#he remembered his wife and how to play the piano

[petrichara]

If I were on my deathbed with enough strength to write one word it would be your name

#studying memory disorders you watch so many videos of late stage Alzheimer’s #and there are people #wonderful people #who cannot remember anything in the world except the one they love #he remembered his wife and how to play the piano #he jumped up every time he saw her face #showered her with bright smiles and kisses so joyous #love endures #grief #love

[a-hazbin-reader]

A reader who loves singing? Does Alator let her sing his radio show?

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being petty, Alastor eating people, Vox being bullied

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor loves having an wife who can sing, any talent of yours he celebrates but singing especially is his favorite

Alastor is the type of husband to brag to a room of strangers about how good his wife sings

Even the other overlords are SICK of hearing about you and your beautiful, heavenly, mesmerizing voice

Except maybe Zestial and Rosie, the two of them actually genuinely interested in hearing you sing

Alastor is absolutely embarrassing to take anywhere that there is a live band/music

Mocks any other singer on stage just to get a reaction out of people so he can get you up there instead

He loves your voice best 👌

"They're a fine singer, sure, I'm only saying that I've heard better~"

Not him throwing you on stage

Is your biggest fan, making sure everyone claps and cheers for you because he will eat them if they don't

You're going to be blushing the entire time on stage because he's going to be giving you the most sinful look while you sing

Even if he doesn't necessarily like the song you're singing, Alastor is content to just admire your vocal talent

He won't let anybody try to make deals or contracts with you over your voice, usually just giving people a terrifying grin as he pulls you close

Vox has asked you a few times to perform for his show, but Alastor is proud to say that his wife has better taste than that

He also exaggerates the story of how you turned him down, claiming you kicked Vox in the groin and shattered his screen

"Alastor! That's not how that happened-"

"No? Funny, that's how I remember it~"

And he usually does something funny to get back at Vox for even trying

In Alastor's opinion, there are only two ways to enjoy your voice

Either in person or on his radio show

Putting you on TV would only dull your natural sparkle and talent, take away how special it is to really listen to you

That's his opinion anyway

Will ask you to sing at the hotel instead, but really what he's asking is if you'll sing for him

Because if you perform at the hotel then he's not missing a single moment of it, each performance from you is a gift

Will have brief intermissions in his broadcast so that you can sing to all his listeners

Treats you as the Lilith figure for his show, believing that your singing does have some power to it but also just so he can rub his woman in Lucifer's face

"Seems as if her majesty wasn't the only one with a pretty voice~ Aren't we all so lucky to have Y/N~?"

Alastor, maybe don't piss off Lucifer by shit talking the mother of his child?

He'll play piano as long as you promise to sing, the two of you would have the BEST DUETS

If you sing him a love song, then he can't resist singing along with you and pulling you in for a dance

"You should serenade me more often, my dear~ I think I deserve such a treat from you every now and then~"

"You ate like six people today, I think you should think again."

Little nose boop for your husband

Not him biting your finger playfully as you go to pull it away

"You two are so fucking sweet it's making me sick, I'm outta here."

Sorry Angel

Sometimes he hums along with you if you're singing while you're working, content to harmonize with you

Lowkey gets jealous when other people sing with you but gets irritated if someone who can't sing tries to sing with you

He has gone so far as to threaten them for singing badly and ruining your song

"If you're going to open your mouth, it would do you well to mind the shit that comes out of it."

"Alastor!!"

If you ask him for it, Alastor will pull all the strings he can to get you a place just for you to sing

It'll be his shrine to your voice

No Mimzy, you can't borrow Y/N for your own business

Only people with refined tastes such as his own will be allowed in, Alastor makes sure it's the proper clientele

Oh and Husk will be the bartender

"You MOTHERFUCKER!"

Alastor likes taking your voice to it's limits, likes hearing all the different sounds you can make

And that includes in bed

Even if you sing a wrong note or mess up, he'll call it an artistic choice and praise you

He still cuts in on just about every song you sing because he can't help himself, music and Y/N? It's Alastor bait

Plus, the two of you get to show off together, compliment each other, and make everyone green with envy

Y'all are just too fucking cute

It's a dream come true for Alastor to have a wife who can sing

Oops! This became another Wife!Reader one...sorry... 🫡

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

[kimingyuslover]

Wedding vows

synopsis : mingyu is in awe when he sees you walking down the aisle with the dress you've been dreaming about for years, your favorite flowers bouquet, and white veil as the cherry on top.

word count : 543

note : feel the ending kinda rushed.. but it's already half past 1 here. my first time writing a oneshot.

warning : fem!reader, angst, bad grammar (i'm not a native speaker), wonwoo makes appearances, minhee is your bestfriend, tears.

this is the day that you've been waiting for the most of your life. The white gown that you dreamed of getting is draped over your body, the white veil that's going to cover a major upper body of yours, with a bouquet of flowers in your hands, you are ready to walk down the aisle.

"so, how's you feeling?" minhee asks while she holds her camera to your face, "i'm feeling ridiculously nervous and excited, i'm seeing him in the next five minutes after not seeing him this morning and last night," you said while you're getting your dress to get fixed so you're not going to trip while walking down the aisle.

one of the wedding organizers staff calling you to stand in front of the door, because soon you'll be out of the room and chanting your vows with your soon-to-be husband.

on the other hand, mingyu is definitely nervous and scared to see you walk in the aisle with your father. he's always fixing his tie every now and then, feeling choked by the air and his tie.

the piano and violin start to play canon in D, meaning that you can come out of the door anytime soon.

and there you are. a beautiful white gown that you've been telling him years ago is now droop over your body. the bouquet of your favorite flowers is now on your hands, and the white veil that covers your upper body is like the cherry on top.

mingyu eyes are getting wetter by any seconds pass by. he just wants to spill all his tears while seeing you walk down the aisle with your father. the sound of the music feels the air, making this moment's more precious to him.

you are now delivering your vows, and mingyu's tears began to spill all over his cheeks.

he really dreamed of this moment everytime he fell asleep while thinking about you. except, this one is real, but he's not the groom, wonwoo is.

he broke things up with you 2 years ago. he can still vividly remember how your face morphed into a horror when he tells you that he wants a breakup because he's lost his feelings towards you. the truth untold, he's not losing his feelings towards you. he just has a bad day and lashes it out to you.

that, is his biggest regret. you two already planned your wedding, and that 5 years old relationship was gone because of his selfishness.

mingyu's thinking, what would your relationship turn if he's not breaking up with you that time? will you get married to him instead? having a child? hell, you guys are even already talking about having 3 children, 2 boys, and 1 girl.

you're finished delivering your vows, "you may kiss the bride," said priest, and that's when mingyu get out of his 'what ifs' images, to see you locking your lips with your now husband– Jeon Wonwoo, mingyu's best friend & roommate.

it's impossible to get your girl back when she's already someone else's wife, all that 'what ifs' are thrown out of the window, he can't be selfish one more time, because for fuck sake, that's his bestfriend! but when he sees you smile at wonwoo, his heart breaks a thousand times.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen angst #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu svt #svt angst #svt x reader #kml.writes☆ #kpop x reader

[ohtobeleah]

California Fornication //

Two — ‘Odds Are?’

Summary: In the wake of Roosters belligerent act of violence, you try your best to remain calm. But if anything Jake Seresin showing up in North Island is only just the beginning of a whirlwind shit show.

Warnings: Mentions of cheating. Love Triangle x2. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin xF!reader. Question ing Morality. Angst.

Word Count: 2.7k

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“I lied—“ You could remember it all too well, the moment you felt at your weakest. Your most vulnerable. “I’m not out of this relationship.” A week ago your entire world had come crashing down when the man you loved turned out to be married. You’d told him you were out. Point blank, end of discussion. But you weren’t.

“Siren—“ Bradley sighed as he looked over your shoulder to where his wife stood watching the interaction unfold from the veranda of the Hard Deck. “We can’t, not here.” 

“I’m in.” You didn’t care that she was watching, you needed to get this off your chest. “I’m so in it’s humiliating because here I am begging.” 

“Y/n—“ Bradley tried to interrupt but you held your finger up. Stopping him from saying anything more.

“Shut up, you say Y/n and I yell remember so why don’t we skip the yelling and I just tell you how I really feel?” 

“Yeah—“ Bradley sighed as he pocketed his car keys. “Yeah okay.” You took a breath in and exhaled slowly. Ready to wear your heart on your sleeve. 

“Here it is.” You tried your best to remain as calm as you could. “Here’s your choice, Rooster.” It was just you and Bradley, out by his Bronco under the festoon lights that lit up the car park of the Hard Deck. “Your choice? It’s simple—her, or me.” It was clear cut and dry. No one way around the fact. “And I’m sure she’s really great, but Bradley I love you.” 

It wasn’t the first time you’d said it without Rooster saying it back. You just thought he needed more time, but as it turned out he was already married. Perhaps it was a good thing after all he’d never said it back. It would have hurt more to know he did than to wonder if he ever did at all. 

“I love you in a really really big—pretend to like your music kind of way.” You had to hold yourself together so that the tears welling in your eyes didn’t stream down your cheeks as you pleaded with the man who’d made you fall in love with him to choose you. “I love you in a let you have the last silence of cheesecake kind of way—a sit beside you pretending to be interested in learning how to play the piano unfortunate kind of way that makes me hate you, yet love you kind of way.” You admitted as Rooster just started at you with an unreadable expression. “So pick me, choose me, love me, please Bradley.”

The silence was as loud as it could have been. And in those silent seconds that passed. You knew. 

“I can’t, I’m married Y/n.” Five words were all it took for Bradley Bradshaw to rip your heart through your chest. “I’m sorry.” 

It was the hardest thing to hear, and yet it still played on repeat throughout your mind all day and all night. You just weren’t good enough. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“What the hell is your problem!” 

“Eleven years!” Bradley hissed as you shoved him out of the Hard Deck and onto the front porch. “Eleven years we were married!” He rambled on as you watched Rooster place the makeshift ice pack Penny had made him over his knuckles. 

You stood leaning against the post by the stairs he’d just walked down—watching with your arms crossed over your chest as he paced up and down the sandy gravel pathway. 

“That means eleven sets of birthdays, Christmas’s and thanksgivings, Siren! Eleven wedding anniversaries!” It was clear that Bradley was enraged. “He doesn’t get to just show up again after what he did!” But it wasn’t all those memories that were tarnished by an affair that had made Bradley Bradshaw risk his career by breaking his hand on the jaw of the man who slept with his wife. 

No. 

It was the way he saw your eyes light up with a mischievous glint while you laughed with Hangman that had him making strides over to where you sat. 

Bradley wasn’t about to let Jake get his dirty hands all over you too. Fuck his marriage and fuck his wife. He’d made a mistake letting you go. Letting her back into his life when he’d just begun to heal. He should have chosen you. He loved you. Truly. But marriage still meant something to him. Enough at least to try just one more time. 

“Rooster, I’m not the person who you should be talking about this with, talk about it with your wife.” You sighed defeatedly, like you were still being strung along by an invisible string that connected your heart to his. All you wanted was to hold him. To feel his arms wrapped around you. To laugh with him again, to feel that warm warmth he brought to your life. But instead all you felt was a coldness, a temperature so cool it burned to the touch. Leaving you alone, forever the other woman. The mistress. 

Club of one. 

“Penny wants you to go home and sleep it off.” Katie groaned as she stomped out of the Hard Deck. She made no attempt to acknowledge your presence as she walked right past you and down the front steps. “How’s your hand?” She asked as you watched the clearly distressed couple argue. Wondering when the divorce papers would come flying out of Roosters back pocket. 

“What’s he doing here Kate?” Bradley growled. Her hand came to rub small circles against the small of Rooster's back. She helped to guide him over to where the Bronco was parked. Against his will—he moved. 

“How the hell should I know?” She replied sharply. “Please, let’s just go home and talk about this.” 

You didn’t stay out of the decking for much longer. You could hear the sound of Jake's nose cracking under the force of Roosters fist in your mind over and over again. Enough that you felt a little guilty for possibly being the reason he was gushing blood. 

“Where’s—?” You didn’t even need to say his name before Penny was gesturing over towards where the bathrooms were. With lips pressed into a fine line you nodded. “Thanks.” 

“He’s not all that bad of a guy.” She added before you could even begin to walk away. “I don’t know the full story but if I know Hangman it’s that under that thick layer of confidence, he’s just looking for a friend.” You listen with a small nod. Deciding you’d go check on the guy in case his septum was deviated. 

“Can I have a washcloth?” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Rooster and I always did have the same taste in women.” It wasn’t hard to get lost in the clear emerald skies of Jake Seresins eyes as he sat up on the bench next to the sink in the bathroom of the Hard Deck. 

“Excuse me?” You asked softly as you worked to clean the mix of dried and fresh blood from his face. Gently dabbing away at the mess that trickled down his face with the wet cloth Penny had given you. Soaked in warm water—standing between Jake's legs as they dangled over the edge of the bench. 

You’d found Jake staring at himself in the mirror, probably trying to figure out if his nose was broken or not. When you entered the bathroom he was honestly surprised to see you. He thought for sure Rooster would have thrown you over his shoulder and taken you home. 

But it wouldn’t be the first time Jake was wrong about his best friend. 

“You’re Rooster's lusty Wingwoman right?” Jake asked as his eyes drank you in. Watching as you carefully studied every line, every little imperfect blemish on his face. He was beautiful. “I heard about you all the way out on the Pacific.” He explained. “You’re famous.” You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your face. “The thorn in the side of the Bradshaws rekindlement.” 

Huh, that was a new one. You hadn’t heard that one before. It was actually quite poetic. 

“Well, I’ve heard about you all the way back here in North Island so I guess we have a lot in common.” No one ever spoke about Jake. Not Payback or Phoenix or Bob even. They all just pretend like he never existed. That he’d committed an act of utter betrayal. It was only after Bradley’s wife had come back to town that he told you everything. 

It was easy enough to see who’s side in all this they’d all chosen. But it wasn’t easy to understand why no one told you until you’d already fallen head over heels for a married man. 

“We’re just the dirty mistresses.” Jake teased as you gently worked away at the blood on his face. Immediately he was addicted to your laugh, the way you lit up the entire room when you did so. “Isn’t that right sweetheart.” 

You couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to your cheeks at the term of endearment that slipped past Jake's lips. 

“I suppose we are Hangman, I suppose we are.” Jake was easy to be around, that was the first thing you made your mind up about. Sure, the whole questionable relationship with a married woman was still yet to be addressed but nevertheless. 

“My therapist says behind this rugged and confident exterior I’m— self destructive and self loathing to an almost pathological degree.” Jake grinned as you paused your movement, you held his head still in your cloth free hand in the comfortable silence that lingered for mere seconds.

“Hey, guess we do have a lot in common.” Why the hell did Bradley have to go and ruin such a pretty face? “Mine says the same thing.” Jake was thankful for your gentle touch, he was starting to think Rooster may have broken his nose. Only a trip to urgent care and time would tell. 

“You know it’s funny—“ Jake began as he watched you rinse out the blood stained cloth into the sink beside where he sat shirtless, blood stained the white T-shirt he’d once been wearing. “Bradshaw walks in on me naked with his wife, actually in the throws—“ You listened as you worked, running warm water over the cloth to not shock Jake's bruised and swollen skin when you went back to attending to his wounds. “And he just turns around and walks away.” 

You couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like. To watch two people you trust and love commit such an act of betrayal. You felt for Rooster, you did. But it didn’t change the fact he never told you until after his wife, Katie ‘South’ Bradshaw, was shaking your hand and labeling you the mistress in all this mess. 

Not to mention no one sold him out. Coyote, Fanyboy, even Bob had Bradley’s back. They kept his wife a secret. Kept his entire life a lie until it was unraveled before you in spectacular fashion. 

“But he so much as sees me talking to you? And I’m on the ground with a bloody broken nose.” Jake continued to explain what he thought was already the case. That Rooster was in love with you. Period. “Interesting, don't you think?” 

It didn’t require a engineering degree to put together what Jake was insinuating. 

“Doesn’t matter what Bradley thinks—he chose his wife, the woman he made vows to.” You’d decided in that moment you were done cleaning Jake's face but stayed standing between his legs. You made no attempt to remove his hands from where they had settled on your hips. “He doesn’t need to get defensive over who I choose to talk to, he doesn’t get to stake a claim when he’s married.”

“He might still be married but he’s not in love with her.” Jake sighed as he pulled you a little closer by your hips with just enough force to have you reaching out for stability. Your hands softly landed on his shoulders—the sudden sensation of your touch made Jake's skin prickle with Goosebumps. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked softly, intrigued by the chaos Jake seemed to bring with him. “Back in North Island?” Jake didn’t answer right away. He’d been too busy drinking in the expanse of your face. From the fine lines that littered your nose when you crinkled it to the way your eyes swirled like deep pools of hope and displeasure all in one. 

“I’m here for Katherine—“ Those four vulnerable words made you feel more understood than you ever had in the last few weeks. It felt like there wasn’t another soul alive that could relate to your situation. “Which is as dehumanising as it sounds but, she’s the reason I came back.” 

“You’re still in love with her?” You asked as you tried to access the swollen nose that Jake wore with regret. 

“You’re still in love with him.” Jake didn’t need to question it, he already knew it to be true. You didn’t look at someone the way you looked at Bradley even when you were trying your best to avoid the man at all costs. He knew that simply because he laid awake at night thinking about the woman he loved who’d kissed him the night her husband was in the hospital—laid up post Uranium mission. 

Jake should have stopped it, but he didn’t. He just felt lucky enough to be loved in the dark. In secret. Because no one ever loved Jake Seresin first. 

And even worse, Jake was still in love with the very woman who’d spun the narrative in her favour. That he’d been the one who initiated the affair. But it hadn’t been him. It was her. 

Ignorance is bliss so they say. So Jake kept his adultering mouth shut and let the lie run its course. Turns out little white lies do hurt. He lost his posting, his best friend, the woman he loved, everything. 

“She won’t choose you, you know.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so cold, so as you spoke you ran your fingers through his deep blonde locks. Bringing a touch starved man some solace. “Rooster isn’t the kind of guy you leave if you can help it.” And boy did Katie stick to her husband’s side like superglue. 

“Yeah—” The corner of Jake's mouth twitched as he thought to himself. Leaning into your comforting touch as his eyeline slowly faded into the tiles on the ground. “But what if you’re wrong?” He sighed deeply, still staring at the ground beside where you stood between his legs. “What if, just this once, life comes down on the side of the dirty mistresses?” 

Suddenly that club of yours, the one with only one member, had two members in total. The dirty mistresses club. Party of two. You and Jake Seresin. 

“Pretty unrealistic, don't you think Seresin?” You chuckled softly as your eyes lingered to Jake’s lips. Slightly parted and plump. His eyes caught yours when you looked back to him and he had to stop himself. He couldn’t—could he? Because what were the odds he’d ruin two of Bradley Bradshaw's relationships? “Us adultering whores never get what we want.” 

“What if we decided to change what we wanted?” Jake asked as he closed the gap left between the two of you. His hands worked to guide your hips closer to him and before you knew it? Your lips were pressed against his. 

It was heavenly. The way Jake's lips felt against yours. Supple and soft and full of lust. His hands worked to cup at your cheeks as you begged him for more. Slipping your tongue into his mouth as you carded your fingers through his blonde locks. It was everything and nothing all at the same time. 

No one held a claim on you, you were free to make your own dumb choices now. And as your hand slipped down between the pair of you to softly land against Jake's jean clad crotch? He groaned into your mouth and bit your bottom lip. 

“I don’t even want to think about the consequences of this.” Jake whispered into your mouth as you palmed him through his jeans. “I think he’ll actually kill me.” 

“So don’t think.” You replied as you sunk your teeth into his neck. “Just do me.” 

As it turned out, those odds seemed pretty fucking high.

***~***~***~***~***~****~***~****~***~***~***~***~

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #Jake Seresin x female reader #bradley bradshaw top gun #jake seresin top gun #hangman top gun #rooster top gun #jake hangman seresin x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

[roosterbruiser]

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

The sandy stone patio outside The Hard Deck is quiet. 

Well, it’s quieter than it was inside. Rowdy Navymen and their rowdy friends a few too many draft beers deep jamming out with the jukebox on high, Penny overwhelmed by the amount of men in Uncle Sam beards and patriotic paper top-hats, peanut shells on the floor, ice clinking in whiskey glasses, fireworks going off every few minutes. 

It’s all a bit overwhelming for you, which is why you slid out and quietly settled in one of the metal bistro chairs, breathing in the sweet ocean and sulfuric air. It’s foggy outside from the fireworks, which are bursting into the night sky in fantastic sparks of yellow and pink and red and blue. 

Finally--you can take a deep breath, inflate your lungs, tune in with your daughter just beneath the taut skin of your swollen belly. She’s fluttering around like she always is when you’re finally still. Sometimes, you like to imagine that she’s mimicking you: taking a deep breath, tilting her head towards the sky, lashes fluttering as she watches the fireworks. 

Bradley is still sitting at the piano, playing a jaunty version of Born in the USA on the piano, a little tipsy and the kind of happy that makes his cheeks bright pink. The usual crowd is around him, much drunker and much blearier, sloshing their drinks and mussing each other’s faux beards. 

“Where’s that wife of mine?” Bradley asks suddenly--he scans the crowd around the piano and doesn’t find you in the sea of red, white, and blue. “Jake, did you scare her off?” 

“She wakes up to you every morning, Bradshaw,” Jake retorts, grinning. “How could I scare her off?” 

Bradley stills--everyone groans when the live music stops. 

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river!” Bradley says as everyone boo’s him. He stands up, stretches, glances around the bar again. He doesn't see you still. “Respect your countryman!” 

And then he’s fielding pats on the backs as he navigates the bar, heading for the patio doors. He’s sure you’re out there--you like to sneak away when you can get away with it to dip your toes in the water or sit in the patio chairs. 

He’s right--you’re right where he knew you would be: sitting in the patio chair, head tilted back as you watch the smoke drift across the star-dotted sky, shoes thrown aside and feet buried in the sand, eyes shining as you stroke your belly with both hands. 

“Hey, mama,” he greets softly. 

You turn, a soft smile on your face. All the noise of the bar fades whenever Rooster closes the door behind him, grinning at you something fierce.

“Hey, daddy,” you respond, face warm with love.  

He stalls right where he is, hands on the hips of his true-blue Levi’s. Pink sprouts across the exposed part of his chest, his Hawaiian shirt long unbuttoned after his fourth drink and second song on the piano. He just beholds you, a lip tucked between his teeth, his smile growing wider when you wrinkle your nose at him. 

“What?” You ask, but you have a feeling that you already know. 

“You’re a fucking vision,” he sighs, earnest and yearning. “How’d I land a bombshell like you?” 

“Trapped me,” you tease, gesturing to your bump. “Remember?” 

He grins, laughing. He starts to toe his Chuck Taylors off, peeling his socks off while you rest your cheek on your shoulder to gaze at him. 

“It’s quiet out here,” he says softly, sauntering over to you and wrapping his arms around your neck. He peppers your sweet-smelling hair with a few kisses before tucking his nose into your neck. “Didn’t realize my ears were ringing in there.” 

You smile. 

“Poor baby,” you mutter mockingly, curling your fingers in his sandy locks. “You alright?”

“Respect your countryman,” Bradley insists softly, muffled from the silky skin of your neck. “And the father of your daughter.” 

He moves his hand to your belly and your daughter kicks softly, stretching and turning. You can feel his grin when it spreads across his face. He’s so delighted in the thought of becoming a father that his joy is genuinely palpable. You can feel it at all times like the sun on your cheeks or the wind in your hair. 

His hand is warm, covering the front of your rounded belly. Bradley sighs softly, eyes fluttering shut as he feels your daughter move inside of you, imagining what she’ll be like. 

But then a firework goes off--pops right beside the both of you. And you both feel it: your daughter jolting in your belly, startled. 

Before Bradley can respond, you’re laughing. Laughing a big and loud laugh with your mouth wide open and your eyes teary.

“Oh,” you giggle, grinning at Bradley. “Our poor baby!” 

Bradley, frowning good-naturedly, tuts and moves so he’s kneeling before you. You’re still fighting your laughter, biting your lip and stroking your belly. But Bradley’s tucking himself between your legs, moving your shirt up until the curve of your belly is exposed to the cool night air. 

“Poor thing,” Bradley said, pressing a few kisses to your skin. “S’okay, bird. Just some fireworks, huh? You’re gonna have to get used to ‘em, aren’t you? Fourth of July is…big in this family, to say the least.” 

