can even register it. A habit I need to break, you remind yourself, but your screen shows the time anyway. Quarter after midnight. You place the phone down on the coffee table with a sigh, exchanging it for the book that your friend swore you had to read.

Tucking your finger between the pages and your bookmark, you open up the book and scan the printed words until you can jog your memory of the last thing you read. Once you find your place, you tuck your legs to your chest and lazily tug the blanket down from the back of the couch to cover yourself. It doesn’t take long before your surroundings begin to fade and the words paint a picture in your mind.

You look up from your book at the sound of keys jingling inside the metal deadbolt on your apartment door. What time is it? A second later the door is opening and there stands Mikey. He sighs as he holds onto the doorframe before pressing the toes of one foot to the heel of the other, taking his shoes off before bending down to place them beside the entrance.

When he stands back up you finally get a good look at him in the lamplight. His shoulders are slouched, his whole body a portrait of exhaustion. He’s rubbing his knuckles sleepily at his eyes, setting the keys down on the small table beside him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you call to him as his footsteps gently sound out on the wooden floors. He finally glances over to the couch once he notices you and the smile that stretches over his face is tired, yet genuine.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers back to you. His voice is hoarse, mostly likely due to all the yelling in the chaotic kitchen he’s spent the whole day inside of. It’s almost as if his words are caught in his chest, sounding out deep and warm when he speaks. He makes his way to the couch, leaning over the back of it, and placing a quick peck of his lips on your forehead.

As soon as you feel it, he’s gone, making his way to the kitchen in the next room over. You can immediately tell something is off; Mikey gets quiet after a long day of being the loudest guy in the room, but he’s not usually reserved in his affection towards you.

The blanket you were wrapped up in slowly slides down your chest and onto your lap as you sit up against the arm of the couch. You question whether you should push it, but something in your gut wouldn’t leave it be.

“Mikey? You okay?” you call out towards the kitchen. The sound of him closing cupboards echoes through the space next. He makes his way to the fridge, opening it before leaning inside and scanning the leftovers from the meals you make while he’s out.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds monotonously, pulling away with a glass container in his hand. The slightly blue lighting shines across his face, illuminating his features in a cold hue. It looks almost intentional, as if to reflect his mood. “What is this?”

“Baked ziti from last night. I’m here for you, Bear, you know that right?” You don’t miss a beat, purposefully choosing not to fall for his distraction of mentioning the food. You watch as he pauses for a moment, setting the food down on the counter and closing the fridge before walking back towards you. You never want to push him or demand he open up to you, but you also want him to know he can lean on you if need be.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he sinks down onto the cushion beside you, one arm resting along the length of the couch, the other propping his head up in his palm. You can see all the evidence of his tiring day of work now that he’s closer to you: the dark grease stains along the bottom of his blue shirt, the marks under his eyes indicating he didn’t sleep enough, the new bandage wrapped around his thumb. All signs point to a draining, most likely not rewarding, day.

Gently reaching out for his wrist, you pull his larger hand into yours. “What happened here?” He moves with you, turning his palm face up as you let your index finger gently trace over his skin. The bandage is uneven, and you can see the faint maroon marking under the tan color.

“Was a uh,” he begins, sighing as he rubs at his eyes with the knuckles of his free hand. “Was an accident. Cousin called me while I was choppin’ onions and, well,” he gestures to his injured thumb. You feel your features change as he speaks, the words painting a clear picture in your head of him in the kitchen as he gets hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Mikey,” you whisper in the small space between the two of you. Your own fingers drag down the inside of his arm, trailing over scars from accidental fryer burns and playing rough outside with Carmy when he was younger. All the little markings on his skin have little stories behind them, and you cherish the boisterous laughter that comes from him when he tells the tales.

“S’alright, baby, happens all the time,” he attempts to reassure you. The tone surrounding his words falls flat and leaves you with the same weariness in your mind. Glancing up at his face, you see the tired lines under his eyes and the way he stares out at nothing while his mind wanders.

Curling your fingers around him tighter, you bring his hand up to your face and place a gentle kiss right under the bandage. It takes him another moment to react due to the other thoughts trailing around in his mind. When he finally glances over, his eyes are fixed on your lips pressing against him, the small peck sending a wave of warmth through him. You continue staring up at him from under your eyelashes; the sigh that leaves him makes his chest deflate when his gaze locks with yours.

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly, a sad smile on his face.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” you ask, wanting to try and improve his mood. He twists his back and adjusts himself against the couch.

“Nah, nah, baby, it’s okay. It’ll heal up,” he answers dismissively. It’s clear he didn’t pick up on the other meaning of your question, so you try wording it another way.

“No I didn’t mean the cut, Mikey.” His eyebrows pull together, confusion painted all over his features. “I can see how tired you are,” you continue, watching him sigh again and prepare to defend himself. “I just want to take some of the weight off your shoulders, is all. I’m not gonna say to cut your hours back, I know you can’t do that but…” you find your words trailing off when he reaches up to drag his palm down his face.

“You have to at least take care of yourself,” you whisper the final words as his hand drops to his lap. There’s a silence that lingers over the room and you’re worried you’ve overstepped in suggesting the restaurant being the source of a good portion of his stress.

“You’re right,” he speaks up, and you feel the tension leaving your body almost instantly. “You’re right, I just don’t… think about it?” his tone rises at the end, twisting the sentence into more of a question. His eyes find yours again and you give him a slight nod, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

“It just… It’s always been the restaurant first, y’know? Like if that goes under then I’ve got nothing left. And then all the things everybody says about me are true.” He finishes the last sentences with an exasperated breath. Your heart sinks at his words, especially after spending one too many family dinners at his mother’s house and hearing how they treat him and his impulsivity. You want to defend him, but choose not to interrupt his venting.

“And nobody in my family knows how to slow down. I mean, shit, look at Carm,” he chuckles dryly as he shakes his head. “Nearly fuckin’ killed himself out in New York. Mom doesn’t have her head screwed on straight, doesn’t know what’s going on half the fuckin’ time. It just—.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low in his hands.

There’s a quick sniffle before he’s raking his fingers through his hair roughly. He sits up and stares down at his fingers, anxiously picking at the skin around his nails. Every fiber in your being screams to reach out to him and comfort him, and this time you listen to your instincts.

“Mikey,” you start, gently placing your hand on his forearm and pulling him towards you. His body falls and you feel his weight instantly pressing into your shoulder. Slumped against you like this, his body heat instantly warms up your side and you melt in turn.

“I know you might not know how to take those breaks, but we can work through it together,” you attempt to calm him. “It might not be easy at first but we can just take it one day at a time, yeah?” You glance down at your shoulder to see him staring up at you with half closed eyes. He slowly blinks before finally registering that you asked him a question.

“I like that plan,” he says eventually. His lips part as a yawn takes over and you smile as his eyes scrunch up while his jaw drops open.

“Oh, poor baby…” you chuckle under your breath. His face rests back in his natural position, but his eyes remain shut. He looks so peaceful like this that it makes your heart warm. Admittedly, it’s been too long since you’ve seen him truly relaxed like this. The last few times must’ve been when you were waking up in the night and happened to catch him asleep.

Stolen glances in the middle of the night aren’t enough, you decide. Adjusting your body on the couch, you angle yourself so your back is against the arm of the couch and your legs extend down the length of the cushions. You pull his body between your legs, guiding his head down to rest on your chest.

“You know none of that shit they say is true… right?” you ask softly as you let your fingers trail down his neck and smoothe down his back. He may not look like it, but Mike is one of the biggest suckers for physical touch—specifically cuddling.

He only hums in response, but still you continue. “The restaurant wasn’t a bad idea, baby. I think it’s sweet you kept something in the family name.” You drag your nails down his broad back softly and feel him sigh deeply, the leftover tension finally leaving his body.

“‘M pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that,” he mumbles out, not bothering to lift his head from you.

“I swear to god the next time Uncle Lee, or whoever, opens their god damn mouth I’m gonna be the one to throw a fork.” The next thing you feel is Mikey’s laughter shaking you, his rumbly chuckle sounding out in the quiet room. You let yourself smile at the pleasant sound, pressing your fingers into the junction where his neck meets his shoulders. With each push of your fingertips, you try to get rid of those pesky knots of stress that his body is unconsciously clinging on to.

“Seriously though,” you start again, wrapping your arms around his head this time, “we’ll figure it all out. I just want you to rest for now.” You tilt your head down and press your lips to the top of his head. You shut your eyes and try to focus on this moment: the feeling of his body weighing on your torso, his hot breath gently fanning over your arm, his scent relaxing you with each inhale you take.

You let your fingers wander, scratching your nails around his scalp under his hair. There’s a raspy groan that leaves him next and the sound has butterflies suddenly coming to life in your stomach. A giggle slips out from between your lips as you ask, “Feels that good?”

Something bumps the side of your palm as you continue to play with his hair and you reach for it blindly. You try your hardest not to let disappointment wash over you as you stare at the cigarette between your fingers.

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore, Mikey bear,” you speak in a whisper. A little less than a week ago, Mike decided to stop smoking and using drugs. You knew he could do it but you also knew how big of a step he was taking, so you tried giving as much support as you could offer. He tilts his head up at your voice and looks at you with confusedly. He glances down at the tightly rolled paper in your grasp before shaking his head gently.

“That’s from this morning, baby. Cousin offered it when he clocked in and I didn’t want to say no and have him asking a bunch of fuckin’ questions,” he explains exasperatedly. “But no, I-I didn’t smoke today.” His words are bathed with sincerity even through the tired rasp of his tone.

Your face lights up instantly, pride swelling in your chest once you realize that he kept his promise to you—his promise to himself. You can’t even imagine how difficult it must be to cut everything out like that, but you know he’s going to feel better in the long run because of it.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” you whisper as your fingers brush down his sideburns and begin to smooth out over his beard. “You’re doing so much and I see it.” You worry your words fall flat, but you also know how sometimes all you want is for someone to say that they notice the work you’re doing.

“Thank you.” You believe for a second that you imagined the words due to the barely audible breath that surrounds them. He reaches up to hold your wrist before turning his head to kiss the back of your hand. Sweet moments like this make your heart melt for him and how gentle he can be. There’s not much else to say so the both of you sit in silence, comforted by the presence of the other.

Your nails drag along the short hair that decorates his jaw and you watch his eyes flutter close for the last time. As you wrap your other arm across his chest and pull him closer, you smile at the sound of his soft snores filling the air. The ends of his facial hair tickle your fingertips but you continue gently scratching, wanting to give him a comforting touch to fall into an even deeper sleep.

“Rest up, baby boy,” you whisper as you kiss his head one final time.

#mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #BeardthalBash #beardthal bash 2023 #chelsea writes

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ghostofhyuck · 2 months

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Taguan ng Anak series 2

Daycare teacher! Renjun x office worker! Reader

Summary: After breaking up with each other, Renjun couldn’t help but wonder how you easily moved-on because he assumed that you and Jaemin had a daughter.

Well, miscommunication happens a lot.

cw: mentions of pregnancy.

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His bright smiles and warm greetings is what makes mornings in the daycare center bright.

Renjun makes sure to greet his students personally, calling them with nicknames that he created for each one. The parents loved him and some mothers even swoon at how young and good-looking he is. But Renjun is unfazed with them, and even kindly rejects their advantages.

The daycare center is bustling with the noise of children with curious minds, and yet, it is what makes Renjun love being a daycare teacher. These children have so much potential and it’s great to start them young too.

A knock on the door disturbs Renjun, classes will start in ten minutes and it seems like this is the last of the bunch.

“Welcome — Jaemin?” Renjun’s eyes grew when he saw a familiar face.

“Hey Renjun! Long time no see!” Jaemin smiles, pulling Renjun in a small hug. Still the same Jaemin from college, Renjun thinks.

“What are you doing here? I mean —”

“Yeah yeah, what a coincidence right? Anyways, I’m here to drop Lila off,” and from behind, a little girl shows up.

Renjun’s smile faded when he noticed how the little girl resembled someone so much. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint especially when the kid’s literally a carbon-copy of that someone.

“Now be a kind girl and listen to your teacher, okay Lila?” Jaemin tells the little girl. “Mama will pick you up later so just be patient and wait for her okay?”

“Okay dada!” Lila answered brightly, while Renjun just felt his heart break into the tiniest bits.

“Fine, bye now!” Then Jaemin glances at Renjun and smiles meaningfully, “see you around Renjun.”

As he watches Jaemin walk away from the scene, Renjun couldn’t help but wonder what the scene earlier was about.

“Teacher? You’re my teacher right?” He only snapped out of his thoughts when he felt Lila pulling the sleeves of his cardigan.

“Oh right! Yes, come inside now and take a seat,” he said gesturing to Lila to come inside even though the scenario earlier still plays in his mind.

Lila uses your surname. Why didn’t Renjun notice it on his class records? It was weird that she didn’t take Jaemin’s last name but still, Renjun couldn’t help but feel very bitter that you’re in a happy family with Jaemin.

You two were college sweethearts. It’s weird to reminisce about his relationship with you in the middle of his student’s drawing activity but it was peaceful and yes, Renjun still couldn’t get the scenario out of his mind.

Everyone envied your relationship. They hoped that the two of you could be together forever and the two of you thought that it’ll be like that. It was until graduation season was nearing, both of you became busy with your academics and sometimes misunderstanding would ensue. Tired from the academic pressure and the lack of time for each other, you two called it off.

Renjun hoped for second chances, trying to look for you during your graduation rites but he was informed that you left immediately after getting your diploma. Renjun tried to reach out for you but it seems like you blocked him everywhere.

He saw it as a sign, so Renjun moved on and focused on his career instead.

Now it bothers him. Hearing nothing from you for years and in a split second, you have a daughter and Jaemin as your husband.

“Teacher, I’m done!” His trail of thoughts disappeared when Lila tapped her paper on his desk, talking about good timing.

“Okay Lila, let me see…” if it wasn’t the scene earlier that hurt him, then maybe Lila’s drawing can.

“What a nice portrait!” Renjun exclaims, trying to not sound bitter. “It seems like you have a happy family Lila.”

“Thank you teacher!” Lila smiles and Renjun knows that she got her smile from you.

The day passed by so quickly. It was a good thing that the kids weren’t that stressful. No broken objects, no kids crying and fighting, and no food was spilled. Renjun assumes that maybe this day wasn’t that bad after all.

One by one, the kids were being picked up by their parents. Renjun made sure to greet and bid farewell to his students and their parents. The sun was almost setting and the skies were turning golden. Renjun goes back to his teacher’s desk when his eyes catch the attention of the last kid in his classroom.

“Where’s your dad Lila?” Renjun asked.

“He’s not here,” Lila mutters, making Renjun raise an eyebrow.

Lila lets out a sigh and faces her teacher, “Mama’s going to pick me up.”

“Well maybe she’s running a little late,” the older guy stated.

“Mama’s always late, she’s super busy and her boss doesn’t let her go easily,” Lila complains.

Renjun places his hands under his chin, thinking about you who’s probably a workaholic — seems like you haven’t changed.

“Do you want to call her or your dad?” Renjun offers, grabbing his phone when the door slammed open.

“Sorry! So sorry!” and there you are, a sweating mess. Hair dishevelled and handbag barely hanging on your shoulders. It seems like you even ran all the way in your heels.

“Mama!” Lila shouts in joy, running towards you and hugging your legs.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry for being late, just a minute — “

“Hi,” Renjun greets awkwardly.

You could only clear your throat. Suddenly, your hands become cold as you come face to face with your ex-boyfriend.

“Renjun, it’s been a long time,” you smiled. “You’re a teacher now, oh my god — I didn’t know that you’ll be Lila’s teacher.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you’re with Jaemin now,” Renjun chuckles. Trying to lighten up the moment.

“What do you mean?” you raised an eyebrow.

You saw how Renjun’s face became confused, “Jaemin is Lila’s dad right? I mean, he dropped her off earlier and she called him “dada” so…”

Your heart started to beat fast. “Not like this,” you thought. You always know that Lila’s habit of calling Jaemin, “Dada” will cause some misunderstanding. You already told your daughter to stop it but it seems like she’s gotten used to it and Jaemin being Jaemin, enables it.

“Jaemin’s not Lila’s father…” you whispered. Hands started to feel clammy and as you look at Renjun, you remember the only man you loved. “You are…”

“What!?”

Graduation season was a hell for you. Cramming academic requirements, trying to find time to be with Renjun, and the small misunderstandings that came because the two of you are too busy to be with each other. It led you to numerous breakdowns and submerging yourself into loneliness thinking that it was better to call it off rather than be a burden to Renjun.