You nod as if she can see you, combing your fingers through his hair as he peppers your belly in affection. You can almost see it now: Bradley holding your tiny daughter, pressing his nose into her little shoulder, making her shudder when his mustache tickles her delicate skin. 

“We’ll get her some headphones,” you tell him, biting a grin. “That oughta do the trick, huh?” Another firework pops and she jolts again, more than before. Your belly flutters, tenses. “She really doesn’t like those,” you tell Bradley, gasping softly. 

With his brows furrowed, Bradley peers over his shoulder at the small group of mens setting them off on the beach. 

“I’m gonna go give ‘em a piece of my mind,” he mutters. 

“Bradley,” you laugh. “What’re you gonna say? You’re scaring my unborn daughter?”

He pauses--glares at you. 

“And if that is what I’m gonna say?” 

Grinning, feeling like you’re about to burst with all this love for this goofy man on his knees before you, you shake your head. 

“Oh, boy, do I love you,” you say softly. “And so does our daughter.” 

He grins. 

“Our American girl,” he laughs. “Who doesn’t like fireworks.”

You hope, with everything in your heart, that she has his laugh. Big, loud, hearty. You want people to hear her laugh and know who her father is. Oh, that’s gotta be a Bradshaw. 

“She’ll learn,” you tell him, stroking your belly. “Her daddy’s a Navyman.” 

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 <𝟑

#rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw series #bradley bradshaw one shot #bradley bradshaw blurb #top gun fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw one shot #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw fanfiction #dad!rooster bradshaw #dad!bradley bradshaw

[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit -- drabble 3

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which tara meets more of your family and learns another secret

warnings: none

word count: 700+

previous part | next part

Cordelia had been put to bed hours ago. You had been given the task by your parents, with the claim that you could get her to fall asleep the fastest, and Tara had watched as you rocked your sister gently in your arms, whispering sweet words to her until her babbles and giggles faded into a peaceful silence.

Maybe, Tara had thought while she stood in the doorway, committing the sight to memory, a baby wouldn’t be so bad right now.

Though the reason for the party was sleeping in her crib upstairs, there were still plenty of people crowded in your ballroom, though you had told Tara that they were all close friends or extended family by that point.

You had been whisked away by a cousin, which left Tara vulnerable to whomever decided to strike up a conversation. And, just as she watched Nate and Eddie begin to march toward her, her line of vision was blocked by your grandparents, who had finally emerged from the wine cellar.

“Hello, deary,” your grandmother said, smiling. “You must be our Y/N’s dear girlfriend.”

Your grandfather stood by his wife’s side silently, and Tara remembered you telling her that he was not too fond of people. She offered him a smile but kept her attention on your grandmother.

“Yes, hi! I’m Tara.” She stuck her hand out, slightly thankful that your grandma decided to shake it rather than pull her into a hug. As nice as they are, I think I’ve had enough hugs for one day.

“It’s lovely to meet you, sweetheart. Y/N has spoken so much about you.” Your grandmother winked. Tara felt herself blush up to her ears.

“She talks about you guys a lot, too! She holds both of you in very high esteem.”

Your grandmother chuckled, and Tara’s ears perked up, realizing that she was who you had gotten your laugh from. “I’m sure she speaks of her grandfather plenty.” She patted her husband on the forearm. “He is, after all, the writer of the two of us, and we all know how much Y/N loves literature.”

Tara turned to your grandfather. “Right, of course. She’s mentioned that you’re a poet.”

Your grandfather’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of his work. “Talks about her old man, does she? Yes, yes. In my day, I could write poem upon poem.” He looked at your grandmother. “Most of them were for Jane, of course.”

Tara smiled as your grandmother scoffed lightly. This will be us one day, she thought. I just know it. “I’ve read a few of them,” Tara said, and your grandfather grinned. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He stood a little taller and puffed his chest out a bit. “Makes an old man like me feel good, hearing a youngster like you say that.”

“Well, I’m just being honest--” Tara was interrupted by your appearance at her side. You took her hand in yours, beaming at your grandparents.

“Hope these two oldies aren’t boring you, Tar,” you giggled, and your grandmother reached out, swatting you on the shoulder.

“Go on, child,” your grandma said, her tone light. “Go play us a song. Make yourself useful while we speak to your dear girl.”

Play us a song? Tara wondered, her eyebrows furrowing.

You hummed and nodded. “Any requests, my lovely grandmother?”

“Play that one song she likes,” your grandpa answered. “You know…that one song.”

“Ah, yes. ‘That one song’,” you teased. You pulled away from Tara. “Just a moment.” She watched as you crossed the room, settling down on the bench in front of the grand piano that stood in the corner of the room.

Her eyes widened. No way. How many things is this woman hiding from me?

A somber melody filled the room, and all conversations quieted, everyone turning to watch you as you played, your fingers dancing along the keys of the piano like they belonged there.

Tara gulped, her heart beginning to race, a shiver running along her back. Jesus, I’m so in love with her, she thought.

The song began to pick up a bit, and her eyes glanced around the room, seeing your parents sway together and Nate and Eddie sitting still for once, entranced by the tune.

Your eyes closed, your fingers playing faster. You became one with the music, one with the piano, and Tara tried to bite back the smile that pulled at her lips. You looked at home there, on that bench--almost as much as you did when you were explaining literature.

“Oh, I know that look,” your grandfather whispered, and Tara glanced at him. He grinned, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. “Welcome to the family, dear girl.” Softly, he patted her on the back. “Welcome to the family.”

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna x reader #museum tara #scream 5 #scream 6

[tonicandjins]

find your way back home | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck | haechan x female reader

word count: 22.5k

genre: fluff, some mentions of sex, ANGST and nostalgia lots of it, haechan-centric, slow burn

warnings: mentions of sex, excessive drinking, will talk about insomnia and depression

summary: nct’s haechan gets into a scandal after a night of drinking his ass off in hongdae, which prompts the management to put him in an indefinite hiatus. and it’s not like it’s the first time, because over the past months, haechan’s drinking problem had gone worse. hence, his parents send him back to jeju island for some healing time because his parents and managers think that maybe some time home would help. haechan laughs at the thought. if medication can’t, what can jeju island do? besides, he hasn’t been there in literal years.

author's note: this is my favorite work so far, which is why it took this long. i put my heart in here. please let me know which one is your favorite line/scene. this is also very heachan-centric, so please don't expect a lot of the reader's POV. also, may i recommend you to listen to Moon, Be There For You, Never Goodbye by NCT DREAM, Good Person by Haechan himself, and Black Clouds by NCT 127 as you read this! :) TIP ME HERE.

taglist: @mosviqu @matchahyuck @sirens-dreams @sundamariis @lovingvoidgoatee @anjaenha @thiccfullsun @665321-more @hyuckiesoftie @aliceinwhateverland @tddyhyck @anniebyanto @novawona @gimmehyuck @blxshqueen @blitz-fall @byungbyungbaek @calssunflower @funkygoose @carelessshootanonymous-blog @jungwooforever @budibbly @positionslab @beomyomom @jexizia @4everhyucks

disclaimer: names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. i do not claim to own or to have invented any copyrighted characters or concepts that i write about.  

Y/N = your name, Y/C/N = your childhood nickname

Haechan’s dream has always been the spotlight.

His Mother would tell her friends stories of how he would always tell her he’d be a star someday, a grin flashing across his small face on pictures and clips of him taking a stage as small as the podium in his first grade classroom, and would proudly brag that his first-born son made it to the world stage. She was so proud that she’d have his portfolio picture as her display image in her social media accounts. As a musician herself, she’d play NCT’s music out loud and would even go an extra mile by using their b-side songs when teaching their students at their small but proud music academy in the big city of Seoul. Haechan’s pictures are all over the small place they’d rented for their small business, two floors—the vocal lessons facilitated on the second floor and piano and guitar on the ground floor—and the humble husband and wife would proudly say the most successful student they’d ever had was Lee Donghyuck, now better known as Haechan.

Haechan allows her to take credit of it all, his success, because after all, she’d been the one to encourage her to take a chance at SM Entertainment’s infamous Saturday auditions. People tell Haechan he works hard, but nobody really works harder than his Mother. With sheer determination and a passionate heart, his mother would take little Donghyuck to every stage—no matter how small. Young and bright, he remembers being dragged from one contest to another, even when their family still lived in Jeju, and he’d win all of them for her. He’d take the spotlight just to see her happy and proud.

At times, Haechan wonders how much effort his mother had really put into his career. If he thinks about it now, it started with their entire family moving out of Jeju Island, completely uprooting their entire lives from the simple life in the island to give her dream a chance. People say that Haechan was born a star, that SM got lucky to have a child prodigy offer himself—bare and whole and real—who was willing to give up his childhood and education for a shot in the dark. His father had been reluctant about it, saying that they’d have to give up their entire life savings to merely move to Seoul—considering plane tickets and security deposits need to be sent prior to moving—and that taking a loan wouldn’t be ideal when they could barely make ends meet with four children growing up too fast. A shot in the dark, a flip of a coin, the luck of a draw. They say he was meant for this, was meant for the stage and the lights and the applause, but to Haechan, it’s not really fate. It’s just his mother doing all the work, and he’d take the spotlight for her.

Because Haechan likes the attention. He likes the good and the bad. The cheers and the applause. The painful arm slaps from Mark when he’s annoyed him enough. The head pats and hugs Taeil gives him when he’s being cute and when he lives up to his maknae image. The viral videos of him all over the internet for simply walking down the stage.

And his mother couldn’t be prouder to have a reliable son like him. She had always dreamed of the spotlight herself, but the timing was never right for her—hence Haechan living her dream, her spotlight, had been one of, if not the biggest accomplishments of her life.

The night is cold. Haechan feels dizzy when flashes of the lights coming from the small window of the bar’s building hit his face. He hates the lights, he hates being seen, and it makes him throw up when, as soon as he closes his eyes, it’s his mother that he sees.

Would his mother still be so proud when she learns that, after a long weekend of a back to back concert with NCT 127, his son would be getting a blowjob from a stranger at the back of some sleazy bar he had found online?

“Please tell me this isn’t real.”

Mark Lee is only twenty-three, but with how his forehead’s skin is wrinkling, he might as well invest in several sessions of botox shots. He’s holding his phone up to Haechan’s face, as if bringing the device closer to the younger’s eyes would deny the article that Dispatch uploaded at five in the fucking morning.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Haechan denies, voice bored, tired. “We might have done other things, but I didn’t sleep with her.”

Mark lets out a groan of frustration, throwing his phone behind Haechan, the device landing on the carpeted floor. Haechan doesn’t even flinch even though it almost hit him.

“Haechan, what the fuck is going on, man?” Mark asks, demands to know what really is going on with his best friend, or whoever he’s speaking with now. “You know SM is going to kill you, right?”

Haechan shrugs. “What are they gonna do? Fire me?”

“You know they can!” Mark shouts, walking back and forth while Haechan remains seated on the couch, unbothered. “You’ve seen them do it! To our seniors! To the people you trained with. You think you’re big time, huh? That just because you’re essential in both units, they wouldn’t send you to some dungeon?”

Haechan laughs bitterly. He reckons being placed in a dungeon would be much better than the hell he’s living in now. “Now that,” he mocks. “Would be the ultimate dream.”

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” Mark says, pointing a finger to Haechan, enunciating each syllable so it goes through his skull.

But nothing can really make Lee Haechan budge anymore—not an expensive, hard device laterally thrown to his face, and not even his best friend (if he could still call him that) blatantly showing how disgusted he is with him—and he can’t really blame anyone. It used to he frightening to see Mark angry at something he did. Used to.

Haechan doesn’t really know what to say, so he chuckles bitterly and leans his head back so that it’s against the backrest, pondering whether it’s a good time to drink the bottle of vodka he’s been keeping under his bed.

“It’s funny because I don’t even know what having a nightmare feels like.”

Mark huffs, seemingly had given up on Haechan, then leaves the room alongside the small piece of sanity that the younger had left. Haechan bolts, sitting up real quick, but too slow because Mark is already out of the door. Haechan likes attention, and even though Mark Lee makes his head hurt, he likes the attention. Haechan likes that Mark is angry at him.

His manager calls him next, (as expected) voice angry as if he’s about to explode, and tells him his publicist is doing her very best to answer every god damn call from every magazine and news outlet. But none of those magazine and news outlets who have called had posted something to clear the situation; none of them were buying it. Haechan thinks it’s fucking ridiculous anyway. There were pictures and videos of him sneaking out with Hana or Hari, whatever her name was, and a clip of him zipping his pants up as they try to hide from the flashes of lights. Who the fuck would believe he was just out exploring with his 35-year old, happily-married-with-kids personal assistant?

And it’s too late, anyway, because what was the point of it all when his most loyal and long-time fan sites have all shut down overnight, his Instagram followers reducing down to five million in a matter of hours since Dispatch posted that article, and his best friends blatantly ignoring him with the exception of Mark confronting him, but of course, Haechan had to screw that up, too.

“They’re calling you in for a meeting,” his manager concludes with a sigh after elaborating what had been done to patch up the entire mess. “Be ready for whatever they have to say. Don’t expect me to have your back because I’m over it, Haechan. Whatever they decide to do with you, you fucking deserve it.”

The call ends. Haechan didn’t even get to talk.

He looks at the screen of his phone. There were a million of calls and text messages from his agency, half of it were from his mother, and the last thing he really wants now is to hear her voice. He scrolls through it all, chest tightening when he realizes nobody from Jaemin, Renjun and Jeno had tried to call him. Haechan knows he’s an asshole, deserving to be the receiving end of all the shouting and cussing, and he’s probably made the dumbest mistake of his entire life, but he’d live the stardom’s life long enough, he’d be okay. But a call from his best friends would have been a breather.

Haechan understands, what his manager said, that he shouldn’t really expect anyone to have his back after all that’s transpired in the last few of months.

You see, Haechan developed insomnia. He’d look the symptoms up in the internet, and it’s described as a common sleeping disorder that can make it hard for people to fall asleep, or if one’s attempt to drift off is successful, to stay asleep. Taeyong had said it’s a common disorder for idols, that their seniors from groups like EXO and SHINEE had all gone to psychologists for help, but Haechan didn’t really want to make a big deal out of it. He relied on what Naver offered him one morning when the sun’s already out and his eyes are still wide open.

Stress and anxiety were the major causes. Some resources say it could be from a poor sleeping environment such as an uncomfortable bed or bad lighting or temperature. One claims that it could also be from one’s lifestyle, like jetlag from traveling frequently, or drinking one too many caffeine-infused doses of fluids. It all could be factors why Haechan’s been getting 8-10 hours of sleep a week, and he acknowledges that he doesn’t really have the best lifestyle—and it’s not like he’s ever had the choice since NCT blew up.

So, he’d consulted Taeyong again, through a text, and all he’d gotten was a link to a study that insomnia can be caused by mental health conditions such as depression, followed by his therapist’s phone number.

Among all the causes he’d gathered, Haechan could confidently rule out depression because there’s no fucking way he’s sad. There’s barely any reason to be sad. Sure, he’d miss his siblings most of the time and he hates the feeling of seeing any of them cry whenever he had to leave, but nothing is more gratifying than the relief of seeing them happy whenever he comes home with luxurious gifts or plane tickets to Tokyo for a vacation. Haechan likes making people happy, and Mark tells him he’s always been a people pleaser. At times, he’d think his happiness depends on the happiness of the people he loves and values, and people around him are happy.

Hence, Haechan is happy.

Or at least, was happy.

Because the insomnia got worse—not that Haechan’s dealt with it enough to know whether it’s getting better or worse—but it was bad. He would come home exhausted as fuck after an entire day of dancing and singing, and he knows he’s tired because his body tells him so. Haechan would lie on bed, body drained from all energy, but his eyes would be wide open for an entire night. He’d only fall asleep when the sun’s started to seep through his curtains, a good hour before his manager would wake him for the next schedule. It was manageable, and the tour was a good excuse for the insomnia, but it followed him even on his days off, even in the beginning of the pandemic when there little to zero schedules that would have caused him anxiety or stress.

Therefore, reluctantly, he’d visited a doctor to get a prescription for some meds he could take to help him sleep. He’d lied, though, that it wasn’t that bad and that he would need it only on nights after shows, because he knew they’d only refer him to a therapist. Haechan doesn’t need a therapist. He could just talk to his mother about it, and she’d know what to say to make him feel better. To make him keep going.

It was fine until the melatonin supplements stopped working. Sometime last year, if he remembers right, when he thought he’d gone crazy because everything stopped working for him. There was a bottle of soju, half empty, from the fridge he had in the corner of the room he shared with Johnny, and he reckoned it could help. As soon as the bottle was empty, Haechan felt drowsy; he was out like the light half an hour later.

But just like the prescription from the doctor he can’t even remember the name of, drinking half a bottle worked. Johnny would give him suspicious looks when he would see Haechan stocking up soju inside their room, but he doesn’t ever say anything. Because alcohol made him sleep, until it didn’t. Until half a bottle stopped working. Until an entire bottle is no longer enough. Until Taeyong’s decided that there should be no alcohol inside anyone’s fridge, both fifth and tenth floors.

Hence, the drinking problem.

Haechan wonders what’s next. The sleeping problem, then the drinking problem. It looks like here is it, the next one: the scandal.

When Haechan was a trainee, his greatest fear was getting removed from the agency.

There was an assessment every quarter, and the CEO himself would sit down in a panel alongside other producers and choreographers to identify which of the trainees would move on to another level and which ones would have to go home. Each time they had to go through the assessment, Haechan, alongside other existing members of NCT, would spend long days inside the training room. He would fear that the CEO would ask him to rap all of a sudden because Haechan can’t rap to save his god damn life at that time. He would fear that his mother would receive a call and find out his beloved son, whom she spent so much money on just to get ballet classes, failed and would need to go home.

Today, Haechan fears none of those.

The decision to put him in an indefinite hiatus was quick to make, not that Haechan expected anything less.

The news was out the second they threw him out of the meeting room (but not before the CEO slapping him right across the face, his left cheek throbbing in pain he’s oddly happy he could feel) and his bags were packed before he could even tell his members. The dorms were empty when he arrived, and there was no time to visit Dream’s place; Haechan knew he could just call, or visit. His family lives twenty minutes away, a short ride from downtown. He’d figure it out, like he always would.

What fazes him is what he comes home to.

His father offers him a one-way ticket, says his mother is still too upset to look even at Haechan in the face, that she’s spending the night in her friend’s house. The domestic flight ticket is bound to Jeju Island, and it boards tomorrow morning.

“Your grandmother will be waiting for you,” his father says, eyes everywhere but Haechan’s. “Your mother thinks it would be the best for now. Your agency knows, of course, and they’re helping us ensure you get your privacy in Jeju-do. We just need you to stay there for a bit, Donghyuck. Might help.”

“Dad,” Haechan pleads, Dad sounding foreign to him now. He’s stopped calling him Dad years ago, right before he debuted in NCT, and had been calling him Father. He’s not sure why he’a suddenly calling him that now, perhaps it’s the sinking feeling in his stomach, but Haechan is desperate for another solution. “You can’t send me back in the island. I haven’t lived in grandmother’s house since I was twelve.”

“Don’t act like the place isn’t civilized, Donghyuck,” his father sighs. “You’ll be okay. You can take your expensive gaming laptop with you so you can entertain yourself while you’re on vacation. It’s only going to be a few months.”

“A few months?” Haechan cries. “I can’t live there anymore!”

“The agency decided not to terminate their contract with you,” his father reveals. “Apparently, you’re too talented to let go of. Your mother and I are very grateful they didn’t. All they want in return is for you to go back in six months—sober and full of life again. Your therapist suggests you go to a vacation.”

“I don’t have a therapist?”

“The doctor who prescribed you sleeping pills? You didn’t tell us you had insomnia.”

“Fuck you,” Haechan spits before he could even think about it. “Neither you nor mother thought of asking me what’s been going on. Dad, I wanted you to scold me. To punch me in the fucking gut and tell me I’ve ruined everything. I wanted mother to yell at me until my ear bleeds, so I can find the motivation to work hard and make her happy again.”

“Donghyuck, we–”

“Don’t call me that!” He yells. “The first thing that came to your mind was how grateful you are that I’m not fired from my job? I’m not some retirement plan! I’m your son!”

“Keep it down. Your siblings are–”

”Donghyuck-hyung?” Haechan turns. Gyeom stands at the end of the hallway, seemingly woken up from his slumber, and Dongmin hides behind the younger one to see what’s going on. Haechan doesn’t even see Seungyeon come out of her room. He just hears her door shut loudly, the lock clicking, and realize he fucked up big time.

He takes a look at the ticket from his father’s hand.

It’s ridiculous. If the melatonin pills he’s taking are not helping with his stupid insomnia, and drinking a bottle of soju works as equally as useless, what the fuck could work? They think a recreational vacation to fucking Jeju Island would do shit?

Fuck his parents, honestly.

Fuck his siblings for not even giving him a hug as soon as he entered their home.

Fuck his members for not checking up on him.

Fuck the entire god damn world.

He rips the ticket from his father’s hand and turns to leave, taking the same bags he’d brought in a few minutes ago. The flight is tomorrow morning, but Haechan calls a taxi to take him to the airport.

Sleeping (or at least, trying to) in the uncomfortable airport seats is a fucking pain in the ass, literally. But nothing more hurts than the look on his family’s face: the blankness in his father’s and the fright from his siblings.

Jeju fucking Island. Way to end the day.

When Haechan was younger, his grandmother would take him to the Camellia Hills on the weekends. While kids his age would be taken in Aqua Planet to see thousands of animals and plant species to ease their shoulders from studies, Haechan would be running around fields of camellia and hydrangea flowers. They would spend hours just walking around trees of over five hundred different kinds of wildflowers. His grandmother would take pictures of him and let him eat whatever he wanted at a nearby restaurant, and his siblings would always cry and complain why Nana only wanted to bring Haechan. There wasn’t a particular reason, of course, it was only because the younger ones were too difficult for their grandmother to look after on a trip to Camellia Hill. Little Donghyuckie was well-behaved albeit his bold and obnoxious nature. He would do whatever his Nana would ask him.

Haechan’s always claimed that he’s the favorite despite his grandmother repeatedly saying she doesn’t do favorites, and he knows deep in his heart that he is. He is, after all, the first grandchild, and he spent a lot of time with his Nana alone for many years while they were in Jeju.

His grandmother used to sing him to sleep at night. When his younger sister was born, Nana stayed with them in Seoul for a while to help his parents adjust to having two kids, considering Haechan’s age gap with Seungyeon is only a year. Nana made sure Haechan slept well every night, in a separate room from his parents because newborn Seungyeon who wouldn’t let anyone sleep past one in the morning. She’d sing him songs from The Beatles in broken English, and Haechan likes to think that even though both his parents were musicians, the reason why he could sing well was his Nana.

She eventually had to move back to Jeju Island as soon as the family had settled, but years later, at the age of seven, his grandfather died and Nana was left all alone to tend to their land and business, hence the Lee family packed their bags to stay at Nana’s supposedly for the summer, but ended up with the decision of staying for her.

Nana had problems sleeping when his grandfather died. Haechan used to find her awake when he’d need a glass of water or to go to the toilet at two in the morning. She’d be watching television, a nighttime talk show she used to like, or reading a book from his grandfather’s shelf. The lights in her home were always on.

So, Haechan started singing her to sleep just like how she did when he was a child.

She’d tell him, “Oh, my Donghyuckie, you have such a nice voice. Why don’t you sing more?”

Then she’d fall asleep while Haechan wondered why lovers die at different times, why one has to go first and the other is left on Earth trying to sleep well every night.

Upon his arrival in Jeju-do, his grandmother doesn’t pick him up from the airport like he’d expected, so he takes a taxi from the airport to her house. Haechan knows what their home looks like despite not visiting since his training days. They own a small hectare of land filled with tangerine trees, and his grandmother had been the sole operator of it all for many years until she had to start hiring people here and there to manage things for her when her age caught up with her. His father used to travel back and forth to see how things are here and there, but eventually stopped when Nana had found people she can rely on—which Haechan is very glad about.

He must be an asshole, or a prick, or a hypocrite to even say this but he’s been thinking about her more often than he calls. If he recalls right, the last time he’d called was three months ago, on her birthday, but it was two-minute exchange of generic how are yous and please stay healthys. She would call, of course, but Haechan would always have something as an excuse: a dance practice, a trip to Japan for a show, a photoshoot, something. Something to cover up the fact that he hasn’t been the best grandson to her in a long time.