You only discovered that you’re one month pregnant right before graduation. You thought that those morning sicknesses and nauseousness were signs of your stress since you’ve always been like that whenever examination weeks occurred. It never crossed your mind that you might be pregnant since you and Renjun have always been safe during your intercourse — which happens to be wrong. Thinking that it’s better for you to raise it alone, you cut Renjun off and raised Lila alone.

Jaemin only discovered it by accident when you bumped into him two years ago, since then, he’s nothing but a supportive uncle to Lila. Sometimes he tends to cross some lines like Lila calling him “dada” but that’s just it. He helps you with looking after Lila especially now that work has become heavier for you.

You really don’t have any plans on telling Renjun but it seems like fate’s making a way for you to meet him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Renjun asked. He wasn’t angry, but his tone can tell how much it hurts him that you hid these things from him.

“I don’t want to ruin your future Renjun,” you confessed. Leaning against the chair across his desk. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

“That’s stupid you know that? Don’t you know how much I looked for you during our graduation? Don’t you know how much it hurts to see that you blocked me?” Renjun’s voice became shaky, he was trying hard not to cry. It’s hard for him to accept that you’ve been hiding his daughter from him for years.

“I’m sorry Renjun, I am really sorry,” you stand up from the chair, hand gripping tightly on the strap of your handbag. “I know that there’s nothing I can do to ask for your forgiveness and if you want, I can stay out of your way —”

“You’re going to push me away again?” Renjun said in disbelief. “I can’t believe you.”

“Then what do you want me to do then!?” you asked, eyes nearing tears.

Instead of answering you, Renjun approaches you and for a moment. You tried to avoid his touch, but you could’ve sworn that nostalgia hit you right at that moment. Every memory you had with him comes rushing as if it was a sign that no matter what, he will always be your first love.

And as his hands found his way to your arms and waist, you couldn’t help but embrace the warm feeling that you’ve been longing for. You could only lower your head as tears started to pour.

“Hey, don’t cry now,” Renjun whispers to you. “I’m here now, I’ll be here from now on, don’t you want that?”

“Renjun…”

“We’ll make it work this time okay? Through hardships and everything, we’ll be together,” and with his words came a gentle kiss on the forehead which he always did back then.

“Okay,” it was the only thing you could whisper as you closed your eyes and thought that everything will be fine now.

#nct #nct dream #nct fic #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct renjun #nct dream renjun #nct drean renjun fic #nct dream renjun imagines #nct renjun fic #nct dream renjun fic

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onsunnyside · 1 year

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🍁≬ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 (𝟏/𝟐)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | photographer!Ari Levinson x reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | glimpses of fluff, angst, old flames, childhood friends-to-loves aftermath, ex-boyfriend!Ari, size difference: 6’8!Ari.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Even the most beautiful love stories are bound to end in tragedy, but you thought you and Ari would be an exception.

𝗪/𝗖 | 3.64K

𝗔/𝗡 | currently in my sad autumn girl era but i know it won’t last long so i wanted to share this with you all. sort of poured my heart into it and wrote most of this in a teary haze last night. Inspired by Taylor Swift’s songs: Sad Beautiful Tragic, Exile, All Too Well, The Last Time. [𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 | all asks]. All mistakes are my own.

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Don’t look, don’t look, you force your eyes on the television mounted above the table, half listening to the chatter of your friends and the hushed music playing from the speakers.

A nudge brings your attention to your redheaded friend, “How have you been? You haven’t answered my texts.”

“Sorry, I’ve been working a lot.” The music shop didn’t get very busy, but Natasha didn’t need to know that you spent the past weeks buried in turmoil, revisiting every decision you’ve ever made that brought you here. “I also applied to the dance studio as an instructor, I’m still waiting for them to get back to me.”

Her green gaze pools with worry. Of course, you’d answer a question about how you were with what you were doing. She hated to pry, but she cared for you like a sister. If you were hurting, she wanted to put a stop to it, or talk about it and try to understand. She couldn’t do that if you refused to open up.

“If you want to leave, that’s fine, I’ll walk you out.”

“I’m okay, Nat. I wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t handle seeing him again.”

The both of you know that’s a bald-faced lie. Especially because you’ve done everything to not peek in his direction.

Natasha is drawn away by one of your other close friends, and they fall into an easy conversation with laughs and bright smiles. Their voices fade into each other, a blissful hum filling the loneliness that has clung to you.

I wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t handle seeing him again.

You spoke too soon.

Ever so slightly, you glance at the bar. Over the heads of the other patrons, his gaze meets yours. Deep blue, unreadable and sharp, piercing heavily through your face.

Seeing him now, he’s different. His hair is longer, his beard is thicker, and he’s dressed in clothes you’ve never seen before—apart from his signature leather jacket that he wore for most of the year.

You wonder if the way he carries himself all the same, with quiet grace and self-assurance, too often falling victim to his insecurities.

You missed him.

You missed his stupidly loud alarm clock, his cute bedhead and how he never failed to keep you warm on winter nights. You missed his endless rants about society, space and the world, past, present and future. His mind stretched into infinity, and you never always understood what he was saying, but you listened nonetheless. Listening was the best thing someone could do.

Your eyes fall on the loose and shaggy fabric around his neck. The cream knit was your first little home project, evident with the frayed threads and stubborn coffee stains. That single scarf took you a week because of your lack of experience. You worked on it everywhere, on the train, at work and the park. Your favourite place to knit was next to him as he hunched over his computer desk and went through hundreds of photographs with his glasses on the tip of his nose.

That was the one thing he didn’t mail back.

He goes around the table, handing out everyone’s selected drinks with greetings. “Sorry, I’m late. I got stuck at the studio with this last-minute family portrait session.”

“At least it wasn’t another self-proclaimed influencer.” Curtis snorts.

“Fuck no, thank goodness for that.” He laughs, almost too gleeful. When he gets to you, he simply sets the drink on the wooden countertop and flashes a tense smile.

It either took one or ten minutes for you to sip the drink before you rushed out the back door with an excuse about fresh air.

The cool, November air welcomes you with open arms as if it knew you wouldn’t last very long. You lean on the railing, distracting yourself with the red, orange and yellow trees across the way. The music and chatter fade into whispers, and the crickets and gentle wind take their place. Down below, the water ripples against the rocks, the wooden poles dark and green from the lake, another victim to time, just like everything else.

The fall season itself was a tale of death. The days got shorter because the sun comes and goes all too quickly and the leaves turn into different shades before falling to the ground. Bidding farewell in warm colour pallets and leave the trees bare, mere skeletons of life, dormant and dull.

Then, they’re reincarnated by spring. Brought back by more sunshine and warmth, blooming hues the world has longed for.

You wondered when your spring would come, or if you’d be trapped in perpetual autumn. Be forced to feel every part of you change into red, yellow or orange and fall until there is nothing left and you're in a barren comatose.

You stare down at your dress, the very one he said was his favourite. The soft blue silk is highlighted by the dim fairy lights hung up on the fence. Memories are woven into the fabric and they’re all good because you stopped wearing this dress when things got worse. With a brush of the lace hem, you’re reminded of him.

“I knew you’d look beautiful in this.”

“You have to stop buying me things, we have bills to pay.”

He scoffs, “bills aren’t going to help my girl realize how beautiful she is.” He takes your hand, pressing his plump lips on your knuckles, “I know it, the world knows it, but she doesn’t. And that isn’t okay with me.”

The door swings open and slams into the wall, making you jump.

“Oh shit, sorry!” His voice rings out, “Didn’t mean to scare you, I thought the door was heavier.”

You quickly wipe your eyes, not caring about your makeup anymore. You tried hard to look your best tonight and embody that healed person you’ve pretended to be for the past few weeks. But he couldn’t say hi or your name. Why couldn’t he say your name?

He tucks away his cigarettes, “You stay, I’ll go out front. You probably want to be alone.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m going to call a cab.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Natasha knows I have an early morning.” You keep it simple and duck away from his gaze, hugging your purse close as some sort of lifesaver that was keeping you from floating into the sky. Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind that abrupt escape after hearing his next words.

“Wait—I mean, I’ll wait with you. It’s too late for you to be outside by yourself.”

Your stride doesn’t slow, you hope he’ll get the hint and just go back inside, but with his mile-long legs, he easily catches up to you. His boots land heavily on the boardwalk and the buckles of his leather jacket chime, filling the strained silence.

“So, did you see that new cinema downtown?”

“Please don’t.”

He raises his arms in defence, a smile audible in his voice, “Sorry, I didn’t realize you hated movies.”

“Ari.” Your shoulders slump and the sorrow gets heavier. You swear the world could cave under your feet. “Don’t try to—” You cut yourself off, knowing if you didn’t get away now, you’d regret it, “I want to be alone right now.”

The pine trees sway in the breeze, surrounding you with their natural scent.

He takes one hesitant step back, nodding slowly. “Right, I’m probably the last person you want to see.”

He couldn’t be more wrong and that only worsened the pain. How could he think that when he was the only person you wanted to see every day for over a decade?

It stretches far back to when you were children and living down the street from each other.

How could he think that when you used to wait out on the porch for him to pass by so you could walk to school together? How could he think that when you’ve spent hundreds of hours writing about his face in your diaries, about how his smile could light up a stadium and how his eyes were endless pools of stories and wishes?

How could he?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Ari’s features grow concerned as the hot tears stream down your cheeks. “It’s okay—” He reaches for you, gently grasping your hand.

“No, it’s not.” You try to shrug him off, not bothering to wipe your face. He knew you were crying out here anyway. He knew you more than he knew himself, so it wouldn’t surprise you if he also knew what you were thinking right now—where did he find the audacity to say it’s okay? “I’m sad—I’m still so sad. And you aren’t.”

Ari stiffens and releases your hand as if he’d been burned. His cerulean eyes are shaded by the night, and darkness bleeds onto his solemn face, “You think I’m not sad?”

You tearily blink, waving towards the bar by the lake. “You seemed pretty happy in there—and you acted like you didn’t even know me.”

Sure, you probably would’ve cried if he spoke to you, but at least he would have acknowledged you. You’d take that glimmer of attention over his silence any day.

“I was—I am heartbroken.” He confesses, his long hair falling over his forehead as he stares down at you, “I didn’t know if you wanted me to talk to you—”

“Yet you followed me out here anyway.”

Even in the moonlight, you can see his cheeks turn cherry red.

“Okay, but I was checking on you. I didn’t mean for this to happen and to make you cry.” He protests, “Am I not allowed to worry about you?”

You close your eyes and shake your head, turning on your heel to continue down the boardwalk. The main street mocks you in the distance, beckoning you with yellow streetlights and the chance to escape, but his fingers wrap around your wrist, holding tightly.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry.”

His touch is warm and familiar, the other end of the double-edged sword. On one end is the busy street, the carefree people living their lives on this fall evening, the cars driving by, and your bittersweet freedom—but also your lonely apartment with your cold, empty bed. The other end, the one entwining with your trembling fingers, is suffocatingly soft and inviting. Enticing you to stay and listen, but at what cost? Would it only bring more suffering draped in so-called closure or more confusion that your heart couldn’t take?

“Muse—”

“Don’t.”

He inhales deeply and you feel his breath on the back of your head. “I’m devastated, I’m alone, I’m stuck in this disordered loop that I don’t know how to get out of.” His grip constricts, once then twice but you force yourself to stay as unresponsive as a corpse. “You were my first for everything, I-I wanted you to be my last.”

You knew that and you wanted the same thing. You’ve discussed it countless nights in your shared bed, whispering about the possibilities that the great big world offered, from tamed to outlandish. Picking up a strange hobby, or travelling the globe, he even mentioned moving to a new country altogether, “think about it. A fresh start, just the two of us and unlimited options.”

“I wouldn’t say unlimited, unfamiliar sounds more accurate.”

“Pick a place, any place and I’ll make it happen.”

“What if I don’t tell you and just take off alone? Soak up all that freshness by myself.”

“Oh, then I’ll find you. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Experiencing things for the first time together was a big part of your relationship. You were both painstakingly sentimental, which only made it harder to pack your things. Everything reminded you of what was or what could’ve been, you eventually decided to keep what you needed and throw out what carried tender nostalgia.

You never followed through with that, but you do avoid the many boxes stacked in your closet. Full of pictures, gifts, and anything that reminded you of him. That was where you found this dress.

From the seedlings of memorable firsts, it was inevitable that you two gave each other your first heartbreaks too.

The tears come back with vengeance, spilling down your heated cheeks, “You ended things.”

“You walked out!” He rushes to apologize, swerving in front of you before you could take another step. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just please, listen to me.”

Why? He never listened to you in the end.

Whenever you brought up concerns about weird tension or the growing emptiness, he never listened. He was all about work and brushed off dates for last-minute gigs. You knew he wanted a greater future for the two of you, something better than your crowded apartment with your roommates (now the close friends in the bar), and something brighter than the stars combined.

You tried to understand and a part of you did, but the other part couldn’t take it anymore. The part that missed your boyfriend, missed your mindless conversations and quiet nights at home, and when he picked up that camera and photographed you like a piece of art.

That part of you won. You laid down your weapons and went defenceless into his line of fire, with only your heart in your hands and a rehearsed speech in your head.

You never made it all the way through because you two started arguing, right in front of your friends, spitting accusations fueled by rage and doubt, making each other into the bigger villain when it was always clear who was the culprit.

Even now, although you know it’s him, you wonder if you were an accomplice.

Childhood sweethearts turned college lovers, plenty of people have made it all the way—to whatever was their ideal. Many people have also given up, gotten tired, or fallen out of love.

You thought you and Ari were stronger than that, and you wouldn’t let the pressures of life, work, and school weigh onto your relationship. But in the end, those voices were always right, and your shared dreams were crushed at the hands of breakdowns, lost time, and agonizing lulls.

It was ironic how you’re haunted by voices while Ari rarely used his.

Ari wasn’t loud or interruptive. He was quiet and timid, and as he grew up, he slowly came out of his shell and matured into the tall, confident, and gentle giant in front of you.

When you were kids, he wrote adorably misspelled sentences on sticky notes to drop into your lunchbox, and then in high school, he wrote love letters to slip into your locker. The sweetest part was that he never signed them, yet you always suspected it was him. He pretended to be curious about your newest note from your secret admirer and asked about the contents, all the itty bitty details of the proclamation in black pen.

He was after your heart, and he surely got it.

He showed his love through touch, gestures and gifts, through photographs and love letters that were kept in a special box.

It was beautiful in a way that only broken poets, starved artists and silenced lovers could understand. And you and Ari were all three. The tragedy was in colours no one else could see, the script in an undiscovered language, but to you and all the rest of the heartbroken, it was so vivid and clear. You dipped your fingers into that magic shade and poured your heart onto the white walls of the lonely tower, mourning your knight who would never return.

You made the tragedy your home, wallowed in it, and pitied yourself over every missed opportunity—the fleeted moments where things could have changed, leading you somewhere different from where you were. But you tried to get better, to get clean of him and those noisy, unhelpful thoughts. You wanted to save yourself, to gather the guts to leave that tower and climb down to the lush grass and sparkling rivers below.

In delusions, you are happy and satisfied, sober from the destruction. But right now, that false comfort was cracking beneath your feet. You wished to board up the windows and hide away from the world, from him.

“Will you please listen to me?” He pleads, his voice thick, “just listen, you don’t have to say anything or even stay afterward.”

“Why?” You turn to him, gritting your teeth to keep from sobbing. “Why should I listen to you when you never listened to me? When I told you that were growing apart, you just pushed me further away. Does—” Your voice cracks, “Does that not seem unfair to you?” Did you not deserve the same mercy he was begging for?

It was too late if he wanted to listen this time. It was gone, flatlined, buried under the dirt with overgrown weeds and ivy climbing on the gravestone. Your names were etched into the stone, just another miserable end in the cemetery of the heartbroken, the battered and bruised, the forgotten and silenced.

You’ve been a ghost ever since he mailed back the things you thought he wanted. Transparent and floating through the graveyard, weeping in wonder, and feebly searching for that scarf—the one thing he kept.

“I won’t ask again. This is the last time, Ari. You won’t get another chance.”

He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, rethinking every thought racing in his head, but then he finally settles on shutting his mouth. Those plump lips pressed firmly together, a barrier for everything he should say—and everything you had the right to hear.

Defeated, you release his hand. You didn’t realize you were holding him too, it was all just automatic at this point, unlike this moment which is only a rerun of a film you’ve already seen.

Your gaze traces his face one last time, locking everything to memory from the curve of his dark eyebrows, the shade of his blue eyes, the point of his nose, the blush pink of his lips, and every freckle like they were constellations.

In a flash, you’re staring at him from across the classroom, watching him slowly write on a yellow sticky note, his tongue poking from between his teeth in concentration.

Another flash, and you’re watching him bolt down the hallway, passing lockers and other students with his azure eyes set on you. In his hand is an old polaroid camera and he’s wearing the widest grin, “Let’s go to the park.” He almost crashes into you but grasps your shoulder in excitement, illuminating the dull hallway with his glow.

You laugh, “I have class… and so do you.”

“Yeah, but the weather is so nice today.” He pouts, already tugging you towards one of the exits. “Plus, you look really pretty. Wouldn’t you rather be my model, than sit in some dusty old classroom?”

He kissed you that day, under the biggest willow tree in the park with his hand on your cheek. He blushed a nervous red and asked so sweetly, “Can I—May I please…” He trailed off, profusely blinking at your parted lips, “Will you let me b-be your first kiss? And will you be mine?”

And finally, you’re back in the present. His looming shadow as he towers over your lifeless frame, executed by the quiet and unspoken words. You’d take anything at this point, from shuddering pleas to choked apologies—you’d grovel for a single syllable.

“That’s it.” You scoff in disbelief, “all you can do is look at me?”

Again, silence. His eyes pool with tears, seconds away from streaming down his cheeks and matching your wet trails and ruined makeup. He doesn’t speak, but he’s breaking, cracking at the surface like delicate porcelain holding back a flood.

“You deserve better than me.”

No, he doesn’t get to decide that. He doesn’t get to use that stale statement to dig his own grave, right alongside yours before the final self-deprecating eulogy. It didn’t matter if he thought you deserved better than him, all that should matter was that you wanted him, that you still wanted him even after all of this.

“So, you’re just gonna let me go? After all we’ve been through?” After you’ve given him everything, and showed him every part of you and let him in.

The first tear falls, dripping down his beard and onto the worn knit. Then another, and another until they’re streaming down his cheeks and soaked up by the scarf. “You’re already gone.”

There it is, the last nail in the coffin.

Ari has never been aggressive or forceful, but you wished he’d be brave. You wished he’d fight for you, step into the battlefield with an unrelenting resolve to make things right—to get you back. But he doesn’t, he just looks down at you, chewing on his lip with clenched fists.

He’s surrendered to the war, abandoning you in the tower of tragedy, but joining you in the cemetery of the heartbroken. He’s signing his name on the death certificate and damning you and your wistful dreams, erasing every ‘what if’ that has plagued the both of you since you were children.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and fight the weakness in your knees, but you refuse to do this to yourself again, to give him a chance he won’t take. You turn around and continue down the dock, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself in a form of self-soothing.

Autumn was a story of demise, but it had to be better than the earsplitting silence. You’d take the cruel cold and neverending abyss over the lack of effort. Right now, there was no spring in sight, no rebirth to raise you from the dead but you’d find your own life someday and somehow without him. You had to save yourself, be your own hero and come out victorious—alone, but triumphant.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i’ve already started a part two for those of us who want a happy ending, so if you’re an angsty person, feel free to just leave it at this part. i’ll let you all know when i have a date. this is also my second time writing angst on here, and i had a few good cry sessions. i know this isn't the usual filth but i hope you all enjoyed this nonetheless.

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! i love you all very much. pls take this kith 😚🫶

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! [my inbox] <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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loveneversleepss · 11 months

Text

Hyunjin as Yandere

Warnings: smut duh, cursing, stalking, obsession, angst, self-sabotage, arguments, unprotected sex, nipple play, teasing, spiked drink, nicknames.

Genre: Idol au, female reader x yandere!hyunjin, strangers to lovers, hyunjin falls first, one bed trope, not really much gore for romance sake.

"Your lips were made for mine. We belong together."