He arrives and the first thing he notices is a hammock hanging in between the posts of her patio. A kick of nostalgia hits him because grandfather put up a hammock at the back of their home once, when Haechan was around five years old and they were visiting the couple for the summer. Her grandmother used to tell Haechan that the hammock is the best place to take his afternoon naps, hence little Donghyuck would spend most of his afternoons lying on a hammock made of strong nylon.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Haechan clears his throat. “Nana! I’m home!”

“Donghyuckie, is that you?” she calls from somewhere. Haechan walks over to the patio and drops his bags.

Nana comes out from the side of the house, her favorite pink apron on, grey hair hidden by a hair cap. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Haechan sees her age simply by the way she stands. Her back is hunched more than it was the last time he saw her during Chuseok last year. The wrinkles in the edges of her eyes and around her mouth are much more evident. The skin on her neck is loose, and so is the skin on her arms and everywhere.

For a second, Haechan feels like he’s seven again, seeing her for the first time since summer, her eyes not as happy as they were from the last time they’d been in Jeju-do, when grandfather was still alive. Haechan suddenly is taken back to when she’d hug him so, so tightly, crying to his shoulder, telling him harabeoji had left her while she was asleep. He remembers his heart dropping down to the ground when he saw her breaking down, his loving grandmother—who was always bright and happy, whom people would say he got his personality from—at her lowest. It’s the same wave of sadness Haechan feels looking at her now—looking at the years painted in her skin. Her memories blurring out the color of her eyes. Decades of hard work and labor tainted on the callouses on her fingers. Glints of loneliness spread throughout the wrinkles on her face.

Haechan has been all over the world for years now. Years of training and sleepless nights perfecting a performance had led him to where he is now. People who speak different languages love him and cheer for him even with countries and continents in between. He’s made millions happy by simply singing songs or saying hi in a fan call. And while he’s done of all of these, what had he done for his grandmother? People have been watching him grow up, who was watching Nana all this time?

Haechan chokes on his own tears. His grandmother, his Nana, opens her arms like Haechan is not the person the world hates right now. She hugs him like Haechan is not the person who had potentially ruined the group his best friend Mark had worked hard on. She holds him in her arms like Haechan is not the person who scared his siblings and cursed his own father. Nana takes him inside her home like he’s her Donghyuck again.

Haechan feels like he’s her Donghyuckie again.

Contrary to popular belief, Donghyuck doesn’t like affection as much as Haechan does.

He believes that being offered tenderness is the very proof that you’ve been ruined, and Haechan likes to think that with the life he has now, he’s not really in the position to talk about his life’s struggles. Because there are more people in the world who deserves to talk about their pain. Donghyuck doesn’t deserve as much.

Hence, the nostalgia goes away as quickly as it arrives. Haechan spends the rest of the day trying to sleep in his grandmother’s spare room and doesn’t even bother answering when his grandmother knocked on his door to invite him for lunch despite him being wide awake.

Haechan gets up at five in the afternoon, just when the sun is about to set, eyes heavy. The sky looks a lot like the color of his own skin, he notices, and he thinks about how beautiful the sky would be in Han River and recalls how him and Mark (and sometimes Doyoung) would lie on the ground, letting their skin soak in the sun slowly sinking down to its rest.

But none of that is close to happening because he’s here. In Jeju-do. Stuck like some twelve-year old sent to camp for an entire summer because his parents can’t stand him.

Haechan’s train of (bitter) thoughts is interrupted with a loud plonk from the wooden patio, which is right outside his window. He pulls his curtains slightly to peek, and he finds you on the floor on your side, groaning like a kid and massaging your back. It looks like you’d just fallen out of the hammock.

Curious, Haechan gets up and quickly slips out of his room to see you on their front porch.

“And Nana says it’s the most comfortable place to sleep on,” he hears you mumble as you get up, eyes meeting his as soon as you see him. Your eyes widen in shock, probably recognizing him, but you quickly catch yourself and look down.

“You are?” Haechan asks, towering over you.

You clear your throat. “Y/N.”

“I don’t mean your name, pumpkin,” he replies. “What do you do here?”

Haechan smirks at the way one of your eyebrows raised, clearly already infuriated at his attitude. You’re wearing a white shirt that’s too big for you underneath your denim overalls. The pair of boots sitting under the hammock is a clear sign that you’re a farmer tending to the tangerine trees on the land right beside the house, separated by a fence and his grandmother’s home garden.

“I manage your grandmother’s land,” you answer, stance defensive. “And it looks like you’re the delinquent grandson they sent away for the summer?”

Haechan chuckles, liking how you’re bark and bite, wondering how far he can push you, because the last thing he really wants is someone staying at his grandmother’s house. Too close. Too easy to see everything. You’d make millions selling him to the tabloids. He’d honestly rather hear people saying how much of an asshole he is, than have people invading his grandmother’s privacy while he’s here.

“You mean the world star, right?” he brags, licking his upper lip. “And you manage the land we own? Sounds a lot like a farmer to me.”

You stifle a laugh. You’re not at all intimidated. “Oh, pumpkin, I think the last thing you’d want to do in Jeju-do is insult a farmer for their job. The agricultural structure of Jeju Island has done more than you thrusting your hips up on the air for young, easily-manipulated teenage girls, Donghyuck.”

“So, you know my name?”

You click your tongue and turn around, proceeding to slip your boots back on. “How could I not know?”

“Because I’m a world star, right. How could you not know?”

Haechan watches you tie the laces up of your boots. You don’t give him another glance and leave, stomping your feet down the stairs to the ground until you’re out of his sight.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Nana says from inside. The door is wide open. “Where’s Y/N?”

She walks towards where Haechan stands, looking around for you. “That girl. I told her to stay for dinner. What’d you do, Donghyuck-ah?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, annoyed at how Nana is more concerned about you leaving than ensuring his privacy. He’s a star, for god’s sake. “Why’d you let her sleep here, anyway? And have her stay for dinner? Aren’t you scared she might sell me off to some magazine for, I don’t know, one million won?”

“Why would Y/N sell you—“ his grandmother sighs. “Not everyone is out to get you, Donghyuck-ah.”

“Why does she even know my birth name?” he questions. “That’s like, too much, Nana. Don’t share things like that.”

His grandmother slaps his arm. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”

“You’re a moron!” she screeches. “That was Y/N! She waited for you to wake up all day!”

“That’s creepy!”

“Y/C/N,” Nana enunciates. Haechan remembers. “Her childhood nickname. Does it ring a bell?”

“Y/N—” he breathes out. Frozen. “—is Y/C/N?”

Haechan has always had an affinity with flowers, long before he named his fans sunflowers.

His grandparents had a larger flower garden as compared to how it is now. They’d planted tangerine trees in place of the fields of beautiful red azalea and rhododendron blossoms. On spring days, the cherry blossoms were infinite, and little Donghyuck used to spend a lot of time looking at the flowers and making necklaces out of them.

You used to (still do, perhaps) live down the street, and your parents used to help out in the farm when your grandparents needed another pair of hands to harvest the tangerines. Little Donghyuck met you when he was six.

If he recalls it right, it was the second day of summer, a hundred something days before they had to return back to Seoul. He found you lying under a cherry blossom tree, eyes closed, allowing hundreds of pink petals to drown you in their beauty. Little Donghyuck lied down beside you, upside-down but his head is right beside yours. He’s always been a curious kid, so he wanted to know why you were letting the pink petals rain on you. There was nothing special about it. Just petals falling when the wind blows a certain direction.

When he opened his eyes, you turn to look at him, your eyebrows were furrowed the way they were when Haechan found you on the floor of his patio earlier, right after you’d fallen from the hammock.

“Hey,” you had said. “You’re the kid from Nana’s house, right?”

“She’s my Nana,” he corrected, closing his eyes once again. “And yes, I’m the kid from Nana’s house. You are?”

“My mom calls me Y/C/N,” you answered. “Are you staying for the summer?”

He nodded. “Only for the summer. We’re leaving before school starts.”

“Do you like flowers?” you asked.

“We don’t have a lot of flowers in Seoul,” Little Donghyuck mumbled. “But I love flowers. Last summer, Nana took me to Camellia Hills to see the flowers bloom in May.”

“Then you should stay,” you trailed off. “If you love flowers and Seoul doesn’t offer much, then you should stay.”

“What about school?” Donghyuck had asked, opening his eyes to look at you. You’re looking at him, upside-down and all. Donghyuck’s never seen someone more beautiful. “You’re pretty.”

Your eyes widened. You immediately hide your face from him using your hands. “We’re only five. I can’t have a boyfriend at five years old.”

“Maybe when we’re older.”

Haechan doesn’t remember much from the day you met, but he got close to you during that summer in 2006, even more when his family moved back to Jeju-do in 2007. Your friendship blossomed from walking together in first grade throughout primary school until he’d graduated and eventually moved back to Seoul.

He can’t believe that he’d forgotten your name, and a part of him knows it’s because he’s always called you by your childhood nickname, but a larger part of him likes to think that it’s because he’s almost twenty-three now—it’s been almost ten years. He’s met probably thousands of people at this point, and with the lifestyle he has, he really can’t afford to remember each person he spends time with. Not even the girl he spent his entire childhood in Jeju-do with.

So, Haechan forgives himself before he could ask for yours. He reckons you’d understand. You know him, somehow. You kept in touch until Haechan got into SM in 2013 and high school and training got the best of him. He changed his number and lost contact with almost everyone in Jeju-do, even his closest friends, and you were one them.

Life as a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot of things.

Most people know an idol sacrifices having a normal life—playing in the streets, trying out to be a part of the basketball team, dating at fifteen years old, prom, staying at one classmate’s house for a group project—and it includes forgetting the people you used to be close with.

One of the rules in SM when he was a trainee was to not get in touch with the people from their past. One of their managers used to tell them that their lives are divided into two parts: before training and after training; and to be successful in the industry means to forget who you were before training. They’d deleted all of his social media, which means he disconnected from the people he knew before he was Haechan. They’d deleted who he was before Haechan.

Many sacrifices, indeed. The list goes on, and at the end of it was your name.

“She never left Jeju-do?” Haechan asks, curious, as he ate the dinner Nana made for him. “Like not even for college?”

“She didn’t go to college at all,” Nana answers. “And she likes it here. Why do you make staying in Jeju-do sound like a living hell?”

Haechan shrugs. “It’s not like that, Nana. I mean, God knows what I’d do to get a normal life and go to college in Seoul and do what normal people in their early twenties do.”

Nana smiles at him. “This is probably what normal is for her. Not everyone has big dreams like you.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Haechan asks. “Dreams are free. It doesn’t cost anything to dream. Why wouldn’t people want to have big dreams?”

“Aren’t you the lucky one to have a dream and to be able to live your dream?” Nana says. She finishes up her meal and watches Haechan eat. “How are you, Donghyuck-ah?”

Haechan stops chewing and braces himself. Nobody’s asked him how he is. He continues chewing like it’s not a question that’s been weighing him under.

“I’m okay,” he answers, mouth full of food. “They didn’t fire me. So, I guess I should be grateful. I’m okay.”

“You know that you don’t have to lie to Nana, right?” She asks, smile kind and warm.

And Haechan wants to say it all. Out loud. Maybe even cry.

But he is not about to let his grandmother carry his burdens with her. Burdens that shouldn’t even matter because he’s so lucky to have the life he has now. Burdens that are nothing compared to other people’s.

“Come on, Donghyuck-ah,” she urges. “Talk to Nana. Tell me what’s wrong, my dear.”

“Halmeoni,” he firmly says. “I said I’m okay. I’m tired. Thank you for the meal.” He bows and stands to leave.

Life has a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot, indeed.

Nana leaves a box of things Haechan would need while he’s in Jeju-do before her trusted chauffeur takes her to the town’s market for some business.

Haechan finds himself wearing the same fit as you the day before: a pair of overalls, an old, non-branded shirt that looks like it’s been worn and washed 300 times. Nana left a list of chores to do, and there’s no way Haechan is doing all of those. He’s taking a walk around the fields, supervise like how the owner’s grandson should, bask on the sunlight for a bit, then go back to his room and play some games with strangers online.

You’re waiting by the patio, sitting and looking at the opposite direction so he only sees your back, when Haechan comes out, dressed up for the role but not ready for whatever today brings him.

“Took you long enough,” you grumble as he steps out of the house. You stand and turn to look at him. “Lock the door and let’s get going. You’re late on your first day.”

“Chill out, sweet cheeks,” he scoffs, reaching behind the door and locking it before slamming it shut. “You’re not the boss of me.”

You nod, chuckling. “I’m not. But your grandmother is. And she added your list to the name of workers joining us to harvest today. You will be paid by the hour.”

Haechan gasps lightly in disbelief. “I don’t need to work. We own this place.”

“Hmm,” you hum, feigning curiosity as you tap your index finger to your chin as if you’re thinking hard. “You know I manage this whole place, right? Which means I also manage its taxes and permits annually. I’ve never seen your name in any of the papers I play with every day.”

“Same fucking thing,” he mumbles, walking past you to reach the gate. Haechan finds two horses waiting for him outside. He turns, ready to ask you what kind of joke you’re pulling on him, but he finds you going around the house, perhaps to make sure everything’s locked and all. You catch up on him, eyebrows raised when he points to the horses.

“Don’t tell me you can’t ride a horse,” you ask, seemingly in disbelief that someone like him isn’t capable of riding a horse. “You can’t work in the fields just walking. You’ll tire yourself out and will waste most of your working hours just walking.”

“I—I’m really not—” Haechan falters for a second, but comes back as quickly as he goes. “It’s been years since the last time I rode a horse. I’m not certain if I can do that now.” You give him a questioning look. “Besides. I’m a celebrity if you haven’t noticed it already. What if I break a bone?”

“You’ll live.”

“What if I fall and break my face?”

“Seoul has the best plastic surgeons.”

“My legs! They were injured before. I can’t afford to get another injury!”

“You’ll be fine. You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m a star!”

At that, you burst out into a fit of laughter, the kind that Haechan would normally join in, because what he just said is truly ridiculous. He can’t believe he said that himself. But, of course, he can’t just laugh with, basically, a stranger.

“Oh my God, Lee Donghyuck,” you say in between laughter.

Something ignites something in him, the way you just said his name.

Haechan is a name he loves, an alter-ego he adores, a character he lives. Full sun, because that’s what he wants to be. He wants to bring light to everyone looking up to him, and he wants to be remembered by the way his voice warms the entire planet. He loves hearing cheers and applause when he introduces himself as Haechan. Because Haechan is talented. Haechan is an ace, an all-rounder who can do anything an idol is expected to do, perhaps even more. Haechan is bright and positive, and he likes making people laugh and at the same time uncomfortable of the influx of skinship he offers. Haechan loves the lights and cameras on stage, and he adores the way his name is in every city he goes to.

Meanwhile, Lee Donghyuck, he’s heard in a million times. Mark still calls him Donghyuck like they never aged since 2013, even Doyoung and Jeno. His parents seldom call him Haechan, never for Nana. His fans also have been calling him Donghyuck since they learned his birth name is Donghyuck, sometimes Hyuck or Hyuckie, which he finds really endearing.

Yet no one’s ever called him his name like he’s nothing but just Lee Donghyuck. Not for a long time. Not from someone before Haechan.

Donghyuck suddenly feels like he’s twelve again, the year he left Jeju-do and had to say goodbye to all of his friends with a promise to keep in touch and to never forget. Donghyuck finds himself looking at the way you’re laughing, how you have your eyes closed, mouth agape and melodies of your amusement coming out like a song he thought he’d forgotten but know all the words to, and he finds himself thinking, maybe being Lee Donghyuck isn’t so bad.

His first day at the farm didn’t go as quick as expected and if Donghyuck could say so himself, it’s the longest fucking day in his entire life.

Evidently, he couldn’t ride a horse to save his life. He doesn’t even know why he’d told you it’s been a long time when the only time he ever rode a horse was when he was eleven for a field trip and only to take a god damn picture to make his mother smile. You and him were only a couple of horse steps or whatever away from Nana’s home and his horse was already squirming and more like threatening to throw him ten meters away, hence, you begrudgingly offered to have him ride with you. Donghyuck didn’t decline, of course, because it was either walk around the place under the hot sun or die at the hands of a stupid horse. You had let him sit behind you, skillfully and impressively holding the other horse by its rope, Donghyuck’s arms reluctantly wrapped around your waist because he didn’t want to fall, and if you were uncomfortable, you didn’t say anything about it.

You had taken him to a tour within his grandparents’ land, and Donghyuck is already twenty-three when he realized his grandparents are big time, like for real. The land isn’t as big as the others, ones that are owned by a big corporation, people who aren’t even from Jeju-do but like to play agricultural monopoly, but it’s bigger than most. Nana was too humbled when she’d told him the night before that he would need to help out in their “small” business.

The business is nowhere near small, with hundreds of tangerine trees scattered around, blooming in the famous Jeju-do delicacy, and she had forty to fifty employees working for her.

“Not really like full-time employees,” you had explained when Donghyuck verbalized his surprise with the number of people working for the farm. “Normally, it’s just me and Nana and a few other people who handle the delivery, quality assurance, and sales in the farmer’s market, which I’d need to take you to tomorrow, and also some folks from Seoul who handle the cargo shipping to the cities. But when it’s harvest season, we really would need more than ten pairs of hands to help out.”

“So, like, all year, there’s only around ten people are here,” Donghyuck confirmed, hands still on your waist as the horse came to a stop. “And on harvest season, Nana hires more people to help out. That’s really nice. Could be a good summer job for students and all.”

You hummed in agreement, patting the horse that Donghyuck learned you named as Daisy. “But normally, you’d find older people working here instead of the younger ones.”

“Oh?” Donghyuck’s curious. “That’s a little odd. I mean, isn’t the job physically tiring?”

You shrugged. “The elderly, well, they don’t really have a lot of opportunities to work here, you know, considering that Jeju-do has become more of like a tourist island than a self-sufficient, thriving agricultural place. You’ve probably heard of the water park they’d built nearby the airport and other big corporations taking over and building their stores here and there. And of course, they’d most likely hire younger people who can relate to the Korean Wave your group caused, right?”

“Keeping tabs?”

You scoffed at that. “As if! Now, get down before I ask Daisy to wiggle her ass and throw you off.”

After the supposed short tour that took an hour because, well, their land is enormous, you take him where some of the elderly people are harvesting.

“This is Donghyuck,” you’d introduced. “Nana’s grandson from Seoul. He’ll be helping us today. So, halmeoni, don’t even think about getting him off the hook because he’s Nana’s grandson. He will be paid for the day like everyone else. You wouldn’t want someone to get paid the same, only to work half of what you do, right?”

The older women laughed at the way you’d introduced him, and he feels his heart swell with the way you’re laughing with them and how they looked at him with so much tenderness. And normally, Donghyuck doesn’t like the look of tenderness, especially when directed to him, but today, it felt warm. Warmth like never before.

“You grew up so handsome, Donghyuck-ah,” one of the women said. “But I thought you’d be taller, you know. You had such long limbs when you were younger.”

Donghyuck feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Ahjumma, you should’ve stopped at the word handsome.”

“Tangerines ripen earlier than other citruses, so they can escape damage from freezes that will harm midseason varieties such as grapefruit and sweet oranges. Most varieties will be ready for picking during the winter and early spring, although the exact tangerine harvest time depends on the cultivar and region,” you explain, following the lead while Donghyuck and two other guys around yours and his age trail behind you. He apparently needs some training before he can start working.

“How do we know if they’re ready to be picked?” Joohyuk, one of the part-timers, ask.

You will know it’s about harvest time for tangerines when the fruit is a good shade of orange and begins to soften a bit. This is your chance to do a taste test,” you answer, stopping to show an abundant tangerine tree. You pick one out and show it to Donghyuck and the rest. “Cut the fruit from the tree at the stem with hand pruners. If after your taste test the fruit has reached its ideal juicy sweetness, proceed to snip other fruit from the tree with the hand pruners.”

You proceed to show them how it’s cut and hand them a piece each. Donghyuck likes that the fruit is sweet, not sour.

The ahjummas find your group and start handing baskets to Donghyuck and the guys, telling them they’d guide them all throughout.

He found himself spending the rest of the morning getting to know the people harvesting tangerines and making them laugh like it’s his job. He learned all their names one by one, their families briefly, and what they used to do before they retired. By the time it’s lunch, Donghyuck was about to say goodbye and perhaps ask you to take him back to his house, the group from the other side of the farm joined their area, all packed with bags of lunch.

They asked him to join, of course, but Donghyuck refused, in respect of their time to relax and take a break, and asked if you could take him home instead. You agreed, of course, mumbling that you would also need to go home to feed your dog.

“I’ll pick you up at 1:15,” you say as soon as Donghyuck lands on his feet. “Don’t sleep, please. The ahjummas will be expecting you. It’ll be a lot hotter, so drench your celebrity skin with twice the amount of sunscreen you’d normally use.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck responds, itching to say thank you, but not enough to actually say it. He rubs Daisy’s neck instead. “You—I, okay.”

“O-kay,” you nod and whistle to signal Daisy to turn and walk the other way.

Nana waits for him by the patio. “How was your first day?”

“It’s not even over yet,” he sighs, slumping his butt on one of the patio’s stairs. “Nana, I can’t believe you’re making me work while I’m on vacation.”

“Your father never said anything about a vacation,” she responds, smiling as she struggles to sit beside him. Donghyuck helps her. “You’re here for some time away from work, right?”

“Yeah, a vacation,” he emphasizes.

Nana reaches to move the fringe covering a part of his eyes. “Let’s call this your healing time. But I wouldn’t call it a vacation because a vacation for you only means playing computer games until the sun rises then sleeping all day.”

“You should stop talking to Seungyeon about me,” he mumbles, looking sideways to find his grandmother looking at him lovingly. “And I don’t only play computer games. I also listen to a lot of music.”

“Try not to think about the limelight while you’re here,” she says. “The farm needs some help now. And it’s the best time for you to learn about the family business in case you don’t make it back in Seoul.” Donghyuck groans, burying his face in his hands, and Nana laughs at him. “That’s a possibility you should be considering, Donghyuck-ah.”

“Nana, you’re making me feel worse,” he whines. “You just told me not to think about the limelight, how can I not when you just said what you said!”

“I’m only joking,” she admits. “No one is ever going to take the limelight away from you, Donghyuck-ah, even if they try. You were born for the stage, and I know it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Donghyuck looks up at her. “Is it bad that it’s all I want?”

Nana shakes her head and offers a kind smile. “Having a dream like yours is never bad, Donghyuck-ah. I know that eventually you’d have to leave and go back to where you really belong: the limelight. But all I’m saying is, stepping out of the light isn’t as bad as you think it is.”

“Right.”

“Tell me how it was in the farm.”

“The ladies love me,” he chuckles. “I’m quite popular even in the small villages of Jeju-do, aren’t I?”

“You sure are,” she agrees. “They’ve been asking about you for a long time. Looks like your Nana isn’t the only one who missed you.”

“How come they still remember me?” he asks before he can think about it. “I mean, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten about most people here. They still remember how I used to play around and sing for small events.”

It’s true. It caught him by surprise that the workers still remembered him—and not only because he’s a celebrity now, but they remember him by the small, insignificant happenstances when he was younger. Like for example, one of them mentioned how he was once was injured, his pinky finger to be exact, because he was running like a madman when his mother had given him permission to go play computer games with his cousin. He doesn’t remember that person being there, but he knows his grandmother talked about it like it was a news about a hurricane hitting Seoul at that time it happened.

It makes Donghyuck wonder how many people remember him, and how many people he’d forgotten and left behind for his dreams.

“Our world here in Jeju-do is small,” Nana explains. “People like you, who left, well, while ours remain humble and small, while we fade into the background and slowly become insignificant, yours become bigger. So, while we remember, you forget, slowly, one by one—and nobody blames you for forgetting, Donghyuck-ah.”

Oh, look. Another burden, another truth that Donghyuck has to carry for the rest of his life. Another reason not to fall asleep tonight.

There is a small, local store located down the road from his grandmother’s house. They don’t sell nearly half the number the ones local convenience stores in Seoul would, but Donghyuck likes to think it’ll do. Soju and beer taste the same anyway, regardless of where he buys it.

With the faint, beaten yellow paint from its exterior, the store has been around even before Donghyuck was born. It’s the village’s very own convenience store, after all. There weren’t any rival stores like how it would look like in Seoul where every corner of every street one would find a convenience store. From where Donghyuck stands, the store doesn’t like look like it’s changed much in a decade.

For some reason, Donghyuck remembers how much Renjun likes reading neuroscience studies for fun. He doesn’t know anyone else who would read neuroscience studies. For fun. But anyway, back to his point, there was a neuroscience study that Renjun has been blabbing about during their US tour. It was something about when someone recalls an old memory, a representation of the entire event is instantaneously reactivated in the brain that often includes the people, location, smells, music, and other trivia. Recalling old memories can have a cinematic quality. Memories often seem to play out in the mind's eye like an old Super 8 home movie or vintage Technicolor film. Neuroscientists discovered that when someone tries to remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past—such as a recent birthday party—that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. The new research reveals that humans remember life events using individual threads, that are coupled together into a tapestry of associations.

Donghyuck’s never really understood what Renjun meant at that time, except now.

He stands there, a good ten-meter distance from where you’re sitting. The pavement on the sidewalk isn’t the most comfortable place to sit in, but Donghyuck thinks it might just be, with how comfortable and at peace you look: legs stretched out to the street, headphones covering your ears, a book (or a journal perhaps, Donghyuck can’t see well from here) in one of your hands while the other is twirling a pen.

The scene takes him back to ten years ago, in the exact same place where you’re sitting, and if Donghyuck thinks about it now, it seems like nothing’s really change—except he’s almost twenty-three now, and despite him standing a few meters away from you, it feels like you and him are worlds away. And from what it looks like, you still love writing as much as Donghyuck loves singing.

It was a warm evening in May 2013, a couple of weeks before school ended and summer would officially start, counting down the nights when Donghyuck would have to move back to Seoul, and it was way too hot for Donghyuck’s liking. Nana didn’t have an air-conditioning system yet; his father was working hard to get her one before they leave for Seoul because summers can be crazy hot in Jeju-do. And Donghyuck needed a popsicle so bad, otherwise, he’d probably explode.

He found you the same place where you are now. Donghyuck thought your SHINEE shirt looked cute because while girls your age liked the newly debuted EXO, you still listened to SHINEE like a religion. You were sitting with your legs sprawled on the street, right under the streetlight, a pen in one hand and your old, beaten up journal on the other. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and Donghyuck caught himself before he could start thinking about how pretty you looked like that: focused and doing what you loved.

Donghyuck decided not to disrupt your focus and opted to go straight inside the small store, spending the last of his money on yours and his favorite: lime and cherry twin popsicle—the kind that’s packaged in one, two flavors in one, lime green and cherry red colors separated in the middle between popsicle sticks. Lime for you, cherry for him. You didn’t look up when he sat beside you, but took the lime-flavored popsicle from his hand when he handed it to you after peeling off the plastic cover and breaking it into two.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the ice-cold treat in your mouth. Donghyuck couldn’t help but think his cherry-flavored popsicle resembled the color of your lips.

Donghyuck nodded his thoughts away, leaning in to peak at the page you’re working on. “What are you working on?” he asked it while the popsicle rested on one side of his mouth, his left cheek protruding.

You shrugged, taking the popsicle off your mouth, showing your work to him. Donghyuck found it endearing that you write all over the pages of your journals, it was as though he could see your train of thoughts: some smudged, some erased under ink but not really because he could still read through it, some clear as day, some to never see daylight again.

“I was in Science class today,” you started.

“We’re in the same homeroom, dumbass. I was there.”

“I’m talking,” you whined. “And I doubt you were even listening. You hate Science more than anything.”

“Fair point,” he hummed. “Okay, what about Science class? Please don’t tell me you’ll start writing about Science. Because I’m so sorry. I’ll never read any of your work ever again if you decide to do that.”

You laughed, the melody of your fondness of his jokes creating its own room inside the crevices of Donghyuck’s brain. “Teacher Kim was talking about symbiosis.”

“I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means.”

“Symbiosis is a term describing any relationship or interaction between two dissimilar organisms. The specific kind of symbiosis depends on whether either or both organisms benefit from the relationship,” you continued. “Butterflies and flowers, they are the best examples of symbiosis.”

Donghyuck nodded, savoring the sweetness of his cherry-flavored treat.

“Hence I did some research and read more about butterflies and flowers, and I read something a little sad,” you trailed off. “I learned that certain flowers bloom when butterflies hatch and depends on how they match each other. Butterflies, they prefer light-colored flowers they can perch on. So, when the timing is off, the flower misses the butterfly. The butterfly, therefore, finds another flower.”

“Then what happens to the flower?” Donghyuck asked, watching as you try to catch the melting piece off your popsicle, taking it back to your mouth. Your lips looked really pretty. “If it misses all the timing?”

“Well,” you shrugged, looking up to the night sky. The stars in Jeju-do that night were much prettier than it is in Seoul. “They bloom again next year, and hope that maybe next time, the timing is better. That the butterfly arrives just in time for the flowers to bloom.

“That is a little sad,” Donghyuck acknowledged. He watched you look back down, grimacing a little as you take the popsicle off your mouth. “Wanna try mine?” he asked before he could think about it.

You looked back at him. The stars in Jeju-do turned out to be nothing compared to your eyes. “Yeah?”

Donghyuck pulled the sweet treat from his mouth just as you hand him your lime-flavored one. He took it in his mouth, and Donghyuck had never been the biggest fan of anything sour, but for some reason, the lime flavor tasted sweeter than ever. You took his cherry-flavored ones, groaning in delight as you taste the treat’s sweetness.

“Cherry has always been my favorite,” you’d confessed, and Donghyuck was surprised because you’d always gotten the lime-flavored ones. The twin pops were your thing since you met summer of 2006—it was cheap, practical for two kids, two-in-one; you’d always choose the lime ones. “God, this is good.”

“You literally always take the lime ones,” he argued. “My whole life has been a lie. I’ve always thought lime was your favorite because you always take it whenever we get this!”

You shrugged. “You never liked anything sour,” you said like it’s the easiest thing to say, like it didn’t make Donghyuck’s heart somersault. “And I can take a little bit of sourness if it means you enjoy your cherry-flavored popsicle.”

Donghyuck was only twelve. He didn’t know anything about falling in love, but that night might just be the closest thing.

“So, you drink alcohol to help you fall asleep?” you ask as if it’s the most interesting solution to insomnia. Donghyuck thinks it isn’t; he’s read somewhere online that alcohol really helps. “That’s stupid.”

Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s not really working great right now. But it helps.”

He sits beside you on the sidewalk, legs sprawled out just like yours, a can of cold beer one hand while the other holds him up, flat on the rough pavement. There’s no particular reason why Donghyuck’s talking to you now. You and him got off the wrong foot, and it’s not like you can really blame Donghyuck for seeing a (supposed) stranger sleeping at his grandmother’s patio. And you were friends. Even though it’s been years, Donghyuck reckons talking to you would do no harm. Besides, if he’s staying here for a few months, a companion would probably make it less miserable.

“And your father thinks coming to Jeju-do would help, too?” you ask.

Donghyuck chuckles. “I guess you could say that. What else have you heard about me?”

You look at him, away from the street and right into his eyes. Donghyuck wonders why he didn’t recognize you the first time he saw you. Your face looks the same from the day he bid you goodbye a decade ago—lips colored in cherry, eyes bright as the stars, cheeks soft all over.

“A lot,” you answer. “But I’ve never been one to believe in rumors anyway.”

Donghyuck licks his lips. “The rumors are true.”

“Not about the sleeping around and getting drunk, pabo,” you mutter. “That, I believe.”

“Which ones?” he asks.

“People are saying you no longer like being on stage,” you say. It’s not the first time Donghyuck’s heard it. “That you’ve been burnt out from working all these years. And that you don’t care about music anymore.”

Donghyuck snickers. “That’s true, too.” He throws his head back, chugging on the cold beer. “I’m so over it. I don’t even care what happens after this.”

“Oh, Donghyuckie,” you whisper softly, eyes still glued to his face. “What has the limelight done to you?”

Donghyuck only shrugs, finishing off the rest of the cold beer, helping himself up and taking the plastic bag full of iced cold beer from the store.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be worried about,” Donghyuck says. You keep your eyes on him, so you’re looking up from where you’re seated and Donghyuck looks down on you. “It’s getting late. Wanna go drink at Nana’s?”

“Nana would kill you if she finds alcohol inside her house,” you say.

“I’ve snuck in about twenty bottles since I arrived last week and she hasn’t noticed,” he confesses.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you laugh.

Donghyuck freezes for a moment, watching you stand in between giggles. Mark said the same think a couple of weeks ago, but it doesn’t sting when you say it. You say it in laughter. Like it’s okay. Like it doesn’t scare you.

“My house is down the street,” you say, helping yourself up and standing in front of him. Donghyuck remembers. “I’ll call Nana and let her know you’re with me.”

A bark startles Donghyuck for a second. You and him turn to find a golden Labrador running towards where you stand.

“Aw, my baby’s here to pick me up,” you announce with the softest voice. The lab runs, almost dashes towards you, and Donghyuck is taken aback when it tackles him—not you—knocking the plastic bag off his hands and resulting to him landing his butt back to the pavement. “Pororo!” you shriek, not in surprise but with a tone of betrayal. “I’m your mother!”

Donghyuck hears you shriek, but laughs through it because the golden lab is hogging him, licking him all over as if he’d miss him all these years. “Oh, baby, you’re so cute,” he coos, cradling the dog by its face, looking up at you as the dog licks his face. “This is yours?”

You fight back a smile, but you lose immediately because your face breaks with a grin. “What has the limelight done to you?” you ask, the same question from earlier, but a different tone—teasing, nostalgic, like years ago.

The dog sniffs him all over and you stand there watching them.

“Can’t even recognize your own dog now?” you tease, walking so you could pet the dog and have him follow you. “It’s the puppy Nana got you a month before you left Seoul. You couldn’t bring him with you, and Nana couldn’t take care of him when you left, so I adopted him, pabo.”

“Pororo?” Donghyuck finally, finally recognizes. Pororo looks like he’s nodding, like saying thank God, you remembered me! The dog goes back to tackle him. “Oh, Pororo! My baby!”

You lead the way to your house, Pororo following after you. He watches you take several steps ahead of him. He feels dizzy watching the scene in front of him. Donghyuck understands what Renjun is talking about now.

Humans remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. You’re the representation of his entire life in Jeju-do, a clear image before Haechan, and he’s fucking sorry he forgot about you all these years.

But that’s an apology you’d never hear from him. Instead, he watches you, taking a small step towards you, and decides he’ll allow his unsaid apology to be added on the long list of reasons why he can’t sleep at night.

Nostalgia comes in waves, they say, but why do you bring it to him like a hurricane?

Donghyuck could say that Nana is impressed with the drastic change of character in the span of six weeks.

She’s been treating him better these days; by “better”, Donghyuck means she’s been cutting off a few hours from work so he could spend more time at her home, guarding the hens and roosters that serve at her alarm clock and watering her plants from her small vegetable garden. She’s also been paying him, giving him a small envelope with cash and a small paper that resembled a payslip showing the number of hours he’d work for the week, and Donghyuck ignores the quick jump from his heart when he sees your signature at the end of it, affirming that the hours listed are accurate. Donghyuck takes the money, of course, after Nana threatened to beat him up because she’d be breaking Korea’s labor laws if he doesn’t accept it, and he keeps it all in a small box in his room, planning to show it to his members when he goes back to Seoul and brag about working like a normal civilian at the age of 23.

There is a pinch in his heart when he remembers his members. While Donghyuck has been working on (and failing to) sober up for an entire month, his members have not called nor texted him. He’d been reaching out, of course. Some of his members have been assigned solo projects and activities in the last month, and he ensures to congratulate them. All he’s gotten so far are the receipts that his messages have been read.

Donghyuck convinces himself that it’s probably SM that advised everyone not to give him a time of their day, that they probably think being away from work means disconnecting from everyone, too, that his members love him and also believe that he needs some time off from everything.

But the convincing can only do much. The convincing distracts him while he’s at work, or while he’s watering Nana’s plants, but it doesn’t do much at night. Still, after six weeks, Donghyuck is nowhere near clean.

He wakes up with a terrible headache every day (from lack of sleep or hangover, he’s not really certain), and his Nana has been oddly making hangover soup for breakfast. Donghyuck wonders whether you’d ratted him out or his mother had called her about it. Either way, she probably knows something’s up.

His mother had called him a few times now, Seungyeon, too, and it’s been casual. His mother’s voice always sounded like she’s walking on eggshells whenever she’d call, blurting a half-assed apology for not seeing him before he left and telling him she’d forgiven him and that she’s looking forward to seeing her in a few months. Seungyeon talks to him the most, almost every day, in short text messages and 10-minute calls on the weekends when she doesn’t have to worry about waking up early the next day.  And she talks to him about the most random thing, nothing ever related to his obsession with drinking or the scandal, which makes Donghyuck feel better somehow.

Six weeks didn’t make much of a difference, not that Donghyuck was expecting any. The only thing that’s changed so far is that, he’s not as exhausted as he was in Seoul despite his shitty sleeping schedule continuously fucking up his already deteriorated mental health. He hasn’t been listening to songs for quite a while, and he’s been drinking every night. And if it means anything to him, you’ve been hanging out with him while he drinks.

In six weeks, he learns that you’re not much of a drinker. You don’t have many friends that you could really invite for a drink in a nearby pub or in a samgyeopsal restaurant. You’d mentioned that most people your age have all moved on to different places, spewing names that were once familiar to Donghyuck and telling him where they are now. Donghyuck is yet to learn why you had stayed in Jeju-do, not once stepping in Seoul, when the world off this island’s shores are much, much bigger than you think.

It’s two in the morning. You’d taken him home because he could barely keep his head up with the number of soju bottles he had downed, and he appreciates that you try to stay quiet when you put him to bed and leave, keeping the blinds closed because he’d told you once that the morning sunlight seeping through spaces between the curtains hurt his eyes. You’d left when Donghyuck’s barely awake.

His phone dings a notification. Donghyuck probably won’t remember so he reaches over, checking it and recognizing his mother’s name.

She sends him an article about the upcoming debut of NCT DoJaeJung, and Donghyuck’s seen it in the groupchat for some time now. Donghyuck isn’t even halfway down the article when she sends another one: Mark’s solo song.

She doesn’t add another message, and he sees her status change from online to offline in a split second, but she doesn’t really have to say anything else for him to understand.

Donghyuck’s dream has always been the spotlight.

Or at least, as he recognizes now, his mother’s dream for him has always been the spotlight.

Donghyuck always thought he loved making people happy and singing equally.

While people called him kind and a ray of sunshine, Mark’s always called him out for being a people-pleaser, reminding him that he doesn’t have to make sure everyone is happy with the choices he’d make, telling him he doesn’t have to feel the strong urge to please everyone. And Donghyuck never understood it until now, now that he’s wide awake and looking at his mother’s messages. She’s probably expecting a solo project for him, too, and she sends these things that make her happy, and she’s already expecting him he’d do it no matter what. Donghyuck’s mother is a good person; he’d look up at her and think to himself that when he grows up, he’d want to be as supportive as his mother, and don’t get him wrong when he says she expects him to do anything that’d make her happy. Because this is all Donghyuck’s fault, anyway.

With his desire to make her the happiest, he’s done everything he could to make her happy, even at his own expense.

The infamous Saturday audition at SM was something Donghyuck never thought about—not at the age of 13 when he had just gotten back in Seoul after five years of staying in Jeju-do. His accent has changed and he reckons he could have a good relationship with boys his age who grew up in the city. And as much as he loved performing, Donghyuck doesn’t like being criticized. He doesn’t like rejection, and he can’t bare the thought of adults telling him he couldn’t sing.

Hence, his initial answer to his mother’s proposal to visit SM Entertainment and give it a try was no. The only thing that had made him go, knees shaking and palms sweaty, was his mother’s words: “It’ll truly make me happy if you give it a try.”

She’d said it in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s given everything that’d make her happy a try. She’d never said a bad thing and even told him a few times that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but he does it anyway.

Donghyuck was afraid that she’d love him less if he didn’t make her happy. He was only thirteen, and his twenty-three now, and his biggest fear hasn’t changed: to be loved less because he didn’t make them happy enough.

So, Haechan blurts out the most random jokes when the cameras are on and initiates skinship with the member even if they abhor him for it and style his hair a different way, because it makes the fans happy. Haechan stays up learning the tune of the new song and recording himself in his phone for hours even after an entire day of physical activities, because it makes the producers happy. Haechan takes his friends and the younger members to dinner after a 16-hour flight from the west on the night of his birthday—his eyes barely open the entire time—because it makes them happy. Haechan plays the maknae role perfectly, even when at times he’s tired of it, because it makes the older members happy. Haechan continues to be a sunny and bright character even on days when he’s exhausted, because it makes his managers happy.

But the truth is, Donghyuck doesn’t like dyeing his hair. His hair’s gotten so unhealthy from dyeing it different colors last year.

Donghyuck feels awful sometimes, when his friends do not return his affection, but he plays it off, feigning hurt even when it actually does.

Donghyuck wants to sleep after a 16-hour flight.

Donghyuck wants to drink with his hyungs, too.

Donghyuck just wants to sing and write songs when he’s learned enough.

Donghyuck doesn’t want to be like Mark, or Doyoung, or anyone else.

Donghyuck wants Haechan to be… Donghyuck.

Donghyuck wants to be happy—in his own terms, by his own choices.

But how can he be happy when he’s always depended his happiness on the people he loves?

Donghyuck feels like a dead man walking.

You and Donghyuck are tasked to bring the harvested fruits at the farmer’s market in the early hours of Sunday.

It’s barely five in the morning, and the sun’s not even out yet, but you had forced him to sleep early the night before to make sure he’d accompany you to the market. (He didn’t sleep though; he lied awake until his phone rang and you’re calling from outside.) You’d driven the farm’s truck to get here, and Donghyuck can’t help but admire the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand.

Donghyuck helps you carry the boxes out of the truck, arranging them in front of his grandmother’s store. You had walked in while he carries the rest inside and Donghyuck hears you talk to Eunseuk, his Nana’s sales person who handles and manages their place in the public market.

“That’s awful,” Donghyuck hears you say as soon as he places the last of the boxes in a corner. “Can’t the mayor do anything about it?

Eunseuk sighs, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, it looks like the donation project Nana’s driven wasn’t enough. She barely made enough profit last quarter because she’d donated most of it to the project.”

“What is awful and what project are we talking about?” Donghyuck interrupts.

Eunseuk smiles sadly at him. “The clinic that Nana’s been proposing to the mayor for years now. The town’s mayor thinks it’s not going to be built this year.” Donghyuck’s never heard of it.

“The community has a lot of elderly people who live alone in Jeju-do,” you explain when you notice his curiosity. “Especially in here in the island, even more here in our town. Most people leave Jeju-do at the age of eighteen to find a better life in Seoul, which is ridiculous because there’s no place better than Jeju-do, and Nana thought it’d be great if she built a small clinic for the elderly nearby, that way they wouldn’t have to travel fifty kilometers to visit the nearest hospital. It’d be great if the elderly can have themselves checked for free and to have, if not all, most equipment they’d need.”

“How is that possible?” Donghyuck asks.

“Well,” Eunseuk starts. “First, we need the funds to actually build the clinic itself. Nana is halfway through the amount needed. The mayor’s children are doctors, and if he wants to keep winning the next elections, I’m sure he’d be happy to have them volunteer.”

“What about maintenance?” he asks.

“Good question,” you say. “And good thinking. I like it, you’re already thinking ahead, Donghyuck-ah. Anyway, the elderly is very much willing to do community service in exchange of the maintenance of the small clinic. And don’t worry, it’s not like Nana’s going to make them work like horses.”

“Services like crocheting products for the local market,” Eunseuk adds. “Food manufacturing—the kind that would allow them to make while sitting down, local farming, jewelry-making, and the like. Things we can sell in the market. You know how tourists are so keen on buying anything hand-made.”

“So, a clinic for the elderly built and maintained by the elderly?” Donghyuck sums up.

“Exactly!”

“How much are we looking at in terms of money?” He asks.

You chuckle. “If you’re grandmother wanted to ask money from you, she would have already. She has some kind of pride, you know.”

“Well, I’ll give it you and you tell her it’s an anonymous donation.”

“As if she’d believe that bullshit,” you answer. “Anyway, Eunseuk-eonnie, what do we do now?”

The older woman shrugs. “We’ll keep selling tangerines until we reach the goal, I guess.”

Donghyuck talks before he could think about it. “I can do something.”

You and Eunseuk look at him like you’d just seen a ghost.

“I don’t know what I can offer,” he says right away. “But I’ll… I think I can do something.”

“Donghyuck,” you say. “You can sing.”

“I am aware,” he jokes.

“No, you can sing,” you repeat. Donghyuck looks back at you. “You can sing, so I’m sure you can teach people how to sing.”

“And?” He doesn’t get it.

“It’s summer,” you answer. “Most kids are bored and are probably looking for something meaningful to do while they wait for school to start again. Teach kids how to sing and have their parents pay for it!”

Donghyuck thinks it’s a good idea. “And you can write.”

You freeze. “No.”

“Teach kids how to write and have their parents pay for it.”

“Over my dead body!”

“I will do it only if you do it.”

Eunseuk laughs, “Oh, this is good.”

“No, Donghyuck. I’m not a professional writer. I didn’t even go to college. I don’t have the credentials for it.”

“You don’t have to go college to be a writer,” he snorts. “Scott Fitzgerald didn’t even finish college.”

“Where’d you even learn that?”

“You told me when we were kids!” he answers, laughing. “Come on, Y/N. I’m sure Nana can find someone to do your job in the farm while we teach kids.”

“I don’t know, Donghyuck,” you sigh.

Eunseuk lightly slaps your arm. “Come on, young lady. Do it for the elderly.”

“Yeah, Y/N, do it for the elderly.”

The sparkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips tell Donghyuck you agree.

And so, the plan goes accordingly.

Donghyuck could say that Nana is more than delighted to learn that his delinquent and embarrassing grandson, who’s spent all this time pretending he doesn’t care, had decided to help out. You’d done the most part, of course— obtaining the permit from the mayor’s office and settling all the paperwork needed. All Donghyuck had to do was to help clean up and renovate his grandfather’s old office in the farm. Everyone else who had some free time helped because apparently, that’s what this community does. Donghyuck could probably get used to receiving help without him asking for it.

So, in more or less five days, his grandfather’s old office, which is about forty square meters, had turned into the community’s summer class headquarters. You and Donghyuck decided to call it Nana’s Music and Literature Classes. And with the help of Eunseuk and some of the workers, the word spread like news from the radio. In a week’s time, you and Donghyuck have over twenty student each. Mondays and Wednesdays were his schedule; yours were Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays were called Hyuckie and Y/C/N’s day—which means you and him would dedicate an entire day brainstorming and talking about your class’ progress.

The summer courses would take eight weeks to complete, and at the end of it would be a competition, in which the Mayor promised he’d give a very big reward for. Those who enrolled in Donghyuck’s classes would have a recital at the end of summer where the kids will hold a small concert for the town—tickets to be sold as part of the drive, of course—and the judges will be identified to select three winners. As for your classes, it will be a short story competition, and the winners will be announced on the night of the small concert, which Donghyuck is the best ending any summer could have.

The place is cramped, and Donghyuck’s never been more excited his entire life.

He’s gone to many places and met with many prominent people in this lifetime. But he’s decided that this is the most exhilarating day of his life.

The parents leave as soon as Donghyuck assures them that the kids will be safe and will be all set for pick up by 3 in the afternoon. You’re talking to the kids while he ensures that the room is cool enough for everybody. The room is filled with excitement that Donghyuck could feel inside him. He learned from the parents he’d met just a few minutes ago that the town doesn’t really offer things like this for children and that they’d have to send their kids to summer camp in the mainland if they wanted them to experience this, and the fact that you and him are doing this for a cause makes it even better.

Donghyuck views this like it’s not as big as the drives NCT had been doing, or the charity concerts he takes part in, or the money he donates to various causes, but to the people of the town, it’s bigger than anything they had ever known.

“Aigoo,” one of the parents cooed when she’d seen Donghyuck greet everybody outside. “Your grandparents have always been kind. They’d been the pillar of this small town for quite some time now. I’m glad you’re growing up a good man.”

You’d smiled at him when you heard that, and Donghyuck wonders if you also think he’s growing up a good man, because he thinks you grew up to be such an amazing, compassionate person.