I think you are the most perfect girl i've ever laid my eyes on. The perfect portrait. I want you to be mine. You were made for me.

~~~

The 4 seasons. Everyone knows what that is; Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring. But in your world, it means something different. In a normal world when the season changes, the scenery changes. But in yours, you, the people change. Your appearance changes, your hair normally. Others can be different things. The colors are usually assigned to what kind of person you are.

You're probably thinking, can't we just dye our hair? No. You can't. It's physically impossible. Or so we thought.

The people who can are the elites, the leaders of the generation. They have special abilities, so-called talents. You're immediately known wherever you go due to having a different hair color than everyone. You are one of these people. You have the talent of singing, dancing and modeling. You are known for your unique face and hair. You have a scar on your forehead that changes with the season; a sun, leaf, snowflake, and a flower. So, wherever you go everyone can recognize you immediately which makes you so popular.

Summer represents breaking rules, freedom, lust and partying. You can always find people doing drugs, drinking and having sexual encounters out on the street. Purple is for the party crazed people, yellow for the drug addicts and green for the drunks. At this time, nothing ever gets done. Everyone is having too much fun to do anything meaningful.

Fall represents finding your meaning, disguises and distrust. During this time is when Halloween comes around. Which means a lot of trickery. The colors are very simple. Brown, gray and peach. This is where everyone distrusts each other because the hair hides our emotions and who we are. We can't tell each other apart.

Winter is the hardest, no one is happy in it. It represents depression, sadness, suicide and family. Which is why they desperately need entertainment. That's where you come in, to lighten up their dark, gloomy moods. Christmas helps a bit when everyone comes together with their families. For winter, the colors really help. White is for peace, it means they want to harm themselves. Blue is when they are really sad and need family love. Black is when they've reached the bottom, they no longer care or have emotions.

Spring is the time for new opportunities after the harsh winter. Everyone is happy, childlike due to finally accepting themselves. It represents new love, dreams and growth. During this time the colors are really bright. Pink is simple, when you're looking for love. Magenta for when they are pursuing their dreams. Red is for when you are in love, that you found your soulmate. Aqua-blue is when you are learning to love yourself.

This is how it is and how it'll always be.

Walking through the crowds, everyone's hair is either white, blue or black. Meanwhile yours is red. You get funny looks as you walk by, due to them immediately recognizing you. The scar on your forehead gives you away, the shape of a snowflake. You are starting to become known worldwide. You can hear the clicks and flashes of cameras. Murmurs and whispers as you hear your name being uttered.

But besides all that, you could care less. You are only doing this to survive, because like everyone. The season affects you, winter. Your performances keep you busy and it passes the time. So, you get your mind off on how you feel numb and how much you long for love. Even though your fans scream and shout that they love you. You sit and wonder, do they love you, actually?

You were recently invited to this fashion show it'll be a good opportunity to get you out of the studio. So you agree, although having to talk to new people makes you nervous. You're afraid to say the wrong thing, funny right?

"Don't worry about it. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty," your shitty manager tells you. All he ever cares about is his paycheck. He gets paid more when you make appearances at shows. So, of course he would encourage you to go to this show. "Who was the fashion designer again?" He rolls his eyes at you," Versace. Donatella Versace." Right. Guess i'll have to remember that.

You're dressed in a long, skin-tight white elegant dress. It has a large slit that reveals half your thigh. The bottom lining of the dress has a furry material attached to it. A pair of white sparkly heels and your hair half up, perfectly curled. All your hairstyles are meant to reveal your forehead, to be easily recognizable. You place a furry coat around you to cover your exposed chest, you're not the most comfortable in showing your curves. Although, you are forced to.

You get off of the white limo, a pair of hands welcome you quickly. You didn't expect such a big crowd awaiting, the lights blinding you. Your eyes adjust as you begin to pose for the cameras. You make a kissy face and blow a kiss and walk off into the entrance. You cringe internally at your pose. You always do the most and regret it later on. 'It's for the fans.' you think. As if that was a good reason.

You walk over to the check-in table and they tell you you're sitting at table 8. You begin to walk around the pool and hear a conversation. "It's so nice to see you again. How are you?" You hear a familiar voice. You turn in that direction to see Dua Lipa standing with who you assume is Donatella Versace. You can see them and not the man standing before them. He seems shy. He speaks so softly that you can't make out what he is saying.

He turns around for the photo and your eyes are blessed. The most perfect man you've ever laid your eyes. His black hair, his eye smile, his dazzling brown eyes, tall and fit with good style. He is all a woman could ever hope for in a man. You stop drooling over him and begin to walk to your table again. Then you hear your name, "Y/n?" You sigh and quickly turn with a fake smile plastered on your face. You walk over to Donatella, who was calling you.

"It's so lovely to meet you, you're gorgeous!" Her hand strokes her hair softly. You slowly push her off, feeling slightly uncomfortable but she doesn't notice. "I want to introduce you to somebody. This is Hyunjin." You turn to the man and he shoots a slight smile. You say hello to him and he talks with an accent. English seems to not be his native language. Just then Donatella tells you, "He's Korean but understands and speaks a bit of English. I hope you two get along!" How convenient. You speak Korean too due to your makeup artist who taught you.

"Why don't you two get to know each other," that's weird. Why is she pushing you two to have a relationship so much. "I don't mean to sound rude but, why must we? I mean we came to watch a fashion show." She looks shocked and surprised that you would be questioning her like this. She clears her throat, 'It'll make sense soon. Go on," she motions her hands for you to leave together. You two look at each other in confusion but turn away together.

You begin to wander into the garden, a silence overcomes the two of you. He clears his throat, "So what do you think of everything so far?" It takes you a while to process his question. His accent is a bit strong. Honestly, if you really think about it. You have no chance with him. So who cares about what he thinks about you. You sigh heavily, "It's so annoying. Everyone is so fake. Including you, being so obedient for what? Just to get in that rich lady's good graces? Please." You're not here to make friends, that you make clear.

He stops walking, he scoffs at you and rolls his eyes. "Hypocrite. I saw that little scene you did for the cameras. Your attention and fame craven like everyone you claim is so fake." You begin to get angry and cut him off, "You don't know anything about me!" He steps close to you now, "And you don't know anything about me! So, don't assume you do!" You jerk your head back when you realize his face is inches away from yours. The height difference is frightening.

"You son of a bitch," you mumble in Korean. He looks at you confused, "What?" he responds back in Korean. "You heard me. You son of a bitch!" He's taken back at your words. "How dare yo-" "What are you gonna do about it! Absolutely nothing!" You push his shoulder as you stomp past him. You hear him shout after you but you ignore him as you walk to your table. You sit down angrily and cross your arms. After a couple minutes you see him walk back and sit at the table next to yours. You roll your eyes and wait for the show to start.

After what seems like an eternity, the show finally ends. You get up to leave when Donatella calls you over once again. You go and show another fake smile. It quickly fades once you see Hyunjin. “Walk with me,” she tells you two and leads you into the garden. “What’s going on?” Hyunjin asks, which gets you annoyed because you were going to ask that. She smiles and sighs happily, “okay, I’ll finally tell you.” You and Hyunjin are paying very close attention on what she is going to say next. “I want you two to be the newest ambassadors for my brand!”

You and hyunjin look at each other in shock, mouths slightly agape. “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun! Just in time for the spring collection,” she squeals happily and awaits your answers. There’s no way that is going to happen. How could you just give everything to this stranger standing in front of you? “Plus that means you’ll be able to travel the world. Imagine all the possibilities!” You fidget with your necklace and glance at Hyunjin, who was already looking at you.

“I’m sorry but, I’ll have to say no,” Hyunjin strongly declines her and you can see her dreams being crushed. She looks at you, “and you? Are you declining?” You pause for a second then answer softly, “I’m so sorry. My singing comes first.” She nods her head and walks away sadly. Leaving Hyunjin and you alone. “About earlier-”“save it. I don’t want to hear it,” and with that you walk away.

It’s been a month since the fashion show. Spring has finally arrived. It’s the first day officially. Since it’s the first day, you’re hair color is aqua-blue. You haven’t had the chance to alter the color yet. The scar on your forehead has formed into a flower. Your manager has sent you to venture out into the abandoned territory due to the season change. It always happens because everyone wants to be where it’s more vibrant with the seasons. It’s a good opportunity for a idea for a song, lyrics always pop up when you’re wandering.

You walk through a forest of tree, the branches snap under your weight. You push aside a cluster of leaves and stumble upon an abandoned castle. You practically swoon at the sight, although vines are overgrown onto it. It can’t hide the beauty of it. Why would anyone abandon this? You swing open the double doors and find it be quite near inside. You find a ballroom filled with three sets of chandeliers. The room is enormous and your every move echoes throughout. You can’t help but giggle right when you begin to sing.

“The day started ordinary,” you begin to twirl around in your long flowy dress. “Boys walking by,” you lean against a statue of a guard. “It was the same old story,” you push the head of the helmet. “Too fresh or too shy,” you push the statue away and roll your eyes. “I’m not the kind,” you walk in the middle of the ballroom. “To fall for a guy,” your voice echoes throughout the room. “Who flashes a smile,” you make a vomit motion.

“Don’t usually swoon but I’m over the moon,” you place one hand dramatically to your head and the other to your chest. “And now I’m falling for ya!” You squeal out as you fall to your knees. “Falling for ya!” You lay on your back and smile brightly. “I know I shouldn’t but I,” you lay on your stomach while kicking your legs. “Can’t stop myself from falling for ya!” You sit up and look at the chandelier hanging above you. “Can’t hold on any longer and now I’m falling for you,” a sudden burst of wind brings petals of flowers Inside. It falls lightly onto you and you smile happily.

Out of nowhere you feel goosebumps on your back, feels like someone is watching you. You shoot your head in the direction and see Hyunjin staring down at you. His hair is the color of red, he's in love? You jump and fall back. “Hyunjin!” You squeal out from being scared. He smiles lightly, his eyes crease. His laughter begins to fill the room, it sounds so genuine. The most genuine laugh you’ve ever heard.

I wake up from my restless night, I couldn’t stop thinking about this sentence. It’s irritating me so much. ‘Do they love me, actually?’ It makes me spiral, I feel so alone. There’s no one here in this big, lonely castle. It’s all mine but I can’t bring myself to fix the outside. I don’t belong here. I sigh heavily as I get up and shower. The hot water hits my head and I can feel the aches in my body slowly fade away.

I dry my hair, apply lotion and get dressed. I hear mumbling coming from the ballroom, no one’s here. Who could it be? I walk out onto the balcony connected to the staircase and see the culprit. “I’m not the kind,” her voice shocks me. It’s so powerful. “To fall for a guy,” I feel as if the world had stopped. A girl with aqua-blue hair dancing with a long, flowy dress. Who is she? To my surprise she turns around, y/n. My mind jumps back to when I first saw her. She looked so beautiful that day. She was perfect and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

I felt like something was wrong with me, I felt obsessed. I kept watching her. Even after we fought, I couldn’t help but want to get to know her more. I want her to be mine.

“Who flashes a smile,” her expression makes me smile to myself. Ironic. “Don’t usually swoon but I’m over the moon,” I feel hypnotized. I can’t take my eyes off her. “Now I’m falling for ya!” Her voice radiates even louder through the room, like a siren. “Falling for ya! I know I shouldn’t but I,” I lean against the ledge now. Enjoying her little performance. “Can’t help myself from falling for ya!” I notice that I left one of the doors open, I can feel the cool air from the outside. “Can’t hold on any longer, now I’m falling for you.” The petals of my blossom trees fall inside. They land onto her head and dress. She smiles brightly, so genuine. I’ve never seen a smile like it.

This. This is what I’ve been waiting for. The perfect portrait. The most perfect girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on. She is what i needed. She was made for me. Now, I won’t let her go.

“Hyunjin!” She finally notices me. She falls back and looks at me shocked. I can’t help but laugh at her reaction. I hear my laughter echo throughout the room, lighting it up. “Nice little performance,” I tease her as I walk down the staircase. “What are you doing here?” She questions me in Korean, still sitting in the floor. I make a confused expression as I respond back in Korean, “I live here?” She looks at me up and down, “oh,” she whispers under her breath. I reach my hand out to help her up, She reaches up slightly and pauses, she accepts and gets up. “You have a wonderful home,” she slightly steps away from me. “Glad you like it,” I pick out a petal from her hair and notice she blinks fast three times.

She looks down at her hands and fidgets, “I’m sorry about how I treated you at the show,” she pauses and clears her throat as I listen intently. “I should’ve never judged you like that.. or cussed you out,” I smile to myself at the memory. "and i'm sorry for what i said too. I don't know you so I can't make assumptions either." I motion my head for her to follow me and she does. "Maybe we should get to know each other then," we walk into my hallway which leads into my indoor garden. "What do you mean by that?" I ask but she gets distracted by the garden. She runs inside and admires the flowers, waterfall and butterflies.

"I only mean that we should get to know each other. Spend time together," she catches a blue butterfly on her finger, color just like her hair. She pauses and turns to me, "being ambassadors would've been a good opportunity.." I grab a pink rose and set it on her ear, it's color doesn't clash with her hair. "Maybe we should be." She freezes, her eyes as big as a doe. Just then something bizarre happens, her roots begin to change into a pink color. It begins to grow but no, it isn't pink. It's red. She notices and steps away from me. She touches her hair and notices the red of it. "What's happening?" "You've fallen in love, y/n."

She steps closer to me and touches my hair softly, "You have, too." I pause for a second, "do you think we should be ambassadors?" She nods her head and smiles, not a fake one, "I think we should."

Today was a busy day for you and Hyunjin, as soon as you arrived in Paris. You two immediately went to do 2 photo shoots and make an appearance at the Versace Spring collection show. You two had walked down together in matching clothing as part of the show. Your hair colors had been alternated to a light purple, matching once again. It's 9:30 and You've finally checked into your hotel. Donatella has said the room has 2 different living spaces in one, to have our own privacy but still be near.

But to your surprise, as soon as the door flung open, you could tell this was the wrong room. You walk in and see there is only one bed and not 2 different living spaces. Hyunjin finally comes in and notices, he mumbles "No way," and walks straight out to go down to the lobby. Leaving you all alone. You unpack a painting, a painting of you. He had painted it and surprised you with us shortly after you agreed to be ambassadors. It’s a painting if you from when you were dining in the ballroom, petals and butterflies surround you. But your hair isn’t aqua blue there, it’s red.

After about an hour, you hear the chime of the door unlocking. Hyunjin appears with a tired look. "So, we have to stay here tonight. Tomorrow we'll be given a new room." You nod your head in understanding as you take a sip of juice, or what you assumed was juice. You can't read anything due to everything being in French. "Can I have some?" Hyunjin asks and points at your drink. You giggle and hand it to him, he takes big gulps nearly finishing it. You pout as you see the almost empty bottle. "I'll sleep on the floor," he says as he grabs a blanket. "No Hyunjin, just sleep on the bed. I don't mind."

He looks at you for a second then sets the blanket on the bed, "alright but if you snore I will stuff a sock in your mouth." You giggle at his words, "I promise I won't." Your head begins to feel woozy and you rub your forehead, feeling the scar. "You okay?" Hyunjin asks as you lay on your back. "I don't feel so good, like my body is becoming really hot." He places his hand on your forehead, "You don't feel hot." Your breathing becomes harsh and fast. "y/n? What's happening?" He backs away and checks the drink, "Ugh, you idiot. This increases libido, it makes you hot and basically super horny." You get up and look at the drink, "I didn't know, I can't read french!" Your head goes in your hands, "Wait, you drank some too." His eyes widen as he realizes too.

"Did the shower help?" You say as you lay in the bed. You ripped off your clothes, leaving you in your underwear covered by the sheets. He shakes his head as he gets inside the sheets, only in his boxers. You lay on your sides facing each other, you feel your heart beat fast. You're fighting the urge to touch him so, to help you turn over. You feel his hand lightly touching your hair, "turn over so I can look at you." Your heart skips a beat and you listen. "Come closer to me," his hand touches your waist. He slides you closer to him and his breathing is harsh too. His hand lays on your cheek as his thumb caresses you. "What are you doing?" It comes out soft, your body is aching which is making it hard to focus.

"Don't talk right now," he whispers as he pulls your body closer. His hand grabs your thigh and pulls it over him. You feel a tingle in your crouch as yours hits his. "My god, you're so beautiful," his lips look so kissable. It's so tempting. Your body begins to move on its own, grinding against him softly, getting a pleasurable friction. "Stop moving like that," his hand stops your hips from moving. "I can't, I crave you. Look, feel." Your hand brings his to your underwear, causing his fingers to graze against the wetness. "Fuck, i'm the same." His hand brings you to feel his hard-on, you feel how long he is. It makes your mouth water.

"I can't bear it," you say as you climb on top of him. The cool air hits your body but it doesn't help with your heat. "Please touch me, jinnie." You've never called him that, but you intend to say it more. Your body rocks against him, causing you to bite your lower lip. His hardness sliding against your covered folds feels so good. He curses under his breath as his hand wanders up to your hips then up to your breasts. It makes moan fall off your lips and you feel him squeeze softly. You reach behind your back and un-clip your bra, you throw it off as his hands replace it. "You're so beautiful," he praises you once again.

"I need you so bad, jinnie," you're practically begging at this point. "oh, yeah?"His finger pushes your panties to the side, he runs his finger across your folds. A whimper falls from your lips as you grind against his fingers, chasing the friction. "You need me so bad?" You nod your head fast, his teasing makes you go insane. He slides his boxers down, he glides against your folds. You can't take it anymore as you take him in your hand and slide down. "Fuck, there we go," he moans out as you take him completely. He fills you up so good and you can't help but start to ride him.

He sits up as you sink down onto him, his lips attach to your breasts. Circling around your nipples sucking and nibbling softly. You can't seem to get enough, his name falls off your lips in moans and whimpers. Just then, his phone begins to ring. You both look at it and he reaches to grab it. "Don't answer it," you beg and he tilts his head to the side and smirks. "Be a good girl and be quiet for me," he answers the call and keeps one hand on your hips. "Hey, Felix," He keeps you moving on him as his voice sounds slightly raspy but it won't be noticable on the call.

Whoever is on the phone with him must be a comedian because he keeps laughing, which makes him push up into you. You bite your lip to stop noises from slipping out your mouth, which is getting incredibly hard. How is he speaking with such ease, the person on the phone having no idea what is happening. His hand travels up to your breasts which pinches your nipples, you almost let a moan slip. You grab his hand to stop him but he swats you away and continues.

You can feel the knot in your stomach and you know your high is coming. "Jinnie," you whisper to him but loud enough for it to be heard through the phone. He looks at you annoyed and mutes his phone, "What?" His voice is harsh and makes you feel timid. “I can’t stay quiet for long,” you hands wrap around his neck, pulling his face close. “Please hang up baby,” you beg him. He smirks and pushes your arms off. “You want to cum right? You can handle it,” he unmutes his side and leans against the headboard.