“Hello, kids!” Donghyuck greets. Everybody says it back with the same enthusiasm, and despite having been in hundreds of shows with thousands of people in the audience, he can’t remember the last time a crowd made him feel alive.

Donghyuck hates being recognized.

When his career had just started, he thought that the greatest compliment was to be recognized. He thought that he’d measure his success with the number of people from the general public who could recognize him under a hat and with a face mask covering half his face. But in the latter years of his career, he’d learned the hard way that he hated being seen and being recognized.

There had been many happenstances in his job in which he’d just wish he was invisible for a moment. Anytime he’s in an airport, regardless it was for an event or concert overseas, or worst of it all, a vacation with his family, all Donghyuck wants is for people not to know who he is. In afternoon runs by himself, all he needs is a time alone and not girls following him and taking pictures of him. On days when he’s out with friends and family, all he hopes is peace. This comes with the job, Johnny would tell him whenever he’d get frisky and annoyed, but Donghyuck never really understood why his privacy is anyone’s business. Never really understood why he had to go through this when all he’s ever really wanted was sing.

Donghyuck hates being seen.

More than anything. Especially when he’s trying hard to hide. And he wishes he’s only talking about his physical appearance being seen. He hates that his grandmother sees through him but doesn’t say anything about it unless he opens up first. He hates that Mark, his best friend in the entire world, sees right through his walls and that all Donghyuck’s done is push him away and make him hate him even more. He hates that his father sees his pain, but doesn’t talk about it for some reason. He hates that you see him—all of him—but you don’t look at him with disgust or pity or anything of that sort.

It’s Friday, yours and his day, the second one since summer school’s started, and he’d started calling you by your childhood nickname again. You’d grimaced the first time and told him nobody’s called you that in a long time, but allowed him nonetheless.

The clock strikes six in the afternoon and the dusk had just settled in the horizon. You and him are sitting on the floor of his room, facing each other, separated by a small table, notepads scattered, ideas running a hundred miles per second.

“This is perfect,” you comment when you and him had finished planning out next week’s daily agenda. “The kids are going to love it!”

Donghyuck stays silent, eyes on you as you finally set your pen down.

“What should we have for dinner?” you ask, eyes still on the notepad. “Nana’s probably heating up some leftover galbi, but I think we should make some kimchi stew, too.”

Donghyuck hums. You look up at him. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just had something in mind.”

You tilt your head. “Tell me.”

“It’s a question,” he says. “And if I say it, you’d have to answer.”

You think about it for a moment. Donghyuck almost takes it back. “Sure.”

“Really?”

You nod. “As long as you answer a question from me, too.”

Donghyuck pretends to think about it. “Can we set some rules?”

“It’s literally one question,” you snort. “Come on. Ask me.”

“No, ask me first,” he insists.

“You asked first.”

“No. Ask me first,” he repeats.

You scoff. “Fine. You have to tell me the truth, yeah?” A nod. “Ready?” Another.

Donghyuck holds his breath for a moment and you don’t say anything for about a minute, probably thinking the same as him: this is the only chance both of you are honest and open, might as well ask a question one wouldn’t answer on a normal day.

“How are you?”

He exhales the breath he’s been holding and nearly breaks down in tears when he hears the question you’d decided to ask. He’s sure you’ve heard of it all. Everything’s been all over the internet for the past two months he’d been in hiding in Jeju-do: the drinking, the nights in clubs and bars, the fights with the members, the cherry on top which is the scandal. It’d all spiraled into everything he was initially afraid of. The girl he’d met at the back of the club had sold him to reporters and had made up a story of how they’ve been in a sexual relationship for quite some time. The media had dug up stories of him being out of control in the streets when he’s shitfaced from all the soju he had and had posted tales of him asking multiple women to sleep with him whenever he’s drunk.

The agency sued everyone for making shit up, of course, but Donghyuck knows half of those are the truth. He has not been the best group member in a long time: always late in practices, grumpy and hangover during fan signs, lethargic during concerts, and fucking up performances. He’s lost himself, and he’s losing everyone in the process of it.

People ask him if he’d really had sex with someone at the back of a bar. They’d ask him why he never asked for help with his drinking problem. Comments from his Instagram would tell him to back off and just leave the group. Fans from calls and fan signs would ask him why he’d stop making covers of the songs he loved and why he hasn’t been on Bubble in a long period of time.

But nobody else had really asked him how he’s been aside from Nana, who he doesn’t have the heart to open up to.

“I—” He starts but swallows, breathing in. You wait for him. “I’m—I don’t really—I’m not sure if I can.”

You nod. “Take your time, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck reminds himself to breathe.

How is he? How has been holding up after everything that’s happened?

He’s lost his spark. He’s lost his love for music, his passion for the stage, the sparkle in his eyes. He’s losing the people he loves. He’s losing his friends. And he’s losing a battle with himself.

He’s—

“I’m, ” he tries again. “Y/N, I’m not okay.”

It pours like rain, his tears. He shakes when he cries and his chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe, but he keeps crying because it’s the only time he ever will. He sobs in pain and holds himself when his entire body shakes from the ache of it all.

He’s grieving, weeping, like how one would in a funeral, because how does he ask for forgiveness? How does he ask forgiveness from his parents and siblings? From his members? From his fans? From the staff and the people who’d brought him to where he is? How does he ask forgiveness from little Donghyuck when all he’d wanted was for him to grow up a good man?

You let him cry, and only reach out to hand him a handkerchief when he’s done. You don’t say anything. Instead you kneel and reach over to hug him from the other side. Donghyuck accepts your tenderness.

“I don’t have anything else to ask,” you murmur against his hair. “But I do want to say that you’re loved in ways you probably have forgotten already. You’ve probably been used to love that’s loud—screaming and flamboyant and beautiful and everything anyone would want—but you’re also loved quietly. In a small, serene room. In a way you’ve forgotten.”

“Thank you,” he says, sniffling, a little embarrassed now. “I’m sorry. I probably ruined the moment.”

You chuckle, pulling away, and Donghyuck’s heart does flips when you kiss the top of his head like you always did when you were younger. He doesn’t know why he remembers all of a sudden.

“Stop apologizing,” you reply. “There’s nothing to apologize about.”

“There’s a lot,” he admits. “I didn’t recognize you the first time I saw you. We did everything when we were kids, and I didn’t recognize you.”

“And it’s okay,” you assure, holding the top of his hand that’s resting on the small table. “I didn’t expect you to recognize me right away. You were worlds away from me. We forget people and that’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not. I promised to keep in touch, and I never did. I’m sorry.”

You nod. “You’re forgiven.”

Donghyuck sighs in relief. “I doubt, but okay.”

“Trust me.” He does. “Anyway, you were going to ask me something. You’re not allowed to ask the same thing because I’d just answer that I’m tired and I want to sleep. Nothing big happens in my life.”

Donghyuck smiles again. “Ready?” A nod. “Why’d you never leave Jeju-do?”

It seems like you didn’t expect the question because your face tells Donghyuck you’re surprised by what he just asked. You lick your lip and exhale largely, looking everywhere but his eyes. Donghyuck allows you to take your time, and you’re not running away so he’s assuming you’re thinking of an answer for him.

“I don’t have a dream,” is your answer. “My parents think it’s not normal. Because even they had already left the town and moved to a bigger place off the island. People think it’s impossible that I don’t have a dream, that I must want something in life, I just haven’t discovered it yet. And I’m twenty-three, I’m still waiting for my awakening, for dreams to find me, but it hasn’t. I don’t want to do anything in life but just… survive.”

Donghyuck only listens. “In high school, when we were deciding what to take up in college and which college we’d go to, I had nothing in mind. I didn’t want a career—not an engineer, not a teacher, not a doctor, none of those. I couldn’t think of anything. Writing is something that I love doing, but I really can’t see myself pursuing it as a career. I don’t want to end up hating it. I’ve always been convinced that I wasn’t specifically good at anything apart from that. I’m okay with all subjects at school, average grades and all, but nothing ever stood out for me. I never stood out. And I was okay with it for a reason I still don’t know. I was okay with not having dreams. College was the only reason for me to leave Jeju-do. There’s nothing else, therefore I’m still here. At twenty-three, I haven’t accomplished much, and if you want me to be all out and honest,” you sigh. “It’s… it’s starting to scare me.”

“What scares you?”

“That I haven’t accomplished anything yet,” you admit. “I’m not one to, you know, force myself to people and make them remember me. I wasn’t scared of oblivion. Until… these days, I’ve been asking myself, how are people going to remember me?”

Donghyuck nods, urges you to continue.

“Are they going to remember me as someone who helps out in your Nana’s farm because I had nothing to do?” you voice out. “Are they going to remember me as someone who brings all the deliveries to the farmer’s market when the staff is unavailable? Are they going to remember be as Eunseuk’s co-worker? Are they going to remember me at all?”

 “Can I tell you something?” he asks but doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I know I’m not in the position to say anything about remembering you when I couldn’t recognize you the first time we met after a decade, but I remember you by the way I see cherry blossoms.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Is that a good thing?”

“We met in a puddle of fallen cherry blossoms in summer of 2006,” he explains. “I remember you by the way you admired flowers that fall off from its stem, by the way you loved fallen and broken things equally when they were perfect and when they stood still. I may have awfully forgotten you all these years, but the way I see cherry blossoms is the exact same way you see them.”

Donghyuck continues, “You know how they say we’re a manifestation of all the people we met, right? That we’re a mosaic of everything we’ve ever learned from them. To me, I remember you as the clear image of who I was before… before everything that’s happened. I remember you as someone helping me find my way back home.”

“Donghyuck,” you trail off. “That’s the… best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Donghyuck smiles. “And so, what if you don’t have big dreams? Dreams are just dreams anyway. You don’t have to have one if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to struggle so much in order to live.”

“Do people know you’re this kind and profound?” you chuckle. “People should see this side of Lee Donghyuck.”

“Call yourself lucky you’re the only one,” he answers.

“What’s wrong with people seeing this side?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “I don’t think they’d want the boring kind. I think they like me better when I’m funny and over the top and a sucker for attention.”

“Well,” you click your tongue. “I like you either way.”

Donghyuck is barely twenty-three. And if he knows anything about falling in love, this might just be the moment he truly learns it.

You and him end up falling asleep on his bed. Donghyuck likes to think he doesn’t really remember how it happened. You’d told him you’d sleep in the hammock at his house’s patio, but he’d insisted to sleep in his room, of course. Reason? Mosquitoes, of course. Donghyuck said he’d sleep on the floor, taking an extra pillow, but you were already half asleep, moving so your body is right by the wall, safe and sound. You’d save the extra space for him to sleep beside you. Donghyuck likes to think he’d fallen asleep because he was exhausted and not because he felt safe around you.

It’s the longest sleep he’s had in a long time.

He wakes up at eight in the morning, the room already warm despite the air-conditioning system still switched on. You are no longer beside him, but he clearly hears your voice from outside.

Donghyuck gets up, going straight outside and finds everyone from the farm gathered around for breakfast outside his grandmother’s house. He’d forgotten that his Nana invited everybody for a scrumptious breakfast today, Saturday, and he wonders why neither you nor Nana herself had woken him up to help out.

Farmers and harvesters pass a plate to one another. A long table is set up in the middle of Nana’s driveway space, various of dishes laid out, and Donghyuck finds you holding two pitchers of tangerine juice, walking around to fill up the workers’ cups.

It’s Eunseuk who sees Donghyuck standing by the patio watching everybody move around.

“There’s our Donghyuckie!” she announces.

Everyone looks at him and greets him a good morning. Nana shouts his name and asks him to come over and eat some breakfast. You squint when you look at him, the sun blinding your eyes, but you smile as soon as he waves hi.

Donghyuck can’t help but think being recognized is not so bad after all.

Donghyuck spends the rest of summer like a kid.

Except he goes to work at Nana’s Music and Literature Classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, goes to the farm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and spends his Fridays with you. He learns many things over the summer, especially about the community and the town itself. He meets more people as Donghyuck, Nana’s grandson who teaches children how to sing and who helps out in the farm two days a week. They accept him as he is, and he feels like seven again, meeting new people every day until they all remember him by his name.

Among the things he’s learned, he likes learning how your lips taste the most.

It was sudden, unplanned, the kind where he didn’t know he was doing it until he’s done it. You and him were ending a Friday session at your place that time, the place where he used to hide his drinks, and he was so elated that he wasn’t going home drunk for the first time since he arrived in Jeju-do. And he was bidding you goodbye. He’d leaned it like it was the most natural thing to do and caught your lips in his. You shrieked in surprise, unable to say anything, but tipped on your toes and gave him a second kiss before turning and running inside your house.

You didn’t talk about it, and Donghyuck felt like it was not something to talk about. You had voiced out you liked him in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s been relentlessly flirting with you since the night you fell asleep in his room. The signs were never mixed and the lines were never blurred. Donghyuck’s grown much closer to you more than anyone else in the world, and he’s been falling asleep in the safety of your arms these days. It was safe to say the kisses weren’t meaningless.

The night of his class’ recital comes quickly.

Donghyuck spend the entire two days practicing with each of his students while you were busy reading all of your students’ works and giving them feedback before they submit it to the Mayor’s office. You find him getting ready in his room, dressed in the only button-down shirt he brought from Seoul and a pair of slacks. Meanwhile, it’s the first time he’s seeing you in a dress that somehow matches the colors of his outfit.

“Looking great, handsome,” you say.

Donghyuck pulls you for a kiss. “Could say the same to you, beautiful.”

“Why are you so touchy these days?” you whine but lean back to kiss him again anyway. “Ready? One of the parents called and said his kid is already in the venue. They’re excited.”

Donghyuck nods, grabbing a jacket just in case it gets cold later tonight, and leads the way out. Nana is dressed in a pretty dress Donghyuck gave her for Christmas last year. Donghyuck drives to the venue and finds himself nervous for the first time in a long time.

 You’d managed to convince him to sing tonight despite his persistent refusal.

“Come on, Donghyuck,” you begged, pulling him by the end of his shirt as he harvests tangerines. “The audience will love you!”

“They paid their tickets to watch the kids of the community sing, not me,” he argued. “And besides, I haven’t sung in like, four months. Who knows? I may have forgotten to sing already.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “Your Nana would want to hear you sing live.”

“She’s already heard me sing live many times,” he replied. “She’s been to many concerts.”

You tilt you head, a habit he’s grown to really like. “But I haven’t.”

Donghyuck had wanted to kiss the pout off your lips at that time. “Watch it from Youtube.”

“You don’t get many lines!” you said.

“So, you do watch my performances in Youtube, huh?” he teased. “Only in NCT 127 I don’t get so much lines because there are more members. Try to listen to NCT Dream.”

“Donghyuck!” you bellowed in frustration as you follow him around the farm. “Please!”

He stopped and turned, a little too late for you to step back because you’re already pressed up against his chest. “Okay.”

“Really?” you asked, voice lower because your faces were just inches apart—one wrong move and you’d be kissing in the middle of tangerine trees.

He nodded, purposely moving his face closer. “Only if you start reviewing for the SAT again and start sending your drafted college applications from your laptop.”

“Who told you to sneak in and open my files!” you gasped.

“I was checking if you’ve ever watched porn in your life and I found something better: your college applications.”

“I hate you, you know?”

Donghyuck chuckled, moving even closer to intimidate you but he hoped you couldn’t his heart hammering against his chest. “I know. Now. Do we have a deal? I’ll sing at recital night and you start reviewing for the upcoming SAT and send out your college applications when it’s time.”

“I’m—I’m not sure.”

Donghyuck let you go, you almost falling back but he held your hand before you could. “Then I’m not singing.”

“But Donghyuck!” He turned to leave while you scream behind him, pleading.

Ten steps forward and he finally got what he wanted: “Okay! I’ll do it! I’ll start reviewing and will send all the drafted college applications! I’ll do it!”

Hence, the singing stunt for tonight.

The event goes as planned.

The night starts with Donghyuck’s entire class singing their own rendition of a famous traditional song that the crowd truly loved. One by one, the kids would sing, with intermission numbers in groups in between, and by the end of it, it was Donghyuck’s turn.

The minus one track is ready and Donghyuck takes a deep breath as he walks up the stage. It’s smaller than any of the stages he’s been on—perhaps the smallest—and the lights aren’t as bright than the ones he’s used to. Big stages mean big lights, and if he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t see a single face when he’s on stage. The illuminations to ensure the fans would see them are blinding, beyond what people think. While his mother thinks his eyesight has gotten worse due to the long hours of playing APEX on his days off, Donghyuck believes it’s because of the blinding lights from the stage and everywhere he goes.

However, this stage has the gentlest lights he’s ever seen. The crowd is small, about two hundred people including their students, and from here, he can see their faces clearly. He stands not too far away, not to high, and he smiles when the crowd cheers when he reaches the middle of the stage.

“Hello, I’m Donghyuck,” he says on the mic. “I’m the teacher of the talented kids we watched this evening, and I can’t be prouder with how they sang their hearts out tonight. To show my gratitude, I also prepared a song for you.”

The crowd cheers again, your voice standing out as you stand right beside the stage, your phone already up probably recording him.

“I sang this song some time last year,” he continues. “This is Good Person.”

The instrumental plays and the crowd claps before he even starts. Donghyuck breathes, closing his eyes, and sings: “What’s going on today? Your face looks like it’s been crying. Did he break your heart? You’re the most precious person in the world to me.”

He hasn’t sung in a long time, and he barely practiced this song yesterday. Donghyuck, for some time before everything went to crumbles, felt scared going on stage. He felt as though he wouldn’t do well enough to deserve the applause and cheers, and he spent a lot of time doubting his own capabilities.

Whoever he is now, Donghyuck truly worked hard for it. At first, he only knew how to sing and it was the only thing he ever loved. And then he learned how to dance, how to stand like an idol, how to answer like a celebrity, how to have his “candid” photos taken, how to be a proper artist—even when he only wants to sing.

Standing here, now, in a small crowd, singing a song he wished was his own, he wished he had written, Donghyuck feels safe.

In Jeju-do, he feels safe. Donghyuck feels like he’s found his way home. The people he’s spent all these months with brought him comfort he’s never known—like coming home after a whole day of being pestered in the real world—and he knows that he’ll never find ease and serenity the same way Jeju-do had given him. The town took him in with open arms, like he’s not some idol who ruined their career for fleeting pleasure, like he’s not some person who’d forgotten about all of them. His Nana embraced him like he was seven again, like making mistakes is normal and that forgiving is easy when you love the person. You accepted him and taught him what falling in love means as though he was deserving of love and comfort.

The song ends with his voice dragging out the last words, his eyes closed: “I can only comfort you.”

When Donghyuck opens his eyes, the lights don’t blind him and the people he knows and love clap, cheering for him. It comes to him like pouring rain. And he allows himself to drench in it—the tenderness, the warmth, the love.

Because he deserves it. He deserves the love, therefore he takes, takes, takes, until he’s full of it.

Like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.

You’d spent the night in his home, Donghyuck for the first time learned how to make love in bed. He’s had sex before, of course, but never like how you and him connected in his bed—moans and music of pleasure hushed by each other’s mouth, his honey-colored skin’s warmth pressed against yours, his lips and tongue tasting every inch of you. He’d said he loves you, and you’d said it back as you and him take each other.

This morning he wakes up without a headache, and he’s been waking up without one for a few weeks now. He usually wakes up with the sound of roosters from his grandmother’s backyard, or the sound of you and his Nana talking over your morning coffee. But today, he wakes up with the sound of his grandmother knocking profusely, seemingly frightened by the sound of her voice calling his name.

“Donghyuck-ah,” she shouts. “Please wake up. I don’t know what to do.”

You and Donghyuck get up startled, scrambling to put some clothes on and hurrying to open the door—only to find Nana on the verge of tears. Nana never falters, she’d only shown strength but Donghyuck finds her shaking. Nana doesn’t get the chance to answer because Joohyuk barges in, sweaty and catching his breath.

“The mayor’s security team is here,” he announces. “Let’s get going.”

“Go where?” Donghyuck asks, but Joohyuk is already pulling him.

The door opens, and Donghyuck finally realizes what’s going on.

They’d found him. Men and women with cameras shout his name—he recognizes a few from the conferences he’d attended—and flashes of lights and the stuttering sound of shutters devour him. He looks around and he can’t see you and he hears his Nana cry, and Donghyuck doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on, but he feels his legs give out. Joohyuk practically carries him to the SUV waiting outside their home.

Inside the car, Donghyuck catches a glimpse of the crowd—a crowd that looks like twice the amount of the people from the recital last night. He hears them screaming his name and he sees glints of neon green and posters as they pass by. His Nana, who sits beside him, cries and says she doesn’t understand why they’d found him. The mayor had specifically ensured that the town’s residents do not say a word about his visit way before he’d arrived and she’d done her best to protect him from the lights. He doesn’t say anything and only hugs her tight.

On the other side of Nana is you. You’re staring off the window, the fields far more interesting than what just happened, and you’re biting off the nails of your fingers and your legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. And you’re silent, and Donghyuck wonders why all of a—

Donghyuck doesn’t have to ask you to know.

You’d sold him off.

“I’m sorry,” is all you had to say when you and him are left inside the mayor’s office’s lounge. Donghyuck asked everybody to leave.

You’re sitting on the couch, eyes on the floor, while Donghyuck walks back and forth, angry. “I didn’t mean to.”

He stops walking right in front of you. “What do you mean you didn’t mean to post me on your Instagram? How could you possibly accidentally do that?!”

You keep your head low. “I—I forgot that it wasn’t on private and I didn’t have that many of followers to even be bothered by it. And one of our old friends commented and asked me if it was you—”

“And you said yes?” he enunciated. “You consciously, deliberately said yes?”

You start crying at this point. “Yes, and I’m sorry!”

“That’s a little too late now, isn’t it?”

“I just—”

“You just what? You want to play the girlfriend role so fucking bad?”

“Donghyuck, please, listen—” You get up and hold him by his arms but he backs off and rips his body from yours. “I just—I wanted the world to know that you can be kind and warm and you’re nothing like what the tabloids say—”

“So, you admit you purposely posted it!” he shouts. “What a fucking—”

“Yes!” you admit, still crying. “Because I can’t live knowing the world sees you differently when you’re generous and loving and amazing!”

Donghyuck takes a deep breath, hands on his waist, head tilted up so he can focus on the ceiling instead of the image of you crying. “You have no idea how the world fucking works, do you?”

“You always loved singing,” you reason out. “And the world shouldn’t take that away from you because of one mistake. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I didn’t think it through, but please understand my purpose.”

“You really have no fucking idea,” he concludes, looking down at you, right in your eyes and says: “How would you have any knowledge of what goes on outside of Jeju-do, anyway? You have never left this god damn place in your entire life and you know nothing aside from stringing words beautifully to get what you want. And you think you’re fucking cool for not having a dream and staying in an island, living your small-town girl fantasy, when in fact you’ve done nothing in life and people won’t even remember you. Why would you think you can make this decision for me? You’re just some girl who didn’t even go to college!”

“That’s enough, Donghyuck!” Nana interrupts.

Donghyuck turns and finds his Nana, Joohyuk, some of the Mayor’s security staff, his manager, and his Mother standing right outside the now opened door.

He looks back at you and you’re no longer crying. Your expression is just empty, like a light bulb burnt out.

Indeed, like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.

They take the first flight to Seoul after successfully shooing the media and fans away. Nana travels with them, his mother deciding that it’s the best for now until everything calms down.

Donghyuck finds out during the flight that yours and his old friend from middle school had reposted the video of him singing from last night and it went viral in multiple social media platforms. Overnight, people had found out his location and the media had started interviewing people in the town. Despite the mayor instructing everyone not to say a thing, some had answered questions, even submitted entries on some forums about Haechan online.

His manager talks about how their PR team sort of thinks this might just be what he needed, says something about the locals of the town had said so many good things about him. He confirms that the post originated from your Instagram account and you had deactivated at this point and that they’re in the process of contacting your old schoolmate because the agency wants to press charges for invading his grandmother’s privacy and for bothering him on an unofficial schedule.

His mother holds his hand all through, and she offers a kind smile and kisses the top of his head.

Donghyuck cries like baby, and his mother only holds him, and perhaps that’s all he truly needs.

The crowd is just as bad when his plane lands. Donghyuck can barely see and hear considering the lights and people shouting his name. They take him to a separate SUV, away from his mother and Nana to keep them off the radar, and he sits in the car beside his manager.