You whine as he forces your hips to move again, this time he adds his thumb to trace circles on your clit. You squirm and bite your tongue to keep quiet. You begin to get tired and your hips begin to stutter when you feel the knot growing back. He sits up and covers your mouth right before a let a loud moan slip out. You feel your juices ooze out of you and onto him. Your breathing finally slows down and you feel the heat fade away. You know that he needs to finish too so, you start to move again, overstimulating yourself. It feels painful but you’re doing it for him.

Out of the blue, he groans loudly into the phone. “Hyun, are you oka-” Hyunjin hits the end call button and grips on your waist. “Fuck him, you feel so good right now.” You start to bounce up and down on him, a whimper falls from his lips. “Fuck don’t stop,” You feel your face redden when you finally realize how dirty everything is. How much you like hearing his noises. He pulls your chin in and finally, your lips connect. His lips are so soft and his tongue gently slides into your mouth. His kiss feels like heaven. He groans into your mouth as he has to pull away, his eyes look deeply into yours. “Can I cum inside?” His voice is so broken, whimpers fall every 5 seconds. You nod your head and your arms tangle around his neck.

You feel a warm liquid shoot inside you and his chest heaves. His breathing begins to slow and you slowly get off him. You lay next to him, slightly regretting what happened. Did you just get used? Did he not like it? What if he hates you know? Your thinking is interrupted by him, “come here.” His hand turns your face to look at him, he scoots closer to you. His lips press against yours, eliminating all the doubts you had. “I’m gonna make you mine, you can’t run away now.” His words make you smile, “I thought you would hate me after this..” He scoffs and sighs, “You’re actually stupid if you don’t realize how much I love you.” Love? He loves you.

“Love?” You mumble. “Yes, Love. Can’t you see that I’ve been waiting for you to realize ever since we met. I love you and only you.” You begin to develop tears in your eyes, “and I love you.”

#stray kids #stray kids stay #stray kids imagines #stray kids series #straykids hard hours #stray kids smut #skz scenarios #straykids smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz smut #skz #hyunjin #skz hyunjin #hyunjin smut

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milkywaydrabbles · 8 months

Text

He who was found in chains, set free. | III.

Cross posted on AO3, here!

Sunlight shone through the window, rousing you from slumber. It was morning already, huh . That was the best you’ve rested in, well, you couldn’t remember. You don’t remember waking up once after speaking to the angel. Perhaps he casted a spell on you so as to not wake until dawn. No, that’d be silly use of his talents. You weren’t sure what to do next. Slowly you rose from the bed, and decided to trek through the large castle. You were sure he’d be asleep, knowing at the very least his vampiric senses wouldn’t let him in the sunlight (well...) and tried to make it back to the study. You wish you had looked up when following him. But now that you were alone, and very much lost , you took the time to look at your surroundings.

Beautiful, large portraits of different faces hung around the walls. A man with dark, long hair. Pale, and dark, stoic eyes. Must be Dracula... you thought to yourself. You wondered why the blonde had kept them up. Eyes continued to wander, seeing more portraits of either Dracula or people that looked very similar to him. Family, maybe. Odd thinking of vampires with families . And then you saw one of the most ethereal woman you’d ever laid eyes on. Soft, blonde hair, with fair skin and gorgeous eyes. If you thought about it long enough, you’d realize that she very much resembled the vampire that took you in.

But you didn’t think much of it.

You pressed on, forgetting your initial quest of finding the study and instead started taking in the artwork on the walls, wandering aimlessly throughout the halls. Although the castle was a mere shadow of its past grandeur, it was still as remarkable as ever. For you, anything bigger than a barn was remarkable. But this? This was a work of art on its own.

Eventually, by mere miracle , you found yourself in front of a library. You don’t believe it to be the study from last night, but it was a room filled to the brim with books nonetheless. A small smile graced your lips, and you started shuffling towards the shelves. Endless books on different topics--medicine, herbs, history, the human body-- everything . You weren’t sure where to start. This was the first time you’d even seen a book since you taught yourself to read and write when that man fell asleep drunk each night. It was miraculous that he never found your journal and book clearly meant for children. He never really looked hard though, too busy wanting other things from you. You scowled.

Pushing the awful thoughts as far back as you could, you moved further into the library. The shelves were taller than you, so you had to crane your neck to see what else lay on the shelves. You felt a light within you spark. You’d never felt so...grateful, to be alive. To be given the opportunity to even look at these books. Tears filled your waterline, and you blinked them away as best you could, some falling still.

A book piqued your interest, it looked like it was about magic. I can learn magic! A small laugh escaped you, more breath than real laughter. You pushed up, reached as high as you could, grabbing the massive book from its place and sat right there on the ground. This level of reading was much higher than you were used to, so it would take time, but you would try anyways. You flipped the first page, a bit overwhelmed already with how much was on the page but you didn’t care. You finally had knowledge about yourself at your fingertips.

Alucard searched almost frantically trying to find you. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted you, he knew he should have kept you on a chain within the room so you couldn’t escape. And now you were somewhere in this damned castle, probably plotting his demise. You could sense your lies in his bones now, how could I have been so blind! You were faking not knowing about magic. You were going to betray him just as the twins did, you were going to try to kill him, you were--

You were in the library . He heard a small chuckle, so soft that if it weren’t for his Dhampir senses it would have skirted on by in the wind. He made his way to the door as quickly as he could and flung the door open with such aggression it made you drop the book from your hands. Eyes wild and filled with rage, Alucard stormed over and grabbed your arm, uncaring that it was wounded and that you yelled, and hoisted you up. “ What are you doing here? ” He spat.

All panic came tumbling back, all the fear that you rightfully had prior, eyes widening at his actions. You couldn’t breathe, trying to inhale anything into your lungs that felt like they were filled with stone.

“I just--I wanted to--I--”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

Tears flowed freely now, you looked like a deer caught within the jaws of a predator.

“I just wanted to read.”

It escaped you like a sob.

He let go of you, and took a step back.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to read, honest!”

He looked down at the book you had chosen, lying face down now.

It was a beginner book for magic.

Alucard sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. God , he felt embarrassed now for his outlash.

“I’m...” He groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” you wept, and continued. “No, I won’t do it again, I won’t do it anymore, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Hands gripped onto the length of your skirt for dear life, trembling like a leaf. Your continued ramblings of I’m sorry, please don’t beat me, I won’t do it again, I promise broke Alucard bit by bit the more he looked at you.

You were harmless .

“Hey, listen, you didn’t do anything-” he reached out to try and console you, and the moment his hand reached your shoulder a thick sob bubbled out of your chest and you flinched away, protecting yourself with your hands.

Shit .

Alucard retracted his hand, and slowly moved them up in a defenseless position. Slowly he crouched, and picked up the book you started reading, closing it up and placing it on the table a few feet away.

“Please, please calm down. I’m sorry, it was wrong of me to accuse you.” He talked as loud as he could over your sobs without yelling in fear of scaring you again. He just wanted you to listen . It took some coaxing, and after a bit more quiet sobs you had calmed down just enough to look at him with bleary eyes. Red, puffy, and burning. Your hands slowly went down to your chest, grasping at each other. He needed to be careful approaching you.

“My name is Alucard.” he offered.

You gasped.

“The Alucard? The one who defeated Dracula ?” It was the most emotion outside of fear he had heard from you yet. Filled with curiosity and wonder.

“Just...Alucard. Please.”

You retracted a bit, bowing your head. “Yes, I’m sorry Alucard, forgive me.”

He shook his head. “There’s no need for the formalities, really. It’s okay.”

After quite some time, the two of you headed down to the kitchen. It was the original reason he went to go find you. Give you some breakfast. Before he completely embarrassed himself.

“Eat, I’m sure you haven’t had a proper meal in quite some time.” God, he had no idea.

You wanted to eat everything in sight. It might have been a bit cold now since it took some time to get you down here, but you would never complain. Not with the feast in front of you. Just for breakfast! You couldn’t believe it!

And then you remembered any time you wanted to eat freely back at Gresit.

I eat first, and then you eat my scraps you ungrateful bitch. Never forget who the master of this house is.

The smile was immediately wiped from your face, and you retracted a hand that was reaching for some bread. Hands tucked neatly on your lap, you bit your lip and looked down. Alucard rose a brow.

“Is something wrong?”

You shook your head, “You eat first. You’re the master of this house.” Robotic tone like an automatic response.

This is going to take some time, Alucard grimaced inwardly.

“We eat together. I am the master of this house,” you flinched, “and as such, I want you to eat with me. Understood?” He didn’t like using the very clear trauma against you, but he needed to at least get you to ingest something. Whatever you could handle. You stayed still for a moment, and went back to reach for the piece of bread from before. Slowly, you took a bite and you could have cried all over again from how wonderful it felt to finally eat something not gutted from a mangled up animal which was clearly leftovers from a night creature eating.

“It’s good.” Lips curled up, if only a little, in joy.

“Good, I’m glad.” He nodded, and went about eating his own fill, glancing over to you every now and then to make sure you were eating.

You were slow, taking your time, tasting things little by little seeing how your stomach would react. Eating was hard for someone who hadn’t eaten nutritious meals in years. You felt gluttonous, eating until you were full. You ate slowly, hoping you would be full quicker. You didn’t want to eat all of Alucard’s food, it was rude of you.

“You can eat more, you know. I made this for you.”

Your eyes shot up at him, glassy, threatening to cry.

“ Really? ” Your voice is small, but grateful. He nodded. You said nothing back, but smiled the closest thing to a real smile he’s seen. From there, you ate graciously, still taking your time and making sure your stomach didn’t hurt, but ate until you were full. Different meats, and cheeses, things you’ve never had before. It filled your heart as much as your stomach.

The rest of the morning passed in silence, you returning to the library (he mostly guided you, so as to not get lost again), and pressed on with reading. This time on a chair. Alucard stayed with you, studying on his own. Your brow furrowed, mouthing out words and mumbling under your breath.

“Do you...need help?”

You glanced up, embarrassment filling you. A pink warmth dusted over your cheeks, and your eyes looked anywhere else other than his face. “I uhm...I can’t seem to get this word.” You admitted.

Alucard went over to you and read over your shoulder.

“ An herbology is practical, magic depending on geographical locale. The incantations as depicted in this book will require certain plants, however once mastered can be replaced with surrounding vegetation that grows within your region.”

Ah, that made more sense now.

You repeated some words to yourself, tracing over the letters on the page. Geographical, incantations, vegetation . Those are words you understand, and can now read .

“I’m surprised you know how to read, given your...circumstances.”

You continued thumbing the words, “I taught myself. As best as I could. Some words are...difficult.”

Alucard hummed, and went back to his corner of the room, eyes unable to process the words on the pages anymore.

“Would you like to study more?” You perked up.

“Would you...would you help me?” you sounded hopeful. He nodded. You grinned.

“I would like that very much, Alucard.”

“You know, you never gave me your name.” He was teasing you, smirk curling his lips. Now you felt terribly embarrassed. You bowed your head again, “I’m so sorry.” And then you gave him your name.

He hummed again, repeating it back at you. You felt your heart in your throat. It was the first time someone had said your name without disgust.

“Very well, I have time today. Why don’t we start our studying now, hm?”

#adrian tepes #adrian tepes x reader #alucard (castlevania)#alucard tepes x reader #alucard x reader #alucard tepes #castlevania #castlevania (2017)#castlevania netflix

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moonshine999 · 6 months

Note

Ok literally so sorry to bother butttt🫣🫣🫣 i was wondering if you had any hcs for modern Nyra/alicent with their husband/bestie Cole and their gaggle of children??

Totally ignore my lmao if you don’t!!! I literally love your modern takes on them and honestly just anything about them that you post!!!💓💓💓💓

You’re never a bother love, thank you for this ask (srsly means so much coming from you)

I’m going to assume that these will be taking place in the old money AU

🍸 Rhaenyra loves to spoil Alicent and their children so much

When they first started dating and an argument would break out, it was almost guaranteed that a bouquet of flowers would be at Ali’s doorstep the next morning. It grew to chocolates and tickets to concerts and museum tours on valentines and pendants, earrings and watches on anniversaries. And then on their 5th anniversary, Nyra pulled out a box after Alicent gave her a portrait that she made of them together. Ali scoffed and made a joke that Rhaenyra doesn’t remember because she was too busy staring at her dearest’s eyes. She chuckled. And then got down on one knee. The rest is history now.

Aegon being the first born in the family, he was one of, if not the most, spoiled. He accompanied his parents on all their pretentious dates, he got showered with kisses from Alicent and Criston, and got the fanciest of birthday presents when he wasn’t even able to walk.

“Rhaenyra.” “Yes love?” “You realise you can’t give a 1 year old a Rolex, right?”

Basically, no she doesn’t. They talked it out though when the other children came along.

(P.s, this is part of the reason why he turned to his “habits” as he did and also the reason he inherited this need to spoil his own family)

🍸Aegon and Helaena’s wedding

When Aegon and Helaena were going to get married, Alicent wanted to take her dress shopping but Rhaenyra insisted that they should try to have the dress custom made.

“There’s a certain experience in dress shopping, dear.” “There can be a certain “experience” in having it custom made too, dear.”

(Yes both of them are speaking from experience. No their mothers are not dead. Why? Because I said so.)

Helaena just sits between them, comically darting wide eyes from one mother to the other until Criston comes to the rescue (with Aegon giggling like a maniac behind him) and reminds the couple that they have a company to run.

They glance at each other, sigh and walk out of the room. The ,still, giggling Aegon immediately crashes into his fiancée, leaving them both in fits of laughter. Criston just shakes his head with a smile on his face.

Some side points :

Criston walks Hel down the aisle

Daeron cheers the loudest when they kiss

Alicent is elegantly wiping tears while Nyra is full on sobbing with her face in her hands

Aegon can barely say “I do” because he’s crying so much

Helaena’s fine.

Aemond is the most reluctant to dance at the reception but gives in when teased/encouraged (means the same thing in this family) by the newly weds

Oh and some Helaegon wedding vibes :

Just some other small hcs :

🍸 Alicent and Criston love art museums. While Ali is a painter herself and goes there for inspiration, Criston is more interested in the history of it all. So when Rhaenyra is too busy to come with them, both of them go off to a museum and spend hours there together.

🍸 Rhaenyra and Aemond have a tradition where they go apple picking in the fall and discuss all things books and writing. During one of these ventures, Aemond accidentally lets it slip that he has been publishing his works under a pen name. Rhaenyra is a bit taken aback at first but she just breaks out into a smile and hugs her son. (Bonus points if the pen name is a new author that she is a fan of)

🍸 Daeron often looks to Helaena and Aegon for guidance. The youngest is someone who is not a fan of being in the company, he wants to explore, travel and break the bounds of what the media always perceives him to be. He told this to Hel and Aeg once when he was babysitting the twins. They gave him guidance and assured him that all would be good and their mothers are the most understanding people they know. He hums, smiles softly and goes back to the twins.

these are all that I can piece together rn. You have literally opened a whole new can of worms and I won’t be surprised if I do a part 2 of this. Again thank you for the ask (I really enjoyed it) and your sweet words.

#fatherforgivethem #asks #helaena targaryen #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #daeron targaryen #criston cole #ser criston cole #old money : AU #old money #AU #helaena x aegon ii #helaegon #team green #team green hcs

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Portrait: Upcoming Fic Excerpt

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Over a series of five sessions, Benedict paints your portrait for your husband-to-be... and a passionate secret love affair begins.

Rating: This extract is suitable for all, however the completed fic will be 18+ smut, minors DNI

Note: Hi all, I am in the midst of my Spring 2023 Benedict epic. So I am posting an unbetaed extended excerpt to motivate myself to complete it; it's currently about two-thirds written. I hope you enjoy! <3

Edit: This story is now being posted in parts and is available HERE

Prologue

Sir Thomas Baden-Smith. Just the name alone fills your throat with bile. He is a disagreeable man of six and thirty and unwed. That is until a few weeks' time when he is due to become your husband. A deal struck by your father after their joint business dealings became dealings of another sort altogether. Your many protests to your father falling on deaf ears as your mother stands silent, bearing a face of abject sympathy—you are to endure the same fate that she did, a marriage brokered between men where women are merely chattel.

You have almost resigned yourself to your fate… until the evening you set eyes on Benedict Bridgerton, and your whole world changes.

You have heard talk, and even read, about love at first sight but didn't believe in it. But that all changes during an event at an art gallery. You see him for the first time across the room, conversing with another artist. A hot spike races through your body; it feels like you've been struck by some force. Then he looks up, and his eyes land and fixate on you, his lips falling open a fraction as if he felt it too. Some preternatural force making you magnets to each other. He is quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, even from a distance. It's the first time you've felt your heartbeat so strongly in your twenty-one years of existence. Hammering against your ribcage like it wants to be freed, fly to him. And the thing is, you are not even introduced. You watch him from afar all night, haunted by his smile and how much you want to touch his hand.

What’s more is that as you stroll the gallery and observe the paintings, there are two that arrest you, beguile and charm you—sweeping landscapes of the Kentish countryside. They remind you of warm summer weekends spent with your loving maternal aunt. You linger long in front of them, feeling so alive in your own experience that it is only after some time that you see the name under the frames—Benedict Bridgerton. You know without doubt or introduction that the man who painted these masterpieces, to your eye at least, is that same man you feel utterly struck by.

The following week, over dinner, your father announces that Sir Thomas wishes to have a portrait of you commissioned that will take pride of place in his ancestral home once you are married. And you see your chance. To engineer a meeting with the artist whose face and artwork are burned into your memory. So you leap up and say you know of an incredible artist who would fit the bill perfectly. You conveniently don't tell your parents that his speciality is landscapes, and luckily, they don't ask.

It's an early spring morning when you watch from the drawing-room window, heart in your mouth, as he descends gracefully from his carriage, so elegant in a navy jacket over a maroon waistcoat with a soft gold silk cravat. You listen as your family butler lets him in, and before you can arrange yourself on the setee, he strides in business-like. He already has his hand out to shake yours… until he sees it's you.

His whole stance changes, and you know in an instant that he recognises you from the gallery that night. Now, up close, you see how tall he is, the turn of his aristocratic nose and his eyes that are the haziest blue you have ever seen. It's impossible to look away.

There is something charged in the air as, instead of shaking your hand, he delicately takes it up to his lips and brushes the lightest of kisses across your knuckles. There is no skin contact, seeing as you are wearing silk gloves, but even that simple gesture has you undone. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and his lips through the material, and you have to school your breathing; your stays suddenly too tight around your ribcage.

“Miss y/l/n,” his voice is a veritable rumble, and your body is aflame. You are his. Completely. There is no other man you wish to know, wish to marry. Ever. You want him to take your hand and run. Run far away until the name Thomas Baden-Smith is but a distant memory...

#fic excerpt #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

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sapphireblueandfire · 1 year

Note

Awful accident where Rhaenyra and Daemon die. Jace is a famous singer and wants to help raise the boys but he’s travelling too much. Rhaena is studying to be a doctor and Baela is in Jace’s band so she’s travelling just as much as him. Aegon - out of the question. Nope. Laenor and Qarl want to but they live so far away and it’s best not to uproot the kids so much at a time like this.

That leaves Aemond and Lucerys. Aemond’s already a lawyer and Luke is studying to take over his grandfather’s business empire (that Aemond works with/for) but together they make it work. They’ve been together less than a year at this point and haven’t even moved in together. Guess there’s no choice now. They take the guest room in Rhae and Daemon (now Luke’s) house. Aemond’s flat is too small and Luke still lived with his parents still but his room was barely big enough to fit a double bed, let alone Aemond’s desk and both their clothes as well. They leave R+D’s room untouched. Viserys is barely a few months old, Aegon is two and Joffrey is a month off seven.

They struggle at first to get into a routine and get the boys settled, but eventually they make it work. Joff’s birthday comes along and Jace and Baela manage to make it home in time for his party. A big event. Fireworks and ice cream cake and everything. Joff runs off before they light the candles, though. No one can find him. Luke stays inside with the babies while the rest of them search.

Aemond finds Joff under the covers in his mother’s room. He’s disturbed the dust that’s settled on the bed. Gently, he peels the covers back and asks if he’s ok. Does he need a minute? Would he like to send everyone home? Joff shakes his head. He’s enjoying the party he just misses Mama and Papa Daemon so much. Aemond’s surprised when Joffrey hugs him for the first time, but hugs him back. Holds him while he cries.

When they return to the party - ice cream cake nearly melted - everyone pretends not to notice Joffrey’s red eyes and tear stained cheeks.

Three months later, as Christmas break is coming up, Aemond is there to pick up Joffrey from school instead of Luke - Viserys and Aegon had a doctors appointment- and there he is, standing in the snow with a big black trench coat, eye patch on and hair long and sleek. Looking as intimidating as ever. The parents are looking at him, the kids are looking at him, the teachers are looking at him. Aemond hates putting himself in such a public setting but it’s all worth it when Joff runs out to him, jumping into his arms.

Until one of the nosey parents ask him ‘do you know this man?’

Joffrey looks up at them like they’re stupid.

“Of course! He’s my dad!”

Aemond tries not to cry. It’s hard, but he manages to wait until they get home and Joffrey’s showing Luke the family portrait he drew of them all (with Mama and Papa Daemon in heaven with Papa Harwin)

this is both so beautiful and heartbreaking. i can imagine how sad and hard it'll be for the kids because it'd be almost unbearable, losing their parents so young, and it would be such a long process, to adapt to this new situation and to each other and relearn how to trust and coexist with this new fear of losing they've been forced to face at such young ages. how to let love in again and it's beautiful and hopeful, the fact that luke and aemond are willing to give the kids what they need, because damn, i can't even imagine what i'd be like for them. that part with joff broke my heart i swear. but guess love comes back to our lives even when it feels impossible. and god, it feels really impossible sometimes but "he manages to wait until they get home and Joffrey’s showing Luke the family portrait he drew of them all" yeah. now they have two more dad dads that truly love them.

thank you for this lovely little story, so full of emotion and detail.

#❤❤❤❤#lucemond #tw: parental death #tw: death

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chronicallylatetotheparty · 9 months

Text

Perfect Paradise

Ch.4 Y se te Para el Tiempo en tu Cara

Bunnyx stared at the fuzzy branches that split from the timeline. None of them good. But none of them world ending either.

Which meant she couldn't, shouldn't rather, interfere.

A change was coming and Alix needed to let it happen.

She waved her hand and the static cleared to show the Celestial Guardian sprinting across the countryside... A deep sigh left her as she swept the timestream back to Paris.

A familiar blue head stood in front of Adrien's mansion. Alix fast forwarded. "Oof that's rough," she winced.

But... This she could do.

----------------------

Going back a few minutes Alix stepped through the Burrow and detransformed. Joining Luka on his way to see Adrien.

"Your interview with Nadja Chamack is set, Adrien."

"Thank you, Gregor." Adrien leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

The paperwork to extricate his assets from the "family business" was long, tedious and complicated further by Adrien's insistence on combing through it himself before approving anything... He wasn't particularly trusting at the moment.

"I've also-" Gregor paused.

"Hmm?" Adrien looked up at his assistant's floating emoticon face.

"Luka Couffaine and Alix Kubdel are at the front gate."

Adrien felt something squeeze his chest.

"I will tell them you are indisposed."

"Yeah... Wait." Adrien took a steadying breath. "I'll see them."

"...Are you sure Adrien?"

Adrien straightened the papers on his desk as the pressure in his chest grew. "Send them in."

-----------------------

Luka saw some of the tension leave Alix's shoulders as the spherical camera retracted and the gate opened. "You okay?"

"Yes. No. I just, don't like the whole 'Jabba's Palace' routine. Reminds me of Agreste Manor."

"Oh." Luka wouldn't know. He only visited Adrien there once.

"Welcome." A Kanté-class AI said as they entered. Their holographic face neutral.

"Hey, Gregor," Alix greeted.

Gregor bobbed in a nod. "Alix... Luka. Adrien is in the No Fun Room."

"His office," Alix explained at Luka's confused look.

Luka's lips twitched. "He calls it the No Fun Room?'

"Says it helps his ADHD."

"Ah..."

"Please remove your shoes," Gregor asked as he lead them through Adrien's home.

From what little Luka remembered, Adrien's new mansion was almost the exact opposite of his old one. There was colorful carpet and hardwood floors instead of stark tiles. Faded drawings made in crayon ran along the bottom of the walls. The light filling the space was soft and warm.

But there were also... scars.

Empty spaces that obviously used to hold framed portraits were next to pictures of Adrien and his family. Emma in her fencing gear. Hugo playing the piano. Little Louis surrounded by fabrics.

And, just over there, was a family portrait. Marinette and Adrien and the three kids all laughing in a candid photo. It was off center. Like it'd been removed from it's place of prominence.

"Now this is a surprise," Adrien said from behind a desk stacked with papers. "The prodigal son back in town to pay me a visit."

"Hey, I'm here too!" Alix spoke up.

"Alix we saw each other last month."

"And you kept tight lipped about something important dincha?"

Adrien's eyes wandered back to the paperwork on his desk. "I don't see how my personal life is any of your business."

Alix bit her tongue. Reminding herself that she was there to smooth things over not rock the boat even more.

"That's actually why I'm here." Luka walked up to the desk but kept on the opposite side of it. "It's not great to hear but... The relationship between the Ladybug and Black Cat does concern us. As wielders of the Miraculous."

The mask of polite neutrality on Adrien's face was pulled taunt. "I'm surprised you came to me and not Marinette."

Alix coughed.

"... She was busy," Luka admitted.

"Of course."

"Adrien-

"I'm sorry."

Luka blinked. "Sorry?"

"I know it's, heh, twenty-six years overdue but... I'm sorry I went to you for advice about your ex-girlfriend."

"Oh." Luka's confusion didn't diminished but now he knew where Adrien was coming from. "I mean, I don't hold it against you."

Adrien shook his head. "Still. I shouldn't have done that. And I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," Luka said because it felt like the answer Adrien was looking for.

The mask slipped a little as Adrien gave a tentative smile... And stared at Luka... Waiting...

Alix cleared her throat drawing Luka's attention. She gave the slightest jerk in Adrien's direction. Eyes practically bulging as she pointed at him with just her irises.

Luka glanced from her to Adrien. Eyes widening. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you I knew your identity before leaving."

Adrien twisted the rings on his fingers. Over and over and over. "...Is that it?"

"I'm... sorry I wasn't honest with you-"

Adrien shot to his feet. Rolling chair shooting back and papers sliding off their piles. Mask gone as Adrien stared at him with disdain. "Honest with me? Honest with me. Is that all you did, Luka? You weren't honest with me?"

Alix stepped forward. "Adrien-"

"Stay out of this, Doctor Who!" he snapped.

Luka scrambled for the right notes as Adrien's song went into a minor key. "I know we haven't harmonized for a while Adrien but just-"

"Our songs have never been in harmony."

Luka flinched.

"...You don't even remember do you?" Adrien deflated as whatever rage he held onto was replaced with sorrow. "I think you should leave."

"Please, just tell me-"

"You sold me out." Adrien whispered.

"... What?"

Adrien took a deep breath. "You. And my ex-wife. Sold. Me. Out."

Luka shook his head. "No. I would never do that to..." A memory came back to him.

Marinette. Panicked and small. The Celestial Guardian. Loud and angry. Adrien. Hopeful and oh so trusting.

Luka staggered back. "I..."

"Gregor."

The AI materialized. "Yes, Adrien?"

"See him out."

"Of course. Come now. Back the way we came."

"She was trying to protect you!" Luka blurted out.

Adrien's expression hardened further. "I have nothing more to say to you. Good day, M. Couffaine."

"If this is why you-"

"M. Couffaine. You may have seen our faces but you never saw past our masks."

With a nod at Gregor a robotic chair zoomed in and pushed behind Luka's knees. Who fell into the seat. A seatbelt zipping into place before hurrying away with it's charge.

As Luka was ushered out he saw that there were also photos of Kitty Section playing together.

None of them included him.

Alix pinched the bridge of her nose. That could've gone better. She definitely should've bent the rules a bit and told him... Something.

"Not turning out the way you hoped?" Adrien asked, straightening the papers on his desk. "Join the club."

"Luka didn't deserve that from you, Cinderella."

"You're right. He deserved worse."

"That's not- Mm, no. Not getting into this. I'm just gonna go."

Adrien pressed a button and the door to his study closed.

"...Well that's not creepy at all. Do all your doors do that?"

"It's just for this room. The kids overhearing business dealings would be... Legally messy."

"Uh-huh," Alix said, eyeing the window and gripping her Miraculous. "Sure."

"I have a question. For Bunnyx."

Alix sighed. "If it's about the future..."

"I get that we're not friends but you still owe me answers."

She bristled at the allusion to her "owing" him. Remembering the times he posted her bail and asked nothing in return... Her grip on the pocket watch loosened. "Since when aren't we friends?"

"Since you found out about 'something important' and said jack shit. So, y'know, however many years that is."

"..."

Alix looked at Adrien. Laugh lines overshadowed by the eye bags he sported. Tall, muscular frame weighed down by truths made heavier with time.

He was looking at her the same way he looked at Luka. Like she was a stranger... "What do you wanna know?"

Adrien stared into her eyes. "What is Chat Blanc?"

--------------------------

Adrien looked at the security feed as Luka and Alix left him.

"Gregor?"

"Yes, Adrien?"

"Luka Couffaine, Alix Kubdel, Viperion and Bunnyx are no longer welcome in my home."

Gregor bobbed in midair as a nod. Eyes sad but understanding. "Of course, Adrien. I will-" His eyes became three dots pulsing in sequence. Before snapping back into focus.

"Gregor? What is it? You okay?"

"... Emilie Agreste has filed for custody of Emma, Hugo and Louis."

#adrien agreste #luka couffaine #alix kubdel #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml au #divorce au #Perfect Paradise #ml ephermeral

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jkooktray · 7 months

Text

skk au

Where they’re drawn to each other in every life from the first life they meet, vowing to “never cross paths again” but if they do to make sure their lives won’t ever be the same without each other (in the “worst” way possible). Sometimes both of them remember. Sometimes they don’t. Most times it takes meeting for Chuuya to remember a stinky fish and an irritating near irrefutable voice, and blood. there was always so much blood because he had to go and play a self sacrificing role.

And fewer times Dazai will know Chuuya, acting as if he does when he really doesn't remember at all, just that the man is alluring and that irritates him. Unfortunately, it's frequent for them to miss each other, feeling deep down a gaping hole where something, someone should be.

It's one day, a day where Chuuya's feet carry him to wander as he often does to clear his head, which never works and gives him a lot more to think about and ends up visiting a family grave. One of the many remaining structures scattered across the country in honor of wealthy families of the past. He doesn't bother with history ( in the kindest way possible) he is just too busy thinking about sciences and his own present to worry about mistakes made by other people long ago. He's not one for visiting graves unless he feels like he needs someone to confide in.

Yet he wanders around with a few other visitors, marveling over the structure and the well-kept grounds and trying not to wallow in his own self destructive thoughts. This is how he finds himself standing in a preserved, forgotten section, where the only thing identifying someone's past is a small portrait, what would rival a photo.

Faded as if gone through a life worse than the person who owned it, but the figures the faces of two people are unmistakeable. And it could very well be a trick of his own eyes, his mind aching for a change, something interesting even if it is a new thought he could get carried away into if he let himself, but one of those faces looks like... his own.

Once the thought presents itself it roots into his mind. As crazy as it is, he is certain of this paper that has survived centuries. It's drawn by a rushed hand, desperate to capture the image of a person slipped through their fingers. Just another tug of his heart in a direction he is familiar with but doesn't know. A person. Reasonably, he isn't all that sure about his own logic of, "If that is me and I am here, then the other guy must be here too" but he always trusts his gut if no one else.

It wasn't like he had a reason to unbury the other side of his soul when he wasn't around. A misplaced name lost to history, their past lives but not to his very core. Chuuya doesn't want to remember what happened, just that they lost each other like he has lost people before in his current life. It hurts so, if he ever finds Dazai again he isn't letting him go.

Cue many unsuccessful, half-hearted attempts to find him. (To find each other, unknowingly.)

When Chuuya hears his voice before remembering his face, it is at a zoo. The brunet's eyes are brooding, his voice spilling with over the top cheer and accompanied by his friends. Chuuya isn't afraid to approach him at all after meeting his gaze a handful of times. And it helps that Kyouka, holding his hand instead of Kouyou's recognizes one of the people he is with, because Chuuya might have made a bit of a fool of himself. He hurried up to Dazai when he drifted away from the group to stare into one of the enclosures.

"There you are!" it's the only thing he can think to say that's appropriate since— "Um...?" The man looks around, certainly startled. "You must think I'm someone else." Chuuya prepares himself for all sorts of heartbreak. He isn't immune to it. "No. I know who I'm talking to, shitty mackerel." "Mackerel?! Ha. Do your eyes need checked, chibi?" There's no way around it. That voice is his. The boring, uncreative insults are his. Chuuya didn't need to see him to know it. The man might not remember Chuuya, but he stares wide-eyed because Chuuya knows his name; his expression proves Chuuya correct. Dazai worries he has a stalker, teasing as he asks if Chuuya is. "What! No, no you're— you... I know you. Fuck. You, you don't remember me." "It'd be pretty hard to forget a guy like you." It isn't meant as an insult or a flirt. Dazai's brain fails to catch up with the words leaving his mouth.

Dazai doesn't want to continue the encounter— the outing. It is a very bad day for him, not even his friends could help if they were aware completely. Not even this stranger, who knows his name and steals his attention violently by just existing in the same space as him. When asked by Atsushi if he is alright, he just hums and jumps at the opportunity to look at the seals. Thus it becomes a joint trip, because Atsushi knows the guy's younger sister (?). Chuuya, his brain supplies, probably because he was told his name. Not any other reason at all.

From there it's Chuuya helping Dazai to remember him, or to rebuild whatever was between them in this new life. Sprinkled with notes and flashes of distant lives once lived.

#plus Dazai pining without realizing he is pining but everyone else around him is aware of it. maybe Chuuya is too #because I like him being aware of something Dazai isn't #this is just here if i never get around to writing this the rest of the year or soon #my notes are in a small notebook i carry around #and this has been itching for a bit of a proper organization since i had the thought #fic wips #bsd fic #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #soukokuism #and one more skk fic is always a good thing #fanfic #'mausoleum' inspired

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proserpinewrites · 6 months

Note

motion, bling, change (for Ru)

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

Imagine with me for a moment: you're on a walk, a perfectly normal sort of perambulation. And then you see a man who walks like a cross between David Tennant, a Boston Terrier wearing dog sized shoes, and an underfed wolf that has just spotted a rabbit. That is how Ru Riddon, when not actively trying to do otherwise, walks. There's a slight bounce to his step, provided his joints aren't acting up. He walks fast, and unless he's actively paying attention to where he's going, he walks INTO things. Not being clumsy requires his full attention, and it requires that no one speak to him while he's moving. Surprisingly, he is rather flexible but that has more to do with his affinity for stretching based exercise than anything else.

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

One small hoop earring in each ear, he has a silver set but favors the gold set that he bought with the first royalty payment from his very first book. One gold plated medallion of Lathander's symbol on a long chain, that belonged to his late husband. One large (think pigeon's egg sized) silver locket on a similarly long chain that he only opens in private. If you were so lucky as to be shown its contents or catch him looking at them, you would discover that inside the locket are three miniature portraits painted a hundred years prior. The first is of a well dressed middle aged human man with a long face and slightly beaky nose, large dark eyes, and dark hair streaked with gray swept back from his face with pomade. The second is of a tiefling girl, a Zariel tiefling at a guess, with a bright smile, twin braids, and a look of mischief in her eyes. The third is of a shy looking half-elven girl with eyes as dark as the man in the first portrait, and hair to match. A little squinting will tell you that she's wearing a locket very similar to the one that Ru currently wears. These pieces only come off of his body if they or Ru himself is in need of a wash/polish/etc.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

After he lost his family, after he got away from the place they died, he took a pair of scissors to his hair. At the time it was nearly waist length and a rich auburn, but by the time he felt satisfied he'd shaved down to the bare skin of his scalp. When it grew back in, it grew in streaked with gray even though he hadn't even gotten to his third century of life. Over the next fifty years or so, lines appeared on his face to match the laugh lines that had lived there even before his grief. His husband was a master tailor who had enjoyed using Ru to try out new designs for waistcoats or gambesons, whatever he felt the need to experiment with at the time. Andreas favored rich jewel tones in the clothing he made his husband, gilded embroidery. By and large, Ru packed all of these clothes away after he died. Too many memories locked away in that clothing, he would have told anyone who asked him. No one did, and he's happy to keep the reasoning to himself. His personal taste is plainer, the colors more muted and the fabrics far less busy. No one cares if an author dresses like every other middle aged elf in the city looking to go unnoticed, and he hardly ever performs music anymore, so it's easier.

#insp: ruadhán riddon

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venti-chai · 9 months

Text

🥀A Gay Pirate Love Story🥀

Victor du Pont grew up knowing he was different. On the small island of Montaso, everybody knew everybody, and word spread fast. Meaning everyone knew something was strange about Victor.

Whenever an attractive young woman from the mainland passed by, heads would turn. Men would whistle. Other women would envy her in silence. But Victor kept his nose in his book, or his eyes on his canvas. He didn’t care. In fact, he much preferred gawking at the sailors down at the harbor, with their rippling muscles and their gruff voices.

Every Sunday night while his family attended church, Victor would slip out of the house and sneak down to the docks, canvas and brush in hand, and would set up in his spot; under the shade of a palm tree on the beach, just uphill of the docks. It was fairly hidden, only visible from the docks if one were to squint hard enough through the darkness. It was nestled up next to the staircase leading into town from the harbor, right against the large stone wall that acted as a barrier. The staircase went over it and carried on up the hill, letting out onto mainstreet. At night, it would be too difficult to see into the corner from the docks. Victor liked to call it his little oasis.

From here Victor took pleasure in watching the busy dock workers and sailors going about their business. Every Sunday he would sketch the busy setting and, sometimes, when the docks were slow enough, he would dedicate his finest oil paints to completing the piece in vivid detail. Victor left nothing out of his paintings; the galleons, the people, the cargo, the cracks in the wooden walkways, the reflection of the moonlight on the waves, everything was given life in his piece and treated with the same amount of care and respect, except for one burly detail.