“Here,” his manager hands him a phone as soon as the car starts moving. Donghyuck had forgotten his phone. It’s probably still in his room back in Nana’s house. People are still screaming his name. Donghyuck stares at his manager’s phone blankly. The screen shows he’s in a call with Mark.

Donghyuck’s hand shakes when he takes it. He puts the device over his ear and doesn’t wait for Mark to say anything.

“Mark-hyung,” he cries.

And cries. And cries. And cries. Until he arrives in SM’s headquarters and the manager has to take the phone away from him. Mark tells him he’s on the way to the headquarters with Renjun and Doyoung and that the others should be on their way after their individual schedules.

They arrive and immediately their staff take care of him like a baby, and he realizes that he’s back. He’s back. Right where he’s supposed to belong.

They take him to the PR teams office, and none of them ask how he’s doing and he’s spiraling again—already starting to think how he could please the staff and make them happy, not even an entire day of landing in Seoul and he’s already thinking about other people at his own expense.

Hence, Donghyuck makes a decision he’s never considered before.

While one of the PR associates discuss how he’s ranked number one in Naver’s most searched term, Donghyuck raises his hand.

They all look at him.

And finally, Donghyuck says: “Please get me a therapist. Please get someone who can help me.”

The room is clean and if Donghyuck’s being honest, a little too perfect for a therapist’s office. A tiny part of his fucked-up brain tries to convince him that they’d probably set him up for a documentary he’s not aware of to clean his image, so he looks around and tries to check if there are any cameras setup.

“Truly a celebrity,” Dr. Yoon says, which makes Donghyuck jump a little. The doctor stands from the door way, closing it as he steps inside. “Please, feel comfortable.”

Donghyuck thinks that’s a little impossible, but he takes a seat one of the single couches.

“The first thing that celebrities do in my office is look around for cameras,” the doctor comments, sitting on a similar chair across Donghyuck. “And I assure you that no amount of money can buy my integrity as a psychologist.”

“I’m relieved,” Donghyuck mumbles. “Hello, I’m Donghyuck.”

“Hello, Donghyuck,” the doctor greets; Donghyuck bows. “I had a quick glimpse of your situation from the form you filled out online. Are you feeling better today?”

“I guess,” Donghyuck shrugs. Dr. Yoon smiles.

“How about I ask questions and if you don’t want to answer, stay silent instead of lying to me?” He asks. Donghyuck sighs but nods. “And if you want to answer, answer as truthfully as you can, yes?” Donghyuck agrees. “Let’s start with simple questions.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Dr. Yoon asks him many close-ended questions, to which Donghyuck had given him all the answers to, then proceeds to ask him what’s on his mind. The doctor’s notepad sits on the table between them, left open and blank even after asking so many questions.

Donghyuck is not really sure whether he’d done the right thing by seeking help, but he can’t keep hurting people just because he’s fucked up in the head. And he can’t keep hurting himself just because he can’t make the entire fucking world happy. He can’t keep drinking his insomnia away because he’s scared a doctor may tell him he’s fucked up in the head, which he knows already, he just doesn’t want it written in his medical records. He can’t keep fucking up his group’s image just because the alcohol doesn’t help his insomnia anymore. He can’t keep drowning himself in his sadness and the thought of disappointing so many people in his life—the people he left behind in Jeju-do, the members, his fans, the staff, his parents and siblings, his Nana, you.

If melatonin didn’t work, if the alcohol didn’t work, and if Jeju-do didn’t work, then perhaps a therapist is his best shot at getting better.

Donghyuck takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and begins.

“I keep thinking about how I can make everyone happy without sacrificing anything.”

The doctor finally picks up the pen and starts scribbling down.

Donghyuck keeps talking.

Donghyuck goes to therapy on Tuesdays and Fridays, and SM keeps his hiatus status active until Donghyuck decides to come back himself. It’s an agreement his parents, Donghyuck, and the agency settled while things are still chaotic.

The members are supportive of this, especially Mark and Taeyong. They’d send him cheerful messages every Tuesday and Friday, when they know that his session would begin. Sometimes, Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin would pick him up and take him to a barbecue restaurant after. Donghyuck can’t remember how many times Renjun and Chenle had driven him to therapy and had waited for a couple of hours, only to take him to his favorite Chinese restaurant that serves the best hotpot. The older members have also driven him to therapy once or twice, with Jungwoo even signing up for therapy one time, and they’ve all given him love and tenderness—which Donghyuck accepted.

Donghyuck learns many things from Dr. Yoon. He learns that people pleasing isn't a mental illness, but it can be an issue that adversely affects how many people, with or without mental illness, relate to others. Most of all, people pleasers try to nourish other people without adequately nourishing themselves. Dr. Yoon called it Sociotrophy. He described it as the tendency to place an inordinate value on relationships over personal independence in response to the loss of relationships or conflict.

Those with sociotropic tendencies, wish to make other people happy, often at the sake of their own needs or values. While being warm, kind, and helpful are positive traits, they can result in strong feelings of resentment, anxiety, stress, and emotional depletion when they come at your expense.

People-pleasing, apparently, falls at the opposite end of the scale from autonomy. Autonomy places emphasis on independence whereas people-pleasers prioritize interpersonal relationships above all else. People-pleasers are often extremely empathic and attuned to others’ needs. A people-pleaser therefore tends to pursue intimate, affectionate, and confiding relationships. These people have a strong desire for external validation and avoid, or are sensitive to, situations where conflict may arise.  They will go above and beyond to avoid displeasing others out of fear of diminished social acceptance.

This behavior can have detrimental effects on a person’s self-worth and self-esteem.  A never-ending pursuit of approval, a desire for acceptance, and a sense of validation that arise from others happiness often result in a negative self-image. The person is likely to feel unworthy, powerless, or resentful, which may result in a lack of self-care.

The way Dr. Yoon had described it basically sums up Donghyuck as a human being.

He also learns that Sociotropic tendencies are often associated with mental health disorders such as anxiety or depression, which finally gave them Donghyuck’s diagnosis: clinical depression, also known as major depressive disorder abbreviated as MDD.

Clinical depression is a chronic condition, but it usually occurs in episodes, which can last several weeks or months. Dr. Yoon says one would likely have more than one episode in a lifetime. Donghyuck had asked him what was the difference between MDD and depression as it is.

Dr. Yoon explained that it’s normal to feel sad when you’re faced with difficult life situations, such as losing your job or a relationship. Some people may say they feel depressed during these situations. MDD is different in that it persists practically every day for at least two weeks and involves other symptoms than just sadness alone. It can be confusing because many people call clinical depression or major depressive disorder just “depression.”

Dr. Yoon also blabbered about chemicals in his brain that, well, Donghyuck really doesn’t understand much. All he knows at this point is that the treatment involves some medication and most specially psychotherapy. Apparently, studies show that the combination of these treatments is more effective than either of them alone.

Donghyuck has been investing a lot of his time in psychotherapy. His normal sessions were every Friday, thirty minutes to a maximum of an hour each. Like how his prescription doses went up, he also requested his psychotherapy sessions to be more frequent, hence Tuesdays and Fridays, minimum of one hour a session, maximum of an hour and a half.

Donghyuck likes to think that over the course of eight weeks, he’d gotten a little better. It turns out that being honest with your doctor means you’d get prescribed the right pills to take to help you fall asleep. No wonder the melatonin pills he’d taken didn’t work in the long run; he was taking the wrong ones and the wrong dosage—just like how he’d been looking for happiness in the wrong places.

From today’s session, Dr. Yoon asked him if he could talk to his mother about how he’d felt for so many years—the pressure, the urge to do whatever pleases her, the comparisons with other members, everything. Hence, Donghyuck finds himself knocking on his parents’ room.

He’s staying at their home during his hiatus. He reckons it’s the best time to speak with her as his father and the kids are out for work and school.

“Come in, Donghyuck-ah,” she says softly from the other side. He opens the door and finds his mother writing something in her journal. “You need anything, baby? Do you want to eat?”

He shakes his head and walks towards their bed, sitting on its edge. His mother puts the pen down and sits beside him. “Something wrong?”

“Eomma,” he says in the softest voice. “Can I sleep here?”

The question brings tears to his mother’s eyes. She nods and leads him to bed, Donghyuck lying on his side and his mother cradling him from behind. He looks like he’s thirteen again, the day before the audition at SM, young and anxious about what the next day would bring, and his mother seems like she’s never aged a day, still determined and only wants the best for her children.

Donghyuck can feel her crying.

“I’m sorry, Donghyuck-ah,” is all she says.

And Donghyuck knows deep in his heart that even before she’d uttered her apology, he’s already forgiven her.

Haechan comes back right before Chuseok.

NCT Dream is invited to perform at a music festival held in the Seoul Olympic Stadium alongside many other artists. When news broke that this would be Haechan’s come back stage, the ticket sites went crazy—crashing every second because everybody wanted to get tickets to see the most-awaited comeback.

Over the course of seven months of Donghyuck’s hiatus, many things have changed. He gained more fans in the latter parts of the hiatus after the world learned his life in Jeju-do. He’d gotten a new piercing in his cartilage, which the fans love, but only Donghyuck probably understands what it means. Old videos of him going on stage went viral years later, the world seeing how talented and passionate he truly is. Clips of him randomly singing without autotune circulated for quite some time, and his fondness of children and respect for the elder have been the talk of the KPop industry for the last months or so, calling him the most well-mannered idol. The scandal had not been erased from history, of course; some people still hate him for it. Some of his old fan sites did not return to support him, and if we’re talking about old Donghyuck, he’d probably be pretty bummed about it. He’d probably start compromising his privacy to give them a glimpse of his life off the stage to get them back.

But the sessions with Dr. Yoon have been working well, because Donghyuck doesn’t really care about pleasing the entire world anymore. Donghyuck thinks that as long as there’s a good number of people supporting him and loving him for who he is—as a person and as a singer—then he’d be okay. He didn’t have to make the entire planet roar his name.

The dress rehearsals are done by the time the clock hit four in the afternoon. The members argue where to go eat. Jisung announces he’s going shopping for a new pair of wired headphones because he lost his on the way to the stadium, to which Renjun says he’d go with him. The others decide to go eat with the staff, some opt to go home and rest so they’d be ready for the next day.

Donghyuck decides to go buy the book that Johnny recommended him: The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. He’s told that the book is about a boy growing up, and that it might strike his thoughts if he’s up to reading a children’s book meant for adults.

Hence, Donghyuck finds himself going through shelves and sections of children’s book after picking up The Little Prince and wondering if Gyeom would want to read any of these.

You see, Lee Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate. As he’d say before, his career didn’t happen by fate because it was all his mother doing all the hard work. But what are the odds of him choosing to visit this exact book store at this exact moment over elsewhere and another time?

And what are the odds of him finding you leaning against the wall in the corner of the store, hair longer than the last time, nose red and body bundled up in layers of clothes, a book in your hand as you read through it?

Donghyuck stops, stares at you, as if he’s waiting for you to look up from the book, and thinks about how much he’d missed you all this time and how much he’d regretted ending things with foul, unacceptable words. He thinks about remembering you anytime he sees tangerines and flowers around the city. He thinks about the odds of finding you again and again in this lifetime. He thinks about the flowers only blooming as soon as the butterflies have left, missing their timing, and how they bloom again next spring, hoping that this time, the timing is right.

He thinks about you in silence. He thinks about love hiding in the corners of his chest, convincing him he’ll get over it—he’ll get over you. He thinks about his dreams.

A few people pass by the space between you and him. The distance is about three meters. It’s silent for the most part.

Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate, and you look up to prove him otherwise.

It’s only then that Donghyuck takes a really good look on you: new hairstyle, backpack slung in one arm, a student ID badge hanging right below your chest.

“Y/N!” A girl whisper-shouts from behind fDonghyuck. “Have you found the book?”

You don’t tear your glance away from him, but you nod and say, “Yeah. I’ll go check it out and I’ll meet you outside.”

The other girl doesn’t notice him and proceeds to leave. You take two, three, five, seven steps, and you’re right in front of him.

“Hi, Donghyuck-ah,” you say in the softest voice as soon as you’re close enough.

Donghyuck wonders whether this is just a dream or if he’d started hallucinating you because of the medicines he’s been taking, but then he catches a whiff of your scent, and Donghyuck believes.

Donghyuck believes in fate. In forgiveness. In healing. In love. In finding one’s way back home.

END

author's note: PLEASE tell me what you think of this in the comments or reblogs. I'd also appreciate if you send me you favorite line here. Thank you so much for reading until the end!

optional as always: TIP ME HERE.

#nct dream fic #haechan fic #haechan canon #haechan fluff #haechan angst #haechn au #haechan x reader #nct fic #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #lee donghyuck fix #lee donghyuck au #donghyuck au #donghyuck fic #donghyuck angst #donghyuck smut #haechan smut #nct smut #haechan #faye's moving castle

[mads-weasley]

Little Hen

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Wife!Reader

A/N: I'm obsessed...there's nothing left to say. I don't own any of these wonderful characters except (y/n). Enjoy!

Summary: Rooster takes his little hen to The Hard Deck to make memories like he did with his father

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, like your teeth are gone...

(y/n) - your name

(y/n/n) - your nickname

(y/h/c) - your hair color

(Y/n) sighed through the phone, stuck at work for another hour. "Bradley, are you sure it's a good idea to take her there? It is a bar after all."

"Yes, babe. Some of my favorite memories with my father were made at a bar."

She knew this meant a lot to him, especially how he lost his own father not long after those memories were made. He'd told her about his fear that he'd be killed before their daughter, Carole, even remembered him. She was now 4 and was just like he was as a kid.

She was adventurous, competitive, and most of all, a complete daddy's girl. The 4-year-old had Rooster Bradshaw wrapped around her tiny little finger. If she wanted a stuffed animal, he got it, and when she asked for a Hawaiian shirt to match him, (y/n) could've sworn she'd never seen him order something so fast.

Bradley had also formed the habit of calling Carole, "Little Hen" after her mom, whose callsign was Hen.

"Okay little hen," Rooster said getting her out of her car seat, "do you want to meet some of daddy's friends?"

She threw her little arms around his neck as he held her. "What about mommy? She's your friend."

He chuckled, swinging her around in a circle. "Mommy is my best friend, but I have other friends too."

"Whoa, Daddy. I'm dizzy." She announced, leaning far back away from him.

"Don't worry, hen, Daddy's got ya." With a content sigh and a bright smile, he kissed her cheek and opened the doors of The Hard Deck.

The room erupted into cheers when the pair walked in the doors. Jake, AKA Hangman, was the first to come over to the pair.

"Hangie!" She yelled, leaning towards him, her little arms extended.

Rooster handed her to Jake with a smile. "Hey, kid! Have you been listening to your mom and dad?"

She shook her head, glancing over at her dad, who was just watching the interaction. "Nope."

Jake burst into laughter, tickling her as she joined in with her own giggles. Rooster's heart was about to explode with love at the sight of his beautiful daughter. The only person missing from this moment was (y/n). She got caught up at work and couldn't join them for the movie night they had planned, so they decided to have a Rooster and Little hen night. He's brought out of his thoughts by Carole calling him.

"Daddy! Jake wants you to play!" she said, full of excitement.

With a sigh, he took off his aviators and gently placed them on her face as he walked towards the piano. The glasses were way too big on her, so they were slanted to one side, and they looked so cute. Bradley took her from Hangman and placed her on top of the piano. He stretched his hands slightly before playing.

"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain." he sang, looking goofily at Carole. "Too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will, oh what a thrill."

Carole somewhat knew this part, so she sang along with everyone else.

"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"

Her laughter echoed across the bar, lifting everyone's spirits even more than her dad's playing did.

"I laughed at love cause I thought it was funny, you came along and you moved me, honey. I changed my mind, looking fine."

"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"

Little did Rooster or his Little Hen know that (y/n) was leaning against the doorway, listening with tears in her eyes. They were the two most important people to her, and hearing them both so happy made her happy.

In the middle of the piano solo, she pushed off the wall and made her way over to the piano.

"Kiss me, baby." He sang

She came from behind him and planted a kiss right on his unsuspecting lips. Eyes widening in surprise, he turned and smiled when he saw who it was, continuing to sing.

"Woooo-ooooo...that feels good." He pulled her onto his lap haphazardly, making Carole laugh. "Hold me, baby."

By this point, he had completely turned away from the piano and towards his wife, muscle memory kicking in as he kissed her. "I wanna love you like a lover should. You're fine, so kind. Imma tell the world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine-ine!"

With her mom's help, Carole jumped down off the piano and took a seat on Bradley's leg that (y/n) was not occupying. Smiling down at her, he continued to play.

"I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs. I get nervous but it sure is fun." He turned to (y/n), singing against her lips, Come on, baby, you're driving me crazy," then turned to Carole for the grand finale.

"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!!" The group yelled in unison.

Bradley leaned down and dramatically kissed her on the cheek before kissing (y/n) lovingly. Carole jumped off his lap and ran in front of them.

"Daddy! That was awesome! Can we do it again?"

As Bradley sat with his wife in his arms and her head on his shoulder, watching their daughter have a moment of her own, he couldn't help but think of his dad. All his life, he just wanted to be like him, and his life looked very similar to how his did at Rooster's age. Knowing from experience that everything can change in a split second, he vows to take in every moment he has with his family.

Saying goodbye to their friends, Rooster looks over, noticing that his Little Hen is finally asleep in (y/n)'s arms. He looked over to Jake, smiling.

"Thanks for wearing her out, man. It sure saves Hen and me the trouble of finding a way to get her down."

"I'm just doing my wingman duties, sir." He mock salutes, giving Bradley a hug.

(Y/n) waves bye to everyone, careful not to wake up Carole, and walks out to Rooster's car. He's not too far behind them. Approaching the car, he hugs (y/n) from behind, nuzzling his head into her neck once their Little Hen is in her car seat.

"I love you," he murmured into her neck.

She placed her hands on his that rested on her waist. "I love you too, Roost, but where is this coming from?"

"You're such an amazing mom, (y/n/n)."

"And you're an even better dad. Your dad would be so proud of you, Bradley."

Turning around in his arms, she engulfed him in a hug that he gratefully returned as a tear slipped down his cheek. When they pulled away, (y/n) wiped the tear away, giving him a sloppy kiss. She leaned into the car and kissed Carole on the forehead.

"I'll see you at home, Rooster," she yelled, walking to her car.

Leaning out his truck's window, he saluted her. "Roger that, Lieutenant Hen. I love you."

"Love ya, Cap."

Bradley rolled up the window and looked back at his daughter sleeping peacefully. "Daddy loves you, Little Hen."

#bradley bradshaw x wife!reader #bradley bradshaw x pilot!reader #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #top gun x reader #rooster imagine #rooster x wife!reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun fic #top gun movie #top gun sequel #top gun rooster #top gun 2 #tg2 spoilers #miles teller #rooster top gun #rooster #bradley top gun #tooth rotting fluff #dad!bradley Bradshaw x reader

[jdeclerc]

a brother's intervention - part one

part two

pairing: eris x reader.

summary: Lucien uses a day spent with his brother to do what he believes is best for him - even if Eris doesn't agree.

author's note: for my friend; this is an extension of an idea she wanted to see come to life - part two anyone?

warnings: none

word count: 2,034

Lucien can’t remember the last time he’s seen his brother smile like he has today. Or smile at all, for that matter.

The last five years have been filled with countless meetings, treaty creations and signings, and the rebuilding of a broken court after centuries of tyranny. Rarely was Beron’s name mentioned after his death, but his presence had been felt all the same. Lucien had watched his brother work to undo their father’s destruction, sacrificing himself with each and every day. Eris shouldered it so those around him wouldn’t have to.

But today, it seems, he carries none of that weight. Thanks, in large part, Lucien thinks, to who he had invited on what was supposed to be a day of brotherly bonding.

Y/N had been in their lives for as long as either of the Vanserras could remember, having been taken in as a ward of their mother after the death of her own parents. None knew why Beron allowed his wife to do so but no one was foolish enough to question him.

She was the daughter their mother had dreamed for. She was taught to paint, to play the piano, and to move eloquently through high society; everything a proper Lady of the Autumn Court was expected to be. But their mother understood this would never be enough, knew that Y/N needed the skills to protect herself in ways their mother never could.

For every lesson in swinging a sword or perfecting the magic they wielded that the Vanserra sons were given, Y/N was given the same lesson. This duty fell to Lucien, the most patient and compassionate of the brothers. He would show her everything he learned under the cover of night. It was when Eris discovered them practicing defensive maneuvers that everything changed.

Lucien had expected his brother to immediately drag them both in front of their father and watch as they were punished. Instead, Eris began correcting Y/N’s stance and going through the motions alongside her. And every night from then on, he would join them. Though he would never admit it, Eris became invested in Y/N’s training and her advancement. He transformed her into a force as deadly and lethal as he was.

Lucien would never forget the smile Eris tried to hide the first time Y/N had beaten him in a sparring match. From his position on the ground, he looked up at her as though she was the most beautiful star in the sky. Much like the first time Eris had trained with them, Lucien knew something had changed in his brother that day.

For every scar, both physical and emotional, Y/N received from the High Lord of Autumn, Eris received three for doing everything he could to protect her from their father’s wrath. As they got older, Eris could do nothing to prevent Y/N from doing the same for him. Lucien couldn’t count how many times their arguments over the topic had ended with the two screaming at one another. Neither willing to concede that the other was right in wanting to stand between the other and Beron.

Lucien truly believed that who Eris and Y/N became to each other was something only the workings of fate could have crafted. Where one ended, the other began. They challenged, supported, and loved one another in ways no one else could. Neither would be who they are without the other.

They were two of the smartest fae Lucien had ever met but they were both still too foolish to get over themselves and admit what Lucien had known from the beginning; they both wanted, needed, more than friendship from the other.

That ended today.

Lucien would see them happy, see them together, and he hoped that what he was about to do would finally put an end to the two dancing around one another.

Their day had been a tour of places the brothers haven’t visited since they were young. Eris was currently showing Y/N the stone castle they had built as children. They had all grown too much to go inside but Lucien could see Eris playing out the fake battles and wars they had fought against one another, with Y/N laughing and playing right along.

They were far too engrossed in one another to notice Lucien rising from the rock he was sitting on. They missed him making his way toward where the horses had been tied, missed Lucien untying the reins and mounting his horse. Not even Eris’ two hounds that had accompanied them alerted their master, as though even they knew this was what is best for him. It was only as Lucien was riding away with the two unoccupied horses following that he heard both of their shouts of protest.

As their voices fade behind him Lucien slows the horses and looks up to the sky. He prays to the Mother that he had made the right decision, that the next time he sees the two they would have begun seeing each other in completely different light.

----------

“I swear I will kill him where he stands when I see him next. What the fuck was he thinking?!”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at Eris’ words, knowing full well they hold the emptiest of threats.

“A slow, painful death.”

“Eris.”

He simply keeps speaking, not having heard me say his name.

“I will not have him thinking he can do this and there be no –”

“Eris.”

My second attempt at getting his attention does nothing to stop him.

“Perhaps I will have my hounds do it, they have an affinity for –”

“ERIS!”

It was my shout that finally has Eris cease his pacing and turn to face me. He levels his amber eyes with my own as though he knows exactly what I will say next.

“You are about to tell me that you’re sure he had a reason, a very good one at that, for abandoning us in the middle of the woods. For leaving us with no way of getting back to the Forest House that won’t take hours.”

I remained silent and the grin that took over Eris’ face told me he knew he was right. I had been about to defend Lucien without hesitation.

“That’s what I thought.”

I know there is no reason or explanation that will placate Eris in this moment so without another word I turn in the direction Lucien had gone and begin walking.

“And where do you think you’re off to?”

“According to you getting back to the Forest House will take hours, so we better start walking. Wouldn’t want to miss the lovely dinner Lucien invited us to.” I throw the words over my shoulder, missing the expression of annoyance on Eris’ face at the use of his own words against him.

---------

No words pass between us as we walk, Eris keeping pace with me the entire time. I can feel the frustration from our earlier conversation passing between us but don’t protest to Eris’ position beside me.

Eris is the first to concede, as was the case with most of our arguments ending in us not speaking to one another.

“Are we really doing this? We’re not speaking because of my imbecilic brother?”

“If you continue to act like a babe who had their candy taken away, then yes, this entire walk will be spent in utter, never-ending silence.”

“You’re truly taking his side on this? He left us in the middle of the forest, taking our horses with him, without a word. Knowing full well, I may add, that neither of us can winnow because we are still on the Forest House’s grounds. Why I ever let you talk me into having that ward put up, I will never know.”

“If I recall, you agreed that not giving anyone the power of winnowing on the grounds was a good strategy, should we ever need to defend our home. Or am I not remembering correctly?”

“You know damn well you are.”

I shoot him a shit-eating grin, to which he responds with an eye roll of his own.

“There will be consequences for this, be sure of that. I will not have him thinking he can do something like this again. He better have the best cauldron-damned excuse or so help me he will be banished from this court for the second time.”

Y/N knows two things in that moment.

The first, that, like earlier, Eris doesn’t truly mean the words he is speaking. He had watched Lucien leave his life once before and would do everything in his power to prevent him from leaving his home, his family, for a second time.

The second being that the only way I could get Eris to move on from his ranting and raving is to tell him the reason I believe Lucien did what he did. Putting words to things I still don’t believe I’m brave enough to say even though I may be moments from saying them.

I slow my pace, coming to a stop. Eris notices only when I speak, my words just above a whisper.

“He did it for me.”

I can see Eris’ body stiffen, tension taking over, and he does not turn to face me.

Moments feel like years in the silence that envelopes the grove we find ourselves in. The only sound being the late autumn wind through the trees, making it seem as though my words cause the entire world to pause.

Eris’ back is still to me as he says, “Explain to me how my brother could possibly think this situation is to your benefit?”

It is the lethality with which Eris speaks the words that has me stumbling over my own.

“Well, I’m…I’m obviously not absolutely sure why he did this or if he did do this for me. I’ve certainly never implied or hinted that I’d want him to abandon me, us, in the woods.” My voice becomes quicker the longer I speak. “We’ve spoken about certain topics; he’s wanted me to speak to you countless times and he’s told me to stop being a coward and tell you but…but I never asked him to do anything about it. Why he would choose this course I do not know.” By the end I am speaking to myself more than I am speaking to Eris. Too wrapped up in my own words to notice Eris turning and pinning his gaze on me.

“Tell me what Y/N?”

My gaze shoots to his, instantly realizing my mistake and cursing myself. My shock so sudden that I can’t form the words of a response.

“What would Lucien have you tell me that would cause him to call the female he most admires a coward?” He raises a single eyebrow in question. “Tell me Y/N.” With every word Eris steps closer to me, leaving him nothing but an arm’s length away.

Once again, the world seems to pause. Every bit of oxygen having fled, much like I wish I could at the moment. I tear my gaze from his piercing one, knowing I can’t bear to see his face when I speak the words I swore I never would. I keep my eyes to the ground as I say them.

“I love you.”

I’m met with silence, and I feel my tears coming before I feel them gather under my eyes.

A hand comes to rest along the edge of my jaw, tilting my chin up to meet eyes that are an endless pool of gold.

We both know my words are not the same as when one of us leaves for an extended period, not the same as those I say to Lucien, and not the same as those his mother says to both of us every day.

Eris searches my expression, looking for what I know he has come to expect from vulnerable moments. His father having taught him that vulnerability went hand-in-hand with manipulation and deception.

After a moment longer he drops his hand and steps back, his voice filled with resignation and finality as he speaks.

“You can’t love me, not in that way.”

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #acotar #acotar x reader #autumn court

[watermelonsugacry]

Need bandmates reaction to harry ripping his pants

Leather Pants

A/N: i wrote this so fast lol hope you lovies enjoy! 💚

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn, married YNrry!

SINCE 2010 masterlist

YN can’t necessarily pick her favorite part of Harry’s shows: to the soft piano introduction for Daydreaming to the crazy beginning of Kiwi. To Harry singing Matilda to walking around to pick some signs to read. It changes every now and then and it’s not until the introduction for Music For A Sushi Restaurant begins to play that she realizes that she dearly missed the sound of the infamous addition of the trumpets on stage.

It never fails to put a smile on her face at the thought of Harry adding trumpets to his songs any chance he gets ever since the whole Olivia fiasco. She remembers how he rambled on and on to her about how 1D’s producers took off the brass instruments from the song after the two spent a great deal of time getting them right. 

Now, the couple dances from their respective spots in the arena to the beautiful, jazzy sound every night he has a show.

Sushi rotates into the number one spot of her favorite part of Love on Tour, especially now as she watches Harry skip over to her side of the stage. He spots her easily as she stands to the wall behind the massive crowd of fans in the pit. He leans down to one knee, head thrown back as the crowd sings back at him. In a blink of an eye, she sees the way he spreads his legs a little too wide and the leather that covers his groin splits apart.

In an instant, YN stops dancing and yells out a oh shit! before covering her mouth in shock. Being the professional that he is, Harry continues the show as he tries to cover his exposed self with his hands and a small towel before settling on a pride flag wrapped around his waist. 

As humorous as it was, she grows worried that Lambert isn’t moving as quickly as he needs to be to help with the wardrobe malfunction. Not that it’s bothering Harry much as he continues to prance around the stage with a bright smile and letting his hands wander over his body.

So with a quick word with her head of security guard, he escorts her down the backstage hallways to his dressing room. They meet Lambert halfway and in an instant, she has an extra pair of brown leather pants in her grasp. Running in her heels certainly isn’t an obstacle for her as she’s quickly making her way down the small gap in between the barricades in the pit. 

It takes a second for the fans to register what’s happening, but soon enough the entire arena is screaming out at the sight of her and begin chanting her name. She quickly ducks under the open flaps of the stage and soon she finds her husband amongst the crew’s set up with his hands clasped in front of his groin, rocking on his heels to his toes as he waits for his stylist to come in. A big smile spreads across his face at the sight of his wife but before he even gets a chance to greet her properly, she’s shoving him into the corner of the small area where there’s a black curtain set up for when he needs to use the restroom. 

He can barely get a word out as she’s quickly untucking the flag around his waist and undoing the buttons of his torn leather pants. She barks out a laugh when he playfully reaches out to undo the buttons of her trousers and it earns him a slap on the hands.

“Oi! Hands off mister.”

“What? Thought that’s what y’came in here for,” He teases as he shimmies out of his pants and grabs the new pair that rests over her shoulder. The smirk on his face only grows wider as she crouches down to gather the pants pooled at his feet. “Certainly looks that way.”

“You’re certainly feeling yourself tonight, huh?” YN smiles warmly at him.

“I feel so fucking good right now. First show of the year, the crowd is insane, first show as a married man, got my fucking gorgeous wife here with me—I don’t think anything can top this.”

“Just wait until we get back to the hotel,” She hums and giggles when he stops zipping up his trousers and gives her a boyish smile. 

“Maybe in the dressing room?”

She reaches around him to finish tucking in his yellow shirt, “Hmm, if yeh don’t rip your pants again.” 

“H, 10 seconds man!” They hear one of the backstage crew members yell from the other side of the curtain. 

In an instant, Harry’s taking her jaw in his hands and leaning down to press his lips to her, taking advantage of her close proximity. She’s quickly reciprocating his love and can feel him smile against her. 

Their honeymoon went by far too fast for their liking and if they weren’t as physically affectionate before, they certainly were now. Fans have noticed this recently as paparazzi pictures (and a handful of fans lucky enough to have witnessed it themselves) capture the way the couple walks the streets with their hands tightly clasped together, Harry’s arm thrown over her shoulder, and YN with her hand in his jacket pocket. Some even show more intimate shots of the happy couple as Harry presses his lips to her temple outside of a small café or as they share a few kisses while sitting on a park bench.

Both of them are having a hard time keeping their hands off of each other—now more than ever before—but do either of them care what the media is saying at the moment? Hell no.

“I love you,” She breathes sweetly against his mouth and he’s this close to canceling the rest of the show and taking her back to his dressing room.

“You’re on, Harry!”

“I love you more.” 

YN can’t help but giggle as he tries to pull away from her because while his legs lead him towards the exit, his hands still cup her jaw as he continues to peck kisses to her lips.

“Go!” She laughs, literally pushing her hands against his chest to encourage him back on stage before she keeps him trapped down all for herself. Her cheeks must be sore by how long the love sick smile has stayed on her face ever since...well, ever since she married the man almost a month ago. Blowing her one final kiss, he’s making his way back out on stage to the excited crowd.

Coming back down to Earth, she gives a sheepish smile to the backstage tour team working underneath the bulk of the main stage. 

“Yeh doing amazing everyone. Keep up the good work,” She compliments the workers, acting like she wasn’t all lovey-dovey with her secret husband moments ago—shamelessly showing more PDA than they ever have before their crew. All of the crew members just give a warm smile back to her and a hand raised letting her know that her compliment is well received. Once YN exits the small area, it’s not long after that chatter passes around the tour team—and eventually their fanbases—about the couple’s undeniable and genuine love they have for each other.

.

I write for free so if any of you lovies would like to help a college girl out and buy her a ko-fi i would greatly appreciate it :) 💚

taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m @teamspideyman @c00chiemonster @juiceboxrry @s8tellite @folklorehrry @illicithallways @claramllera @eunoiaax @hoya122 @nichmedder @sleutherclaw @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @harianaswhore @teawithcyb0rgs @vrittivsanghavi @vc55bughead @futuristiccroissantlampsludge @onecrazydirectioner @valluvsu @itsgabbysblog @awkwardbisexuall @rosehel @sucker4angstt @isalove @diorchives @mrshiddlestyles02 @fdl305

#another blurb for my lovies!! #1dbandmember!yn #harry x 1dbandmember!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #since 2010 series #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #one direction #harry styles and reader #harry styles and you #harry styles and famous reader #harry styles and y/n #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harrys house #harry styles x singer!reader #harry styles masterlist #harry styles concept

[algea]

Bluebird

song (inspired by): Bluebird by Luca Fogale

pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

prompt: Simon gazes at his significant other and realizes that he is completely in love with her, and when she puts this song on play, his feelings blossom.

warning: British humor, strong language, angst (more of a happy sad), chalk full of fluff

a/n: just remember that my requests for things are always open, and I’ll happily write whatever you want!

————————————————————

“…Simon.” A voice softly called, pulling him out of the trance he was lost in. He blinked and lifted his eyes to hers, recalling that he had been staring at her far too long, mesmerized by her. A soft smile had graced Y/N’s lips, her eyes crinkling in a way that only she could wear.

“Hm?” Simon grunted, his eyebrows drawing together underneath his balaclava. 

“You were staring, hon.” Y/N responded, sashaying her way to the other side of the kitchen, searching for an ingredient to go into the dinner she was making. Not that Y/N cared, she basked in his cold, yet loving, stare.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought, love.” Simon murmured, standing up and stalking towards her. He stood behind her as she cooked, placing his arms beside hers, caging her in from behind.

“You’re just so bloody fucking gorgeous that I couldn’t stop looking.” He finished, resting his chin on her head. 

“You, mister, are going to be the death of me.” Y/N laughed, turning around and grabbing his shoulders and placing a kiss on the chin of his balaclava. Simon daringly moved his hands to her waist, being careful not to topple over whatever she was brewing up. 

“Why do you wear that stupid fucking mask when it’s only you and I? I loathe that mask.” Y/N sighed, brushing her fingers across his cheekbone.

“And why would that be?” Simon asked, his deep, gravelly voice rumbling through the air. 

“I can’t see your beautiful face, Simon.” Y/N smirked, softly grabbing the edges of it. Simon only stared down at her, his eyes silently saying ‘I love you.’ She lifted the mask up to his nose, where she placed a kiss to his lips. She slowly pulled the mask farther, until it was hanging limp in her hand.

Not many things really surprised Y/N, come to say. She’s seen most of it all, working as a Ground Operations Specialist. But the thrill she got seeing Simon without a mask was so much more than what she encounters on her job. 

“There’s the Simon Riley I know.” Y/N smiled, her other hand softly caressing his jaw. Simon could’ve sworn that if it got any better, her eyes would be making hearts at him right now.

“You makin’ fuckin’ heart eyes at me, love?” Simon joked, though there wasn’t a joking tone to his voice.

“Why yes, I am, how did you know?” Y/N smiled, turning back around and finished cooking the food. She’s always been overly blunt, saying whatever comes to mind, whether good or bad. That’s one of the many things Simon likes about her, that and the fact Y/N doesn’t care whether she’s rude or not. 

“How about some music?” Y/N asked softly, setting the plates and food out. As Simon stood there and watched her, he found that the more he watched, the more he wanted to marry her. She would look so perfect as a wife, and maybe even with his children. Y/N pulled out a record, unmarked and unknown, but she set it on the record table nonetheless. As she pushed the needle onto the record, the crackle of white noise began, then the beautiful chords of guitar floated to Simons ears. The breathtaking strikes of the pianos chords sang in accompaniment to the guitar, creating a serene sound. 

She moves a ghost, sleepless eyes and weathered bones

She is glass, and stone, and all things in between

Simons lips parted at the words, and he set his eyes on his girlfriend once more. He noticed how the words described her more than perfectly, something only he alone could understand. 

And so it seems that she floats amongst the fallen leaves

She is all the places I have ever been

So maybe you’re a bluebird, darlin’

Tearing through the darkness of my days

Simon would never fully let himself admit that Y/N was the light, the joy, that completely crashed his life that evening where he found her captive in Valeria’s house. Her life was slowly coming to a close that night, but luckily Johnny had found her before they got to Valeria. Johnny was the one who helped her get out, carrying Y/N’s broken and struggling body to Ghost. 

“Who the bloody fuck is this?” Ghost scoffed, holding the unidentified woman’s body in his hands. 

“She’s a Operations Specialist, aye. Surprised she’s still alive, Valeria fucked her up bad, mate.” Soap replied, gazing sadly down at the woman’s body. Simon felt her stir in his arms, and she slowly opened her eyes and blinked. 

“Ugh…Where the hell am I…” Y/N started as she looked around. Suddenly being more aware, Y/N smashed her foot into Simons chest in attempt to escape.

“Oi, easy there soldier. We ain’t gon’ hurt you.” Soap said cautiously, taking a step towards Y/N. 

“We’re here to arrest Valeria, be fucking grateful we found you.” Simon muttered, throwing the obvious insults at her halfheartedly. 

“You don’t think I fucking am? You are some dim witted soldiers, I’ll tell you that.” Y/N laughed, sliding out of Simons hands and standing on the ground. 

“Well, on behalf of the 141, we greet you, Colonel.” Soap sighed, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Y/N’s body went rigid, and she whispered,

“141…? Who exactly are you people?” 

“I’m Soap Mactavish, Sergeant.” Soap greeted.

“Ghost. Lieutenant.” Ghost snapped. After quick introductions, they boarded the chopper, Soap sitting next to Alejandro, Y/N next to Ghost. Silence filled the air, and Y/N awkwardly looked around.

“So, Lieutenant, don’t ya have a first name?” Y/N yelled over the chopper. Ghost glanced over at her, studying her face. He found that her nose was broken, lips cracked and busted, various cuts donned her face, and one of her eyes was swollen.

“You don’t need to know.” Simon replied back, shifting his gaze down to her arms, which were littered in bruises, cuts and burns. A few of her fingers were broken and her hands were also slightly swollen. He could guess she had a few broken ribs and internal bruises. God knows what could be wrong physiologically with her now, but it seemed like nothing bothered her nonetheless.

Once they arrived back at the base, Y/N stood to get off the chopper, but Simon refused to let her walk. 

“Love, you aren’t gonna be able to walk, let me carry you so you won’t get hurt anymore.” He sighed. Y/N obliged, letting Simon carry her to the infirmary.

“Simon.” He muttered softly to her. “My name is Simon Riley.”

Simon was shook from his flashback as Y/N called his name, sitting down in her chair at the table. He silently moved to sit, making the chair creak under his weight. Her soft gaze settled on his, and he smiled slightly at the attention.

“Y/N, I want to tell you something.” Simon started, placing a hand on his chest to find the box.

“You don’t have to ask, Simon. Please go ahead.” Y/N laughed, placing her hand on his. 

“I know this isn’t the ideal place, nor the ideal time,” He started, sliding off the chair and sitting on one knee. He slid the box out of his jacket and opened it up, revealing a gorgeous diamond ring.

“But fuck I love you, marry me please.” Simon whispered. Y/N’s glassy eyes found his and she swooped down to plant a firm kiss to his lips.

“Simon Riley, I’ll marry you.” She cried, placing more kisses to his lips. Simon took the ring and slid it on her finger, smiling into the kiss. Right then he knew he really was the worlds most happy man, and would forever still be.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #cod mw22 #cod x reader #Spotify

[angeryed]

Most heartwarming things about every composer ❤️

┏━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┓

Mendelssohn: the profound respect he had for others

The way he’s so cordial with strangers and even the people he dislikes

Man always remembers his manners and acts cordial as his family has taught him

And on occasions, his bursts of excitement to the point of switching languages highlights his joy to see who his loves

From the 1830's when he was in his 20s: “his excitement was increased so fearfully … that when the family was assembled … he began to talk incoherently in English.”

“His attachment to Mademoiselle Lind’s genius as a singer was unbounded, as was his desire for her success.” About Mendelssohn’s attitude to his wife

The amount of passion letters he wrote may be destroyed, but how his wife described him spoke it all: “He was the only person who brought fulfilment to my spirit, and almost as soon as I found him I lost him again.” ๐·°(৹˃̵﹏˂̵৹)°·๐ the feels bro

Recommended piece: Op. 34 No. 2

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Chopin: his love for family

Despite his disrespect and uncalled for criticism towards other composers, he still cares about his homeland

Even in his deathbed, he asked a soprano to sing the Polish national anthem

And he sent his siblings letters everyday when he was out of town

And through his ‘love’ letters to his friend, Tytus, you can tell he was passionate (;

“You don’t like being kissed. Please allow me to do so today. You have to pay for the dirty dream I had about you last night.” 👀 Chopin to Tytus — his ‘best friend’

We might never know if he actually meant it or if it was social etiquette back then, but the speculation is still there

Recommended pieces: Op. 22

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Liszt: everything about him

this man truly was an underrated jewel in the classical word

He was generous to the point where he went broke from teaching music free of charge and holding charity concerts all the time

People from his and our time both misunderstand him for being a womaniser, but he was more than that

He never disrespected any female composers and even when he criticised by his contemporaries, he always kept his cool and even complimented some of them

When Chopin criticised him for playing his nocturnes the wrong anr demanded an apology, Liszt still continued to admire him

Composer chivalry fr.

Recommended pieces: Totentanz

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Tchaikovsky: his devotion and mellow kindness

He was sweet and shy. Unlike Chopin.

Having only a few close friends and a tightly-knit family, he was fiercely loyal and to whom he loved.

As a gay man in the conservative 19th century Russia, he could only seek solace with his closest friends — his sister being the closest.

When his sister passed, all he could was to dedicate the entire Nutcracker Ballet to her as a part of his self-expression died with her.

And she meant a lot to him. Not only a part of himself was buried, the fact he loved her so much despite his depression and dissatisfaction towards his life, showed how close he was to his family.

Recommended piece: Pas de Deux (it showed his lonely yearning for love in my interpretation; those whimsical melodies and how he missed both sisterly and romantic love)

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Beethoven: man pulled 2015 pranks in the 19th century

Even though he scowled and raged throughout his life, he pulled pranks and laughed when his guests fell for it

He hid behind the door and scared his guests whenever they went through it

Laughing at their annoyed faces, he continued to turn annoyance to offence when he made his friends the butt of his jokes

To further gouge tears from his grumpy little face, he made more short songs solely as jokes about them

Besides being a hopeless romantic who made Fur Elise as a way to diss Elise, he wrote lyrics, “we all agree that you are the biggest ass” when joking about his violinist friend

Beethoven was either a great or absolutely horrible friend to have

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Shostakovich: a genuinely good guy

Every lonely person’s wet dream

Showing up on time, being nice back to everyone who was nice to him alongside living life the normal way despite being a composer, he never raised any aggression tendencies like other composers (take notes Beethoven :/)

Love extended beyond family and friends. He threaded and worded his letters with kindness and manners, especially to those who asked him for advice

Even under his intense stress and anxiety during the Soviet Union’s surveillance, the man loved his family.

And that in itself was impressive.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Author’s note: I may not have written a recommended piece for all of them because I am not well-versed in most of their pieces yet

Do tell me what composers to do. I am happy to write about them <:

Much feedback is appreciated ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

#classical music #chopin #creative writing #liszt #classical music memes #tchaikovsky #pyotr ilyich tchaikovsky #mendelssohn #felix mendelssohn #franz liszt #frederic chopin #fryderyk chopin #beethoven #ludwig van beethoven #shostakovich #dmitri shostakovich #Spotify

[bradshawsbaby]

Lt. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw As A Father (Pt. III)

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: The saga continues! I would suggest reading Part I and Part II before reading this part.

Tag list for those who specifically expressed interest in being notified for this part: @lunamoonbby, @blessupblessup, @itscheybaby, @yourphinphan81, @acdassenza​.

Warnings: Mentions of deployment, pregnancy and childbirth, lots and lots of fluffy goodness.

* A separate warning for this gif because OH MY GOODNESS! *

- Rooster is an incredibly hands-on father.

- Whenever he isn’t working or spending time with you, you know without a doubt that you can find him on the floor in the living room, playing games with your children and making them laugh until their sides hurt.

- “Daddy, play with me!” is a call that you hear echoing throughout your apartment on a daily basis. While the kids love playing with you during the day, they can’t help but be excited when their father comes home every night, especially since he’s usually gone before they wake up in the morning.

- Even if you end up going back to sleep, you and Rooster usually wake up at the same time so that you can enjoy some morning coffee and a little quiet time together in the kitchen. Your favorite part of your morning routine is watching Rooster sneak into the kids’ rooms to give them each a kiss goodbye before he has to leave.

- He always saves a kiss for you on his way out the door, winking as he tells you, “Don’t spoil them too much!”

- “You’re one to talk!” you always call back, smiling. In addition to being incredibly hands-on, Rooster is also a very doting father. He has a hard time saying no to anything the kids ask for.

- The kids want ice cream on the drive home from the park? Rooster is making a pit stop to get it for them. Goose wants to play cops and robbers for the fifteenth time that night? Rooster is already up and ready to go. Lydia wants her daddy to attend a tea party with all her stuffed animals? Rooster is there.

- “I can’t deny their mommy anything, so how could I deny them?” he teases you whenever you poke fun at him for making you play the bad cop.

- Goose and Lydia love to listen to their father play the piano at night before they go to bed. At five years old, Goose is already able to bang out a few simple tunes, and three-year-old Lydia is catching up fast to her older brother. They always giggle and try to sing along whenever Rooster plays “Great Balls of Fire.”

- “Come on, baby, sing with the family,” Rooster usually calls to you with a playful wink. “I know you can!”

- The kids are inconsolable whenever Rooster has to travel for work, and you can’t say you blame them. Even after all these years, you still shed a few tears whenever your husband leaves for a mission.

- Rooster always kneels down in front of the kids so that he’s on eye level with them, his heart breaking every time he sees their tears. “Daddy loves you both so much. I’m going to be back soon, I promise,” he tells them, pulling them both into a big hug. He remembers what it was like to have to say goodbye to his own father, and the tears his mother often shed when she thought he wasn’t looking.

- “Goose, you’re the man of the house while I’m gone. You’re going to look out for your mom and sister, right?” Rooster asks, trying to hide a smile as your son’s chest puffs out with pride.

- “Yes, Daddy!” Goose always promises with a big nod of his head and a little salute.

- The days you’re reunited after a mission are always the best. The kids make Rooster “welcome home” signs and the three of you usually bake him some kind of cake or cookies. Your heart melts at the sight of Goose and Lydia screaming and running into their father’s arms, clinging to him even as he moves to wrap you in his embrace and kiss you.

- Besides hating to see their tears, Rooster also hates to see your children in any kind of pain. Every time they get a scrape or injury, he’s always there to dry their tears and bandage up their boo-boos. The two of you usually work as a team, since both Goose and Lydia hate having their wounds washed out with alcohol. Rooster holds their hands and tries to distract them with silly faces while you clean their cuts out, then the two of you make sure to “kiss it and make it all better.”

- When you have to take the kids to the doctor for their annual shots and boosters, Rooster holds them in his lap so that they don’t get scared. Sometimes he’ll even ask their pediatrician if he can get a band-aid, too, so that they don’t feel so alone. Afterwards, he always insists on buying them ice cream.

- When Goose was four, he broke his arm jumping off the dining room table while “trying to be a pilot like Daddy.” You’d had to frantically call Rooster to meet you at the hospital while he was still at work. He’d dropped everything to race there and tell Goose how brave he was, and how proud he was of him.