Recently a figure had caught Victor’s eye, and Victor took each chance he could to recreate his image on the canvas. Every Sunday for weeks now, a young sailor, maybe only a few years older than Victor, frequented the pier. His hair was reminiscent of a wildfire, with eyes as green as the leaves of a rose bush. A spatter of freckles crossed his face and a large scar traveled over his eye, down his face, and across his mouth. For being so young he was fairly built, and Victor would watch in awe as the dashing swashbuckler hefted a keg or box of cargo over his shoulder that another sailor had broken a sweat just trying to lift off the ground.

It was on one of these Sunday nights, while Victor was sketching his muse, when the subject of his longing glanced in his direction, smiled, and waved. Victor froze, heat flooding his face, before he ducked behind his canvas and continued sketching. His sketches turned into violent scribbles as his heart beat madly.

No way.

Victor risked a glance around his canvas to see if the young sailor was still looking, but he had disappeared. Victor breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s an impressive sketch you have there!”

Victor let out a girlish shriek as he whirled around to face the person behind him, nearly knocking over his easel as he positioned himself to block the portrait. His heart sank when they made eye contact.

Shit.

Up close, Victor’s muse seemed even bigger. Victor noticed that, through his coat, his chest was as hard and majestic as the old mountainside, and his-

The sailor let out a loud, hearty chuckle as he straightened the canvas, keeping it from falling. “Whoa there! I didn’t mean to scare you, my deepest apologies!”

Victor stuttered, unsure what he was trying to say. “W-W-Where did you come from?”

His muse chuckled again as he covered his grin, which disappointed Victor. He thought his smile was rather attractive. “You don’t know the pier that well, do you?” He quirked a brow, releasing the canvas. “There are plenty of side-roads out of the harbor that lead just about anywhere.”

Right. Victor knew that. “I- I uh- what?”

The sailor straightened, grinning at Victor again. “May I see your painting? I’ve noticed you up here a few times and I’ve always been curious about the masterpieces you’ve been making!”

Oh God. Victor sputtered again before he cleared his throat in an attempt to get his nerves under control. “No,” his voice cracked.

Victor’s muse paused a moment before he snickered. “I see. A bit shy, ain’t ya? If that’s the case, I ain’t gonna push your buttons.” Victor noticed his English accent started shifting into something more rough and unrefined.

Victor was silent, watching the way his lips moved when he spoke, before he nodded. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat again as he stood straight, bumping into the easel. It rocked back, then forward again as the canvas tipped off and fell to the ground. Victor squeaked and, scrambling to grab it, hit his head on the easel with a painful thud.

As Victor rubbed his head in pain, he watched in terror as the sailor reached down for the canvas, his eyes glancing over it. Victor went pale and snatched it from him, clutching it to his chest. “Um! Well, goodbye!” He turned and made a beeline for the stairs, mentally going over his list of colorful swears.

“Wait!” The sailor caught up with him. “I didn’t get your name!”

“I don’t have one.” Victor sped up.

The sailor cut him off, forcing Victor to a stop. “Alfred.”

Victor tilted his head, unsure what he was referring to, until he gasped softly. Now he really felt stupid. “Oh. Nice to meet you, Alfred. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He made a move to get around Alfred but was stopped again.

“My apologies for making you uncomfortable, I didn’t mean any harm!”

Victor stared at him. Let me leave. Dear God, I’ve made a fool of myself already, just let me leave. His hands were starting to shake when he sighed, running his fingers through his hair before he held out his hand to Alfred. “Victor.”

Alfred’s expression changed to that of surprise as he shook his hand. His hand was noticeably larger than Victor’s, but Victor couldn’t help the feeling they fit together perfectly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Victor.”

Victor quickly pulled his hand away, resisting the urge to wipe it on his pants. Heat rushed into his face again. “You as well, Alfred.”

Looking over Victor with confusion, Alfred sighed and stepped out of the way. “Again, my apologies for causing you,” he paused, “any discomfort.” His smile started fading and Victor felt his heart crack a little. “I should get back to work. Keep up the good work on your painting, Victor.”

Victor remained silent for an uncomfortably long moment before nodding. “Thank you.” He shifted nervously, unsure if he should say something, anything else, then decided against it and hurried up the stairs onto main street.

Once he was far out of earshot, Victor dropped the canvas and punched the side of a building, ignoring the burning pain in his fist as it welled up with blood. “Dammit, Victor! You’re hopeless!”

Victor took a minute to breathe before he smoothed his hair back, picked up the canvas, and began the slow walk home, tamping his emotions deep down inside until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

It’s for the best that he avoids me now, anyway, Victor told himself. We’re both men. It never would have worked between us.

Victor was introduced to Alice that night. He had just gotten home and, with his canvas and paint brush in one hand and his shoes in the other, snuck inside.

His father, the island’s priest, was home early from mass. He was perched on the love seat in the sitting room, a cup of Earl Grey in his hands. A young girl, no older than 15, sat on the settee across from him, her hands in her lap and her head down. Another cup of tea rested on the table in front of her, steaming and untouched.

Victor froze in the doorway. His eyes traveled over the girl first, taking in every detail he could make out. She most notably had the same fiery curls as Victor’s muse, and what skin she revealed was freckled.

Victor gulped, tugging at his collar as he chuckled nervously. “If this is some sort of strange interrogation, I would like no part in it.”

Victor’s father, disregarding Victor’s attempt at a joke to break the tension, set his saucer down on the table. He raised his gaze to meet his son’s, his expression unreadable, before he gestured to the seat next to Alice. “Have a seat, son.”

Hesitant, Victor sat down on the edge of the settee, putting as much space between himself and the girl as he could. She hadn’t even lifted her head.

Victor was violently unnerved by his father’s behavior. He had just been caught out of the house without permission and his father was eerily calm about it.

The priest set his tea down on the table and said nothing for a while. He linked his fingers together and rested his hands on his knees, his gaze flickering between Victor and the girl. Victor shifted uncomfortably, and was about to open his mouth when his father spoke up.

“What happened to your hand?”

Victor had almost forgotten. He wrapped his other hand around his fist to cover the dried blood and dark bruises that were starting to form. “Nothing happened, father. I just-”

The rest of his sentence dropped off as his father stood, crossing the room in half a second, and took Victor’s hand into his own. Victor cringed at the pain shooting through his hand.

The priest looked over his hand, his brow furrowing and his lips turning down at the corners. He let out a thoughtful “hm” and, reaching into his vest’s inner pocket, retrieved a cloth and a roll of bandages. Victor wondered over the objects and why on earth his father would just happen to have them on his person as his fists were cleaned and bandaged.

“You ought to be more careful, son.”

“I’m sorry, father.”

Victor’s father met his son’s gaze then, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Believe it or not, I was a young man too once. Take my word for it when I tell you fighting will get you nowhere.”

This surprised a bark of laughter from Victor. “It’s not that!” He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of the excuse formulating in his head.

“Bah. Keep your secrets, then.” There was a brief moment of silence before the priest spoke again. “Just remember to aim for the nose.”

Victor chuckled, a genuine smile forming on his face as his father returned to his seat. “I shall remember that.”

And then the moment was over.

“Victor, this is Alice Riley.”

Victor, the feeling of dread from earlier coiling in his stomach again, was quiet for a moment, before he looked over at Alice. “Um, hello, Miss Riley.”

The girl, as if not acknowledging he said anything, was silent. Victor shifted uncomfortably, the silence of the room weighing down on him. Victor almost jumped off the settee when Alice whispered a silent “hello.”

“Good. Now that you two are introduced,” Victor’s father stood again and strode over to the fireplace, which was blazing as if it had just been stoked. He gazed deep into the flames, his arms linked behind his back. Victor recognized this as his father’s habit to avoid eye contact. “Victor, Alice is your betrothed.”

Victor froze. He had no words, dumbfounded by what his father had told him. After what felt like hours, Victor found his voice again and sputtered. “W-What…” He looked over at Alice for some sign that this was the truth, or some kind of sick joke.

Please God let it be a joke.

Alice said nothing.

Victor turned back to his father. “What do you mean, betrothed?”

“You know damn well what ‘betrothed’ means, boy, don’t be a damn idiot,” Victor’s father spat angrily as he turned to Victor, making him wince.

Whatever remained of the warmth from their previous interaction dissipated. “I-I just meant, ah, why so suddenly?”

The priest’s focus turned back towards the fire as another unsettling calm settled over him. The flames reflected in his eyes made Victor shrink back into his seat. “Word has gotten to me of your queer hobby, Victor.”

“My…what?”

“Tell me, boy. What have you been doing every Sunday night? I want to hear it from you.”

The dread in Victor’s stomach exploded. The truth, after keeping it a secret so long, left a sour taste in his mouth. “I’m an artist, father. I’ve been painting.”

“Where?”

“The pier.”

The priest nodded slowly. “And what is it that you have been painting?”

“Everything.”

“Is that right?” Victor shut his mouth, unsure of how to respond. “What of this?”

In one quick motion Victor’s father had moved across the room again and swiped the canvas before Victor could even sit up straight. Victor noticed he took great care not to even glance at the painting of his son’s muse as he held it up for both Victor and Alice to see, a look of disgust on his face. “Tell me about this one.”

Victor glanced at Alice for a brief moment. She was examining the painting, her head tilted in a way that Victor still couldn’t get a glimpse of her eyes. He looked back at his father, swallowing down his fear. “I-I make portraits of everyone, father.”

The sneer that formed on the priest’s face sent a shudder down Victor’s spine. “Do you think me daft, son?” He turned away, the portrait still in his hands. “I have searched your room and seen all of your paintings. The only portraits you have are of this man.”

Fear bubbled in Victor’s veins. “Why were you in my room?”

Victor’s father turned back to him, bringing the back of his hand across his son’s face. Victor bit back a cry as Alice let out a soft gasp.

“I will ask the questions. You will shut your damn mouth unless I tell you otherwise.”

Tears pricked Victor’s eyes as he lowered his head, his hands curling into fists.

The priest waited a moment, presumably for his son to defy him, then cleared his throat when he didn’t. He turned back to the fireplace, the canvas tucked under his arm as he linked his hands behind his back. “I am disappointed in you, Victor.” He waited another moment before continuing. “I was under the impression you were above this sodomite shit.”

Victor gritted his teeth but said nothing.

“That is why you are to be married to Alice. And,” before Victor had time to react, his father threw the painting into the fire. “You are no longer to be an ‘artist.’”

Victor let out a scream of horror as he leapt up from his seat. “Father, no!”

“And,” his father continued, moving over to the love seat. Victor let out a strangled sob when he pulled the rest of his paintings out from behind the seat. “You are going to witness me burn every last one of these damned monstrosities.”

“Stop!” Victor moved to stop him but was swiftly stopped himself by a fist to the gut. He staggered back, losing his breath.

“I said shut your fucking mouth.”

Victor watched in horror, doubled over in pain, as his father threw his paintings into the fire, one by one. The tears in his eyes welled over and ran down his cheeks. He dropped to his knees with a heavy sob.

All his hard work. It was all for fucking nothing.

And worse yet, he was to be married. To a woman. Who had just witnessed him lose everything he loved.

I can’t breathe.

Victor began choking. The smoke filling the room stung his eyes. That feeling of dread Victor had felt in his stomach spiraled. This is death.

Finally his father stepped away from the fireplace and smoothed his hair back. “Now.” His arms linked behind his back as he moved down the hallway toward his office. “Come, Alice. We have much to discuss.”

Victor lay in a broken heap on the floor, sobbing and clenching his chest, almost in pain. He jolted when he heard a soft thud on the carpet, then approaching footsteps.

“Victor,” so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.

Victor looked up into the green eyes of his muse, filled with unshed tears.

Alice opened her mouth to say something and let out a frightened squeak when the priest called for her.

“Alice.”

The soft redhead glanced down the hall, then back at Victor, then at her feet. She wrung her hands nervously. “‘Mm sorry.”

Alice was gone before Victor could respond.

--🥀--

The next few weeks were void of color to Victor.

Wedding rehearsals started and ended in what felt like mere moments. People came and went like strangers on a busy street. The priest’s firm tone was distant every time he spoke.

He felt faraway. Like he was someone else watching his life go by from the shadows.

Victor obeyed his father. He gave up art, quit visiting the docks on Sunday nights. He went through the motions of the rehearsals without pause. His father seemed pleased. There was something else, too, in the way he addressed Victor, a slight hesitation. But Victor didn’t care enough to analyze this new behavior.

After one of these rehearsals, Victor sat on the edge of the cliff the church was situated on, overlooking the sea. One of Montaso’s mountain ranges on the western side of the island loomed over the lagoon below and seemed to sneer down at Victor. The valley that the city was situated on, just down the hill to the southeast, seemed quiet and faded in the light of the setting sun. From where Victor perched on the cliff, the mountains seemed to surround the small valley, cornering it against the beach so it could do nothing but cower before them. Victor couldn’t help but notice the city looked tired and ready to give up. He looked away, instead turning his focus to the sea again.

The salty air felt nice after spending the morning inside the cold church. He took in a deep breath and shut his eyes.

“Victor?”

Victor opened his eyes and turned his head. “Miss Riley.”

Alice stood a couple feet away, her arms behind her back as if she were hiding something. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

The girl glanced down at her feet, embarrassed. “May I ask you a favor, Victor?”

“I suppose.”

Alice revealed what she was hiding behind her back; a canvas, a paint brush, and the fine sort of oil paints Victor used to collect. “Could you paint me? Please?”

Victor stared at her for a long moment, almost shocked. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Alice. I don’t paint anymore.”

“Please? Just once more!”

Victor, for another long moment, stared until he decided he couldn’t resist her sweet doll eyes. He sighed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose just once more.”

The look on Alice’s face was enough to lift Victor’s heavy cloud of sorrow. At least for a few moments.

Victor rose to his feet, dusting off his pants. “My father isn’t around, is he?”

Alice shook her head. “He left.”

“Alright.” Victor took the items from the girl, about to say something else when Alice perked up.

“Oh! One moment, I forgot your easel!”

Victor watched as she ran back to the church, stumbling on her fluffy dress every few steps. She returned with an easel too tall for her to carry. Victor had to meet her at the bottom of the hill and carry it up for her.

While Victor set up, Alice found a comfortable spot to sit in. She sat stiffly, with her arms rigid in front of her and her fists rested on her knees. Victor couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“Relax, Alice.”

Alice muttered a soft “sorry” in embarrassment and slumped her shoulders.

“Alright, here. Tilt your head,” Victor tilted his head down and to the side, brushing his hair from his eyes and gazing up at her through his dark lashes. “Like this.”

Alice hesitated before copying his movements. She let her hair spill over her shoulder and then swept the remaining locks behind her ear. The way the light from the setting sun shone in her eyes added even more to the flattery of the angle.

“Good. Now hold that pose.”

It only took a half hour to sketch her portrait, another hour and a half to paint over the sketch. Details still needed to be added so the solid colors weren’t so dull, but by then Victor had committed her face to memory, so it wouldn’t be too hard for him to finish up without Alice modeling.

Victor and Alice found a spot in the church to stash the portrait and materials (under a loose floorboard blocked by a pew), then said goodnight and parted ways.

The next morning, Victor actually had a little motivation to really attend the rehearsal. After the night before, Victor felt a lot more comfortable around Alice. He didn’t love her, and he never would, but knowing her a little better was certainly a step up from being complete strangers.

Victor managed to recite his vows almost perfectly. There wasn’t too much enthusiasm in his tone, which his father pointed out many times, but Victor could still tell he was pleased.

It irked him.

“Now, son, take her hands in yours.”

Victor turned to Alice, hesitating only a beat before he swept her hands into his. His father continued speaking, but his voice grew distant as Victor gazed into Alice’s eyes.

They had a certain shine to them that seemed very familiar to Victor. Now that he thought about it, her eyes looked nearly identical to Alfred’s, if only slightly bigger. Victor gritted his teeth. Of course his father would replace his love interest with a female look-alike. Shit, Victor wouldn’t be surprised if they were related. The bastard was trying to remind Victor of what he’d taken.

Damn him to hell.

Victor dropped Alice’s hands, tears of rage pricking his eyes. He ignored the questioning look she gave him as he turned away, moving towards the door.

He could hear his father’s voice calling to him, but he didn’t listen. He was done listening. No longer would he be ripped of his passions because some arrogant jackass didn’t approve.

The farther Victor moved away from the dais, the quicker his pace got and the more his anger waned. Panic started setting in. His vision blurred and his chest tightened, and he felt like vomiting before he even reached the door.

He was hyperventilating by the time he got outside. He slammed the door with more force than he intended and ran up the hill to the cliff edge, dropping to his knees at the top and pulling at his tie, trying desperately to untie it. He felt as though he were being strangled.

Victor only managed to tighten the damn thing. He let out a colorful curse, dropping the knot he had created and pulling at his hair instead.

“What’s the matter?”

Victor startled and turned to face the man beside him, sucking in a breath. His gaze met soft green eyes.

“Oh, nothing, I just…”

Alfred kneeled next to him and, to Victor’s surprise, wiped his tears away. The concerned expression on his face wasn’t something Victor expected to see. “You’re not crying for ‘nothing.’”

Victor looked away. “I’m getting married.” He wiped his eyes, giving a small shrug. “Just stressed.”

Alfred went quiet for a moment before he attempted a half smile. “Oh? Who’s your lucky partner?”

Victor thought he was going to be sick. He shifted almost uncomfortably away from Alfred. “You know, a girl.” He paused, unsure how to continue. He never thought he’d have to explain his marriage with a woman. “Her name is Alice.”

There was a long moment of silence before Alfred moved to sit next to Victor. “Oh? I have a sister with the same name.”

“Really?”

Alfred nodded. “She’s very young. 14 years old. She’s basically a cuter copy of me.”

Victor had had a feeling they were related, but now he was certain of it. “Oh, I see.”

Another long moment passed before Alfred spoke again. “You don’t seem very,” he paused, “happy with marrying this girl.” He looked over at Victor, meeting his gaze. “Why is that?”

Victor dropped his gaze, his hands curling into fists. The emotions were starting to flood back. “I just don’t have feelings for her. She’s sweet, sure, but there’s nothing between us. I could never love her as my wife, and I know damn well she could never love me, and that’s for the best because I don’t even like women!”

Victor gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth. Shit. I just fucking said that out loud.

Alfred looked surprised, but Victor noticed there was not one hint of disgust on his face. “You don’t?”

A tremble started low in Victor’s spine and traveled upward. He bit his lip to keep it from quivering as he moved to stand up. “Forget I said anything!”

Before he could leave, Alfred grabbed his wrist. Victor stilled, hesitant to meet his eyes. He could feel the shame burning in his face.

Alfred said nothing for a long while before he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m the same way.”

Victor looked up at him, his eyes wide. This is a fucking joke. He has to be joking. “What?”

Alfred nodded. Victor noticed his face was turning pink. “I have romantic feelings for men as well.”

“Oh.” He wiped his eyes as his face started burning up. Something told him Alfred was being genuine. He let out a weak chuckle. “Well now I feel stupid.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow as he rose to stand with Victor. “Why is that?”

Victor scratched the back of his head, dropping his gaze. “I overreacted.”

He let out a surprised squeak when Alfred pulled him into a close hug. “You have every reason to react that way. It’s alright.”