- Not long after Lydia’s third birthday, you discover that you’re pregnant with Baby #3, which both you and Rooster are ecstatic about. You begin house hunting shortly afterward, knowing that you’re going to need more space as your family continues to grow and expand.

- After a few months of navigating the housing market, you finally end up with a lovely bit of property right near the beach, with lots of room for your growing family. It also happens to be fairly close to Penny’s place, which is great because she and Mav, and even Amelia on occasion, love to babysit when you and Rooster go out for date nights.

- When you’re a little over eight months pregnant, Rooster suddenly gets orders for a mission that will take him away for at least two weeks. Though you know it’s the plight of an aviator’s wife, you can’t help but shed many tears over it, terrified at the thought that your husband won’t be home when you give birth. You’d been incredibly lucky that he’d been there for Goose’s and Lydia’s births.

- “Baby, I’ll be back in no time. You’re not due for almost a month,” Rooster reassures you, wiping your tears and running a loving hand over your swollen belly. “You stay put in there until I get home, okay?” he whispers to the baby, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

- A week after he leaves, however, your water suddenly breaks while Penny is over for lunch, helping you with the kids.

- “No,” you murmur, eyes widening in shock and dismay. “No, that can’t be my water breaking,” you insist, shaking your head in denial.

- “Sweetie, it is,” Penny says in her calmest voice, already rising to go round up the kids and grab your hospital bag. “It’s going to be alright. We’re going to get you to the hospital.”

- “No, no, no, no,” you tell her, tears burning your eyes as you shake your head again. “It can’t be! Not yet! Bradley isn’t here. Bradley needs to be here,” you sob.

- Though you’re nearing hysterics, Penny manages to calm you down enough to get you into the car so that she can drop the kids off with Mav and then get you to the hospital.

- Already having gone through labor and delivery twice before, your body knows exactly what to do. Once you’re at the hospital, it ends up being your quickest birth to date.

- James Thomas Bradshaw comes into the world that afternoon, just as big and as loud as his older brother had been when he was born. You and Rooster hadn’t known if you were having a boy or a girl, but thankfully you’d already decided on names.

- You sob when they place your son in your arms, not only because of the abundant love pouring out of your heart, but also because you wish more than anything that Rooster could be here with you. He would be devastated when he learned that James had been born without him.

- A few hours after James is born, Penny and Mav bring Goose and Lydia to meet their new baby brother. Though Hangman, Phoenix, and Bob are on the mission with Rooster, Payback, Fanboy, and Coyote are able to come to the hospital as well. They bring balloons, flowers, chocolates, and a giant teddy bear, knowing that you would be upset about Rooster being away.

- That night, when you’re alone in your hospital room with little James sleeping soundly on your chest, you get a text from your husband. FaceTime? he asks with a little heart emoji. No one had told him yet. They knew you needed to be the one to do it.

- Lifting up your phone so that your newborn son is visible on your chest, you dial Rooster’s number and wait, heart hammering, for him to pick up. When he does, you can immediately see his eyes go wide and some of the color drain from his face.

- “Hi, Daddy,” you say softly, gently lifting James’ tiny fist and waving it slowly.

- “Baby, I—” Rooster isn’t even able to get the words out as he suddenly bursts into tears, the sight of you and the baby too much for his heart to take. He can’t believe you’d gone into labor and he hadn’t been there. “Baby, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” he manages to choke out.

- “It’s okay,” you tell him tenderly, stroking your son’s soft head with gentle fingers. “He just wanted to make an early entrance, that’s all.”

- “He? Another boy?” Rooster sniffs, smiling at that. “Welcome to the world, James Thomas,” he says reverently, watching the baby in awe through his phone screen. “I can’t wait to get to hold you soon.”

- “He says ditto,” you grin, talking to Rooster for a few more minutes until he has to go. “I love you,” you tell him before he goes, blowing him a kiss.

- “I love you, too, baby. So much,” Rooster replies, blowing kisses for you and the baby before reluctantly ending the call.

- When Rooster returns home a week later, Mav and Penny go to pick him up with Goose and Lydia since James is still too young to be around too many people yet. The minute Rooster walks through the door of your home, he immediately runs to you, taking you in his arms and kissing you deeply.

- “God, I missed you,” he whispers, nuzzling your nose with his.

- “I missed you, too,” you whisper back, a few tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes. In addition to missing him, your hormones were still all over the place from childbirth. “Want to meet your son?”

- Rooster eagerly follows you over to the bassinet, where James is just opening his eyes from a nap. He’s the sweetest, most good-natured baby. “Hello, my sweet angel,” you coo, carefully lifting him into your arms. “Come meet Daddy,” you say, stroking his cheek as you turn and gently place him into your husband’s waiting arms.

- Staring down at him in wonder, Rooster starts to well up again. “He’s so damn perfect,” he breathes out softly, gazing down at your son with love. “And so are you,” Rooster tells you, leaning over to kiss you again.

- That night, as Goose and Lydia play on the floor and you and Rooster snuggle on the couch with the baby, you can’t think of a time in your life when you’ve ever been happier.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #miles teller #top gun #top gun: maverick

[lcahwriter]

20 Years

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader (Non-Descriptive Reader, no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.1k

TW: So much angst, no comfort, sucidial ideation

Summary: You’ve loved Bradley for 20 years, and he never noticed.

Authors note: sorry ya’ll. I like to torture myself and you🤷🏻‍♀️

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“Until you have experienced the pain of falling in love with someone who doesn’t love you, you have not come across true hurt and despair.”

Year 1

You’ll always remember the first time you saw him. You accidentally bumped into him your first day in the Navy. You murmured a sorry, and he just smiled down at you before walking away. He was only 20 at the time, his hair darker and his face clean shaven.

He didn’t remember you after that, so you just admired him from afar. He was the guy all the girls wanted. When he walked into the room everyone noticed. When you walked into the room no one batted an eye.

You tried to tell yourself you didn’t care about him, until the day he finally spoke to you. He was tall, and his god damn eyes were even more beautiful up close.

“Hey I’m Bradley.” He’d said to you, with a big grin on his face.

As if you didn’t already know who he was.

“You’re Amy’s friend, right? I was wondering if I could grab her number from you?”

You smiled and gave him her number, no questions asked. 

You tried to pretend the ache in your chest wasn’t because of him.

Year 2

You became flying partners. You were his back seater, and now he had to notice you. But somehow, he still didn’t see you. At least he didn’t see you how you saw him.

When you looked at him you saw oceans and valleys, galaxies and planets. When he looked at you, he saw- nothing important.

You grew close to him being his WSO. You told eachother everything when you were in the sky. Secrets that would never be revealed. 

Each time you were flying with him you were falling deeper into the hole you’d dug for yourself.  

You pretended you weren’t falling in love.

Year 5

 He met someone, and he loved her. It was killing you to watch him with someone else. 

You wanted to tell him that you were miserably in love with him. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t sleep at night knowing he was happy kissing someone else. 

You had to stop going out when she was there. The worst part is he didn’t notice you were gone.

Year 7

 You cried alone most nights. Your friends told you to start putting yourself out there, go on some dates. But you’d tried that for years, nothing ever panned out.

“Why haven’t I met any of the guys you go out with. I know you’ve got one!” he’d say, a big grin on his face. He would always wrap his arm around your shoulder while he talked to you.

“You know that’s not true Bradshaw.” You’d say back. You wanted to tell him – I can’t seem to find someone as good as you, you fucking idiot.

“No guy is good enough for you anyway.”

You wanted to laugh at the irony. 

But instead, you spent hours wondering if you should have told him you loved him. The pain of loving him when you couldn’t have him was consuming you.

Year 10

 When he told you he proposed you smiled and told him congratulations. You told him you’d be there, whatever he needed.

You went home and sobbed until your throat was raw and mind was numb.

You had to distance yourself from him after that. He asked where you’d been once. You told him you met someone, and he believed you.

Year 12

 You saw him and his wife at a friend’s wedding. He had aged like fine wine, he looked more handsome than he did the first day you met him. 

He was so god damn happy so you tried to be happy too. But you swore you could see pity in his eyes. You were 32 after all- single, no kids.

“How are you doing? It’s been a while.” He’d say, his eyes trying to hide their concern.

“Great, just going where the Navy tells me.” Drowning yourself in your career helped to distract from the loneliness.

You couldn’t talk to him like you used to. It hurt too much. 

He played the piano that night, just like old times. You left early so he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down your face.

Year 15 

 You had worked so hard to move on. You met someone, someone who noticed you. He loved you, treated you well. You were happy, really. But he wasn’t Bradley.

Year 20

Bradley called you to wish you a happy 20 years in the Navy. You thanked him and told him the same- you tried to hide that you were tipsy from the whiskey bottle in your hand . 

He asked how you were, and you told him you were great- that everything was going well for you.

You lied to him - because how could you tell him the truth? 

 You were completley and uttery alone, with nothing but the Navy as your companion. You’d never been able to find someone that could keep up with the moving parts of being in the Navy. 

You’d gotten used to it.

“I miss you.” He said. And you shook your head in disbelief.

“Don’t say that.” You said back, your voice filled with sadness.

“Why? It’s true.”

But he didn’t miss you how you missed him. He didn’t think of you that way- he never had. 

The antidepressants on your kitchen counter looked tempting. You knew you could take a handful – go to sleep for a while. No one would notice- just like how he never cared enough to notice you.

“Bradley I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you.” The alcohol was getting to you, and the recklessness and sadness you felt were a dangerous mix.

“And you never noticed.” You bit out. “Not even once.” Your voice was laced with anger. You were trying so fucking hard not to cry.

All you could hear was Bradley’s quiet breaths through the phone.

“I’m so fucking happy that you’re happy.” You took another sip of the whiskey. 

“But I hate you for it. I hate that I can’t blame you for not loving me. I hate that you found someone, and that I’m still here wishing it had been me.”

You were breathing heavily now with tears streaming down your face. You set the bottle down on the ground and looked up at the ceiling.

“I’m so sorry.” He said. His voice cracked with sadness. You wondered if pity was what he truly felt.

Before he could speak again you hung up the phone.

He had a wife, kids- family. He didn’t need your love confessions or drama. You were both 40 years old for fucks sake.

You imagined that first day you saw him. How happy and naïve you both had been. You closed your eyes and leaned up against the wall, sliding down to the hardwood floor. 

You could hear the vibrations of your cellphone through your muted hearing. You ignored them and settled deeper into the darkness.

You dreamt of another life where you were with him. Where he noticed you- where he thought you were special, something more than a friend.

 He kissed you so sweet in your dreams – something you’d always craved but would never have.

Soon the alcohol would be gone, sleep would leave you – and you’d be back to wishing you could have done more.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #bradley Bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster angst #sorry bitches #angst no comfort #top gun angst

[winchesterandpie]

Versions of You

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x wife!reader

Word Count: 2133

Warnings: sooo self indulgent, soft Bradley, some reminiscing of Carole and Goose, brief mention of periods, brief implication of sex, but nothing explicit

A/N: Y'all, I have had this idea floating in my head since I first started writing for Bradley Bradshaw. I've tried writing it, went through several iterations of a beginning and it just wasn't right and my skill wasn't up to it. Over the past week, though, I finally think I got the feeling right. I think this may be some of my best writing, so I really hope you all enjoy!

Before he met you, Bradley thought he knew what love looked like. 

He had watched his mother love his father, even when Goose was gone. He had been too young to remember much about his father, but he could get a pretty good idea who Nick Bradshaw had been by the hole left in Carole’s life.

He knew that his dad would bring home flowers from how his mom always kept a vase of flowers on the table. His dad must have danced with her while dinner cooked because she danced Bradley around the kitchen his whole life. Goose had been a lighthearted goofball, judging by the look in Carole’s eye when Bradley would goof off to make her laugh.

He also saw it in the way she cried the first time he played the piano. He had stopped immediately, but she had quickly come over to the piano bench and crouched beside him.

“Honey, no” she’d said, combing his hair back gently with her fingers. “I’m not sad, baby, you just look so much like your dad right now. He used to play the piano all the time.” She had smiled at him before she continued, “He wanted to teach you to play when you got big enough. Oh, Bradley, he’d be so proud of you.”

Bradley hadn’t been able to give up the piano since that day. It made his mom happy to hear, so he would keep playing, for her. 

Bradley had tried as much as he could to fill the space left behind by his father, though he knew there was no replacing Nick Bradshaw. When Carole was taken, he found himself unsure whether to feel more strongly the grief of losing her or the relief that she was reunited at last with her beloved Goose. He knew that as fiercely as she loved him, she also loved her husband and had missed him for many years, and a part of Bradley was glad they were together again.

He vowed quietly to himself that he would find what they had for himself, however impossible it seemed to find someone who would fit with him as perfectly as they had fit together.

That promise faded to the back of his mind for a long time. Bradley became a naval aviator like his father, as a pilot like Maverick. He fought his way to the sky, and fought some more to become one of the very best. His life got busy, and the few relationships he had didn’t last long. In time, he all but stopped dating, and the thought of fitting together with someone was nothing more than a daydream.

Then he met you.

He wasn’t entirely sure what changed, but he was drawn to you in a way he had been drawn to no one else. The long-distant promise surfaced in his memory, along with whispers of a love he barely remembered seeing. Bradley was no longer the hopeful, starry-eyed boy he had once been, so he cautiously tucked away the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw you.

He learned quickly that ignoring the feeling didn’t make it go away. It didn’t matter where or when he saw you or what you were doing. If he saw you when you just woke up, your hair a mess as you came to answer the door in a baggy shirt, his heart thumped a little harder in his chest. If he saw you all dressed up for something special, he couldn’t stop the way the breath was knocked from his lungs.

Eventually, he couldn’t keep everything he felt bottled up any longer. Much to the relief of his colleagues, he confessed it all to you, though, that relief soon returned to fond exasperation as he kept talking about how wonderful you were to anyone who would listen.

The development of your relationship slowly led him to realize that he had been wrong about his parents. They had not, in fact, found each other and just perfectly fit together. Their lives didn’t just twine together and continue as they always had.

Carole and Goose were the epitome of soulmates, but they were also the demonstration that soulmates were not born, they were made. They chose, daily, to love each other with their whole hearts. Every day, every choice, every word, every action, they chose to grow together and create an entirely new way of being that bettered them both. 

Bradley saw how you and he changed as you grew together. He saw how you took to evening showers once the two of you moved in together, just so you could spend the time with him when he came home from the airfield covered in sweat. Even before the two of you moved in together, you had given him one of your drawers during a particularly rough training patch that had Bradley falling asleep every time he came over. You hadn’t had the heart to wake him, so you made a way for him to stay. 

He started trading sleep to write you letters when he had to be away from you. You also noticed that he started stocking your skincare products and even period products in his bathroom. You could’ve sworn he somehow knew the warning signs better than you.

The two of you stashed a bluetooth speaker in the kitchen so you could play music and sing and dance while the two of you cooked dinner. He had told you once that Carole used to dance with him and you had smiled softly at him as you pulled him closer. When he was missing his parents, that became your go-to offer of support, especially when he couldn’t manage words. 

That’s not to say there were no unpleasant moments. You had your fair share of disagreements and comments said in anger that neither of you meant. So you also learned how Bradley shut down when he was upset. He didn’t raise his voice at you-- he rarely raised his voice to begin with, and it was never directed at you--but he would turn off. You could see the mask of apathy fall over his features. He learned how you became afraid that he would hate you after your more tense fights, but hated asking him to reassure you in case you drove him further away. 

So, you grew together. Bradley still needed space when he was frustrated, but he got better at recognizing and communicating when he was nearing his breaking point. For your part, you slowly processed that it wasn’t personal as you grew to trust him more. You also got better at asking him to reassure you, and he never turned that down, even when he was upset. He also could see the signs that you needed him and would offer reassurance before you needed to ask.

He also learned the little things about you. You loved to watch sunsets on the beach, so he tried to ensure at least one day a week that the two of you could go for a walk together in the evenings. You loved to watch snow fall, so he took you on a trip to a mountain cabin where you had snowball fights and sat wrapped up in each other by the fire. If you loved it, he had likely tried to do it with you.

Bradley saw you do the same for him. He loved flying, so once they were repairing their relationship, you had bribed Maverick to let Bradley borrow his P-51 Mustang for a day so you could fly together. Of all the flights he had taken, that was his favorite. You had found sheet music for a song he couldn’t get out of his head that you’d heard him humming. Now it was one he played often, just for you.

Even in your opposites, the two of you adjusted to a balance that worked for both of you. While you tended to be more shy, preferring nights in with a video game or a mug of tea and a book, Bradley loved going out with his people and the chaotic energy he could whip up when he played piano at the bar. 

So you did some of both. You braced yourself for going out with the noisy bunch of naval aviators and even found yourself enjoying the boisterous energy. You came to love it, though it still drained you quickly. He didn’t at all mind holding you after, helping you through your evening routine as he lent you some of his own strength. Other nights, Bradley would hold you while you read aloud, or play the piano you had at home in a quiet concert just for you. He adored how warm you were and appreciated the quiet peace he found in these moments with you. You loved when he was settled enough to lay his head in your lap so you could play with his hair.

Today, he had had a rare day off and found he couldn’t bring himself to do much more than stay in bed with you. So that was what you did. Mind you, that didn’t mean you did nothing. 

Bradley looked down at where you lay on his chest, your hand tucked in his as his other hand stroked lazily along your bare back. You had dozed off quickly in a blissful haze after he’d cleaned you up gently. How he had gotten so lucky to find you, he wasn’t sure. You, with your skin practically glowing in the golden light of the early afternoon. To him, you looked like an angel lying there in his arms. He couldn’t resist the urge to press a kiss to your forehead.

You stirred then, turning your nose to nuzzle into his chest. Bradley could have sworn his heart stopped.

“Bradley?”

“Yeah, honey?”

His arm shifted with you as you adjusted to curl even closer to him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head again.

“You’re really warm, but can we pull the blanket up? My back’s cold.”

That made him laugh, even as he obliged. With the soft comforter tucked up to your shoulders, you snuggled in against him. Bradley’s hand returned to its path up and down your spine. “Better?”

“Much,” you hummed.

After a moment, he said your name tenderly, a question. 

You squeezed his hand in response, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

“Do you ever think about how much we’ve changed since we met?”

“Sometimes,” you answered honestly. “Why?”

“Just thinking a lot lately. We’ve changed a lot since then.”

He felt you nod against his chest as you started to fiddle with his wedding ring. It was a sure sign you weren’t sure what he was getting at, but you trusted him enough to only say, “we have.”

“When I met you, I didn’t know how much truly loving someone would change me. I really like who I’ve become with you. I like who we’ve become together.” He felt you smile as you kissed his chest. The warmth that bloomed there confirmed for him what he was about to say, though he already felt the truth of it in his bones. “I have loved every version of you. I can’t wait to meet and love all the other versions of you that come along for the rest of our lives.”

As he had predicted, that had you turning your face into him shyly. He would’ve sworn he could feel your face heating up where your skin met his.

Eventually, you propped yourself up to look at him. Your hand that wasn’t in his found its way into his hair. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you sure you’re an aviator and not a poet?”

He chuckled, hand flattening on your back. “For you? I might just be both.”

If he could freeze the next moment and live in it forever, he would. You were propped up over him, the reassuring weight of you against him. The golden light from the window seemed to be everywhere, shining off you hair and glittering in your eyes. The way your face glowed was entirely you as you smiled at him. 

Bradley couldn’t think of anything other than how much he loved you and how he was certain now, more than he had ever been, that his parents were proud of him. He had kept his promise and built a love as strong as theirs with you. 

When you leaned down and kissed him, he silently made a new promise, one he knew he would keep.

He swore with every slow press of his lips to yours that every day, every version of you, he would love you.

And man, oh man, he looked forward to it.

Top Gun Tags:

@malindacath @army24--7 @mads-weasley

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster #rooster bradshaw #top gun #top gun maverick #hoo boy I dunno if I'll ever top this for writing

[starg1rlie]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⟡ rating. fluff ( general audience )

⟡ prompt. "calla lily" ( getting married to character )

notes. joined ying's lil' milestone event , hehe , hopefully this doesn't botch on me . . . personally , weddings to me are so vv cute and magical !! ( also pardon if the wedding vows don't match the ones that you're used to , i just did it from memory ) reblogs and likes are appreciated ! | wc. 852 words ( 4,742 characters )

⟡ feat. various x fem! reader ( tartaglia, ayato, diluc, alhaitham, zhongli, thoma )

ㅤㅤWhat a feeling it is to be wed to someone, to be linked to the love of your life, to feel such joy and happiness as you look into your spouse’s eyes and know that your unconditional love is reciprocated, maybe even multiplied by tenfold. Marriage. Wedding. Vows. 

ㅤㅤYou liked to replay that night, the night he proposed to you, in your head as the two of you began wedding preparations. Thinking of the engagement ring sliding down your finger as you made plans for the wedding cake (he preferred a cake with the sweetness level lowered accordingly to match his palette), thinking of the way he swept you up in his arms while you were being fitted for your dress, thinking about the amount of unbridled affection and love in his eyes as you prepared yourself to do a practice walk down the aisle you’d walk on come next morning.

ㅤㅤ“You’re beautiful,” he murmured that night as he wrapped you up in a blanket and pulled you into his warm embrace. “You’re amazing.” He then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You’re all that I could ever want or need.” He burrowed his face into the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning out against your collarbone, eliciting a giggle from you. “You’re my everything.”

ㅤㅤYou remembered quite vividly how happy you felt in that moment, simply you and him, tangled limbs under the bedsheets, thinking of the future that you two would share together. You remembered linking your hand with his, fingers lacing through his own, and staring into his eyes, his dazzling and mesmerizing eyes. You remembered watching him sleep, head propped up by one hand, the other still clasping your fiance’s, watching his chest rise and fall steadily with each intake of breath, admiring the curve of his jawline, drinking in every detail of his face, his body, his entire being so it would be permanently seared into your brain. 

ㅤㅤAnd so when the fateful day finally came, when you slipped into the wondrous dress your friends had picked out with you one night, when you held onto the bouquet of flowers in your hands tightly, when you adjusted the veil so that it would obscure your face (he’d chastise you for wearing it, covering your beautiful face from him, and you’d simply brush it off with a “it’s tradition”), you felt ready. Actually, scratch that, you felt more than ready. The procession began; someone was playing the wedding march on the piano, a child (no doubt Jean and Lisa’s; they recently adopted an adorable little girl) was wailing before she was soothed by her mothers, and even a few sniffles and tearful gazes. What a wonderful day it was to be married, to be wed to the love of your life.

ㅤㅤ“Do you, (Name), take this strapping young man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?” the priest inquired, looking up from his book. 

ㅤㅤYou nodded, murmuring the words “I do” as the man proceeded, asking the same question to your soon-to-be husband.

ㅤㅤ“And do you, sir, take this lovely young lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?” 

ㅤㅤHe looked at you for a moment, a smile flickering over his lips, before nodding firmly. “I do.”

ㅤㅤ“And so, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you, husband, and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

ㅤㅤA cheer rose up from the people seated within the quaint little chapel he’d picked out, everyone rising to their feet and clapping loudly. You turned from your now-husband to wave at them all, blowing kisses towards everyone before turning back to face him. 

ㅤㅤ“Hey,” he said softly, quick to pull you in by the waist, using his free hand to push up your veil to get a better look at your face.

ㅤㅤ“Hey,” you replied with a small laugh, tugging off the elbow-length gloves you were currently wearing, placing a hand delicately against his cheek, cupping it and rubbing a thumb over the skin soothingly.

ㅤㅤ“So. We’re married now, huh?” He said with a low chuckle, that smirk never leaving his face as he slipped his hand under your chin, tilting you up closer to his face. “Who woulda thought? If someone told me ten years ago that I would marry my best friend, I would believe them to have rocks in their head.”

ㅤㅤYou tittered. “Yeah, I wouldn’t believe them either. But here we are.”

ㅤㅤ“Here we are,” he repeated, fondness clear in his tone. His eyes darted down to your lips, ignoring the ongoing chants of “kiss him!”, instead, initiating the kiss first, turning his head to angle his lips properly, locking against yours. The cheers rose again once more, noise amplified even louder, ringing in your ears as he swept you up in his arms, true bridal-style.

ㅤㅤ“Shall we go, wife?” he said with a grin.

ㅤㅤYou beamed at him, pecking his cheek. “We shall, husband.”

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