Victor went still, feeling the blood rushing to his face. He hugged back silently and smiled when he heard Alfred’s heartbeat ticking up a notch. Standing there, in the arms of his muse and his head on his chest, he felt a sense of peace.

They fit together perfectly, and this time Victor welcomed that thought.

Alfred set his own head against Victor’s. “Is that why you were staring at me? While you were painting?”

Victor stiffened again. “Well I- Um!”

“Are you in love with me?”

He startled a little. What the hell do I even say to that?

Alfred lifted Victor’s chin, meeting his gaze. Fuck, he wants an answer.

Victor stuttered, trying to find coherent words. “I- maybe?”

When Alfred said nothing, Victor’s heart sank. Out of all the answers I could have given him. Dammit, Victor.

“I, um, I should probably get back now,” Victor said weakly, making an attempt to pull away from the hug.

“Wait.” Alfred refused to release him. Victor went still. “When the time comes, will you trust me?”

Victor’s head reeled in confusion and a little surprise. That was certainly not the reaction he expected. “What do you mean?”

Alfred let go of Victor, cupping his face and kissing Victor on the cheek softly. “You’ll see soon.”

Victor lost all feeling in his body, except for the heat in his face.

“Until next time.” Alfred leaned in close, dropping his voice. “Stay hopeful for me, Victor.”

#pov they kiss at autism peak

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startanewdream · 3 years

Note

James and/or Sirius laughing at Harry for growing (or trying to) grow a beard 🧔

That’s it

That’s my comment

Ahhh, it's midnight for me I work early tomorrow but I just *had* to write something along these lines!

Set during winter break at Year 6 (or my fave pining Harry time). Warning for some slang and also that I edited on the phone

________

“Fuck. No, no, it can’t be… fuck!”

The first slang would have made Sirius stop on his way down the hall, but the tone of desolation that follows it, added by the most hopelessness he has ever heard in Harry's voice, makes him open the door to his godson’s bedroom without waiting for an answer.

(Always risky when it comes to teenagers, but it seems to be an emergency)

The first thing he notices is the rotten smell, then the smoke coming out of a cauldron with the fire beneath still lit; sparkles are coming out of Harry’s wand, which he holds high (underage magic? That he won’t tell), but then Sirius’ gaze falls on Harry’s face and he ignores anything else.

Because on Harry’s face there is something so horrendous that Sirius won’t dare to call it a beard. It’s hair.

Harry’s chin spots the same hair as in his head. It’s a dark messy beard that makes him look as if his hair grew all around his mouth.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t laugh!” Harry tells him immediately, a little bit threatening, but Sirius is truly too shocked to even break a smile. This thing is too ghastly for even him to crack a joke about it. “I… I messed up, okay?”

“Kid, that’s an overstatement,” Sirius says, getting closer to his godson slowly. He touches his beard. “How did you get hair on your chin? That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ugh.” Harry throws a guilty look to the cauldron on the floor. “It’s Grandpa Monty’s fault.”

“Unless his ghost came back to screw your face, it seems as if you did this to yourself, kid.”

“No, I… Look!” He picks a scroll, waving it in front of Sirius’ nose. “I found his old notes in the attic. Five-Second Eazybeard! I swear I brewed the potion exactly as he wrote.”

Sirius eyes the smelly potion.

“Are you sure it was your granddad’s notes? This doesn’t seem like Monty's style at all.”

“Well… I thought so. He was the potioneer in the family, right? And he invented Sleekeazy!”

“And then he didn’t launch anything else,” Sirius reminds him, looking at the potion instructions.

“Because he was rich enough and didn’t need more money?”

Sirius laughs. “Nah, Monty was curious enough to keep inventing. This was probably an attempt that didn’t work.” Sirius shakes his head, smirking. “Look, I am not trying to pull a Lily here, but trying untested potions? That’s a bad idea, Harry.”

"I haven't had problems so far," Harry mumbles to himself. As Sirius is about to ask him what he means by that, Harry grabs his hand suddenly. "I learned the lesson, ok? Now you gotta help me!"

Sirius lifts an eyebrow. "The only thing that would help you is a scissor."

"I've tried! The bathroom is full of this thing, but it just grew back! I've tried to cut it magically, and it's all the same. You are the adult here, do something!"

"What do you want me to do? I can't do an antidote just looking at the ingredient list! You need Lily, just call her—"

"I…" the part of Harry's face that is not covered by hair flushes. "I can't. She is at the Burrow now, helping Mrs Weasley with the New Year's party."

"Then let's go, I am sure it will be easy for her—"

"No!" Harry looks in panic now, his eyes widened. "She cannot know what… what happened."

"Lily will know as soon as—"

"Not… not Mum, it's… look, that's fine. Mum will be back tomorrow, I will just spend the New Year hiding in my room pretending I don't exist."

"Harry… there's nothing to be embarrassed about. You know, growing hair body is perfectly normal at your age—"

"Ugh, stop teasing me."

"I wish I could, but you look truly horrible." Sirius winks at him, sitting on Harry's bed. "What prompted you to do this?"

Harry's flush intensifies.

"I was trying to grow a beard."

"Oh, really?"

"It's… it's stupid, okay? But Ginny was… I mean, I heard some girls saying that they enjoyed guys with a beard and I can only grow that stupid stubble and—argh—I just thought I could give it a try but now I have hair growing all around my head and—"

"You are babbling, kid, I got it."

"No, you don't." Harry runs his hand through his hair, looking very much like James when he is most nervous. "You get to grow a beard when you want it. You get this whole shining hair. You get women to sigh for you and I… I am just this stupid teenager who can't even have a full beard."

Sirius blinks. "You are worrying way too much, Harry. And, well, if you want to be assured, you are nice—girls have taken a fancy to you, haven't they?"

"That's just the Chosen One thing, it's not really… me."

Sirius fights back a smile. Harry seems really desolate.

"Look, you've grown well. You are still growing. I am sure people notice you. You have your mother's gorgeous eyes and you do look like James—if there is any comfort in this, I remind you that James got Lily to feel attracted to him, so you can't be that bad." Harry frowns, and Sirius isn't sure if it's because he doesn't want to think of their parents being attracted to each other or if because he doesn't trust Lily's opinion on this matter. "I am sure Ginny thinks you are attractive, beard or no beard."

Harry jumps.

"Who said anything—"

"Oh, are we still pretending you don't fancy her?"

Harry looks away. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Yeah, sure. So you don't mind going to the Burrow now and showing up like this?"

"Of course I do! I mean… Ron would tease me."

"Ron."

"And the twins. I mean, look at this!"

"Yeah, I would be upset if they didn't. So many joke opportunities. You are hairy, Harry."

Harry puts his hands in front of his face. Sirius refrains from telling him this doesn't hide his beard at all.

"So… what do I do now?"

"We truly need Lily's help on this… we need to go to the Burrow."

"I can't—"

"Don't worry." Sirius breathes heavily. "Your godfather won't leave you alone on this."

_________

"It was an accident, Lily," Sirius tells her, his hand playing with the hair over his chin. His new grown hair beard reaches his chest and Sirius is almost finishing a braid by now. "I was trying some old potion, and then Harry was close and it just splashed in both of us."

Lily lifts her eyebrows, her eyes moving from Sirius to Harry and then back.

"An accident?" she repeats, incredulous.

"I am so sorry," he says, the portrait of innocence. "Could you help us with an antidote? And before you say anything, I know I shouldn't have tested an unknown potion. But do this for Harry, not for me. Poor kid doesn't deserve to spend the night hiding. It's a New Year's party after all!"

Lily shakes her head, amused.

"Fine, because you asked so eloquently. I will grab my potion kit, a hair inhibitor should be enough."

"You truly are the best, Lily," Sirius tells her, beaming.

Harry waits until his mother is out of the room to let out a relieved breath.

"Thanks so much, Sirius," he says.

Sirius nods, still messing with the hair on his chin. It's so weird and it looks as ghastly in him as it does on Harry.

He doesn't regret applying that potion to his face. His sacrifice worked just as he planned to: with two people having hair growing out of their chins, the attention was divided and with Sirius taking the blame, people felt sorry enough for Harry to not mock him much.

"Hey," they turn around to see Ginny coming closer, holding a tray with some sandwiches for them. "Mum thought you would be hungry while hiding here."

"Thanks," Sirius says, because Harry seems too busy pretending to look outside the window, anything so he can try to avoid Ginny looking at his beard.

Ginny nods at Sirius, but she approaches Harry anyway.

"Your mum is already working on the antidote, don't worry," she tells him gently. "Look, it's not as bad as that time Percy tried to grow a moustache, remember?"

Harry chuckles. "You are so lying."

"I would never," she assures him, voice light. "Look at me."

Harry turns to her almost as if he can't control it. His eyes soften as he gazes upon her, and Sirius is suddenly reminded of how Lily always looks when she sees James.

Ginny raises her hand slowly, giving Harry plenty of time to back away, but he just stays quiet as she touches his beard, her fingers running through it. Sirius suspects Harry isn't even breathing anymore.

"It's soft," she tells Harry and for a moment they just stare at each other. Sirius decides that he is really witnessing a moment that he doesn't want to, but his attempt to quietly leave the room only alerts them to his presence. Ginny's hand falls back as if she got electrocuted. "Anyway, you look better without it."

Harry grimaces. "I guess that stupid stubble is better than this."

"Stupid stubble?" Ginny blinks, evidently surprised. "It's not stupid, I… I mean, girls love it on you."

"They do?"

"Yeah, well, just thinking about your stubble brushing my skin—I mean, their skin, as in other girls' shoulders, or holding your face while… never mind, I just… I just heard it, that's all. You are drawing a lot of attention."

"I know, all this Chosen One stupid thing—"

"It's not it... you are really oblivious to your charm, Harry."

"You think I am charming?" Harry asks, longing evident in his voice now.

"I…" Ginny hesitates, turning away as if she doesn't want to answer this while looking at Harry, and her eyes meet Sirius. He smirks at her, knowing perfectly well her answer. Ginny's face reddens even as her jaw sets in a protective instance. "Yeah, with the stubble. Everyone knows it. It's common knowledge. I… I have to go, I think I heard Mum calling me."

Sirius could point out that Molly didn't call her at all, but he opts for just letting Ginny go, his smirk more than enough to let her know she didn't fool him.

At the other corner of the room, Harry's face is spotting a huge grin, watching the door with a dreamy expression.

"She likes my stubble!" He declares happily. "Oh, I need to take off this stupid long beard now."

Sirius shakes his head at Harry, amused. At least Harry won't ever complain about his inability to grow a beard again.

#Eyes glistening #Jily lives AU #Sirius being a good godfather #Harry having teenage issues #i will edit it better in the morning

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toomanyrobins2 · 3 years

Text

Those Four Words Pt. 1

Summary: an escalating fight between Jason and his girlfriend leads to a tense two weeks in Wayne Manor

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: language, mentions of sex and excessive drinking, mentions of character death

masterlist // next part

Jason Todd was in a terrible mood, having just got into an argument with Bruce. He decided to go up to his girlfriend’s studio to get away. She had been hard at work the past couple of days and he was getting needy. He came up behind her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Jay, I'm trying to do something right now.

He tried to snuggle closer to his girlfriend, “I deserve some of your time too.

“Deserve? You’re especially demanding today. What did you do?” Jason scoffed and pulled away. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“You did.”

She managed to escape and turned to look at her boyfriend, “I did? Huh, I think I would’ve remembered such a disgusting journey into your body.

“Dammit, Y/N! Enough with the sarcasm! You know what I’m saying.”

She sighed at Jason’s attitude, “I don’t understand what you’re doing right now, but you are starting a fight just for the sake of an argument. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jason was standing over his girlfriend, his whole body tense, “From any of you.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

“What? You thought the minute we started dating all of our problems would magically disappear? Are you really that naive?”

Y/N put her brushes down and stood. She tried to walk closer, but he matched each step, moving away from her. “Jason, where the hell is this coming from? I thought we had got past this. Even you and Bruce are in a better place.”

“You think I'll ever forget you abandoned me. You all did!”

“Abandon you! What have you been smoking? We thought you died!”

“You replaced me!”

Now, Y/N was angry too and it was rare that anyone saw her this way. She was deadly calm, but the fire was roaring in her eyes, “I did not replace you.”

“That’s right, you were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham to even think about me.”

“That is not fair and you know it. I mourned you. We all mourned your arrogant ass. I never stopped missing you.”

“I saw the articles, Y/N! Don’t pretend you were mourning me. You were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham.”

Her mind went back to three years ago. Jason had died in an explosion set up by the Joker. She was sixteen and her best friend had died, and she hadn’t handled it well. What started as a way to get out of the house with friends, had led to this wild, secret life. Y/N had snuck out at night and used Bruce’s name to get into clubs. She drank anything she could get her hands on and had gone home with multiple men, trying to forget her pain. Once, Bruce had found out, her world had imploded. He sent her away and finally got her the help she should have received when her parents had passed. The only reason Y/N had moved back to the manor was that Jason had been found. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to use her moments of weakness against her, “How dare you throw that back on me. I was just trying to numb the pain. It wasn’t like I was celebrating the fact that you were gone.”

“Yeah, it really looked like you missed me.”

“God Dammit, Jay!” she stamped her foot, knowing it was childish, “If you would just listen to me!”

“Oh fuck off, Y/N! If I had known I was ever going to be stuck with you and your nagging, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“I wish you hadn’t!” The minute the words left Y/N’s mouth, she gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Jason’s emotionless mask slammed into place, and suddenly he was as blank as the day Bruce had found him. He turned to walk out and Y/N chased after him, “Jay, wait! I’m sorry!” He jumped onto his motorcycle and was out the door before she could stop him. She slammed her fist into the wall and cursed in frustration and pain. No one would see either of them for the rest of the day. Y/N stayed in her studio, wondering how they got to the point of shouting such hurtful things at each other.

The next day, they had both shown up for Friday night dinner, as was expected of them. Neither spoke, and the tension was too thick to be cut with a knife. Y/N had tried to pull him aside and apologize after dinner, but he had shot her with a cutting glare and stalked away. The other could tell that something had happened, but no one had the details. Tim wandered into the library after patrol that night, to find her in a chair tucked into the corner. “What are you doing here (Y/N/N)? Isn’t it a movie night with Todd?” He noted the tear tracks down her face but knew she hated showing weakness, so he said nothing about them.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it, so I canceled. I think I’ll head to bed now. Night, Timmy.” Y/N went to her room and cried herself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming her as she played the argument over in her head. If only she had just taken a break, maybe the whole situation could have been avoided. She woke up multiple times in the night, crying out Jason’s name after seeing him and the Joker over and over again. Finally, around 3 in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went to the kitchen to pour herself coffee. She decided to keep busy and started making breakfast for the family.

Alfred was the first to appear in the morning, as usual. Y/N tried to pretend that everything was normal, but nothing could be hidden from the family’s butler. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors in her hands from over-caffeination. The boys slowly started to emerge, and Alfred started to bring out all the food she had made. She made two plates out of habit and headed for the dining room. Y/N started to hand Jason his breakfast as she had every morning for a year, but suddenly she remembered and pulled her hand away. Jason didn’t even bother to look at her, and her heart clenched. She placed the plate on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go paint.” She placed the plate she had made for herself on the counter and left.

Y/N’s studio had been a safe space since she had first moved into the manor. She had hidden away when she first arrived at Wayne Manor, unused to such an active family. Bruce had called workers to the manor and redid the room when she had told him she liked art. Now, after years of work, canvasses filled the room on all sides. Some paintings, others photos, she had accumulated in the three years. They hung on the walls and were laid across the floor. She flooded the room with Swan Lake, her sad music, and started to mix her colors. The music she played had become an easy way for the others to discern her moods since she hadn’t spoken to anyone except Fallon, Bruce’s wife, when she first came. Bruce and Dick had installed a speaker system in her studio to drown out the noise when she was overwhelmed, and everyone in the Manor could hear it if she turned it on loud enough. When the first notes hit their ears, all eyes in the dining room turned to Jason. He refused to look up and make eye contact, instead, he stared at the breakfast that had been abandoned on the table. Once everyone had averted their gaze, he pushed away from the table and disappeared.

This led to one of the most uncomfortable weeks in the Manor ever. Y/N barely left her studio and no one saw Jason for three days before he returned. When he did, he started to act as if nothing had happened. The music had eventually stopped playing altogether, so they had no idea what kind of mood she was in. Finally, Damian was the one to gather everyone else together, “Y/N/N has not come out of her studio in a week. Since Buckethead has just decided to pretend nothing has happened. We need to fix this.”

Bruce spoke up first, “Jason and Y/N are both adults. They are both being immature, and it will eventually work itself out.

“How can we fix this when we don’t even know what happened?” Tim looked up from his laptop, “I’ve been checking in on Y/N on the cameras. All she does is paint, and the most she’s slept in days is when she falls asleep accidentally. That never lasts long, and she cries. A lot.”

“Why did Fallon have to leave! We need to fix this, or the family vacation is going to be the worst!” Dick collapsed on the couch. Fallon had finally convinced Bruce that the family needed a vacation, but two weeks before they were supposed to leave, her sister had had a baby. She decided to go help her out and just meet them at the resort. They now had a week left, and it was not looking good. No one wanted to bother their mother since she very rarely took time for herself and was enjoying time with her family. They decided Alfred would be the one to try and convince Y/N to leave the studio at least and eat something.

He appeared in the doorway and watched silently as Y/N worked on a large canvas. He walked over and saw that it was a portrait of the family. “This is beautiful, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“What is the plan for this one?” Alfred sat down next to her on the floor.

“Everyone hates photos, but Fallon wanted a family portrait for the sitting room. Since no one can sit still long enough I decided to paint one and give it to her for her birthday,” she slowly sucked in a breath, “Plus they only have the old one, and J--some people-- are missing from it.” Tears started to well up again in her eyes. Alfred wrapped an arm around Y/N and just sat with her for a moment.

“I’ve kicked the boys out of the kitchen. Do you think you could come down and eat something? For me?” She only nodded and they both stood. Y/N sat on a stool and silently ate the soup Alfred had laid out for her. She barely tasted anything, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Her vision started to blur, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor and had five heads floating above her.

“Hi, guys. Thought the floor looked lonely.” She tried to sit up but was cut off.

“That is it,” Bruce spoke firmly, “You are going to bed, and you are sleeping. I thought you were mature enough to deal with this but I see I was wrong.” He picked Y/N up and noticed she had lost weight. He carried her up the stairs and before he had reached her bedroom, she was already asleep again. Bruce turned to the boys. “At least one of you is staying in here with her and making sure she sleeps.”

Tim volunteered for the first shift and settled into her desk with his laptop. Y/N had barely been asleep an hour before she woke up from a nightmare of Jason dying. She shot up and shouted out his name, before bursting into tears. Tim -- being the awkward person he is -- was ill-prepared to deal with the crying Y/N. The only solution he could think of was to climb into bed with her and pull up a movie. She slowly fell asleep again and clung to Tim like a starfish. When Dick came to relieve Tim and saw that he was unable to leave, he climbed into bed with the duo. Anytime Y/N would start to become distressed, they would calm her down. Eventually, Damian and Titus joined the cuddle pile, the former somewhat reluctantly, grumbling about how he was only doing this for Y/N. Little did the Bat-Family know, Alfred had called Fallon and told her about the situation and she had rushed home.

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